#I’m NOT saying Edwin would EVER do this on purpose

[alivegirldetectiveagency]

The show gives us very little information about edwin’s life. i’m pretty sure all we know is (1) he read detective stories (2) is father would call crystal a bobtail (3) he was presumably bullied (i say presumably because the ritual could have been a first incident but i find that unlikely just cause. the severity of it)

i hope we learn a little more if we get a season 2 because i think edwins childhood would give interesting insight into him (this goes for all the characters actually) but i think we can make a lot of assumptions about what his life was like based off the time period

(disclaimer: i am not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, so i apologize for any inaccuracies)(and for any typos)

this post got kinda long so the rest is under the cut

edwin lived from 1900-1916 which mostly encompasses the edwardian era (1901-1910). for the purposes of this post i will be talking as if it was all edwardian for simplicity and also because the last few years of the victorian era and the first few years after edward vii would have been very similar. i am also operating under the assumption the paynes were upper class because (1) vibes (2) edwin is very formal which would have been emphasized the most in the upper classes (3) he had the time and money to go to boarding school which still wasn’t very accessible (although education was growing in importance)

the importance of childhood was growing in the era and there was a lot more leisure time and entertainment. still, etiquette and manners were very important so there would have had the “seen and not heard” attitude towards children. in upper class families, child rearing would have been done by a nanny and not the mother. the father as head of the house would have been strict and interacted little with the children. so edwin probably saw very little of his parents while growing up even before boarding school. since edwin was a son his father might have taken him out for things like shooting/hunting but that would have been just him and his father (and brothers if he had any). also edwin does Not seem like he would have enjoyed that so i dunno if much bonding would have occurred during those outings. family time in general would be rather brief. He would have had more time spent with siblings his age since younger children would have spent most of their time in the nursery/with the nanny.

i’m going to brush past the school life part because i do not know much about it other than that he would have started at st Hilarions around 13. and that i’m pretty sure corporal punishment was used in boarding schools like it at the time? (not entirely sure on that front it depends on if the school is state sponsored) we can infer from the show that edwin did not have a Great time at school but i don’t know what the specifics would have been like

etiquette was very very important. i don’t think the edwardian era was quite as strict as the victorian era but there was still a LOT of social expectations. including the perfect posture george rexstrew does as edwin. etiquette would also include addressing everyone properly and limited affection. you also wouldn’t really touch anyone! not to get their attention or shake hands in greeting or clapping someone on the back. Self control was everything even in times of excitement or distress. Social classes were very strict although the industrial revolution created the neavue riche so social mobility was not impossible. new rich families often tried to adapt the traditions of the (aristocratic) upper class but integration was slooow. (Middle class families would adopt trends from the upper classes too). while formality was important, language in general was simplifying partially due to mass newspapers. if you’ve ever read Oliver Twist or another Dickens story, the language is very verbose and hard to follow which is par the course for victorian literature but less so for edwardian literature.

speaking of literature and entertainment we know edwin liked detective stories. he reads a max carrados story (which started in 1914) to charles and in edwin’s death flashback you see him with a detective penny/dime novel (in the scene you can read “The Aldine Tip Top Tales, High Hat Harry” and google tells me the rest of the title is “The Base Ball Detective”). Edwin probably also read Sherlock Holmes which was still popular. Growing up he might have Peter Pan/Peter and Wendy (the title changed after its initial publishing in 1904) and The Tale of Peter Rabbit (1902). And more short stories and dime novels (like the Aldine company ones) since they were getting very popular at the time. Entertainments like the Winter Gardens and Pleasure Beach in Blackpool were also growing popularity. but generally outdoor upper class entertainment would have been tennis, hunting, or racing. (fun fact the 1908 summer olympics was in london so edwin might have watched it as a child!) there also would have been a lot of dinner parties but those would have been for the parents to maintain or increase social status and not necessarily include the children.

overall edwin’s childhood probably included a lot of extravagant entertainment. He would not have spent much time with his parent so unless edwin had siblings his early childhood would have probably been lonely. canon does not suggest he really made friends while in school either.

Canon and fanon has touched on how edwin’s social skills took a hit from being in hell for 70 years (which is definitely true). But on top of just escaping hell, edwin is using knowledge/skills from a vastly different social era when he first meets charles. it must have been really jarring the first few years of being friends because charles’s ideas/experiences with friendship were WILDLY different than edwin’s

[gloryofroses19]

Prequel to Iron Legacy

My Hero

By SAMANTHA STARK - May 2023

Thanos, who took so much from us all, asked my brother if the world would remember him. The stories of Tony Stark’s heroism are currently being told around the universe, in multiple languages by multiple races. His memory will be kept alive by people who were saved by Iron Man to those who received benefits from his philanthropy. To the world, Tony Stark became a hero once he donned the suit of iron which made him Iron Man. But to me, Tony Stark was a hero long before that.

He became my hero before I even remember, when he was just a boy. A boy who tested his parents’ and caregivers' patience by staying out late, hacking into the Pentagon on a high school dare and ditching school to work on inventions like jet-powered roller skates. A boy at fifteen who learned that he was going to be a big brother and decided he would be the man that their father never was for him. A boy who would give his infant sister a bottle in the dead at night to let Edwin Jarvis rest. A boy at seventeen who was forced to become the man to take over his father’s legacy and his two-year-old sister’s legal guardianship.

There’s a common feeling of detest among younger siblings when they’re compared to their older counterparts. It’s a sentiment I never felt because I have never been nothing but proud to be compared to my brother. Tony is often cited for saying that I was what he was most proud of (prior to the birth of his daughter). For some to think that I could be even comparable to my genius, funny, reckless, innovative older brother was astonishing to me. I think what he didn’t internalize was that I was proud of him too. And making sure he knew that is a regret I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.

Tony and I were always looked at as if we were night and day. The genius, billionaire playboy philanthropist who sought out the limelight and his billionaire bookworm sister who hid from it. I’ve never figured out if Tony truly craved the limelight or he did it for necessity, but I’d like to believe it was both. Human nature says we crave admiration and attention so who was Tony to deny that? But what if he made a big enough splash in the media to turn the prying eyes away from the little girl who was trying to navigate the world around her and the legacy left for her.

But what is a legacy? The Oxford English Dictionary defines a legacy as “money or property that is given to you by someone when they die.” The legacy that Tony was given was the last name Stark. His whole life he was told he was destined for greatness based only on the virtue of his name. The very same Stark name that was synonymous with weapons of war thanks to my father’s selfish interests. Until Tony changed that, those weapons of war became resources for clean energy and a brighter future. Thanks to a gift from professor Ho Yinsen in a cave in Afghanistan, my brother realized that his purpose was to better the world.

The monikers of Stark and Iron Man do not provide me with destined demands, because there is no such thing as destiny. The last thing I said to my brother was that it was okay, that we were going to be okay. I’m still not okay, I don’t know if I ever will be because a part of me will forever be lost. I thought I knew who I was, but I now see that I don't know how to be anyone but Tony Stark’s little sister. It is something that I need to figure out but without the shade of his love, protection and support, I worry that I will fail. But Tony taught me that legacies must be earned by the choices we make. His legacy is one of heroism, altruism and perseverance and that seems like a pretty good place for me to start.

Samantha Stark is the younger sister to the late Anthony ‘Tony’ Stark. She is owner and CEO of Stark Industries.

A/N: Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!

Taglist: @7minutes-tomidnight

Link to Masterlist

[3pirouette]

Fic: Hello, Darling (1/1)

Title: Hello, Darling By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary:  Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Angst. Satisfies the Fake Dating a square for the Steggy Bingo Bash. AU, obviously.

A/N: Timeline is as close to sort-of right as I can make it for an AU. 2017 is post Civil War, 2016 is during Civil War, 2014 is during AOU, other time stamps should be self-explanatory. I hope this makes as much sense for everyone else as it does to me- this concept was a little hard to get on paper. I wrote this in about... 2 hours? Couldn’t sleep until I got this out of my brain. Also, I’m sorry. Please get some tissues. More AN at the end.

~*~ 2017

Steve flopped on the bed, wiping his forehead. They’d been training, hard, and he was drained. He and Natasha were spending their days whipping the new iteration of the team into shape and spent their nights sweet talking whatever government officials would listen to them while still trying to stay off the grid.

Their position in multiple areas was shaky, to say the least.

When he couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, he wrote letters to Bucky, who was still in stasis in Wakanda. The letter writing was a calming ritual, and made him feel closer to his friend when he was doing it, but when he saved the letter instead of sending it, it left him feeling a little more alone than when he started.

He didn’t want to move tonight. He felt empty and exhausted and so very, very much like the small man he used to be on the rickety old bed.

He looked at the second-hand laptop, closed and charging on his desk, and turned away. He couldn’t take that feeling tonight.

Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Her voice was warm, and there was a smile in it. “Well, I’m just a phone call away, as always.”

“Yeah,” he replied, just a hint of sadness seeping through. He took a deep breath and shifted up on the pillows, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. “We were training again today.”

“How are they pulling together?” She asked, bright and interested. “Has Wanda gained more control?”

“Every day,” he replied quickly, a smile quirking at his face. “She’s more powerful than I think any of us were prepared for, even her. She’s still doubting herself, though.”

Peggy chuckled through the phone. “After what she went through, I’d doubt myself if I were her, too.”

Steve rolled to the side, pulling a pillow tight into his arms. “True.”

“Give her time,” Peggy soothed him. “Think about how long it took you to get the hang of your new body.”

He laughed out loud at that. “What, all thirty seconds or so?”

“I seem to recall you crashing through a store’s front window display fairly immediately.” Her laugh was like bells, light and happy. “Though that was followed by months of tests, followed by months of kick lines.”

Steve groaned at the memories. “The tights… and those boots.”

“I rather liked the tights,” Peggy flirted. “Though, the point of my mentioning, is that it took you rather a few months in the field to figure out you could lift a tank, and that became one of your favorite tricks. Give the poor girl some slack.”

“Actually, fitting my entire body behind my shield was one of my favorites.”

“I still don’t know how you do that.” She sighed. “But it is quite a trick.”

“She is getting the hang of it,” Steve relented. “It’s just been… hard.”

“I can hear the weariness in your voice.” She was soft and gentle. Steve closed his eyes and pretended he was wrapping himself around her. “Have you been taking care of yourself?” She sighed when he didn’t answer. “Steve…”

“I don’t know how…” he drifted off, changing course mid-sentence. “I’m tired, Peg. I’m tired of fighting and running but that’s… that’s all that’s left.” He rolled to his back, throwing his free arm over his head, some of the plaster of the wall of the old boarding house falling on his forehead. He wiped it away with a heavy groan of frustration. “Back then, I had so many plans. After the war…”

“We shan’t be going there, darling.” Her voice left no room for argument.

He was quiet for a moment, the emotion boiling up in him. When he finally spoke, his words were soft. “I miss you. I miss you so, so much.”

The pause was almost too long, and it broke him just a little bit more. “I’m here, Steve. Only a phone call away.”

He sat up, frustrated. “For a little while I had it- I had everything. I had you, I had Buck, I had new friends, and I could… I was…”

“You were almost happy,” she whispered. “We’ve said these words too many times.”

“I don’t…” He took a deep breath and let his head fall to his hand. “I don’t know how to move past it. I can pretend I’m ok, but… but I’m not.” He laughed to himself. “I wouldn’t be calling you if I were ok.”

“I’m here for you, Steve,” she replied sharply. “You call me when you need to call me, when you want to call me. Good or bad. I just wish… I wish there was more good.”

“Me, too.” He cleared his throat, sitting up. “Tell me something good, Peg.”

He thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, eh, Rogers? Well, then, I can tell you that yesterday I came across a very silly video of a sneezing baby Panda and no matter what your mood, I promise you’ll feel better if you watch it.”

He pulled the phone away from his cheek when it vibrated in his hand, the video popping up on his screen. He laughed, despite himself.

“You always know exactly what I need,” he mumbled out loud.

Her chuckle was soft, just like he remembered. “Lucky, I guess.”

“I love you so, so much, Peg.” He turned serious. “I wish… I wish I could see you.”

“I love you, too, my darling.” She replied softly. “And I’m only ever just a phone call away.”

He could feel the familiar pangs of depression swirling, and knew talking longer would do him no good. Not tonight. “I should… I should go.”

“Good night then, my love.” Peggy’s words were so full of love he could scarcely believe it. “Don’t wait too long to call again.”

He didn’t answer her, just nodded to himself. “Good night, Peg.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and tossed it across the bed. Like his letters to Bucky, sometimes he felt worse after talking with her. He laid back on the bed, the springs creaking under him.

He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, not with the way his gut was roiling and the loss so close to the surface. Her voice was always a double-edged sword. Some nights, it was enough to bring him back to life, to remind him of whatever little purpose he felt he had left.

Sometimes, it was only filled with loss and the could-have-beens and should-have-beens.

Sometimes, he wished Tony had never given her back to him.

~*~ 1988

“Anthony, get this blasted thing out of my face.”

“Come on, Aunt Peg, no one is better at telling me what to do than you are.”

Peggy looked up from where she sat at the table in what was supposed to be a dining room, but was often used as an extended work space when Peggy and Howard had to pull long nights. “Under no circumstances.”

Tony pulled a chair up next to her and held out the tape recorder towards her. “Under all circumstances.” He started ticking it off on his fingers. “When I almost blew up the garage when I was eight. First time I got caught with a girl in my room. First time I got caught with booze in my room. First time I tried to create a jet pack. Who yelled at me? You did.”

Peggy pursed her lips at him and turned in her chair. “Concerned correction.”

He smiled, shrugging. “See? Concern, correction… all things I’m going to need in the future.”

Peggy swiveled back and picked up a file, eyes firmly set on the writing though she wasn’t reading anything. “Things you need now.” She didn’t look up. “Can’t you go badger Jarvis? Edwin has far more practice at humoring you.”

He laughed and smiled sweetly, moving the tape recorder in front of her. “Indulge your Godson in an experiment?”

“I seem to indulge you Starks far more than I’d like.” She leaned back in the chair and tossed the file back on the table. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, you see, I actually need you to tell me…”

~*~ 2014

Tony hadn’t looked at these cartridges in years. He pulled FRIDAY up and loaded her, knowing the program would make do for now. He could make some upgrades, and mourn Jarvis, later.

He ran his fingers over the last few cartridges as FRIDAY was integrated into his systems and found one that he hadn’t thought about in decades. It had been so long that the ink was almost faded completely away.

He didn’t need the label to remind him what was on there. He remembered each story, each lesson, each crisp English word with a sharpness that he liked to pretend didn’t exist. It was the only AI that was as old as Jarvis.

Tony laughed out loud. There was no way Ultron would have come to be if this was the AI he’d chosen to run his life with instead of Jarvis. She never would have allowed it.

She never would have allowed half of his shenanigans. She had been right all those years ago: Jarvis had always indulged him more. Aunt Peggy had no qualms about telling him, and often stopping him, when he was about to do something stupid, whereas Jarvis would give him an exasperated sir and follow behind, helping to clean up the mess.

He could have used some of her guidance so, so many times since he built that armor. Before, too, to be honest. He should have revisited her AI years ago.

He should visit her in the nursing home.

He knew exactly why he didn’t.  

He flipped the cartridge onto his work desk and slid the rest back into their box to be stored. Save the world first, tongue lashing from his Godmother second.

~*~ 2015

The icon showed up on his phone one day without explanation. Two hours later the text from Tony was nearly as mysterious.

Click the icon and you’ll be routed to an update on an old project, kind of like a phone call. Totally sanctioned, of course. I think she’ll get a kick out of it.

When he told her one day in the nursing home, she laughed.

“That boy had me record hours and hours of tape,” Peggy smiled. “I wondered if he ever got around to making it. I would have rather liked to have another one of myself around while I was still running SHIELD.”

“So, you did know,” Steve asked, “that Tony made an AI of you?”

Peggy looked at him, her eyes sharp and disapproving. “Of course, I knew. And while I didn’t ever say it, I was quite insulted that he eventually chose Jarvis over me.” She sat up in her hospital bed, gray hair falling in waves around her face. “Dial it up, let’s see what he got right, shall we?”

~*~ 2016

He was still in his suit and tie, his cheeks puffy with the tears he only let himself shed in the privacy of his hotel room. The church had been hard, but letting the coffin settle into the cold dirt had been harder.

She was gone.

And he was alone.

He picked up his phone, intent on checking his flight for the morning when an icon he scrolled past daily caught his eye.

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the screen, temped.

He checked his flight, but it was perfunctory and he couldn’t recall, by the time his thumb hit the other icon, if it was still on time or not.

Slowly he lifted the phone to his ear. He knew from the few times he’d called at the nursing home with her that there wouldn’t be a ring tone, and that he had to be the first one to talk. “Hello?”

“Steve?”

Her voice through the line was young and vibrant, the way her remembered it from all those years back: red rimmed lips and bright eyes in just the vibration of sound.

He lost his breath.

“I’m so glad you called,” her voice was happy, bright.

He’d just left her in the ground, and yet…

Yet…

“Peggy.” He barely got the word out, the emotion choking him.

“Are you alright, Steve?”

“No, I…” he couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to continue, but couldn’t tear himself away.

“I’m right here, Steve.” Her voice was warm and welcoming, like honey and home and everything he was missing. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He was quiet for a moment. He contemplated hanging up and deleting the icon.

Instead, he spoke, his words broken and full of loss. “I miss you.”

Her voice wrapped around him through the phone, “And I miss you, darling. But I’m right here. I’m just a phone call away, any time you like.”

He nearly laughed the way her words warmed him. She was so real- had always been every time he talked to the AI.

But she wasn’t real- just an amalgamation of information Tony had stored for decades.

He held the phone away for a second, contemplating his choices. He wanted to walk away, but the loss was still so raw. He pulled the phone back to his ear.

Just for today.

He told himself he’d pretend just for today.

Over the phone, he could pretend she wasn’t dead. Could pretend she hadn’t aged and lived on without him.

Just for today, just until he could get past this pain, he could pretend.

“I guess,” he cleared his throat, trying to banish the thickness in it from the tears, “I guess I should call more often, then.”

“Absolutely. I will accept nothing less, Captain.”

He smiled and sat on the bed, tears falling from his eyes as he listened to her voice.

It was just for today.  

~*~ End Notes: Saved this to the end to avoid giving this away. Deeply inspired by Hayley Atwell’s episode of Black Mirror, “Be Right Back.” If you haven’t seen it, you should.

[theyanderespecialist]

Teasing Abel (One Shot) SCP 076 Abel X Mark OC

(mark's pov)

I walk down the halls smiling at others as I rush to a room, opening the door to see Abel there, lifting weights over his head, the same, familiar, pissed off look on his face as I smile and walk in front of him.

"Mark." "Hey Able. Looks heavy." "Not really." He said not really paying too.much attention as I unbutton my coat.

"I got a new outfit you know." "That's nice." "It is..I got a lot of compliments on my body, how it's "perfect for children." I don't think they even know I'm a boy." I said as this caused him to look up as I posted in the outfit. It was actually my old yoga pants that I haven't worn in..god I think 7 years, and a sheer like sports bra.

He looked at me and the weight drop and it dented the floor. I wince. I smirked as I decided to tease him a bit, he did not pay enough attention to me even when I bought that lacy nightie. I think he needs to know it.

"I mean, there was this one man..Edwin I think, he said I looked good enough to eat, I just teased back and said "hit me up" I mean..it actually excited me.

(Mark in the starting phases of being an exobitionist

(When in this state you can find them revealing more skin and being a tease~)

Next thing I know I am grabbed and pinned to the wall being kissed roughly.

I let out a soft groan as I look to see Abel. "Aww you think I'm actually going to run off with them~?"

"I don't want people looking at you like your theirs."

"Oh you don't?~ too bad. I think maybe I should be the man in the relationship for a little bit~." I tease. (Oh no you don't threaten his dominance mark)

(XD You never threaten Abel Dominance XD It leads to bad stuff XD)

Abel growled and pinned me down in downward dog then put the weight on me so I could not get up from it. my ass perfect crotch level.

I let out a shocked and confused noise as I tried to struggle to get out, my ass wiggling side to side due to the struggling. That is when I heard a tear a felt air drift into my pants he just tore a hole in the back side of my yoga pants!

"Abel!" I cried out only to moan when a Wet finger was shoved in.

I moaned as my body shuddered feeling the invasion. It had been months, and I wanted this time to be the true first time for anything more than fingers.

"This time I will take you and you will never forget that you are mine." He says and starts to finger my ass preparing me.

I let out a shocked and aroused moan. "A-All I said was I should be the man on the relationship." I teased

"No you are my sissy slut and that means I am the man!" He orders and bites my ass cheek and prepares me fast and hard. "You are mine and I am not loosing you to anyone. Not even what you think it should be."

I let out a moan. I actually had no desire to play a 'male' role. We both believe in each party having equal rights, but, he could get like this from time to time..and I liked it, because, well, he wouldn't do it unless I wanted him to. I feel him pull out of me as I let out a soft whimper but wait to feel him inside of me...but I didn't.

I hear him spit and start to lube up his cock. Oh yes finally. He said he wanted to wait not to just jump right into sex. It has been a year since we been together and we only finger my hole and that has not happen in three months. He seemed worried he would hurt me. So he always stopped before going to far.

Bit it seemed like he just didn't care anymore..and that aroused me~

I wait to feel himself inside of me..bit I didn't as I cried out as he hit my ass

He spanked my ass with his dick and smeared his pre cum all over it. "You have to beg for it~ Prove to me you only want my cock in you."

I shudder at that. I still wanted some control of the situation (you're not gonna get it. XD) as I rub my ass against his dick.

"O-Oh come on..d-don't make me do that. Just let me go~" I said, playing as though this wasn't a moment I had dreamed of for an entire year

He left and I was confused then I felt him put something on my cock it was a vibrating cock ring. I groaned as he turns it on and I knew I would not be able to cum. And he now has full control over the situation even more than before.

(XD This is what you get XD You should have begged XD)

I gripped the ground beneath me.

"N-No--"

"I'll say it again. Beg for it." He said as I let out a whimper as my cock became fully hard.

"P-Please. .please put it in.." I mutter.

"Not good enough."

I take a deep breath. "Please Abel! Please! Fuck my Sissy hole, I only ever wanted your cock filling me to the brim and making me break in ectasy!" I cry out blushing hotly.

He smirks and then thrusts in hitting my prostate right away and I moaned in ectasy. He ripped off the cock ring and I came around him from just one thrust~

I moan thought I was still unable to move from my position under the weight and under him. I grip the floor, my nails digging into it as his hand grabbed at my hair roughly making me moan.

(Oh he's into rough rough sex)

(Mmmmmmhmmmmm)

"That is right!" He says pulling on it to turn my head and he leaned over biting my neck. "Only I can make you cum! You are Mine!"

I moaned. "Y-Yes.. I-I'm yours~!" I said.

"That's right, you are, you're my girl, no one else can have you." He said right in my ear as I shudder.

"I-I'm your..." I let out a moan before giving a small smirk. "I'm your boy~" I teased as he glared before he smirked.

"You're trying to get me worked up on purpose, aren't you?"

"How else was I supposed to get you to make love to me~" I moan. "It has been a year Abel, a boy or girl or whatever I will be for you, I have needs~"

"aren't I fucking you right now? Is that not enough? Or perhaps.. you want something more than just being fucked..perhaps..you want to be shown your place~?" He asked as I shudder, tightening around him though I tried not to give it away.

"Oh so I am right~" He says. "I gave you to much freedom, do I have to lock you in the bedroom and dress you like my good girl feeding you nothing but my spunk for you to know you are mine~"

I once more shuddered as I moaned. "N-No..I-I don't want that..~" I said, a part of me wanting it, the other part wanting to pretend I wasn't as depraved as I really am.

I shudder when he moaned right in my ear. "I-It..if I was.. hypothetically i-into it..d-describe what you'd do to me.." I moan and pant out. "I-I'n detail"

(Yes describe in great detail~ but marks not into it obviously;3)

(X3)

"Oh first I would make you cum sensless, so much that you black out. Then I would take you to our bedroom and chaine your ankle to the bed, for the first few months you would have to earn my trust to even leave the bed~ You would earn your meals by making me cum just with your mouth~ If you could not do it you would not eat~ Then you would have to beg me to let you try again for the taste of your spunk only diet~ I would have more than enough for you to eat as much as you want~"

(I think mark need actual food and water abel xD)

(XD)

I moaned as that, the thought of being under his full control..I could feel blood starting to rush once more down to my dick.

"Of course, once you get that you're only mine, and I can trust you, you'll graduate to being able to leave the bed, you'll get some nice outfits too as a reward." I let out a moan. "I-I think just having my mouth fucked se-seems like such a waste.." I moaned.

(I mean yeah able what about poor marks ass)

(XD YEAH!!!)

"Oh I will defiantly fuck your ass at least three times a day, do you know how much I jerk off a day?" He teased me I honestly did not know.

"i-I-I don't.." I don't think I've ever seen him or even hear him or others talk about him jerking off.

"Eight times a day and that is with me working out~" He says. "And my cum does not become anywhere near watery even by the eight time~"

I blushed as I tried to speak before he grabbed me digging his nails into my waist as I moan as I feel him starting to twitch

"See what you just thinking about it does to me~" He says. "I am going to fill you to the brim~"

I moaned as I finally managed to arch my back into him as he ended up cumming inside.

He came deep and true to his word he filled me to the brim as when he pulled out I was leaking cum. He then stuffed something in me and I moaned.

"A nice butt plug don't want you spilling just yet~" He purred.

I let out a confused moan. "J-just yet?"

"No I want you to feel good a bloated to remember who you belong to~"

My eyes widen. I was starting to regret teasing him..

[the-hidden-writer]

I’ll Remember You This Way

Chapter 2: 4,379 words Read on AO3! (check reblog for link)

The story of one unsuspecting man named Edwin Jarvis and how his life and legacy are carried throughout the universe.

Edwin Jarvis -> JARVIS -> Vision

Snippets of that legacy include Tony Stark carrying his butler’s words in his heart for his entire life and Wanda Maximoff sensing an unfamiliar presence in Vision’s mind.

Chapter 2: there ain’t a cloud in sight

“Director Carter!”

Peggy is just about to finally leave the facility when the voice calls her name. She’s tired after having spent the past week helping to set up this brand new S.H.I.E.L.D. training programme, so she can’t help but snap when the young agent catches up to her in the hallway leading to the exit. “What?”

The agent flinches, the grip on the file she’s holding tightening, and Peggy feels slightly guilty. Not that she’d let it show.

Whatever courage the agent had must have dissipated. “I… I, um, was wondering if I could ask a question?” She fidgets under Peggy’s glare. “If you aren’t busy!”

“Well I am busy and you’ve already asked a question,” Peggy sighs, “but go ahead.”

Despite being utterly desperate to call it a day, she admires the girl’s enthusiasm and guts to ask her in the first place. Not many of the younger rookies have done so and she deserves a chance that not many other seniors would be willing to give.

The girl smiles nervously before clearing her throat. “I was just thinking about the name of the new division.”

Peggy can’t help but smile as the girl continues, having a knowing feeling to what she is leading up to.

“I just… I like knowing the meaning behind things and I love learning about S.H.I.E.L.D. history and I think I’ve got them all figured out but I’m so stumped on this one!”

Anger gradually receding as if she were washing some dirt off in the shower, Peggy’s smile broadens. “What have you gathered so far?” She asks curiously.

The agent takes a deep breath. Her confidence is visibly returning, presumably due to Peggy’s own change in mood. Her voice even sounds stronger as she begins to talk about a topic that truly interests her.

“It’s a name, right? That’s all I’ve really got. Nothing as obvious as the ‘Daniel Sousa Award for Bravery’-” Peggy’s smile falters slightly- “but it’s not an acronym or anything, so it’s gotta be a name.”

“It is a name, yes.” Peggy affirms, pride seeping into her voice.

“I knew it!” The agent squeals, causing another agent who was in the process of leaving to give her an odd look.

Noticing how this weakens the agent’s confidence again, Peggy tries to reassure her with another question. “Do you have any idea whose name?”

The agent giggles nervously. “I think it has to be personal. I know that some of the buildings are named for personal reasons but they’re all also somehow tied to S.H.I.E.L.D. history too. Or the person has some sort of connection to the purpose of their namesake. I guess it has to be someone called Jarvis that the textbook didn’t mention.”

She pauses and Peggy realises that all her anger has gone now and her smile reflects that, making the agent look at her in confusion. Peggy shakes her head and motions for her to carry on with her theorising ramble.

“…Looking at your reaction, it has to be someone close to you, right?” The agent pauses again, her smile fading. “But that makes no sense…”

“And why is that?” Peggy asks, quirking an eyebrow.

A blush forms on the agent’s cheeks and she looks down in embarrassment. “Because the closest I’ve got is Howard Stark’s butler.”

The silence between them is enough confirmation she needs.

“Wait, what-”

“Have you ever heard of Occam’s Razor?” Peggy interjects, relishing in the flabbergasted look on the agent’s face.

Said agent runs a hand through her blonde hair. “N-No.”

“It’s a philosophical principle.” She provides. “To sum it up, it basically means that the simplest explanation to a problem is most likely the true one.”

The agent’s eyes grow wide. “So-”

"So," Peggy continues, “while I commend you for your dedication to the matter, it seems you had the right answer all along.”

She doesn’t bother to stifle her yawn as she watches the cogs turn in the agent’s head.

“But… why?” She asks eventually. “What does the butler have to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

The exhaustion is starting to sink deep into Peggy’s bones, and she knows that the agent would keep asking questions for as long as she could. So, to prevent herself from passing out on the spot, she knows she has to go home.

“Let’s just say,” she says as she turns to leave with one last knowing smile, “that you shouldn’t underestimate the need for support. Being a butler doesn’t define one’s personality and Mr Jarvis is an extremely fitting namesake for the new support division.”

She walks towards the glass doors (which to her, at this point, look like the gates of Heaven) and judging by the click of her heels being the only sound echoing down the corridor she knows that the agent hasn’t moved. Was it really that shocking that Mr Jarvis was a true ally to S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Actually, the more she thinks about it, she didn’t think there was much to him when she first met him either. He was quick to prove her wrong, though, and somewhere along the way he became her best friend.

And she thinks that the world deserves to know. Rumours be damned.

So just before she is about to exit, she turns back to the stunned agent one last time. “If you want to know more you should pop ‘round to my office some time. I’d be happy to tell you more.”

The agent snaps out of her trance and her face lights up with joy. That’s when it suddenly occurs to Peggy that she’s been too tired to even ask the young agent’s name. “What’s your name, agent?”

“O-Oh, um, Hill, ma’am. Nancy Hill.”

“Well since you seem quite the history buff, Agent Hill, I hope you do come to my office. There is a very special assignment I would like to entrust you with. Goodnight.”

Once she is finally out of the building Peggy feels relief wash over her. It’s been an incredibly long and tiring day but meeting Agent Hill has given her a small ray of hope for the future of S.H.I.E.L.D.

And yes, she knows that writing a new textbook isn’t the most thrilling of assignments, but she has a feeling that she would enjoy the challenge. Either way, someone will have to do it. It’s about time that forgotten names such as Edwin Jarvis, Robert Dooley, Jack Thompson and Daniel Sousa got their stories told and the credit they deserve.

~-.-~

God, his head hurts.

Each time he thinks his anger is subsiding, an intrusive thought pokes its way into his mind and rekindles it again. The worst part is he doesn’t have anyone to take his anger out on because he’s the only one to blame.

It’s his fault. He shouldn’t have gone to the Hampers’ dinner party all that time ago. Such a small decision would have saved so many lives! He wouldn’t have met Maria, he wouldn’t have fallen in love with her, he wouldn’t have gotten the poor woman pregnant and have to admit he’s the father.

He takes another swig of the near-empty bottle.

But no, he had to be an idiot and go to the damn party. Not only that, he had to be the stupid womaniser he i- he was, and offer to take her home. And then she’d had the audacity to refuse him- which was a first for him- which made him all the more interested in her. And now he was stuck with upcoming fatherhood without a single clue of what to do.

He has no idea if it’s going to be a boy or a girl- hell, it doesn’t even matter since he’ll screw it up either way. And because the whole world has its eyes on him at all times, everyone will see how much he’s fucking up, too! And then then his entire reputation (which he built up from nothing) will be ruined. His life will be ruined, and so will Maria’s, and so will their unborn child’s.

He moves to take another long drink from his bottle of scotch, but when he realises it’s empty he lets out a low growl.

“Damn it!” He cries, thrusting the bottle across his workshop. It shatters against the wall, and shards of glass drop down like shimmering, deadly rainfall with a soft clinking sound as they hit the floor.

Great. Look, that’s another mess he’s responsible for.

But damn did that feel good.

In a sudden desperate frenzy, his eyes scan the room for any other glass items. In the corner of the workshop, on one of the tables, is a prototype self-charging electric torch. At the moment it doesn’t look like that though, just a mess of bits of circuitry and glass.

Perfect.

He hurries over to pick it up and lob it against the wall. Once again, it shatters and falls to the ground, only this time it's accompanied by sparks as weeks of hard work are destroyed in the process.

Who needs a self-charging torch, anyway? What a stupid idea thought up by a stupid man.

“Sir!”

He races over to the far end of the workshop to pick up a handful of lightbulbs and is just about to throw them when he feels two strong arms wrap around him from behind, pinning his arms to sides.

Jarvis.

“Let go of me!” He shouts, writhing against his butler’s grip. But Jarvis is a lot taller than he is and manages to lift him off the ground.

“Calm..! Down..!” Jarvis says through gritted teeth as he strains to keep his hold on him.

In retaliation to being restrained, Howard drops the bulbs in his hand. They fall and smash on Jarvis’s shoes, causing the man to yelp and let go of him in shock.

“HA!” Howard screams in both hysterics and triumph as he rushes away from Jarvis and plans his next move. Jarvis seems preoccupied with hopping on the spot for some reason and his head is bowed, so he could probably sprint over there and clock him in the jaw without too much of an issue.

So that’s what he does. He rushes toward Jarvis and is about to strike before Jarvis somehow catches both of his wrists and holds them as tight as cuffs.

“Calm down.” He repeats sternly, holding Howard’s arms in such a way that he has no choice but to look up at his butler’s eyes. “You’re drunk, Sir.”

Howard vaguely remembers drinking. There was a bottle, wasn’t there? Oh yeah, there was... that’s what he’d thrown in the first place. But then why is he drunk?

He remembers Maria’s ever-growing baby bump and he lets out a low growl.

“You have no idea-” He begins to snarl, but Jarvis cuts him off.

“Yes, you’re right, I do have no idea.” He says softly but firmly, and Howard can’t help but feel like he’s being told off. “So why don’t you sit down and calmly tell me about it, hm? Rather than destroy months of work?”

That does sound like a sensible idea. It was Jarvis’s idea, of course it would be sensible. Jarvis is a very sensible person.

“Hmm.” He says in reply, and he hears Jarvis let out a small exhale as he releases his hands (damn that man was surprisingly strong) and sits down on one of the workshop’s stools, beckoning Howard to join.

Howard reluctantly obeys. He doesn’t want to be told off by Jarvis again.

“Now,” his butler begins once Howard has sat down, “what’s bothering you?”

The ‘this time’ isn’t said, but Howard knows it’s being strongly implied.

Howard just scoffs and waves him off. “Pshh, you wouldn’t understand, Jarvis. It’s not like you have any kids.”

Something flashes behind Jarvis’s eyes for a brief second, and a sliver of guilt finds its way into Howard’s heart. Not that he can figure out why, and right now he doesn’t really want to.

“Ah.” Is all Jarvis says. “You’re worried about being a father.”

Howard lets out a humorless snort. “Good observation. Do I pay you for that?”

He doesn’t respond to what Howard thinks is a top-quality joke, and instead he lets out a long sigh.

“And what exactly do you have to worry about, Sir?”

See, Jarvis has this voice. This soft, caring, empathetic voice that only comes out when he needs it most. Howard doesn’t know if he puts it on or that’s just what his voice sounds like when heard by drunken ears, but he has this voice that can always soften him, no matter the situation. Granted, sometimes it takes longer to get through to him than other times, but it always does in the end. And, in the end, it usually results in Howard turning into a sobbing mess and spilling his guts to him.

A choked sob crawls its way out of his throat. “I… I just…”

His attempt at trying to explain is cut short when the tears begin to flow freely. Knowing that he is way past any dignity at this point, Howard gives up on talking and decides to try and cry it out.

Jarvis watches but makes no move to comfort him. Because Jarvis knows him, and he knows that he’d rather die than admit that he’s crying or that he needs comforting. And he can trust Jarvis to not mention it in the morning. Still… his butler watches him with worry in his eyes.

After what feels like hours, Howard clears his throat.

“Hey, uh, Jarvis?” He says eventually, his voice slurred. “D’you mind telling me I’m gonna get it right? That… that I’m not gonna fuck it up?” In that voice, he stops himself from adding.

The man sighs. “It won’t be simple, but you’ll pull through, Sir. Your love for Maria and your child won’t let you… mess things up. I have full faith in you. You have people all around you to help.”

Jarvis had been sitting beside him silently the whole time, and Howard knows that without him the entire workshop would be trashed by now. But he feels reassured because Jarvis is a sensible person and if Jarvis says something he’s probably right.

He yawns. “Thanks.”

Suddenly he feels very tired. He closes his eyes, perfectly happy to fall asleep right there on the stool, when firm fingers grab his arm tightly. “Hey-”

“You should go to bed. It’s very late and Mrs Stark must be waiting for you.”

It’s only then does Howard realise that Jarvis has been in his stupid-looking pajamas the whole time. The realisation is so funny that once he lets out an initial snort, he can’t stop laughing, so Jarvis has to half-carry him out of the workshop and back up to his room. That limey bastard had come all the way in his pjs to check on him.

Maria is somehow wide awake when Jarvis opens the door, and she curses quietly before taking him from Jarvis’s care and into her own. He vaguely thinks that Jarvis offers to help but Maria shoos him off.

Howard would much prefer Maria’s hands all over him, anyways.

She tuts at him and leads him to the bathroom, mumbling incoherently. Howard groans in response to whatever the hell she’s saying and she glares at him.

“You’re lucky Mr Jarvis found you. We’re talking about this in the morning.”

This time she speaks more clearly. It hurts his head.

But the words pull through, and all of a sudden he wishes he’ll get assassinated in the middle of the night rather than face his wife in the morning.

~-.-~

Ana knows that she and Edwin both owe their lives to Howard Stark. But that doesn’t mean that they have to spend every hour of every day bending at the knee for him. Yes, without his help she would almost certainly be dead (and Edwin definitely so), but it was done out of kindness. Stark isn’t divine, nor is he a particularly good man anymore.

So why on Earth her dear Edwin is having to leave their bed in the middle of the night to go and help him is beyond her.

It started happening a few months ago, when Mrs Stark’s pregnancy was really starting to show and Mr Stark was getting more and more anxious about it. The only problem is that when Mr Stark gets anxious, he usually turns to alcohol- and that doesn’t end well for anybody. Especially poor Edwin, with the amount of times he’s had to carry a drunken Howard up the stairs and clean up whatever mess he’s made that time.

She keeps on telling him that he should ask one of the other, younger members of the staff to clean it up but Edwin will hear none of it. The excuse he gives is something to do with Mr Stark’s privacy and faith in him, but Ana knows that the real reason is Edwin’s own insecurity and stubborn belief that he must serve Howard Stark until the end of his days to pay off his debt.

And today, even when he is halfway across the world, Edwin still leaves his bed to talk to a drunk Howard Stark on the telephone.

The bedroom door finally opens, and her husband stumbles in. Exhaustion radiates off him but it is nowhere near as much as when he has to physically help his boss. His eyes are alarmingly red and she can spot the wrinkles on his brow which is a worrying sign.

“Is Mr Stark alright?” She asks, trying not to let her voice reveal just how irritated she is at having her husband stolen away from her in the extremely early hours of the morning. She can be grateful to Howard Stark during the day, but at night she just wants a peaceful sleep with Edwin.

Edwin rubs his right eye and sighs. “He’s just had an argument with Maria. She was especially angry, this time and he needed me to calm him down.”

If Ana was slightly irritated before, she could definitely feel burning hot anger bubbling up inside of her now. Howard Stark had no right to ruin their night just because he couldn’t get over himself and his silly pride.

“He needed you?” She asks skeptically.

“Apparently so. Maria was just having a hard time settling into the hotel and decided to take it out on Mr Stark.”

Maria had left the manor earlier than evening to begin the journey to visit her parents and was planning to break up the journey by staying at a hotel overnight somewhere along the way.

Ana wants to know more about the argument and if Maria is alright, but whenever she asks about Mr Stark’s more… personal affairs, Edwin always brushes her off with some excuse about the man’s privacy. And while she respects that, it does rekindle her worries about who her husband prioritises: himself, or Mr Stark.

She pulls back their quilt to allow Edwin to slip back in, which he does with a small smile. Stress is still written all over his face though, and Ana knows that she has to step in or else he won’t get a wink of sleep.

“I still don’t think he needed you.” She says once he’s comfortable beside her. “That man is in his fifties, he doesn’t need you to coddle him.���

Edwin lets out a long sigh and she feels a twinge of guilt for bringing up the subject. But she knows that he will never rest if the issue isn’t resolved.

“He has nobody else to turn to.” Is Edwin’s weak retort.

“Poppycock!” Ana scoffs. “That man has at least a hundred servants, why can’t he bother one of them for once?”

“He-” Noticing that Edwin is about to spout his usual defence, she quickly cups his face to silence him.

“I’m sure he has done favours for some of the others too, dear. You’ve already given your life to him, what more can he want?”

After Ana lowers her hands he immediately shuffles in bed to face her. His eyes are filled with uncertainty and she wishes she could bear all of his burdens on his behalf and share his pain. Maybe then she could see the relaxed man that she hasn’t seen in months.

“He’s also my friend. I’m doing what I would do for any of my friends. And besides, you know that he’s a danger to himself and others, if I don’t step in there could be a disaster. It’s lucky that he decided to call me before doing anything drastic so I could talk him down.”

He’s showing no signs of backing down and though Ana hates that it has come to this, she must be direct and end the conversation here and now.

So she looks him in the eye and says gently: “He’s taking advantage of you, kedvesem. You’re as much of a tool to him as any of his screwdrivers in the workshop, and you’re the only one who can’t see this.”

There’s a heavy silence that fills their dimly-lit bedroom. She watches as the words slowly sink into Edwin, revelation coursing through his veins, and soon his hardened eyes begin to melt away into a sadness that causes her own heart to ache.

“He’s… he’s not.” He whispers at last, and she knows that the words aren’t directed at her. “He… Howard isn’t like that, he wouldn’t…”

He rolls over so that he has his back to her and Ana’s aching heart shatters into a million pieces.

“He’s not the same as he used to be.” She soothes softly, moving to grasp his hand under the covers. “He doesn’t deserve what you give to him, and I think that you and I both need to take a break from him. From both of them.” He doesn’t seem to react when she rubs his back in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Spend some time with just the two of us, hmm?”

Edwin lets out a broken sob.

He is finally realising what she has known for months. Edwin is too trusting and far too willing to give his life in order to serve others, and Howard Stark is an opportunistic man. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

After turning him back over to her side, she wordlessly wraps his large frame into her significantly smaller arms, stroking his hair as his shoulders shake while he weeps quiet tears into her. It is late, he has been very stressed lately, and he has just had to deal with a very difficult phone call. Her words simply tipped him over the edge into a long-awaited cry.

As he continues to sob, Ana believes she can hear some commotion happening over in Stark Manor. A few seconds later, she can see lights being switched on from her window. She chooses to ignore it though. Whatever is happening, her husband’s grief is much more important.

Once he is all cried out and she has gently wiped the tears away from his eyes, he utters a quiet thanks before moving to rest his head on the pillow and lie flat on his back. Ana moves forward to plant a small kiss on his forehead before doing the same herself.

They lie in silence for a few moments until Edwin speaks up.

"Ana, darling, I don't think I will be able to fall asleep at present."

It is just as she feared. Sitting up, she smiles a little tiredly. "Do you want to go and sit in the living room for a bit? We can plan our little getaway."

Although they are both in desperate need of sleep, they have just had an impromptu heavy conversation and they need to step away from the tension still lingering in the bedroom.

"Yes… I'd like that."

They move into the living room and sit down on their sofa together. She instinctively cuddles up to him and he wraps one arm around her to pull her close.

"So," she begins, the atmosphere around them already a lot lighter, "why don't we go to Scotland? You said you wanted to visit and I have always wanted to see the big hairy cows."

Edwin chuckles and Ana feels accomplished.

"Highland cows aren't exactly majestic beasts, my dear." He says and she pouts playfully. "But I think Scotland sounds like a great idea. I haven't been there in years."

Ana's heart flutters at the image of a young Edwin walking along a dainty Scottish country path in his old uniform, eyes full of wonder. She wonders if she could convince him to recreate that look.

"Well, I guess that's settled then. Scotland it i-"

There's a sharp, frantic knock at the door causing them both to jump. A loud female voice soon follows it.

"Mr Jarvis! Ana! Mr Jarvis, please, it's an emergency!"

Edwin is the first to recover as he rises and rushes to go and pull on his dressing gown before opening the door. Ana peers over his shoulder.

It's Miss Jennifer Bailey, the head maid. She looks panicked but somewhat relieved when Edwin answers the door.

"Mrs Stark's gone into labour," she blurts out, "and she's asked for you both. Get ready and hurry, we need to meet her at the hospital!"

She's running back towards the mansion before either of them can respond. Ana is only able to mutter "Oh my goodness" before Edwin suddenly pushes past her back into the house and into their room.

It's almost frightening how quickly he switches from her loving husband into a dog for the Starks.

Then it hits her that Maria is about to give birth, and she too hurries inside to get changed.

Minutes later, they are appropriately dressed and in the car with a bag of supplies, and Edwin is driving through the gates of the property with Miss Bailey sitting in the backseat.

So much for their break from the Starks.

[jostenneil]

thank you lis @xingiu for the tag! this is pick your favorite fanfic tropes 

1. slow burn or love at first sight / i immensely enjoy both but when done well i find love at first sight to be incredibly entertaining. it can be a bit corny and unrealistic obv but i like seeing ppl who fall head over heels for each other and prematurely enter a relationship, only to have to learn how to actually navigate it afterward 

2. fake dating or secret dating / i don’t particularly care for either 

3. enemies to lovers or best childhood friends to lovers / i'm a diehard edwin fan therefore this is the only conceivable answer. not to say that i don’t love enemies to lovers bc in its best iterations i definitely do, but the latter calls to me more esp bc there is so much you recognize and understand about a person you’ve known since you were children 

4. there’s only one bed or long distance correspondence / it’s about the angst of separation and going your respective ways bc each of you has your own goals or part to play in the greater landscape of the world! love it love it 

5. hurt/comfort or amnesia / i don’t think these are rly comparable tbh and both pack their punches really well. i am amnesia trope lover obv as someone who has extensively read through nearly the entire clamp catalogue and i am a hurt/comfort lover bc it’s literally the only thing i am capable of writing myself. (also here is one of the best amnesia trope fics absolutely ever, to bnha fans) 

7. mutual pining or domestic bliss / from a strictly fanfic perspective domestic bliss is just not something i am interested in or think about much like i have even tried to think about domestic things with characters i like and inevitably it always turns into angst, so 

8. smut or fluff / this is only bc fluff tends to severely annoy me with it’s mischaracterizations, and that’s not to say that smut can’t be totally ooc either but usually the good stuff is written well and with a pointed purpose that i can appreciate 

9. canon compliant or canon divergence / i am a naruto fan 

10. reincarnation or major character death / i don’t actually read a lot of fics with this trope but it’s something i think about regularly when i write meta so it’s kind of the same thing. reincarnation mostly feels like a copout to me with the only exception being clamp’s brand of it because it’s not just a throwaway thing done at the end of the story and is actually an extensive plot device 

12. kid fic or pregnancy / neither due to similar reasoning for domestic bliss 

13. arranged marriage or accidental marriage / it’s about the aaaaaangst. i only think people of color should be allowed to write about these things tho 

14. high school romances or aged-up romances / ig? i don’t really read a lot for fandoms where high school romances would come up. i like focusing on that college period instead usually esp if it’s about like how people drift apart after high school but coincidentally cross paths years later. good angsty stuff 

15. time travel or isolated together / idc about either 

16. neighbors or roommates / i like these in books but in fanfic idc 

17. sci-fi au or magic au / i don’t like reading aus in fanfic 

18. angst or crack / amy made a meme for me that said writing about characters’ trauma 24/7 on twitter is not therapy get help. so i think that explains this one quite aptly 

19. apocalyptic or mundane / [pulls up several tweets where i talk about the worth in stories about normal people doing everyday things and still suffering bc ultimately they’re human and have a capacity to hurt and be hurt] 

20. linear storyline or nonlinear storyline / either is fine and depends more on the mastery of the writer than the use of the trope itself 

21. holiday fic or birthday fic / these are just lukewarm aus so idc about these either 

22. love triangle or miscommunication / since this is talking about fanfic i’m going to say neither bc it’s honestly not something i look for at all. but i am a staunch advocate for love triangles and miscommunication in published media bc when used well they’re exquisite. unfortunately a lot of mainstream media does not use them well so it’s lead to complaints over the years but i have good taste and don’t suffer from that problem. amen 

i’m not going to tag anyone bc i honestly do not have a lot of mutuals i actually talk to on here gjdfkhjldgf but feel free to do it anyway! 

[takadasaiko]

In Defense of Howard Stark

The Marvel Cinematic Universe doesn’t have a shortage of layered, fascinating characters. It’s always easy to hyper focused on the ones we love most, and that’s the excuse I roll with for why it’s taken me so long to find my fascination with Howard Stark. Up until the last few months I looked at him through the lense of who he was to other characters. He was Tony’s father, Steve’s friend, and co-founder of SHIELD with Peggy Carter. He filled roles, but I didn’t look closer for a long time. I didn’t have any reason to.

Then came the Great MCU Rewatch that happened post-Endgame. It wasn’t until I had Dominic Cooper’s Howard stacked back-to-back with John Slattery’s Howard that I started to dig into him. We meet a young man in Captain America: The First Avenger, the Peggy Carter short, and two seasons of the Agent Carter series on ABC. He’s brilliant and goofy, rarely serious unless he’s discussing his work. It’s a stark contrast with the older Howard we meet through John Slattery’s version. Either there was a catastrophic miscommunication between the writers, the directors, and the actors on who Howard Stark was supposed to be, or something caused that shift. The moment I settled on the latter, Howard went from a supporting character whose only use was to help round out others around him to a truly interesting, layered and even broken man.  I became fascinated with piecing together that journey. I needed to know what took this man

to a man that his own son described as cold and distant.

I had been using Howard to help deepen my understanding of others, and in the same way, taking a look at those that he keeps close to him and how he treats them helps to shed light on who he is.

Who Howard Surrounds Himself With

Howard wasn’t raised with the same economic and social privilege that he was able to provide to his son in later years. In S1 of Agent Carter he tells Peggy that he was raised on the Lower East Side to a father that sold fruit and a mother that was a seamstress in a factory, going on to tell her how he’d learned to lie to break through the ceiling society had placed for someone like him.

Yet as of S2 of Agent Carter Howard was in high demand at a club that wouldn’t have let him within a hundred feet of if he hadn’t made the fortune that he did with Stark Industries. With that background matched with the contacts he would have made after Stark Industries took off, I think it’s safe to say that Howard knew people from every walk of life.  

There were the less savory types:

Joe Manfredi and Howard grew up together and the mobster had no trouble reaching out to Howard years later for help when his kinda crazy girlfriend Whitney Frost went over the edge and into territory even he was uncomfortable with.

And while we may not know how he met Obadiah Stane, the other man wormed his way so deeply into Howard’s life and career that he was poised to manipulate his son after his death.

We don’t know a lot about those other than the fact that Howard wasn’t opposed to shady characters.

There’s something interesting in the more positive friendships that he keeps though.

Edwin Jarvis is a fascinating character. Howard’s butler is that and more. We see him stick with Howard through thick and thin. Through countless girlfriends that he was the bearer of bad news to

through disagreements, and he was with the Stark family long enough that Tony was influenced by him enough that he based his AI system off of him. Jarvis himself tells Peggy the story of how he met and came to work for Howard Stark in S1 of Agent Carter, shedding light on yet another layer of the complicated man:

Jarvis met his wife Ana during the war. She was Hungarian. Moreover, she was Hungarian-Jew in the middle of Europe overrun by nazis. Jarvis fell hard, but the general that he worked for wouldn’t help, even though he could have done so easily. So Jarvis forged his signature. He was found out and would have been tried for treason, but Howard - who had had business dealings with the general - stepped in and used his influence to save not only Edwin, but Ana as well.

There was no indication that Howard expected anything in return, but Jarvis remained loyal and steady.

And then there’s Peggy.

I could go on for days about Howard and Peggy’s friendship. I love it dearly, and feel that we need more friendships like it on television.

He flirts with her, he teases her, but in the end he respects no one quite like he does Margaret Carter.

Howard is a self-admitted liar. He felt that he had to become one in order to break free from the ceiling that society put over him in his youth. He doesn’t trust easily and, even when he does, he still hides behind a quirky, playboy mask meant to obscure anything of any real depth under frivolous layers. To get to the level of success he found himself in at such a young age he had to build up an imperviousness to others’ opinions of him. He flaunts in most cases, but, for better or worse, he does care about how Peggy views him.

She’s the one he turns to to clear his name at the beginning of the first season of Agent Carter and the only one that can talk him out of the mire of his own deepest regrets at the end of the same season.

The funny thing is that, for all his determination that he doesn’t really care how people see him, Howard seems to keep people closest to him that will keep him in check. Jarvis and Peggy, especially. They don’t pull punches and they call him on his shit.

If it’s a conscious choice or even a subconscious one, Howard surrounds himself with people that will hold him accountable. I’d put good money on the fact that Maria did too.

The Way He Treats Others

One of our earlier introductions to Howard is in Iron Man 2 where Tony tells Fury that his father had been cold and distant. He never told Tony that he liked him, much less that he loved him.

Fury indicated that he knew a very different man, and through Dominic’s Howard we (the audience) meet a very different man as well, which leads me to think that Howard struggles with expressing real, honest feelings rather than actually having them. It makes sense, given his explanation at two different points in the first season of Agent Carter that, to break through the barriers society had tried to force on him, he’d learned to hide behind lies and an indifference to what others thought about him. We see that that often leads him to come across as shallow and arrogant. He doesn’t, and seems not to even know how to express those truer feelings except in very rare circumstances, but we see glimpses in the way he treats people.

Edwin and Ana Jarvis are a fantastic example, as mentioned earlier. Here were people that he didn’t really know, people that he owed nothing to, yet he went out of his way to protect them. He used a favour that he could have hoarded away for more selfish purposes and gave it to them to save their lives. In return he was given loyalty, but there was no expectation on that.

Howard holds true to his playboy persona as well as, if not perhaps better than his son would in later years, but despite the flirtation (which he always manages to work into their conversations), Howard shows time and again the respect that he holds for Peggy Carter. While she’s fighting for her colleagues’ respect in the post-war SSR, she’s the one Howard reaches out to to clear his name. She’s the one that he trusts to protect him when his life is on the line. And when she needs help, it’s hers for the taking. A flight that the Army won’t take because it’s too dangerous? All Peggy had to do was ask. Twice when she needed a place to stay, he offered his own home(s) to her, and in S2 he dove straight in to help her on her case without any hesitation.

In S2 of the Agent Carter series we meet Jason Wilkes, a brilliant scientist who works for a company that becomes the center of the season’s investigation. The rarity of being a black man in his position is used against him when his company sets him up as a scapegoat. Not only is Howard eager to help him, work with him to clear his name, and reinstate his corporeal form (long story, but if you haven’t seen the Agent Carter series I highly recommend it!), but he sets him up in Stark Industries after all is said and done to help him run the Malibu labs on a new pet project.

For all of his faults and complications, Howard has a trend of helping to support and even protect those that the society of his time is set against. A Jewish woman and her fiancé facing the nazis, a brilliant female agent fighting enemies as well as men around her that have faith in her failure, and a talented black scientist whose company has used and thrown away when convenient.  We see the kindness in his actions, in the respect that he gives others that society would prefer not to be bothered with.

So how did he miss the mark so badly with his own son? He gave him things, opened doors for Tony that he’d had to force open himself, but (at least according to Tony) he missed expressing any sort of affection for him. Personally, in light of the other relationships that we actually get to see as they’re taking place, I’m inclined to think that he didn’t know how to express his love in a way that an already struggling child could understand. He tinkered on cars with him and he built an organization that would keep the world (and his family) safe. Perhaps to Howard, more importantly, he kept his distance, thus allowing his son the chance to grow into his own man. Someone not quite like him.

The thing is, even if it went against everything he wanted, there was no getting around that. Just as I imagine that Howard inherited a few more traits from his own father than he would have ever admitted to, Tony inherited some from him. Both the good and the bad.

Howard’s Personality Traits

Marvel is a parallel haven. In many ways the universe that they’ve created feels like one long, fantastical TV show with 3+ hour episodes. One of the perks of that is the multiple nods they’ve made and parallels they’ve drawn. It’s through those parallels that I found between Howard and Tony that sunk me deeper and deeper into exploring Howard’s personality. Robert said it best:

(gif made by and borrowed from @erikisright​)

Much in the same way that we meet Tony in Iron Man 1, the Howard of Captain America: The First Avenger and the Agent Carter short and series secures himself behind a mask of indifference to public opinion. He has a good time and doesn’t give a damn who knows it. When focused on work, he’s focused

but as soon as the war’s over he’s living the life of the playboy millionaire. He spends his time gallivanting around as much as inventing. He flaunts it. His money, his success. It’s the mask he hides behind to protect himself from the world, and the one that he feels like he has to hide behind. Afterall…

There’s no question that Howard has his fair share of less-than-desirable traits, but as we’ve discussed, he has some good ones as well. One that I found surprising, personally, is that he takes responsibility. Maybe not in his personal life (sorry, Jarvis, but it’s on you to handle Howard’s breakups apparently), but in his work. If he feels that he’s fallen short, he owns it, repeatedly to the point of putting his own life in danger.

In the first season finale for Agent Carter, after spending eight episodes on the run to clear his name, he waltzes himself into the SSR to give the full story and offer himself up as bait. It’s his fault, he tells them, despite not designing the invention stolen to cause harm, it’s still his, and he’ll own up to his responsibility there, both at the time and the damage it had caused during the war. In S2, after an invention fails, he offers himself up to go in and switch it on manually (putting himself at exceptional risk) because he ‘designed it poorly’. He doesn’t get the chance to do it, but he’s ready and willing to.

On the flip side (and also a trait that took me by surprise) he gives credit where it’s due.

Despite having to lie and possibly claw his way to the top, he’s consistently willing to both offer a hand to those that he can as well as make sure that he’s acknowledging their contribution, despite the fact that he believes that many successful scientists steal other people’s work for themselves. 

Tony must have come by his tendencies to fixate by way of his father. Much like his son, Howard shows time and time again that he leans into his obsessive personality. It ranges from a hyper-focus on work to coffee to a good time by any means he can find it, and even to the guilt that we see him holding onto in those few private, honest moments we catch a glimpse of.

We see it in the way that he held onto the guilt over what happened to the Russian soldiers at Finow when his Midnight Oil was misused and ended up killing hundreds of Allied soldiers. He did everything he could to set the situation as right as it could be set - he faced down the general that had stolen the oil only to get his ass handed to him, forced the general to step down, ended a seven-figure contract with the Army, and created a vault to better protect designs and inventions that could hurt innocent people - yet we see how it still weighs on him years later.

I think it’s the guilt at never being able to find Steve that eventually shifts him from Dominic’s Howard to John’s. That lively, goofy man is broken year after year by the failure of not being able to find or save a man that he holds up on a pedestal. He fixates on it to the point that his own son feels that he cared more about Captain America than him. Really, there’s so much in this theory that I’ve had battering around my head for the last couple of months or so that it deserves its own post. I’ll put it on the writing docket.

All in all, Howard Stark is an easy character to overlook or to flatten out with partial information. The Agent Carter series does wonders to add depth to him by giving us time to get to know him. Time that we don’t get through newsreels and the off story that Tony tells.

Part of an interesting character is their layers, both the good and the bad. Much like Tony, I feel that the more I learn about Howard Stark, the more I come to realize that he was a man trying his best. Sure, maybe his best didn’t match up in a lot of ways, but I think there’s something to be said for each generation of Starks doing just a little bit better than the one that came before them in whatever way that they can.

[forgcdstrength]

Isaac Reuben Gerde-Jarvis

“As has always been the case, I don’t require your help.”

NAME: Izsak Reuben Jarvis

AGE: 16

PARENTS: Edwin and Ana Jarvis (adopted)

DOB: May 30, 1932

PLACE OF BIRTH: Budapest, Hungary

ORIENTATION: demiromantic bisexual

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin

FACE-CLAIM: Charlie Rowe

MAIN VERSE: canon; post-Agent Carter season two

Biography:

Isaac Reuben Jarvis was born Reuben Gerde in Budapest, Hungary, on May 30, 1932. For the first twelve years of his life, he had a fairly happy existence with his parents and younger sister, the happy and safe feeling of being in his home and with his family only interrupted by the turbulence around him. It was that knowledge of how cruel the world could be that made him increasingly protective of his family, particularly his sister. She was sweet and soft, and he would do what he could to protect her and keep her that way.

Mama and Papa made sure that they both knew to run from the house if strangers came at night; they made sure that they could, to a small degree, protect themselves and do the right things if something went wrong… if they encountered the worst case scenarios that were part of daily life for Hungarian Jews.

Then came the awful, unforgettable night in 1944 when one of those scenarios played out right outside the siblings’ bedroom door. As their parents were brought out of one room, Isaac took his sister’s hand, and they slipped out the window of the other. The two of them ran, frightened and with Isaac only barely oriented enough to lead her into the alley behind their apartment. They hid, clinging to one another with ears straining to hear anything they could of what was going on in the apartment they called home. He wishes that they hadn’t been listening; the only thing they heard were two gunshots before the soldiers moved onto the next apartment. Realizing the massacre that was happening, Isaac forced himself and his sister to start running… and for three of the longest years of his life, they never stopped running in one way or another.

They lived on the streets, doing whatever they could – just short of killing any other person – to survive. He did odd jobs, learned to pick pockets and steal from stores without being caught. His sister would slip away from him sometimes, never telling him what she was doing, always returning with money and eyes rimmed red. She pretended she didn’t cry about it; he pretended he didn’t know what she was doing, but she hated it, and he suspected she hated herself for it. And that was what he hated.

So, when she began to talk of surrendering themselves to an orphanage instead of living as they had been, he gave in. While the living was certainly more comfortable in the orphanage – at least in some aspects – it found them all but completely separated from one another for a whole year.

Then came another life-changing day – the say he and his sister were introduced to Edwin and Ana Jarvis, a childless couple from America. Within only a week, the Jarvis’s – who had returned to Mrs. Jarvis’s birthplace for the express purpose of adopting – asked the siblings to become a part of their family. Suddenly Reuben Gerde, a homeless orphan of Budapest had become Isaac Jarvis, the adopted son of Edwin and Ana Jarvis.

And though Isaac found himself in a strange place where he knew no one but his sister, though he was still troubled by the past that had made him so guarded and un-trusting – and sometimes by the memories of the life he’d had with his real parents – he slowly found a way to accept the new life that the Jarvis’s had given him.

Verses:

Hungarian Horrors: (in Budapest) covering the four years after his birth parents die, but before the Jarvis’s adopt him.

Overwhelming Love: (Agent Carter verse) any threads before the foundation of SHIELD/‘50s.

Never So Shielded: (Early SHIELD days) Isaac’s growing up, relearning how to look at the world as less than a threat at every turn, even as those that she loves are building an organization to protect the world from the threats that they do face.

Years Young: (modern day verse) Isaac is elderly now, and as much of a grumpy man as he ever was. At least his mind has held up as he finds himself attached at his replaced hip to a walker in his old age.

AUs

So Many Ways To Be: (Descendants) son of Drusilla, later taken in by fairy god-mother

Ever Ever After: (Fairytale) peasant

Borrowed Babies: (Foster Care) foster son of dead parents

I Solemnly Swear That I’m Up To No Good: (Harry Potter) Slytherin fifth-year

Alternatively 1902: (Victorian) an orphan taken off the streets by a butler and his wife

Grow Up With the Land: (Wild West) an orphan from the orphan train taken in by the owners of a general store

Forward to Victory: (World War II) an alternative, fandomless version of their main Agent Carter verse where Naomi and Isaac find their way onto a ship bound for America rather than live on the streets of Hungary.

Starter Call

[shxwmaster]

anonymous said: I keep rereading the comment from Flynn in the new page preview, and it got my shipper heart thinking: in your expert Shaw opinion, what do you think it would mean for Fairshaw if Edwin were actually still alive? I know it's not a plausible thought, but how would your Shaw and his relationships - romantic or not - be affected if he learned (in some wild turn of events) that Vancleef was alive?

—

I... have no idea.

     There are SO SO many variables to this that it’s hard to really nail down an exact response, but I’m gonna walk through it carefully and see what I can get.

     FOR STARTERS, in my canon, Van/Shaw was 100% a thing. They were a romantic couple, and had intended to spend all their time together as spies. Shaw trained VanCleef personally so that he could join the SI:7 and they’d be together, and all was great!! Side-tangent, in the new page, Shaw writes how he didn’t know Vanessa existed, and that’s the tiny detail I was talking about how I’m ignoring that since that just... doesn’t jive with me. Mathias knew of Vanessa, met her when she was born. It’s important to the story I have that he know her.

     Anyways! Variables.

Scenario 1: VanCleef lived because he did not riot / unionize, and the Defias never exist.

     In this scenario, if the Defias never rose up, if the Stonemasons did not riot for whatever reason, either they were actually paid or they just had to take their losses and move on (like how Baros Alexston simply accepted the role of becoming the city architect), then it’s likely VanCleef would have stayed with Shaw as originally planned and become an SI:7 agent alongside with him. They would have been an official couple.

     Remember how I mentioned Vanessa? See, in this post I go into it briefly, but to rehash that point in its last paragraph, Pathonia expected an heir to the SI:7 and Assassin’s Guild (given that Pathonia passed it down to bloodline rather than to another agent, and given that it’s a powerful empire of sorts she’s built, she’d see herself as a queen in her own right, and thus pass things down that way) so when Vanessa was born, Pathonia full well anticipated that Edwin and Mathias would raise her up to be worthy of taking on that mantle the way Mathias has.

     That would be the plan. Edwin and Mathias live their dangerous happily ever after and Vanessa follows in their footsteps.

     Which means there’d be no room for Mathias to fall in love with Flynn, unless if for whatever reason Mathias was widowed prior to BFA, then Flynn would serve a parallel purpose as he does in current, which is becoming the symbol of learning to love again. But Mathias would be a dad in this case, and that love story would come from a different but very interesting walk of life. I kind of dig it? But again RIP Edwin if that were to happen LMAO

Scenario 2: Everything happens as normal EXCEPT adventurers don’t kill him (but it’s common knowledge that VanCleef is still Out There)

     This is a sad scenario because I think it’s a lifelong hunt for Mathias to try to find him and constantly have to hunt him down. There’d be a lot more guilt in him falling in love with Flynn in this case because VanCleef is just. still out there — and here’s Mathias living his normal life while Edwin’s on the run and then he dares eye someone else while hunting down the other man he was ready to commit to? He’d hold Flynn at a much further distance.

     Well, at least, that’s under the assumption SI:7′s still hunting Edwin. They probably still have to since he’d caused a lot of problems like killing Tiffin for example but what if Mathias helps him disappear by pulling some strings and then just vaguely going “idk he’s out there. defias was defeated anyways it’s not like it’s a problem we don’t know where he is” so he spared his life? Him and Edwin would probably never really make up since they’re on opposite sides, so it’s just a very complicated ex. FairShaw still possible in this setting.

Scenario 3: Everything happens as normal EXCEPT adventurers don’t kill him (but no one finds out until years later / modern day)

     Okay this is probably what you meant to BEGIN WITH but I like to ramble LOL so

     This gets... very complicated.

     Assuming everything happens as normal and Mathias enters his relationship, then WHAM hey buddy your ex is alive and well and also he’s pissed

UHH

     Mathias would desperately need that closure. I think he would genuinely take the time to explain to Flynn everything, leave no stone unturned because it just wouldn’t be fair to Flynn if he didn’t do that. Flynn would have to become aware of Mathias’ history, and why it’s important that he go find Edwin and get some answers and well needed closure, but it could potentially put a strain on the fairshaw side of things because man, Mathias loved Edwin so dearly, and did not and will never forgive himself for aiding in Edwin’s “death”. I can’t imagine it’d feel nice for your bf to explain to you that their ex is alive and they need to go find them and like ugh that’s just. such a sticky situation.

     But it’s not like the vanshaw will get back together — that damage is irreparable, and there’s no WAY Edwin wouldn’t view Mathias as anything but a traitor (especially if he’s like “so you just?? left vanessa too???”) it’s ugly, it’s painful, it’s angry, and Mathias will be LUCKY if he survives at all LOL. Mathias is likely to just try to get answers and do what he can to undo some of the damage he’d done as an apology and just tell Edwin a few things he never got to tell him.

     Slightly different if he finds out Edwin’s alive before he gets together with Flynn because then that new wave of guilt comes in, scars become fresh wounds and he’s feeling everything all at once and he’d feel WAY too guilty to try to pursue Flynn again when he still has this loose end he needs to amend. But I think he’d probably just disappear for a while while he tries to deal with Edwin (again, he’d try to undo some of the damage he’d done or make up for it) and once he at least gets that closure and gets this off his consciousness, he’d be, if anything, a little more ready to enter a relationship since that’s some baggage removed. Easier to date again when you know your last ex definitely didn’t die violently LOL

—

But yeah it seems like, basically, no matter what, if Edwin was alive it’d put some manner of strain on making FairShaw work but definitely not like, impossible you know? Just with a little more baggage and complications and of course the chance that Edwin probably tries to just murder Mathias outright LOL

The timing of when Shaw would learn Edwin is still alive affects a whole lot, and Edwin being alive changes a whole lot because there’s the after effects of the Defias and where they end up when the kingpin is downed, there’s the question of “What about Vanessa” re: cataclysm resurgence of Defias, there’s whether or not we should make the House of Nobles different, whether to change aspects of the Stonemasons or not like there’s a LOT to think about that all I can say is: shit’s complicated

But you know what’d be funny? If, in the situation where Edwin’s alive and Mathias finds out after getting with Flynn and he resolves the bad blood as best he can, the mental image of Edwin and Flynn quietly and awkwardly talking about Mathias or each other and this weird incredibly tense yet not necessarily hostile relationship they’d end up with and god that’s just so goddamn funny could you imagine

edwin, looking over flynn: “smh i knew mat had a type but this is just embarrassing”

BUT YEAH THANKS FOR THE ASK this was really interesting to think about!

[winryofresembool]

Edwin fic: Coffee Shop Reunion

Summary: a cockroach attacks Winry and Ed is there to protect her (sorry I just can’t write a serious summary for this one) Coffee shop AU/modern AU

A/N: Yes, I know, the most cliched AU ever. But I’ve never written one before and I had a lot of fun with this, so I regret nothing! Who knows, MAYBE if you guys like it, I may write more, but I won’t 100% promise anything (committing to LCMTI back in the day was a Lot and I’m not mentally in a place where I can promise I’ll manage to write regular updates). But anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and please, please, review because it has a HUGE power in motivating me!

Genre: general? Bits of drama and fluff

Words: 1700+

Warnings: cockroaches :P (May also be known as Kimblee)

ao3

...

It was just another annoying, busy day at the coffee house for Edward Elric. It was only midday but he had already broken 2 cups, almost lost his temper at 3 customers who were either being rude or taking too long in deciding what they wanted to order while the line started getting longer behind them, and nearly told his boss he was quitting. He was glad he hadn’t done that, though. He really needed the money and being realistic, he knew finding another job wouldn’t be easy for someone as young and inexperienced as him. His brother was still in the hospital and someone had to pay the bills… If his good for nothing dad dared to show up one day, he had no doubt he’d punch the old man right in the face, he thought. Ed was dragged out of his violent fantasies by a new customer, one he didn’t remember seeing before. If he had, he was sure he would remember.

The customer was a young woman, around his age, Ed estimated. Her long, blonde hair was tied on a simple ponytail, and her blue eyes were measuring him as if wondering why he was working in a place like this. She was pretty, but Ed noticed that unlike many other girls that visited this coffee shop, she didn’t pay a lot of attention to her looks. Her mechanic overalls were covered with oil and she also had a tiny oil smudge on her face.

The girl must have noticed Ed’s distraction, because she asked sharply: “Hey?! Do I get service here?”

Ed was going to apologize, but something about her tone set him off. He was already frustrated because of the earlier, so instead he blurted: “What do you want?”

“I may choose another coffee shop the next time if this is how you treat customers…” The girl growled, her eyes gleaming angrily. “But anyway, I’m in a bit of a hurry so a cup of espresso and a sandwich would do. Please,” she added sarcastically.

“Coming,” Ed mumbled and started making the hot drink. One side of him wanted to add salt or pepper (or both) into the drink but he refrained from doing that, knowing this girl would surely complain to his boss, and he was already close to getting fired as he was…

Finally, he delivered the girl’s order (after procrastinating as long as he could without being worried about her attacking him for it) and proceeded to serve other customers. He was still glancing at her from the corner of his eye every once in a while when he was carrying something to that direction. Even though he hated to admit it, something about that girl had raised his curiosity. First of all, she was looking at a map. Not from some phone app, but an actual printed map. Who used those anymore besides older people? It also meant she had probably moved in recently, not yet familiar with this area, Ed concluded.

Second of all, he noticed her having a med school book on the table. A mechanic and a doctor? That sounded like a fascinating combination to Ed, who was studying chemistry and who could have also used a mechanic for his prosthetic leg. But they had just been rather rude to each other, and he wasn’t the type who would go to her and say “Oh hey, sorry about earlier, what would you say if you and I tried to get to know each other better?” So he decided to give up and try to get his mind out of that topic and focus on other customers.

A few minutes later, a dark haired man who reminded Ed of a cockroach arrived into the coffee shop. Something about him made Ed’s neck hair rise a bit despite him ordering and paying just like any other customer would. For a while the man seemed to be contemplating where to sit, and to Ed’s annoyance he found just the seat he wished that man wouldn’t leave alone – next to the blonde girl.

“Is this seat taken?” the man asked, but he had already put his coffee on the table, indicating he wasn’t going anywhere even if she said no.

“Uh, I guess it isn’t…” The girl said unnecessarily, the man already sitting when she finished her answer.

“Good. What’s the name of my pretty companion?”

The girl wondered if she should have felt complimented or annoyed, but she chose the latter. “I’m Winry.”

When she didn’t say anything else, he asked: “What are you reading?” nodding towards the girl’s book.

“Just something for school… Sorry, but I’m a bit busy here,” she took the book and tried to focus on reading it, but that wasn’t working. The man was still staring at her.

“Could you please stop watching me like that?” Winry finally said when he hadn’t moved his gaze from her for at least 3 minutes.

“What, can’t a man look at a pretty girl?”

“No, not when I don’t even know you, yet your stare screams ‘I own you’,” Winry answered honestly, trying to keep her voice calm even though it was getting hard.

“Excuse me?” The man started to lose his cool. “I have to look at something and you happen to be right in front of me.”

“Yes, because you sat right there on purpose. There are plenty of empty seats in this café yet you chose that exact spot,” Winry pointed out. She wasn’t wrong; the rush hour was already over and there weren’t that many customers around currently.

“So? It’s a free world. And you said I could sit here,” he kept insisting.

“I did not…”

“Excuse me?” Ed, who had noticed the raised voices, finally interrupted them. “Is there a problem here?”

“No,” Winry said, not wanting the rude barista to meddle in. She could handle that stranger on her own. However, the older man told Ed: “Yes. This woman said I wasn’t allowed to sit here even though it was a free seat.”

“I think that’s because you were bothering her,” Ed snarled, giving the man a glare that could have probably killed a weaker person.

“I was just sitting here!”

“Try being stared at like that for 5 minutes and then tell me if it was ‘just sitting’. You were looking at her like she’s an object!” Ed growled, each word getting more threatening. “Listen, dude. I give you two options. Either you leave her alone, or I will call the security. Or remove you from here personally.” Ed may not have been tall, but he looked like a man who stood behind his words, so the raven haired man decided to listen to him, even if just this one time. He did mumble something about Ed’s boss, though, as he passed him.

When he had left the scene, Winry spoke: “Thanks. Though you wouldn’t have had to.”

She sounded mildly defensive to Ed, to which he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow with annoyance.

“Oh OK. Well, the next time someone tries to harass you, I’ll just leave you to handle it on your own.” He grunted and turned back to go and serve other customers.

“Wait. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I mean, I appreciate your help.” Winry said quietly and gave Ed an ashamed look. She hadn’t meant to snap like that.

He took a couple of steps back towards her, his face now worried.

“Does that kind of thing happen to you often?” he asked with a lot softer voice than earlier.

“Uh… it wasn’t the first time,” Winry admitted. “But I am from a small town so it is a bit different there…”

“I’m sorry that some of us can be such idiots…” Ed shook his head, looking like he genuinely meant it. “And sorry about that earlier, I was being quite an asshole too. It’s been a rough day…”

“I guess we all have those sometimes…” Winry sighed.

“Sorry if I’m prying but can I ask where you have moved from? You see, I’m from a small place myself, moved here after my mother’s death…” Ed wasn’t sure why he mentioned that to a stranger but for some reason it felt right, like he had known her way longer than 5 minutes.

“Oh, I’m from Resembool”, Winry noted, “You probably haven’t heard of it, it’s just a small village. I moved here only 2 weeks ago.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Ed exclaimed. “I’m from there too…” The puzzle pieces started connecting in his head. “Wait a sec, I think… I think I know you. You’re Winry Rockbell, aren’t you?”

“I am, but how… Ed? Edward Elric?” Realization struck Winry as she took in the barista properly for the first time. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize that antenna, you still have it,” Winry started laughing. In reality, Ed’s golden eyes were what had given him out, but she wasn’t going to tell that to him, not yet anyway.

“Oh, nice to see you remember my antenna,” Ed said, smirking. “It’s like my trademark at this point.”

“I remember one time when our teacher was annoyed by it and tried to press it down without success,” Winry smiled at the memory.

“I still haven’t forgiven that old witch…” Ed said, pretending to be angry. “But anyway…” Suddenly he seemed a bit awkward. “I know this may feel a bit fast especially after what just happened… But if you ever want someone to show you some places here or anything… I could be interested in doing that.”

“Well, as long as you know that if you act like that creeper just did, I WILL kick your ass.” Winry smiled mischievously. “But sure, I’d like that!”

She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from her bag and gave it to Ed, who wrote his phone number down on it.

“If you don’t want to contact me, that’s fine,” he noted, “but in all honesty, some change would be nice for me too. The coffee house life can be pretty dull sometimes…”

“I believe you,” Winry nodded. “We’ll see what’s gonna happen this weekend! But I think you should go back now, there’s quite a line there.” She referred to the customers waiting to be served, and Ed realized with embarrassment he had stayed talking with her much longer than planned.

“Oh. Right. But maybe I’ll see you soon!”

“Yep, maybe.” Winry winked at him before collecting her stuff and leaving the coffee house.

[cottoncanb]

How you met (Prettymuch preference)

Brandon

Streams of sunlight tumbled into the cafe, filling it with warm, sugary light. The smell of citrus swept through the room, whirling around those who paid it any mind. Following it was the scent of chocolate, sweet and tantalizing. The two danced together to the beat of the traffic outside your little haven.

You sit in the corner of the cafe, your novel sheltering you from the noise of the world. Engrossed in the book, “The Great Gatsby”, it was your third time reading it. You’re chewing fervently at her bottom lip. The chocolate piece of skin damp as your tongue swiped over it every few minutes. Your glasses lie on your nose, framing your face, and behind them chocolate eyes skimmed over the page you are reading.

In walks a man, caramel latte coloured skin. His hair, dark and lustrous, had sheen like fine hardwood. The comparison Celeste came up with is not entirely fair, she realises. Hardwood does not swish gently as the wind caresses it like his hair does. A shiny varnish catches merely light around it, but the depths of that deep chestnut brown reflected all the radiance of his smile.

He was smiling at you.

The moment you come to this realisation you looks back at your hot chocolate, the swirls of foam enticing you as you try to distract yourself from your fluttering stomach. Your head is buzzing. He probably wasn’t even looking at you, right? Why would he? Was there something on your cheek? Maybe your bun had loosened. She raises her arms and checks to see if each braid is in place and they all are. Why are you even worrying? The likelihood of you seeing him again is slim to none. You take a sip of your hot chocolate, set the mug down and continue reading.

“That’s a great book. I’ve read it a few times myself,” a voice says. You look up and it belongs to the gorgeous stranger who is now standing in front of you.

“Oh, yeah. This is my fourth time reading it.”

“I’m Brandon.”

“Y/N.”

Edwin

The small room is full of dancers. Tall, short, thin, curvy. All of them are restless, not only are they wanting this job but also the ones who are hiring. Prettymuch is shooting a music video and they needed some female dancers. You stood in a corner, stretching trying to calm your raging nerves. Switching fluidly from one stretch to another and then stopping to adjust the number on your shirt.

“Alright, were going to have the following numbers come up and audition: 5, 9,3,17 and 20.”

You sigh as you hear your number get called out and begin to walk toward the man. You can feel your heartbeat slowly picking up with each step closer to the room. When you walk in you’re greeted by five beautiful boys, one catching your eye: Edwin.

“Each of you is going to be assigned a boy to dance with. We just want to see who is going to look good with whom for the visual purposes of the video. So, number 5 go to Brandon, nine go to Austin, three go to Zion, seventeen go to Nick and twenty make your way too Edwin.”

The moment you hear yours and his name you both look up and make up contact, a smile creeping onto Edwin’s face.

“Guess we’re together then,” he says. His arm works its way behind you and onto the small of your back, leading you to where the two of you would work together.

Already knowing the routine, you all wait for the music to start so you can dance together. Once the beat spills out of the speakers you turn to face Edwin, holding his gaze as you move closer to him and begin to dance. This is an RnB record so the dance moves are slow and sultry. Your bodies press up against each other as you move to the beat and feel not only the rhythm but each other as well.

The music winds down and you finish the routine facing one another, bodied pressed together with your chest on his. You’re both breathing heavily as the music dies down. He holds your gaze, fingers slowly trailing up and down your back.

Claps from the others in the room sound and break you out of your trance.

“You know my name; do I have the pleasure of knowing yours?” He says as he slowly lets you go.

“Y/N.”

Austin

The whir of the needle rang through the room as you sat on the chair. You’re increasing the tattoo collection you have. You have a few scattered all over your body and have now added one to your back. It went down your spine, little flowers and vines worked their way up and down your spine almost like grape vine. You had even made sure to wear a backless top, because you knew you would be proud of the new art on your body.

“Alright I think I’m done. It’s wrapped and ready to go. Just make sure you pay on your way out. Thanks for coming,” the tattoo artist said as you both stood. You thanked him and made your way to the entrance. It was full considering it was a Saturday and this was a popular spot in your city so to keep yourself occupied you went and stoop by a mirror, back turned to it so you could admire it.

The door bell rings, and two guys walk in: one is tall with a caramel tone and dreadlocks and the other catches your eye, tall, blonde and beautiful. The blonde Adonis makes eye contact with you through the mirror and holds your gaze as he walks. He tears his gaze away from you and goes to set an the reception.

For a moment, you’re confused. Do you want to go and get a closer look at him or should you just leave it because you probably won’t see him again? He’s too beautiful to be common so what would you gain. Fuck it. You get up and walk toward the reception desk, you had to pay for your tattoo anyways. This was a win-win situation: you get to pay for your tattoo and see the gorgeous man. Standing on his left side you opt to observe and not speak to him.

“Your tattoo is cool,” a smooth voice says to you and you connect the dots and figure out who it’s owner is.

“Yeah? Thanks. Hurt like a bitch cause it’s on my spine but, hey, beauty is pain right?”

“Well I’m sure you know nothing about that, you’re naturally beautiful. I’m Austin, nice to meet you…”

“Y/N.”

Nick

The room buzzed with excitement as you and twenty other girls waited for the Prettymuch boys to make an appearance. You were at a special event, an exclusive listening party for an EP they were working on.

Not to sound like a wattpad cliché but you did want to get the attention of your favourite member; Nick. With this in mind you made sure you looked your best. You’re wearing a black body con dress that was just above the knees and a pair of sneakers. Simple but you hoped it would get his attention. That and the fact that you bathed in a Victoria’s Secret perfume so you smelt of flowers and seduction.

The door creeks open, silencing the conversations that had started amongst you and the others and you all turn your heads towards it. Edwin walks in first, followed by Zion, Nick, Austin and finally Brandon.

“Hey guys. Thank you all so much for coming today. We really appreciate all the love and support you’ve given us over the last few years and we really hope you like what we’ve got to share with you today,” Brandon says.

“Yeah so before that happens we’re just going to walk around and mingle. It would be wrong not to get to know all the beautiful ladies in the room,” Zion says.

Through all the talking, you have your eyes focused on Nick and you’re silently begging him to look up and look your way. Just as you’re about to give up, he does. You feel electricity jolt through your body as he looks at you with a soft smile playing on his face.

The guys disperse and make their way to little groups to talk to some people. Nick goes to one on the other side of the room and you feel your heart sink. It may irrational but you thought you felt something. Austin comes to your group and you guys talk about yourselves, him, their music, music in general and just any topic he and you all could squeeze in.

Thirty minutes pass and you take yourself away from the crowd, there’s only so much socialising you can handle before you need to pull away for a little bit. You go grab a bottle of water from the table of snacks they had set up.

“Is there a reason you’re alone and not with a group or something,” someone says softly. You know this voice.

You look up and you see Nick. Standing in front of you. Nick Mara. He is standing in front of you.

“I-I just needed a little break that’s all.”

“I feel that, talking to people just gets a bit much sometimes. Mind if I wind down with you?” He says still holding your gZe and making your stomach flutter. You feel your face starting to warm up.

“No. No as in I don’t mind not no you can’t chill with me. This is your event. You can be wherever you want. I’m going to stop talking now,”

“I think it’s only fitting that I know your name before we spend the next five minutes together, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Um, it’s Y/N.”

Zion

Music pumped the the speakers, it’s best coursing through your veins and elating you more. The red cup in your hand filled with a liquid, you weren’t sure what it was but it tasted good and you’d poured it yourself so there was nothing to worry about. Having empties your first cup, you walked over to the kitchen to get yourself a refill. It was your best friend’s birthday and you were single. This was the perfect concoction for you too hook up with someone.

In the kitchen you swayed to the music as you poured your drink. After you poured it you stood for a moment to catch your breath before going back out into the thick and lively atmosphere that was outside the kitchen. Sort of rebooting your system. You stood and took a sip of your drink, observing people as they walked and talked.

A group walked into the kitchen, led by a the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. He exuded confidence as he walked, leading the conversation he and his friends were having. A smirk sat on his face as he skimmed the room, eyes landing on you. Suddenly you felt sober and began to fidget with the dress you had on. Even with the liquid encouragement you couldn’t hold his gaze.

You kept your head low and looked at the contents of your cup like they were a painting of a Greek God, intricate and delicate. This doesn’t happen to you, you’re confident and upfront so what the hell was happening?

“People don’t normally come to parties to stand in corners alone ma,” a voice said, husky and low. You could feel his warm breath on your neck and his sent worked its way around you. You didn’t have to look up to know it was the beautiful boy.

“I just needed a little break that’s all.”

“Well if you’re done with your little break, how about we go dance? I have a feeling you and me are going to get along great out there mamas. What do you say?”

He inches closer, hand taking the drink that was in your hands and setting it on the counter top. He joins your hands and takes a cautious step forward, looking at you for approval to proceed.

“Yeah sure, let’s go dance.”

“I’m Zion,” he says, coming close to you again. Now on the dance floor you feel he’s front on your back as he starts to move to the beat of the song: Body Party by Ciara.

“Y/N,” you shout over the noise and begin to work your magic with your waist.

//////

Yikes this is long. Feedback is always welcome, tell me what you liked and what you didn’t and what you want to see and what you don’t. Who was your favourite? Anything and everything is welcome.

x

B

[avengerofiron]

calls of guilty || self para

summary: there’s been a lot of times in tony’s life when he’s been advised to stop talking. these are two of those times. trigger warnings: child abuse, homophobia/biphobia, drugs, alcoholism, manipulative family relationships everywhere, cancer, death, grief

December 16, 1987

Edwin and Ana Jarvis were in the Maldives this Christmas. It was the first year in Tony’s considerable memory that they wouldn’t be there for the roast dinner — the year before Tony was born, three months before Maria said she was pregnant, was the last time they found themselves on a beach sipping margaritas as the world celebrated. That was eighteen years ago.

They deserved a holiday, Maria said. They deserved a break, deserved to go to a place with only the two of them, no responsibilities (her eyes flickered to Tony on the other side of the dining room table), no headaches (she didn’t dare to look at Howard, instead focused on the half eaten steak on her plate).

Jarvis gave Tony his present early. There was another one coming on Christmas Day, he said, because Howard wouldn’t have allowed Tony to open the gifts before the 25th of the month, and even at that only with his express permission. The butler wanted to see the look on Tony’s face, though, when he opened something. He said that was the best part of Christmas. Tony held himself back from asking why he would leave, if Tony was the glittering star on top of the tree.

He wasn’t a child anymore. He was seventeen, and expected to act like it.

The gift was brought out of the leather carry case as Tony rolled up to the Stark mansion, back from boarding school on holiday leave. He would’ve preferred to stay on campus — Tiberius was, along with some of the other boys that Tony didn’t find entirely grim to listen to, but Howard wanted them to have family time. Wife’s orders, he joked to the headmaster over the phone. Tony knew it before Mr. Barker told him. Howard made the same joke all the time.

It was a notebook. Leather bound, a buckle on the front like a belt. The pages were thick, yellowing around the corners. It was, for all intents and purposes, meant to look extremely old, even if Tony had been handed it with the barcode label still attached to the back. This was the kind of book we used in the war, Jarvis said, and Tony looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Your father always liked to write his ideas.

If Howard liked to write, it stood to reason Tony would too. Tony thanked Jarvis for the gift, held onto the older man so tightly he must’ve bruised a few ribs, and made the resolution never to look at the notebook again.

It was a good distraction tonight, though. As he picked through his food, appetite rarely there when he was away from the hustle and bustle of the school dining hall, Tony was sketching down schematics, eraser shavings from his pencil leaving a light dusting over the dark mahogany. His parents were talking at opposite ends of the table long enough for entertaining, that rarely saw parties when Tony was home.

Home.

“Howard, please.”

His mother’s voice was far away, light and lilting in the conscious way she performed as she swept through galas and charity balls. Tony erased the last formula, eyebrows furrowing as he tried out another.

“No, Maria, it’s ridiculous. All this money spent on sending him to that school, and it turns him into a goddamn mute.”

“Howard.”

“It’s true. Am I not allowed to say the truth now? Come on, speak.”

A few moments passed before Tony realised the underwater conversation halted. He looked up from his notebook and half eaten dinner to find two pairs of brown eyes looking back at him. No one could ever decide who Tony’s came from. Obie maintained it depended on the light.

He wished Obie was here now. His godfather had a unique way of diffusing the tension, of following Tony out after all was said and done and reassuring him that no matter how dramatically he left, someone would always come out after.

“He’ll speak when he wants to,” Maria said, as Tony met Howard’s hard gaze. “Won’t you, Anthony?”

His focus flickered back to his mother. “It’s Tony.”

Howard’s fork clattered off the plate. Tony didn’t startle, though he wanted to. Howard’s voice was still perfectly clear, his expression impassive. If he thought Tony was jumpy, he would get offended. Tony wasn’t trying to offend.

He still managed to regardless.

“Your mother gave you life,” Howard said. “She can call you whatever she damn well pleases.”

“He’s fine,” Maria interjected. “He doesn’t like the formality of Anthony, do you-”

“You coddle him.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is his problem. At that school, everyone bends over backwards, don’t they?”

Tony didn’t reply. Sometimes, Howard asked questions he didn’t want answers to. Maria never quite got that memo.

“I wouldn’t say they-”

“He’s never needed to work for anything in his life. He’s soft. I told you military school would turn him into something.”

“He already is something. He’s a Stark.”

“Banking off my good name, you mean.”

“Our good name.”

“Did you build the company, Maria? Stick to your pet projects, would you, and let me raise our son to be-”

Tony went back to his notebook. The dorm room he shared with Rhodes was too hot in summer, too cold in winter. They’d tried calling estates, to no avail. Even the Stark name his parents were bragging about didn’t swing for much, not when it was a seventeen year old kid and his slightly older roommate putting in the complaint, having no idea how exactly to complain. Tony had taken to pulling apart the air con and heating units himself. He fixed the issue, but now he wanted to make it better. He wanted their room to be the best. He wanted to leave his initials etched into the side of the radiator, so whoever occupied the dorm when he graduated would say boy, this T.S. guy really is something, look at what he left us, look at how he planned …

“For God’s sake!” The words came suddenly, and Howard’s fist was against the table. The maids glanced at each other on the other side of the room, and made the executive decision to duck out of the room. Maria was staring at him, wide eyed.

Tony jumped.

Howard’s attention was solely on him. “Will you speak?”

Tony set his pencil down, slowly. He looked down at the eraser shavings over the wood, and slowly began brushing it off onto the ground. He didn’t need to see Howard’s jaw clenching. “What would you like me to discuss, Howard?”

The plate rattled on the table. The cutlery dropped to the ground, and Maria’s hand went to Howard’s arm. He was up out of his seat now, and Tony’s heart picked up speed in his chest.

Tony lifted his own fork, stabbing a piece of the steak. “A little overdone,” Tony commented, chewing slowly, “don’t you think?”

“You little shit.”

“Howard.”

“This is what that Stone boy is putting in your head, isn’t it? Attitude.”

“He’s putting plenty in me,” Tony replied, evenly, “but the attitude is all my own.”

Maria’s head whipped around to look at her son, then. “Anthony.”

“Tony,” he corrected.

“Don’t talk back to your mother,” Howard said, and he was seething now. This was a new record. “And keep your perversions from the table.”

“You jealous?”

Howard actually spluttered at that. He wasn’t sitting down, but he wasn’t moving, either. Tony would have to push a little harder. “I have everything I need.”

“Oh I’m sure you do,” Tony replied, leaning over the table to take the glass of wine from its place beside Howard’s plate. It was overfilled, but it was never the flavor Howard drank for. He kicked back in his chair, taking a long gulp before adding, “With the maid.”

“Tony.”

“You are an ungrateful, spiteful-”

“And the nanny,” Tony mused, swirling the wine around the glass. It was a wonder, what with the slight tremor in his hands, the red liquid didn’t spill over and splash onto his new jeans. “That one from Brazil, Mom, you remember her? You used to go to yoga together. Then you went to the showers, and Dad decided to give her the good old Stark welcome-”

Maria opened her mouth, and closed it again. Howard was grinding his teeth so hard now that Tony could feel the shudder up his back.

“Oh! My therapist, back in the day. I always wondered, you know, what happened to her. Then I found out Dad fucked-”

That was it. That was enough, the moment of impact. Within an instant, the glass in Tony’s hand crashed to the ground, his shoes stained in red. He was pulled from his chair, and Howard’s arm was pressed against his chest, Tony’s back against the wall.

He could see everything, here. The vein popping out on the side of his father’s head, the sweat appearing on his upper lip just at the sides of his moustache, the clench in his jaw, the high color creeping up his neck. Tony’s feet were on the ground but only barely, his heart was flying so fast in his chest that he knew Howard had to be able to feel it against his strong arm, and all he could think was keep going. Keep going, let it happen, let it be over.

It always ended with a bang. It always ended with a crack, or a sudden moment of impact, a second of splintering pain and then the room would be empty and it would be over. The build up was always the worst. He expected this, coming home. He expected it every single time, and he was right. There wasn’t an equation out there with the reliability Howard Stark showed in his reactions.

Maria was crying, now. Tony can hear her screaming, vacantly, in the same distant way as he always heard his mother yelling. Howard. Howard, please. Put him down. He didn’t mean it, he’s just a-

The phone rang in the kitchen. Immediately, air rushed into Tony’s lungs again, and he was dropped to the ground. Howard cast one more sharp glance in his direction before making his way towards the other room.

“Carter,” his voice echoed through, jovial and friendly. “You’re interrupting our family dinner.”

The rest of the conversation was blocked out as Howard hooked his foot around the door, pulling it closed behind him.

With that barrier in place, Maria crossed the dining room, by Tony’s side in an instant. He was shaking. He noticed that, first. He was shaking so hard he couldn’t stop, and his teeth were chattering, and all he wanted was that brief, sharp moment. He was still waiting for it, even now. He didn’t know what it would be, and it was easier to deal with a bruise he could see. It was the waiting, the anticipation, that was the worst.

He was on the ground. His mother’s hands were in his hair, on the side of his face, running down as she pressed kisses that would leave lipstick stains over his cheeks and forehead. “Oh bambino,” she whispered, her voice desperate and thready, a shadow of her former mask. “Tua mamma ha te. Your mom has you, you’re okay.”

He’s crying. He doesn’t feel it, but he is. There is salt on his lips, and he can feel his mother’s hands getting wet.

“You used to be best friends, il mio cuore,” Maria whispered, her mouth going to the top of Tony’s head, her words muffled by his thick curls — those, at least, he inherited from her. All the good parts of him, all the parts that were worth it, came from her. “What happened, my darling?”

“He got to know me?” Tony offered, and Maria huffed a laugh, wet and thick and nothing like her normal. “Hey, Mom. It’s okay.”

She shifted, and instinctively, Tony moved until they were both leaning against the wall, his mother curling into his shoulder, head on his chest, his hands going to stroke through her hair, instead. “I’m okay. Nothing happened,” Tony said.

“He misses you when you’re gone, you know. He misses you more than you could ever know.”

Tony didn’t doubt that. He knew what went through Howard’s mind at that moment, in that second before the impact hit, before the meteor tore apart what they’d built. He knew how that power sat on his shoulders.

“You can be so difficult, Tony.”

A wave of something foreign goes through him. “I wasn’t-”

“He’s just trying to relate to you, to talk to you. Why don’t you try?”

He did try. He tried all the time. He came to his office with toy planes when he was six years old, and had them thrown onto the ground because they’d been invented before. He came to him in the kitchen and told him he kissed a boy, and spent the week in gym class trying to hide the hand shaped bruise on his wrist.

“He is so busy, and he’s so tired, Anthony. He misses you when you’re gone.”

You said that. She kept saying that. Tony’s hand didn’t still in her hair.

“I can’t stay here, Mom,” Tony whispered.

She moved, then, pushed herself up and looked him in the eye with sudden, devastating clarity. “You can’t leave me,” she said. Her hands went to his face, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe as she turned his head to face her properly. “Please. Just … just apologise, and it’ll be alright. He’s a reasonable man.”

Reasonable.

“You have no idea how much he does for you, Anthony. How much he protects you.”

“I know he does,” Tony said, because he was still shaking, now, and the last thing he wanted was for his mother to pull back from him, to be left sitting on the hardwood floor alone until Jarvis came to scrape him up — it would be three weeks of waiting for that, this time. “I’ll apologise, okay? I shouldn’t have … I was a dick.”

“Language,” Maria said, and there was a hint of teasing to her voice that made Tony huff a humorless laugh. “You’re my amazing boy, you know that?” She leaned in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to his cheek. Tony’s hand went to settle over hers as she did. “You are so good, Anthony. You are the best boy I’ve ever met.”

They lapsed into a moment of silence, and then Tony disentangled himself from his mother, feeling like he was coming off a high and living in anticipation of one all at the same time. This wasn’t the end. It wouldn’t be, ever. He moved over to the table, picking up his notebook that had splatters of wine across the pages.

“Do you want to show me what you’re working on?” Maria asked. Tony didn’t turn to the sound of her voice. He shook his head.

“Not tonight,” he replied. He knew she wouldn’t ask again. She was always so busy.

Maria moved up beside him, her hand going to squeeze his shoulder. He flinched, but she didn’t notice. She never did. “Just …” She took a long, deep breath. “Just promise me you’ll learn when to say quiet, Anthony.”

Tony looked down at the schematics, then up at his mother. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Staying quiet meant living in the in between. Speaking up, speaking out … that meant having one hand on the wheel of a car destined to go over the edge of the cliff.

His mother was better at silence. She didn’t talk to him for the three weeks he spent in the mansion, not after that night.

(The next morning, he called Ty and cancelled their plans to meet for coffee. He had the flu, he said — and Ty said he didn’t care, that he’d look just as good as he always did, frustrating bastard that you are. Tony laughed, then, but he remained firm. Apologies weren’t meant to end with purple splotches Ray Bans couldn’t cover. Tony figured he must be really bad at them, because this happened every time.)

--

April 4, 2020

Ultron hadn’t murdered him. Small blessings Tony supposed as he glanced down at the interface of his smart watch, the floors of Stark Tower (Avengers Tower, legally speaking, even if the ‘A’ was more of a kick in the teeth than a comfort at this point) whirring past as the elevator moved. The good Secretary had been avoiding his calls. Tony expected it was down to the little show he put on for Christine Everhart, a woman who always knew just how to get under his skin and make him say what he was really thinking. It was an uncanny ability, endlessly irritating, but he had to admit that something in his chest had lifted the second those words left his lips on the air.

After all, it was one thing to say the truth when it was just Steve standing in front of him, or when he was divulging his movements and intelligence shifting to Sharon or Jessica. It was another to bring the world in on those secrets, the things that Tony managed to hide with a sarcastic disposition and a cavalier demeanour. Oh, what the world didn’t know about him.

They knew a lot more now.

It was better, he mused to himself as he stepped out of the elevator, the heels of his leather shoes clacking on the polished concrete as he walked towards the conference hall. It was better to get it all out in the open like that, better to poke the bear and let the battle commence. It was better to burn his company to the ground in 2009 and rebuild from the ashes than try to cling to what had always been his father’s legacy and not his own, allowing the blood to continue to run. Really, Tony was doing what he always did. Mass impact, minimal casualties (or at least, minimal timespan for the casualties. The greatest damage was done immediately after the fact, and from what he could see, as had been the truth when he was a child, the only damage done was to his own fine self).

“General,” Tony said, breezing into the conference room with his hands neatly tucked into the pockets of his open suit jacket. The General was alone. Usually he came accompanied by several lackeys, even if one of them seemed to do nothing but pass over pages and keep his pencil sharpened. “Oh,” he commented, eyes drifting over the table before returning to the rapidly ageing man before him, “I guess I’m getting a real dressing down today. Should I prepare a nice hot bubble bath to salve the wounds of my fractured ego?”

The moustache became even straighter as the lips underneath it tightened. A miniscule twitch, barely enough for poker players to pick up on, but Tony knew how to get under people’s skin. It was why he and Christine got on so swimmingly.

“Sit down, Stark.”

Tony sniffed. “I’ve sat all day,” he replied. “Board meetings are killer for the old knees. I’d prefer to stand.”

“Just because you prefer something,” Ross began, reaching for the cup of coffee sitting on the table, “doesn’t mean that’s what has to happen, Stark.”

“Really? See, I grew up an only child, and private school didn’t exactly get me in the habit of not getting what-”

“The interview was sloppy.”

Tony looked back out at the skyline. “I don’t think it was my worst.”

“It was far from your best. You’re not just representing your own interests now. You’re representing ours.”

“Funny,” Tony commented, shifting his weight. “You say ‘ours’ like that’s supposed to endear me to this little teamworking endeavour. It doesn’t really.”

“Fury was of the opinion that you’d changed, that the Avengers made you a team player,” Ross continued. “I told him old dogs couldn’t learn new tricks.”

“Hm,” Tony murmured. “Harsh. I thought the dye was working wonders on the grey. You see, the Avengers taught me a little something about teamwork, i.e. you can’t be in a team if you don’t tell that team what’s going down.”

Ross didn’t speak for a long moment. Tony didn’t take his eyes off the cityscape in front of him. There was a vigilante - someone in black, perhaps with hints of green - fighting a ninja on a rooftop. Good for him.

“Ultron came to visit,” Tony said. “You can imagine my surprise when my lunch plans were interrupted by a genocidal robot I had a personal hand in killing.”

“And creating.”

“Because all of my creations are something I am proud of, undoubtedly.”

“You still put him in the universe, Stark.”

“Not alone.”

“Is this accountability?”

“I think you’ll find it’s the very definition,” Tony replied. “Ultron was my idea. I didn’t execute him alone. His programming was altered by something that we can’t hope to understand, and that’s why he belonged buried under the rubble of the country he dropped from the sky.”

“Everything has a purpose,” Ross continued, “and he wasn’t my idea.”

Tony turned, then, to meet Ross’s eye. The man didn’t squirm in his seat, but he never had before. Iron will, that’s what they said. Starks were made of iron too. Tony could rise to the challenge.

“Sorry if I doubt that.”

Ross shrugged, then. An honest to God, hand on heart, shrug. Interesting. “Believe what you want,” he said, “but Ultron’s presence doesn’t follow through on my views for the Accords.”

“Because you want your finger in every pie?” Tony offered, and Ross’s eyes moved up to meet his gaze.

Slowly, the older man stood up from his seat. Tony didn’t falter, didn’t move from the spot he was standing. Suddenly, he wished he’d brought a drink, just to hold in his hand. Things always went better when he had some whiskey and ice rocking around in glass, when the sound could soothe him, when he could appear entirely at ease, when he had something in his hand that could get him there.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” Ross said, voice low. “I’m in charge here, Stark. You’re the face of this thing because while you were flying around in a flashy metal suit, I was serving in the military. I was changing this country before you were born. If you ever put the reputation of this Panel in jeopardy again, there will be consequences.”

Tony tilted his head, pretending to ponder this over. “Huh,” he said, before inclining his head towards Ross. “I thought I was the one dealing out the consequences, hm? Or do my figures not match up?”

“They match up to the letter, which you know. Barely enough won’t be good enough, soon. Not to mention your other … indiscretions.”

Indiscretions was hardly a word that shocked Tony at this point, but he stopped then. There was something in Ross’s gaze that made his blood go cold, and suddenly he thought of blond hair and bright blue eyes that were nothing like the steel going through him now, and a shield and information passed regularly with a kiss pressed to his forehead.

“You operate that armor under the influence,” Ross continued, barely loud enough to be heard, “whether that’s an undisclosed medical condition or you taking matters into your own hands-” Ross’s attention flickered over Tony’s shoulder to the empty whiskey cabinet. “And you’re not only endangering yourself. You’re endangering the lives of civilians, of fellow enforcers, of United States soldiers. I won’t stand for that.”

Ross’s hand came down on Tony’s shoulder. He didn’t jump. He knew better than to give a reaction, even if he could feel his heart in his throat, growing larger.

“Keep yourself useful, Stark,” Ross whispered, “or you can find yourself on the other side very quickly. Your choice.”

Of course, choices were so rarely as simple as they sounded. Choices were so rarely choices, even to someone like Tony.

Perhaps especially to someone like Tony.

[backofthebookshelf]

105 Hill Top Road

Let’s start with a timeline (does a timeline make sense, given that the place is now officially a "rip in reality"? Who knows??):

1891 - purchased by Walter Fielding (earliest records the team could find) (allllllso this is about a year after Millbank Prison was demolished, so presumably around the time when the Magnus Institute is looking at moving to its current location) 1923 - house inherited by Alfred Fielding (I'm not gonna put money on whether Walter died or just changed his name because he got too old to be believable any more) 1957 - house inherited by Raymond Fielding (just a couple of years before this: Mary Keay has recently acquired the skin book; Wallace Turner recently gave his statement about the Risen War) "early sixties" (no firm date given: forty-odd years ago from 2005, at age fifteen having been born in the forties) - Ronald Sinclair moves into the halfway house run by Raymond Fielding; Fielding appears to be about thirty, which is 100% meaningless. Every Sunday they go to church (sure they do) and then have dinner in the basement around a table covered in twisting lines two and a half to three years later, mid-winter: Agnes arrives at the house, age ten or eleven eight to ten years later, early seventies: Raymond Fielding disappears

(1972, Rosa Meyer makes her statement about being watched. 1973, James Wright takes over as Head of the Institute.)

1974: five-year-old Henry White goes missing; the house burns with no signs of life. Only remains found were Raymond Fielding, a badly charred skeleton missing its right hand circa 1990: Something Happened to disrupt the ritual that the Lightless Flame blames on Gertrude (almost twenty years before Gertrude disrupts the Last Feast, which sure sounded like the first time she’d done it on purpose) 1991: Agnes Montague starts frequenting the Canyon Cafe

(1994, Jurgen Leitner’s library attacked and destroyed)

1996: Ivo Lensik's father dies of the Spiral after spending years obsessed with fractals

(’96 is also the year Elias Bouchard becomes Head of the Institute)

2001: Adelard Dekker traps the not!Them in the table of twisting lines 2005: Graham Folger has the table of twisting lines in his flat, says he bought it at a secondhand shop in Oxford "during his student days" (he's been attending colleges here and there since late 2001); it's missing the box in the center

(January 2006, Adelard Dekker finds evidence of the Extinction in the experience of a researcher in Garland Hillier’s flat)

autumn 2006: Jack Barnabas dates Agnes Montague mid-November 2006: Ivo Lensik is called in to assist on the construction of a new house at Hill Top Road; meets a young Raymond Fielding on the third night on the job, Fielding disappears with a smell of burning and a scorch mark on the floor November 23, 2006: Father Edwin Burroughs visits the house to do a blessing (attacked by fire, tells it "I am not for you. I am marked," (presumably by the Spiral) but it doesn't stop until); Ivo Lensik pulls down a tree in the yard: "very large and very dead" with "old, black scorch marks...curling up from the base of the tree." When he attacks it with a crowbar it bleeds; when he pulls it down he finds underneath a six inch square box belonging to the table of twisting lines; inside is a fresh green apple which explodes into spiders. Lensik smashes the box. Agnes goes on a date with Jack Barnabas. Just after dark she staggers in pain, makes an emergency phone call. "She said something about a tree falling, and that they had to finish something. Then she hung up. She leaned on my arm as we walked back to her flat. I'd never been there before, but it was clear she couldn't make it unassisted." Agnes Montague found hanged in her flat in Sheffield, with Fielding's hand tied to her waist, tissue decay indicating it died the same time she did. Since Lensik's statement was made [as of season one, late 2015], two families have lived in the house November 30, 2006: Eugene Vanderstock makes his statement (139)

(January 2007, Mikaele Salesa gives a statement as recompense for an accident with a Slaughter artifact he sold the Institute, though he thinks the employees should have known better) 

(sometime between July 2008 and early 2009, Mary Keay succeeds at her ritual with the skin book)

April 23, 2009: Anya Villette is hired for a cleaning job at a newly-constructed house at Hill Top Road. She sees a tree in the garden, "still bare from the winter" with eight branches that looked like they were reaching for her. She has a vision of standing under the tree and it grabbing for her. When she's finished with the rest of the house she goes into a basement that wasn't on the floor plans. In it she sees a foot-wide gap, and in it "those eight spindly arms reaching up to pull me in," and then she wakes up sitting in a chair in the house. When she gives her statement on April 22, 2009, she says that this was two weeks ago and she's never heard of the Magnus Institute before. 

(June 2009, Jason North runs afoul of the Desolation in Loch Glass, recognizes Gertrude from her picture there)

(October 2009, the Worker-in-Clay departs for Sannikov Land)

late spring 2016: Breekon & Hope deliver the table of twisting lines to the Magnus Institute (along with the web lighter) - Jon recognizes it from the statements, asks if there was a box with it February 16, 2017: Jon takes an axe to the table of twisting lines, releasing the not!Them

Supplemental details: Jon is very skeptical of Lensik's statement in 008 but acknowledges that there are some corroborating details (unusual for early S1 Jon) Martin discovered the statement of Anya Villette (114) and Jon says that Hill Top Road is "a thread that's been nagging at me for a while." They can find no evidence that Anya Villette exists. The house has no current owner [as of late season 3, July 2017]. Jon also says: "I've half a mind to just go down and have a look at it myself, but... I don't know. Ever since it first came up I've felt like it would be... just a very bad idea." Probably! They've been trying to identify an owner for the place for over a year and have made no progress.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Undecided”

Summary: Now that the incident in the server room is becoming a distant memory for everyone at CIStech, indecision plagues Y/N as she tries to figure out just what she wants from Elliot. The real question, of course, is what does Elliot want?

Story Summary,  “The Server Room, Part I”,  “The Server Room, Part II”  “The Long Weekend, Part I”,  “The Long Weekend, Part II”,  “The Aftermath”

Word Count: 5000

Tags: @sherlollydramoine  @rami-malek-trash  @teamwolf2411  @limabein  @txmel  @hopplessdreamer  @ouatlovr  @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @alottanothing  @moon-stars-soul  @free-rami  @ramimedley

If you want added, let me know.

Warning: Tiny mention of something R-rated toward the end

By Thursday, the office felt normal, and I was once again left to marvel at how quickly things could snap back into place. People just . . . moved on. They continued to run their daily programs and despite a hiccup in the system, they hit reboot and it was back to normal runtime.

I was no different.

Yesterday was spent looking through the applicant pool, and I had found a few good candidates. I wanted to compile a final list by the end of the day and set interviews for next week. In another two or three weeks, it would be like Julia, Aaron, and Maurice had never even existed in the world of CIStech.

DELETE 10211291.11181514.1312118935.DSET1 PURGE

<Execution_Complete>

Elliot was just as intrigued by people’s willingness to forget a traumatic event. While Tuesday night’s text conversation lasted a long time, the subject matter stayed pretty light. But on Wednesday, we ended up texting a lot about people’s reactions to what went down.

I hadn’t been sure if Tuesday night’s texts were an anomaly until my phone buzzed at exactly 7:00 pm, the same time I had texted Elliot the night before. I actually laughed out loud a little, figuring Elliot was playing it safe by repeating a previously rewarding behavior pattern.

On Wednesday, I had again left work much earlier than usual so I could head uptown to meet my father. He had asked me weeks ago to attend a benefit with him, and I had almost forgotten about it until he called to remind me in the morning. I used my lunch hour to run home and grab a dress and a pair of shoes. I was really looking forward to seeing Dad because I wanted to decompress—if there was anyone in the world I could vent my feelings to, it was him.

When he caught me smiling at my phone and trying to sneak a text without appearing rude, he told me to have Edwin, his driver, take me home and come back for him later.

“I love you, Dad,” I said as he hugged me tight.

“I want to meet the young man who makes you smile like that, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled at my dad’s good intention.

“If only it were that simple,” I said as the elevator doors opened.

He put his hands in his pockets and gave me a long look as the doors closed. I knew he worried I worked too much and abandoning my entire family over Memorial Day weekend did not alleviate his concern one bit. Nor did it help when I finally explained the work emergency that pulled me away.

But for the second night in a row, I found myself texting until my eyes blurred. When Elliot and I said good night, I set my alarm and immediately fell asleep, something that rarely ever happened. I felt like I could breathe freely again. Elliot didn’t seem to be harboring any ill feelings about being reprimanded, so when he and I ended up running into each other in the lobby on Thursday morning, I smiled brightly when I saw him.

We said our bland good mornings as we got on the elevator, then I asked if he had any plans for after work. When he said no, I pulled out my phone and texted him to ask if he wanted to come over.

He glanced at the other people in the elevator who were staring sleepily at the buttons of the passing floors and gave me a tiny smile before nodding yes.

I smiled back and as the elevator doors opened on our floor, he stood back to let me exit before he hurried out and grabbed the door to the office. I thanked him and we went our separate ways for the workday.

Around quitting time, there was a light tap on my door frame, and I looked up to see Elliot, his eyes alert, scanning over the room and not quite willing to focus on me yet.

“Hey—come in,” I said, unable to stop the smile that spread across my face at the sight of him.

He shuffled in, his hands thrust in his pockets.

“I need to run an errand. Will you be here . . . or should I . . .” Elliot trailed off as his eyes desperately searched mine, his own mind clearly wondering if he had imagined our conversation in the elevator.

“I’m planning on working until around 7. Do you just want to meet at that deli on Platt around 7:15? We can get a bite to eat there, then head back to my place?”

“Sure,” Elliot said in his trademark monotone, immediately turning on his heel and exiting my office.

I just shook my head and chuckled, thinking, Sure, Dad. Meet my painfully awkward boyfriend, Elliot.

Boyfriend.

My mouth went dry as indecision began to beat its ugly staccato within my mind.  

What did I really want?

Even more difficult to answer, what did Elliot really want?

A kiss in a heated moment was a lot less demanding of someone than asking them to be with you. And it was Elliot—did he even date? Despite all of our after-work conversations, we never really talked about romantic interests. It just wasn’t something that came up.

I continued to plug away at my analytics, hoping to drown out my thoughts about Elliot. I was about to see him outside of work again, and I would just have to test the waters, which was a scary prospect. If I pushed and Elliot wasn’t ready, I could knock over the foundation we had been so carefully building.

* * * * *

Elliot was waiting for me at the deli, so we grabbed a quiet, quick bite. By the time we reached my apartment and Elliot was standing in my entryway, shucking off his backpack, it was about 8:15 pm.

After he slid off his backpack, he bent to rummage around, and he pulled out my Columbia t-shirt.

I shook my head no.

“Keep it. I like knowing you have something of mine and that maybe, just maybe, you’re wearing it,” I said with a flirty grin.

“Okay,” Elliot said with a shrug as he stuffed the shirt back into his bag.

“Besides. You look good in white,” I said, knowing I couldn’t be deterred by one ignored comment. Elliot was wicked smart and could read people, but that ability seemed to diminish as he got closer to someone. I wondered if maybe that was why he kept his distance from most people—it made him feel too vulnerable.

Elliot looked at me, clearly determining whether or not I was joking.

“And you say I can’t take a compliment,” I huffed.

“You can’t,” Elliot said, seizing the shift in the conversation that would allow him to have the upper hand. “Your legs look good in that skirt,” he said as his eyes looked at me from top to bottom.

I narrowed my own eyes and replied, “Now see. I don’t know if you mean that or if you said it just to get me to say I don’t think it’s genuine, thus proving your point.”

Elliot chuckled. “Point proven. You can’t take a compliment.”

“Such an ass,” I said, smiling. “I should take back my meticulously planned evening.”

“Planned? So, this wasn’t just a random invitation?”

“God no. I have to mentally prepare for all my interactions with you,” I blurted out before realizing how terrible that sounded.

Sometimes it really was a blessing Elliot thought so much before he spoke so I could retract my foot-in-mouth statement, but unfortunately, his face was an open book. I could see the beginnings of hurt twist his features, so I rushed an explanation.  

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. Just in an ‘I think about you a lot’ way. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have you look at me kinda like you’re looking at me now. Okay?”

Elliot’s brows contracted before he visibly turned his face back into an unreadable mask. It was remarkable to watch—like he just flipped a switch and turned off his emotion.

He nodded, but I could tell he already assigned a negative meaning to my words. I hadn’t meant it that way, but it was exhausting interacting with him at times. I still felt like I was taking one step forward, creeping along nicely, and then boom. I scared him and he bolted and we were ten steps behind where we started.

At least my indecision about pursuing a relationship with him was pretty damn warranted.

“I’m going to change,” I said. “It’s hot as fuck outside, so you may want to put on my t-shirt if you’re not wearing one under your dress shirt.”

“We’re going outside?”

“Yup!” I said, shooting him a grin.

Elliot looked at me with suspicion, but I shook my head and took off down the hall toward my bedroom. I dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, and I slid into some flip-flops. I pulled my hair up, knowing it wouldn’t survive any more time than it already had outdoors.

I walked back out to the living room, but Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I had just enough time to wonder if I really had scared him off before he emerged from the bathroom wearing tight black jeans and my white Columbia t-shirt.

“After last Friday, I decided to keep a change of clothes in my backpack.”

“Smart,” I said, eyeing the way his jeans clung to his thighs before sliding my eyes up to his face to appreciate how the tan tone of his skin was emphasized next to the white cotton of my t-shirt.

“Can I have another clue? I don’t really like surprises.”

“Mmmmm, no,” I said, enjoying my facetiousness. “Although, I did give you a clue earlier this week.”

Elliot’s eyes moved around my apartment as he thought back, and then, his face lit up.

“S’mores,” he said with a tiny timbre of excitement in his tone as his eyes connected with mine.

“Clever kitten,” I said as I started pulling out the supplies we had bought over the weekend.

“They won’t be as good as they’d be over a real bonfire, but a charcoal grill will serve the purpose.”

We headed up to the rooftop, which was delightfully empty given there was no special occasion and the work week was still droning on. I used my key to get out the charcoal grill’s supplies from the storage on the roof.

Despite telling Elliot to sit on the couch and relax, he hovered, watching everything I did.

“And now we wait,” I said as I prodded the coals with my tongs, encouraging them to catch. “The more they burn down, the better the taste.”

I plopped on the white couch and looked toward the setting sun. Elliot joined me and we slowly built up to a steady conversation. Away from people and when he was comfortable, Elliot talked a lot. It was almost comical to think of the juxtaposition housed within his lithe little body—it was like two people lived inside of him, one of them plagued by insecurities, and the other, just a normal guy, or rather, a guy who could just about pass for normal if it weren’t for his intellect.

Elliot wasn’t just knowledgeable about computers. He kept up with the news. He had keen insights about society. And he even liked to read the classics, or really just about any book he got his hands on.  

But work was the easiest and safest topic for both of us since that was the baseline for our friendship. I finally asked Elliot how he was doing as the dust began to settle, eager to hear his thoughts in person instead of from behind the safety of a screen.

“It’s weird,” Elliot began before he broke eye contact to gather his thoughts. “People are nicer to me, or at least they seem to be going out of their way to talk to me.”

“Colin is treating you alright?” I asked, curious if he was going to be an asshole about the whole thing.

“It was him, wasn’t it? He insisted on the letter,” Elliot finished with a statement, not a question.

I was quiet for a moment, warring with myself about whether I should say anything or not. It was an HR issue, and those could be tricky, but who would Elliot tell? What damage could come from talking to the one guy who was never going to tell anyone anything?

“I know you would never say anything, but I have to say this to make myself feel better—you can’t repeat anything I say about the . . . incident.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows at me and nodded.

“Yes, it was Colin. He’s kind of a “bro,” I explained, my hands rising to make quote marks in the air. “And since you’re totally not that kind of guy, he has no even ground with you—you’re smarter than him and he can’t deal with that.”

“What makes you describe him as a “bro?” Elliot said, imitating my earlier air-quotes.

“Mmm . . . he loves every sport, plays basketball with some of the guys in the company on Saturdays. He has that arrogance about him, that unwarranted arrogance that a guy who enjoys showing off just how much of a guy he is has. He used to run every day before work and he’d come upstairs all sweaty—and I mean sweaty as in looking like he’d just gone swimming sweaty—and he’d just go “freshen up” in his office. It grossed me out so much I flat-out offered to comp him if he took time to shower at the gym and was late for work. After that, he didn’t come to work sweaty anymore. Don’t get me wrong—woo! Fitness! But gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose just remembering what he looked like and smelled like.

“Every sport?”

“As far as I know—I do think he has season tickets to the Knicks, though. When he first started working for us, he asked me to a game,” I said, volunteering the information to see what Elliot would do with it.

Nothing, of course.

“I did notice he has a Mets pennant in his office,” Elliot said, more to himself than to me.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Like I said, he’s a dude. Or he at least wants everyone to know he’s a dude.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No. And I think that’s why he’s been extra Colin-y lately. He has a son with his ex.”

“What’s his name?” Elliot asked, quickly.

“You’re asking a lot from me because I don’t typically store information that has no relevance to myself. It’s something like Chris or Chuck or Chad?”

Elliot nodded.

“Would you want him to go—I mean, if you had a choice? Would you want Colin to leave CIStech?”

I chewed at my bottom lip a little, really considering Elliot’s question.

“I don’t know. That’s a hard question to answer. What I can tell you is that I wish I could clone JaLeah. She’s just a superfreak of an awesome person. I’ve never really met anyone as smart and dynamic as she is—she just makes everyone feel so welcome.”

“I think she’s funny,” Elliot said.

“Really?” I said smiling and arching my brow. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“I just wouldn’t have thought you would think about something like that.”

“That’s kind of insulting,” Elliot said, his voice flat and unreadable. “I do enjoy humor now and then.”

I shook my head and chuckled.

“See? I keep learning new things about you?”

“You told me I intrigued you, and that you have to figure out people who intrigue you.”

I reached out and poked at Elliot’s thigh, gently prodding.

“Is there a recording device you’re using to play back every conversation we’ve ever had?”

“I listen,” Elliot said, smiling. “Especially when people intrigue me.”

I looked at Elliot and there was a smile in his eyes even though there wasn’t one on his lips. I felt like I could drown in his grey, stormy eyes when they sparkled, housing the mischief he never really let anyone see.

Our eyes locked, intensely focused on one another for a long enough time that it made me look away, almost embarrassed. I felt sure he could see my interest, naked and wanting before him, but he just didn’t make a move—either to look away or to move closer. Just . . . nothing.

“Alright—let’s get our smores prepped,” I said, getting up to reach for the bag of groceries on the table.

As the sun set and the lights on the rooftop flickered on, Elliot and I made our smores. We laughed, well I laughed, especially when he caught his marshmallow on fire and waved the toaster fork causing the marshmallow to propel into one of the rooftop trees. He looked like a dark-haired version of Denis the Menace, and I had tears in my eyes at the expression of horror on Elliot’s face as his marshmallow went sailing.

I positioned his fork over the coals for the next round and he attentively turned the marshmallow, refusing to even take his eyes off of it until it was perfectly browned on all sides.

“Your hands are healing quickly,” I commented.

“Thanks to you,” Elliot said sheepishly, shooting me a quick smile before returning his gaze to his marshmallow.

After we ate our fill of s’mores, we got comfy on the couch as we waited for the charcoal to burn down until it was safe to leave for the night.

We didn’t talk as much, but relaxed, enjoying each other’s presence, and I sat in the middle instead of on the end so I could test the waters, occasionally brushing a light touch to Elliot’s jeans or his bare arm, and he even reciprocated some of those furtive touches as he poked fun at me, teasing me for my inability to keep the plots of all three of the Back to the Future movies straight.

Eventually I sighed, knowing it was getting late and I didn’t want Elliot getting back to his neighborhood too late. We gathered up the left-over groceries and I shouldered my tote bag.

We said goodbye in my doorway, and Elliot moved in to hug me tight. We lingered for a moment, but he moved away and quickly pressed the elevator button. I watched him get on and we waved goodnight, a small smile ghosting across his lips as the doors closed.

I shut the door to my apartment and leaned back, thunking my head against it.

Purgatory. I was stuck in indecision-purgatory. Elliot was never, ever going to make the first move. If I wanted our relationship to shift, I’d have to do it, but it felt wrong. I was the one in the position of power. It would make more sense if Elliot made the first move so I wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage of him.

Why did this have to be so fucking complicated?

* * * * *

The next two weeks proceeded much in the same fashion. Elliot and I texted nightly, and once or twice a week, I’d invite him over. We’d come dangerously close to kissing, but then he’d just leave.

I dropped as many hints as I could, especially about workplace romances. I talked about how Miles (my boss) and Jayne (my secretary) had gotten together, hoping Elliot would pick up on the comparison.

If he did, he never said a word.

So, my fear of losing him as a friend left me to continue writhing in indecision. I loved how close Elliot and I were getting, and if I scared him by moving too quickly, I’d lose the first good friend I’d made in a long time.

And what was really funny was that I was certain if I talked to Elliot about this, he’d get it. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Little did I know, fate was about to lend a hand; it was just too bad that fate was such a fucking bitch.

* * * * *

“You can’t be serious!” I laughed, finishing the last of my drink.

JaLeah nodded with emphasis, and we all burst into a fresh round of laughter.

Friday happy hours were always a fun way to wind down from the work week. We had a nice mix of people who went regularly and it was well known I always bought the first two rounds. People like Miles, singularly focused climbers, always underestimated the power of building relationships. That was one of the reasons why what happened with Elliot had stuck with me—I thought I had a better team than that.

People did seem to be closer now, more inclusive. There were several new faces at tonight’s gathering, and as I listened to the chatter around me, my thoughts drifted to one particularly attractive face that was not here. People’s voices became background noise as I thought about Elliot and I felt myself wishing he were here. I knew he’d hate every second of it, but he really was, albeit inadvertently, the reason for tonight’s greater sense of comradery.  

Sometimes, I truly did believe the universe revolved around me, but only so it could fuck me over for one hell of a laugh. Just as I was a million thoughts deep into Elliot, he walked in through the door, close on the heels of Sarah, his hands shoved in his pockets. When he got inside, his big eyes found mine almost immediately and as I coughed, choking a little on my drink, JaLeah looked to see what distracted me.

Her grin was wolfish.

“Don’t say it,” I warned, my voice low so as not to draw the attention of the others at our high-top table.

“I cannot believe he came,” JaLeah said, drawing attention because even when she believed she was whispering, she never was.

“Holy shit—Elliot’s here,” someone said from a few seats down.

“Don’t make a big deal,” I said in their direction as I watched Sarah and Elliot make their way across the bar to our tables.

Elliot ran a hand through his hair as his eyes glanced around as if he were checking for exits. More than a few eyes gave him a once over as he approached and I felt a pull of jealousy. Logically, I knew people were looking at him more out of curiosity than anything else, but logic wasn’t my forte when it came to Elliot Alderson.  

“Hey, everyone!” Sarah said, her smile bright and a bit nervous. “Look who I dragged out.”

Elliot gave the table a small smile as people said hello and a few who were a few drinks in gave a little whoop, which seemed to startle the small smile off of Elliot’s face.

JaLeah almost knocked me off my stool as she pushed me to stand.

“Elliot’s new, so he doesn’t know to cash in on Y/N’s generosity yet. Sarah—you can take my seat. What are you drinking?

“Gin and tonic, please!”

“You got it,” JaLeah said as she pushed Elliot and I toward the bar.

“Hey,” I said, once we were standing at the bar, our bodies pressed together thanks to the crowd.

“Hey,” Elliot said, his voice barely audible as he rested his hands on the edge of the bar, his fingers pressing into the hard surface.

“What can I get you to drink? I always buy the first two rounds for anyone at CIStech who shows up.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka, cran. You want that?”

“Sure,” Elliot said, his eyes still refusing to settle on any one thing.

I reached over and rested my hand on his forearm.

“Are you sure you’re okay with being here?”

“Guess you can’t hold my hand all night this time,” Elliot said as his eyes flicked to mine.

I laughed.

“No, I suppose not. But, if you sit next to me, I’ll see what I can do,” I said as I winked at him.

Elliot smiled softly.

I put our drinks on my tab, along with Sarah’s. JaLeah had already dropped off Sarah’s drink and came back to say she was pirating the corner booth because our table was full and a few more people just showed up.

We followed JaLeah and I let Elliot scoot in before me. We crammed in and I shot Elliot a smirk as our bodies were forced to press nearer to each other. Elliot’s hand was fiddling with his drink until I reached down to pinch lightly at his outer thigh. His hand shot under the table and I gave it a squeeze before shooting him another look. He genuinely smiled as he realized we could hold hands without alerting anyone to our activities, except maybe JaLeah, but I wasn’t worried about her since she knew how I felt about Elliot without me ever having said a word.

As it turned out, the folks who joined us in our booth were good company. JaLeah kept the conversation light and fun, like always, and I could even feel the vibrations of Elliot’s chuckles on occasion.

“You know, JaLeah,” I began. “Elliot thinks you’re quite funny.”

JaLeah raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s about time people truly appreciated my wit, so thank you, baby.”

Elliot grinned at her, either because he’d had a few drinks or because he genuinely liked JaLeah, and said, “You could be a character in an Oscar Wilde play.”

The table laughed and one of the tech’s jumped on the reference to talk about the new play based on Wilde’s life that had just opened.

I leaned over, my lips dangerously close to Elliot’s ear, and said, “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Elliot’s pinky wrapped around my own and squeezed, and I gave him a sweet smile before turning back to the others.

It was one of those nights when people just seemed to be having a great time. We ordered appetizers. The waitress kept our drinks filled. The conversation never lulled, and bursts of laughter kept peppering the air. Before any of us knew it, it was 9:00 and a few people at our table started checking their phones with more frequency.

“Shit—I forgot my wife’s parents were in town. She’s gonna kill me,” Travis, one of JaLeah’s techs said.

“I told my boyfriend I’d be home an hour ago,” another tech said, giggling.

“It’s been a minute since we’ve had such a good night out,” JaLeah said. “See, Elliot? You should come more often.”

“It was cool to hang out,” Travis said. “You’re usually so intense at work—kinda like the big boss,” Travis finished with a chuckle.

I could feel Elliot’s fingers brush against mine. We had been playing this touching, not really, sometimes definitely, game all night and I was wet. I was appalled at myself for being so turned on just by proximity, but I couldn’t stop thinking what if this were normal? What if Elliot were mine? What if we went home together at the end of the night?

“There’s nothing wrong with taking work seriously,” I said, smiling. “That’s why I am the big boss.”

Travis and the others laughed.

We settled our bills and said our goodnights, but I noticed Sarah lingering at the door, clearly waiting for Elliot.

“I think we take the same line home,” she said smiling up at him as we reached her.

Elliot’s hands found their way into his pockets, the material of his dress shirt bunching a bit as he shoved them in.

“I take the 6,” Elliot stated, tension creeping into his voice.

JaLeah was giving out hugs like candy on Halloween, and I laughed to myself. She was such an extrovert, and I appreciated her energy on nights like this. The others slowly went in their separate directions as Elliot stayed close by, Sarah still talking.

“Great! We can ride together. It’s nice to have someone to talk to on the train at night. I forgot my earbuds this morning,” she said, chattering happily.

“Actually, Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, come back to my place...” Elliot said, his eyes focused intensely on mine.

I could feel JaLeah and Sarah, damn near open-mouthed and watching this exchange. I felt like I might throw up on my shoes for a minute and I was thankful the street was dark because I knew there was a blush coloring my cheeks. I thought quickly, and shook my head, my words tumbling out of my mouth.

“Oh! That bug—that bug you told me about. You wanted me to run the analytics on it. I’ll send you the pin for Team Viewer and we can do it this weekend—I gotta get home. Taking care of my neighbor’s cat. Probably out of food. Have a good night!” I said, grinning like a madwoman and telling myself that Elliot did not look like I just kicked him in the face.  

I waved to the three of them and took off for my train, thankful it was in the opposite direction. I turned around to see Elliot and Sarah headed in the same direction. I almost tripped over my own foot as JaLeah jumped up and down and mouthed “What the fuck, Y/N?! What the fuck?!”

I shook my head, turned around, and doubled my steps. I felt sick to my stomach. Fate had just laid an opportunity bare, spread eagle on the floor, and I walked away.

By the time I jumped onto my train and collapsed into a seat, I was fighting back tears. The look on Elliot’s face haunted me. I really, really hurt him—and I wasn’t sure I could fix it this time.

[yoshimickster]

What I feel would’ve improved StarVS(part two of a few)

Hey, its Mick again, how hangs it? Its weird that I’m both criticizing a show I still somewhat like, as WELL as giving off a list of things that I feel would improve it BEFORE its finale, but I feel its still worth talking about. Today I’m gonna talk about the forgotten Los Angeles suburb that we all miss-

-Echo Creek, settled on the battlefield of a massive opossum war, this charming town is composed of several gi-GANTIC hills that people thought putting houses on was a good idea because its Los Angeles. With that, I’m going to point out all the forgotten characters in the show, and how they could’ve EASILY stayed in the show, or how they could’ve been improved while they were still there. 

FIRST OFF-

-Ferguson and Alphonso. Many wondered where the HELL they went in season 2 after having prominent roles as side characters in season 1. The answer is that they were BANISHED due to the creators being able to write more of the original story they WANTED to write, that never featured them. As you may or may not  know, Alphonso and Ferguson were never meant to be a part of the show, Disney made the writers squeeze them in because they wanted Marco to have male best friends as for whatever dumb reason they thought a show with a female-centric cast wouldn’t sell as much. SPOILER ALERT-it totally sold as much, and once they got the season 2 order Alphonso and Ferguson were PRETTY much out.

How they could’ve been improved: Now once again I understand WHY they were written out, but the fact of the matter is that while the writers hated them, the fans didn’t, hell in one of the comics-

-they were even ADVERSTISED to be in it! They were THAT much of a draw. Ultimately, what I feel would’ve improved their characters if the show straight up ACKNOWLEDGED that they weren’t supposed to be in the story, like maybe have them gone for only half or a quarter of the season, and then explain that Omnitraxis took them out of the space time continuum as they never truly belonged. Either that or just...keep them in normal style and develop them beyond the role of “Funny fat friend” and “Funny foreign friend” respectively, but what do I know?

How they could’ve stayed: The EASY answer is having them be squires to Star as well, allowing them to become just as kick ass as their best pal Marco...buuuuuuuuuuuut there’s a better answer: LET MARCO VISIT HIS FREAKING FRIENDS! Remember in “Marco Jr” how the Diazes gave him crap for not visiting as much? THAT-was a valid ass point considering oh I don’t know-HE OWNS MAGICAL SCISSORS(another reason to hate the original “Neverzone” deal because him getting his own scissors wasn’t NEEDED). He could’ve visited home at ANY time, caught up with his besties, solve a mystery or something, but NO-the bulk of Marco’s arcs in seasons 3 and 4 are pri-MARILY romance based. I would’ve taken like ONE episode of him catching up with his friends, ALL I need, BUT because the writers washed their hands of Echo Creek we’ll never get that chance.

NEXT UP-two characters that are...dis-TURBINGLY the same.

BRITTNEY Wong, the spoiled mean girl head cheerleader in literally every high school story that’s EVER existed because status quo-

-and Jeremy Birnbaum, Marco’s pint-sized karate rival.

How they could’ve been improved: Literally ANYTHING that would the two of them past basic bitch bullies. Now Jeremy had a LITTLE bit of development in “All Belts are Off” in explaining the reason he even HAS a black  belt is because his parents practically bribe Sensei Brantley...much like how Brittney’s father bribed the school to make her...head cheerleader-DEAR GOD-they’re both the exact same character if you think about it! Honestly, just have Brittney and/or Jeremy bond with their rival Star and/or Marco in some way or fashion that either quells or AMPLIFIES the rivalry. Hell, I’m amazed Jeremy never tried to TRULY get back at Marco after “Monster Arm”, give the kid some credit for only enacting petty pranks.

How they could’ve stayed: Okay with Brittney the answer isn’t so much obvious as it is HILARIOUS. You know how Rich Pigeon’s family became royal SOLELY because their insanely rich? Same thing, just have her dad straight up BUY a kingdom and she becomes a princess. Don’t lie, that’d be hilarious. And with Jeremy, I think he should’ve gone full on kung fu rival after realizing EVERY accomplishment he ever had was because his parents bought it for him. He can’t handle that he’s not special, and because of that turns to the DARK side! Plenty of ways to go with him.

NEXT UP-

OSKAR GREASON(thought it was Gleason for years)-the boring love interest of Star Butterfly whom she BARELY bonded with in seasons 1 and 2, and was only there to exist!

How he could’ve improved: You know how Marco and Jackie slowly bonded over seasons 1 and 2, how they developed as an actual couple, RIGHT up to the very end? THAT-but with Oskar. Have her go on like, a FEW dates with him, HELL-have them double date making Star realize how little she actually cares for him and have THAT be the point where she realizes she likes Marco! GRAH-freaking waste of a love interest, as well as a generally amusing character.

How he could’ve stayed: Musical apprentice to Ruberiot, easy. Have it be really awkward since Star used to crush on him, yadda yadda, writes itself.

NEXTAH-

Sensei (Brantley) Marco’s dimwitted but lovable sensei!

How he could’ve improved: HONESTLY-he personally as a character needs to improve the least from a story standpoint, he had a pretty funny mini-arc in being a fraud of a karate teacher, somehow getting away with every lesson BEFORE the red belt, it works. A concept that SHOULD’VE been more explored was his friendship with Marco, maybe have the two improve their martial arts together to become CHAMPIONS of justice!

How he could’ve stayed: Become a squire with Marco, easy. No more to say there.

NEEEEEEEEEEEERXT-

MISS MARGARET SKULLNICK-the strict, yet caring school teacher to Star Butterfly and her other classmates! She’s a bad ass troll school teacher, what MORE do you want?!

How she could’ve been improved: Nothing, because she was fucking awesome and underrated.

How she could’ve stayed: FREAKING TUTOR TO STAR AND MARCO! I KNOW the writers think all the magical Mewni nonsense trumps the school aspect but...WHEN THE HELL ARE ANY OF THE KIDS GOING TO SCHOOL ANY MORE?! They could’ve EASILY had an ep where like, Star misses school or something, and then gets her math checked up on by Miss Skullnick, I don’t know I just miss the bad ass troll lady! 

TXEN-

Starfan13, the whacky Star Butterfly fangirl who is also voiced by show creator Daron Nefcy!

How she could’ve been improved: The biggest problem with her is that outside of Star being shown to be bi in season 4, most representations of queer rep in the show are of nameless background characters. THE EXCEPTION-Starfan13, who has a DEFINITE crush on Star. The problem is obvious, said crush is only mentioned once throughout the series, and is never brought up again. Maybe have Starfan13 try to get over Star with another crush, but ultimately that fails because she becomes Janicefan13, basically absorbing the supposed persona of her obsession. Have her go through a real personal arc realizing that before she can obsess about others, she should become obsessed with her-SELF...I worded that horribly, LOVE herself. Also, do we know her ACTUAL first name? Four seasons and we only know her social media handle, what’s up with that?

How she could’ve stayed: Pretty much the same “Getting over Star and learning to love herself” story-BUT-where she somehow follows Star to Mewni and is still as obsessed with her. Honestly, isn’t it STRANGE that the writers never thought about that with her? She’s the most fan-girly fangirl of ALL time, you think the physical borders between realities would stop HER?! Just unrealistic.

FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-

Principal Edwin Bonner-Skeeves, easily bribed public servant of Echo Creek.

How he could’ve been improved: Go to jail. Look this guy got bribed canonically TWICE in the show, whose to say he wasn’t bribed several other times? Then he gets replaced by...Miss...Heinous-OH DEAR GOD-that is what should’ve happened! YES-the best development for Skeeves is to get replaced, EASILY!

How he could’ve stayed:...ya got me, he’s like the ONE character I can’t see on Mewni.

SHRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-

Rafael and Angie Diaz, the loving but in-CREDIBLY irresponsible parents to Marco Diaz.

How they could’ve been improved: Honestly not by much, they were pretty fun in season 1 and 2-BUT-the one thing that always bugged me about them was in “Heinous” how they FINALLY acknowledged how little they knew about their son and would keep more of an eye him...said subject is CLEARLY forgotten as they just FULL ON allow their son to move to the dangerous hellscape that is Mewni. I know they joke about “Star stealing their son” but-NO-dammit, they could’v said NO , they could’ve tried to be actual parents and showed some FREAKING backbone! ALSO-not have them name their second born after their first born, that is WEIRD!

How they could’ve stayed: Now they actually didn’t have to MOVE to Mewni, but they should’ve been to Marco what Moon and River were to Star in seasons 1 and 2, where Marco would regularly talk to them via magic mirror. If you’ve seen my previous post, you can see how turning Marco into the Star(pun intended) of Mewni was a good idea in theory, but wasn’t well done in practice. They only appeared ONCE in season 3, and only had a passing mention in one of TEN episodes into season 4. River and Moon weren’t abandoned as characters, why were the Earth parents?

And finally-HA-THE BIG ONE!

Jackie Lynn Thomas, Marco’s former crush and former girlfriend.

How she could’ve stayed: Yeah I skipped improved on purpose, she was great and she should’ve stayed. I don’t know WHY TV shows keep doing this, be it StarVs or New Girl, but sometimes REGARDLESS of how interesting they are they’ll just write out love interests completely once the romance ends. A person doesn’t disappear when you break up with them, they continue to exist and live on their life. Maybe Marco could’ve had a Mewni day and have her moving on with a new guy, to which Marco gets jealous or something. Point is, waste of a character and I hope she at least has ONE cameo in the final season.

And that’s part 2, hoped you liked it, after this I think I’m going to end it with the personal arcs of the title characters. With that, I’m Yoshimickster a.k.a. Mick the nerd, and hope you have a kickin’ time.

[courtorderedcake]

Riptide 1/13

An Enchanted Forest AU where the dark one was never released into the world in a vessel, thus causing a massive shift in timelines. The ogre wars have ravaged kingdoms, untold destruction spanning continents, rulers displaced. Even as the wars sputter to ash, the safest place to be is at sea, and that's not very safe at all - as Emma and Killian find out, fates intertwined against all odds.

Rated: E/X - heavy content : warnings of assault, rape, noncon, just everything, I feel like the rating says enough. It's something.

@captxinswans did the beautiful artwork accompanying this story. I can't thank her enough!

@ultraluckycatnd you don't know how much of a pleasure it was to work with you. Your kindness, insight, talent for editing, and parsing out my brief scribbled notes has been my anchor in many dark times where I thought I was done for. You are a cheerleader, and the best beta I could have ever asked for.

@distant-rose your pirate doc was completely invaluable, even if I said to hell with 67% of it for story purposes. Forgive me one day.

@shireness-says and @wingedlioness for reading the original snippets and believing that it could be more. @artistic-writer, @hollyethecurious, @doodlelolly0910, and @resident-of-storybrooke for getting me through a really rough emotional patch. Thanks y’all. It’s not better, but it ain’t worse. 

Read on Ao3 HERE .

Chapter I : Driftwood Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally. -Edwin Arnold

Emma cried quietly into her brother’s coat as he carried her at a fast pace down the hill. She could see the flames from the forest rising, flames that had already claimed their mother and father. The air was thick, the taste of the smoke and the acrid burning making her feel nauseous. The pine wood had burnt easily; the farm they had been lovingly raised on now nothing more than ash.

James spoke quietly but harshly. “Tell her to shut up, or we’ll leave her.”

Emma whimpered into David’s neck, trying to suck up her tears.

“James, you’re just scaring her,” he said as he stroked Emma’s hair. “It’s alright. We’re going to be okay.” Emma nodded under his coat. She snuggled into his neck and stayed quiet. “See? No need to frighten her.”

James grunted. “We need to find a place to stay for the night. A tavern is too risky, too many slavers. We’ll have to try our luck on the street tonight.”

Emma felt them start moving again, her brothers’ feet quiet on the cobbled streets. David set her down on a pile of hay laid out near a closed off alley. He gathered some rags they’d taken, mostly coats, and laid her small frame down in the pile.

“Sleep well, Emma. We’ll watch over you. We’re going to be just fine,” he whispered. David had always been like a second father to her, someone she trusted more than anything. He protected her from James’s constant tormenting, and kept things from their mother like when she snuck off to play in the frog pond, or when she beat a boy twice her size bloody for tormenting a barn cat with a stick. Emma was a terror at five summers old, and David was her grounding force.

She tried to fall asleep on the hard ground, but James was talking in hushed tones to David. Keeping still, she angled her head to hear the conversation better.

“We should leave her. We can get jobs, but she’s just a mouth to feed and a crybaby that can’t do hard labor. She acts like a spoiled princess; she’ll slow us down and we’ll get caught.” Emma felt her chest constrict. She’d been the brunt of James’s rage before, but now his tone was cold and calculated. Emma wondered, not for the first time, how he could possibly be her flesh and blood.

“I’m not leaving our sister,” David growled. “We have to protect her. We’re all she has now.”

“We could sell her to the man Father sold eggs too. The slaver.” Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to stay quiet and not audibly cry. “We could get away from here and get jobs on a ship with him or as blacksmith apprentices, maybe even as a page for a knight-”

“We are not selling our flesh and blood. What is wrong with you?” David sounded appalled. “You would give her over to a life of possible torture just to fill your purse with coin? Would Mother be proud of that? Or Father?”

“Mother and Father are dead, burnt to a crisp by a war that is now in our realm. They’re ash in the dirt; they don’t give a fuck about you, our stupid little bitch of a sister, or -” A crack rang out.

Emma opened one eye to see James on the ground holding a bloody nose as David stood above him, fists balled, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t ever speak of them like that,” he said lowly. “They gave us everything; they wanted us to have a better life, to grow into-”

“Grow into WHAT?” James hissed, wiping blood from his face. He chuckled darkly. “A lord? A king? You know as well as I do we would rot with them there on that farm forever in pig shit,” he spat. “We would waste away at the farm while Princess over there was shook in front of a lord until he gave her a title so she’d spread her legs. Then we’d all go live with Lord Rich and Lady Fuck Trophy Emma until they screwed enough to make some heir. I want more, and I’m not going to sit here while you baby our meal ticket.”

David grunted. “Then get moving. We don’t need you here to try and -” Emma couldn’t hear what he said, his voice lowering in pitch for a moment, spitting out something that made James eyes gleam with malice. David’s voice rose again. “Don’t think I don’t know why Mother asked me to keep an eye on her. I know why you were stuck on the farm more often than not.”

James laughed again darkly. “Fuck you. Remember this when you’re rotting somewhere. You chose her over your twin.” Emma heard his footfalls retreating.

“And I’d do it again.” David sat down, continuing his watch as Emma finally drifted to sleep.

Over the next few days, David and Emma tried to keep away from slavers and do some begging to keep their bellies full. They managed to find a decent piece of stale bread in the rubbish on the first day, and David charmed a tavern wench for some water and a hot pie to split on the second night. They didn’t talk about James.

On the third day, James came back, humbled. He had found a small safe spot to sleep down by the docks and begged David for forgiveness. Emma felt something pull in her stomach and pulled on David’s hand, shaking her head no. Something felt wrong. It pulled at the pit of her stomach like a rope pulling water from a well, something deep in her gut responding to his words.

“Let her stay here then, if she likes,” James snorted. “I’m just asking forgiveness.”

David looked at her pleadingly.

They went.

Every step closer, Emma felt her stomach tightening into knots. The docks were covered in fog and she felt eyes peering out that she couldn’t see. Rats scuttled across wood planks making strange scratching noises, and the sea waves made wet sounds against the creaking ships. She pulled tighter on David’s coat, hiding almost completely behind his form.

“James, are we almost there? I-” She felt David tense through the coat.

“Is this them?” a low, gravelly voice said. It sounded like someone who had chewed too much devil weed, their throat permanently changed from the chew.

“Yes. Ten summers, and five summers,” James said.

“Emma, Emma run!” David yelled, pushing her back. She tried to run through the fog, but huge hands lifted her easily as she kicked. She heard David’s knees hit the dock hard.

“Ah, now brother,” James dangled a purse of coins in front of his face as a huge man covered in tattoos held him by his hair. “You and Emma have me started on my journey into knighthood. Two hundred pieces for you two, although you were worth more than her. If only she was older, then I could have bought my own house!”

He kicked David roughly in the side, laughing as David fell over holding his abdomen.

“I told you you’d regret it.” He cast a glance at Emma. “Pity you didn’t listen.” He leveled one more hard kick to David’s ribs and spat. “Goodbye.”

Emma cried in the darkness as the men carried David and her onto a boat, throwing them into an awful smelling cell filled with other small bodies. Emma cried harder, crawling over to David, checking if he was ok. She sobbed into him when he tried to hug her.

“Shhhh!” said a voice next to her. She looked over and saw a boy with tangled black hair looking down at his feet. Even in the dim light, when he looked up, his eyes were unmistakable, a brilliant bright blue. “If you’re too loud, they’ll whip you.”

Emma tried to bite back another sob, but it ripped out before she could help it. Eyes around her began to stare, looking in fear toward the door where a shadow began to appear. Emma tried to stop, panicked and hiccuping.

She heard a low voice from a different cell hiss out. “Killian, don’t you dare-”

The man had descended the stairs and had a large whip in his hands, one with several heads coming out of the handle. Emma was going to throw up and be sick; she couldn’t stop the hiccups.

“Who’s it now, makin’ all ‘tat ruckus?” said the man, opening the cell door. “Ah, it be the pretty ‘lil missus cryin’. Well now, let’s givya somethin’ to wail about, shall we missy?” He raised his hand with the savage looking whip and Emma tensed, her body going rigid, hearing its crack but feeling nothing.

The boy had rushed in front, taking the lashes, and the man laughed. He pushed the boy aside, who was now bleeding from his back and shoulders. Grabbing her by her hair, he took a small pocket knife and ran it under her ear. She could smell his rancid breath, filled with onions and something bitter.

“Lucky yer ‘lil friend thar saved yer pretty skin. One day when yer sold fer whorin’, ye’ll not want ‘dem scars, missy.” He pressed the knife under her ear and she whimpered when she felt blood run down her neck. It bit into her skin and she shrieked, feeling the sharp burn as it peeled away skin. “Now, ma dear, best ‘member who gave ye yer first scar. Bradshaw the slaver.” He dropped her, and she crawled back to David, who grabbed her close.

Bradshaw laughed, his huge gut shaking, and closed the door. He stumbled back up the stairs and Emma looked at the boy. Hands were reaching through the cell, an older boy with the same blue eyes examining the bleeding lashes. Ripping off part of her well worn and burned skirt into a strip, she crawled over to them, pressing it into the older boy’s hand.

Touching gently on the younger boy’s uninjured shoulder, she hugged him carefully, much to his shock.

”Thank you. I’m sorry,” she whispered, and scampered back to David.

She fell asleep for what felt like only seconds, when she felt hands cutting her hair. David was shearing her hair short. When he finished, she heard him slide the knife away from them.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled sleepily.

“You’re now Eric. And will only answer to that, do you understand?” David said through gritted teeth. Emma nodded, afraid. He handed her a pair of dirty men’s breeches. “Put these on. One of the boys died last night. We’re going to say it was you.” Emma’s eyes widened in shock. She looked quickly over to where the blue eyed boy was. He was sleeping, but through the cell bars, another pair of eyes the same color acknowledged her with a nod. She put the pants on without hesitation.

David nodded at the older boy in the other cell, and he nodded back. They spread her skirts over the frail body, and waited in silence for their fates, David’s hands gripping Emma’s tightly.

“No matter what happens now, until I say so, we’re brothers. David and Eric. They’ll sell us together.” Emma looked up at him and nodded again. “Good. We’ll be okay Eric. We’ll be alright.”

She looked over to the blue eyed boy, who was awake now, as who she assumed to be his brother whispered in his ear. She wondered if he was saying the same things David had. He held her ripped skirt like a talisman, as if it was the only thing that could protect him. Closing her eyes and wishing with everything she had, she hoped it would.

It felt like they had waited years in the bottom of the ship, heat and the stench of rot, shit, and piss all around them. She didn’t see Bradshaw again until he took the bodies of the lost out of the cells a few days after giving Emma her scar. He gave the skirted body a kick, muttering to himself about “girlies never making it.” Emma kept her head down. The blue eyed boy coughed slightly, and when she looked up he kicked something towards her. Picking it up, she recognized it as a knotted piece of leather. Emma smiled at him as he shyly looked down at the floor. She placed it in her pocket as she fell asleep.

They docked and were pulled out roughly, tied together by feet and hands in strange, looping knots. The auction was led by two people: the auctioneer, a loud monstrous man called Hyde, and his timid companion that collected monies, Jekyll. She and David watched as in the sun, the dark haired boy and his brother were sold to a private vessel as hands. She caught his blue eyes once more, blinking a goodbye she hoped he could see as Jekyll let the coins jangle into his purse with a lopsided grin.

A stern gray haired woman appraised them, and checked David’s teeth before haggling down the price from Jekyll. They were roped together on a leash for eighty gold pieces as the gray haired woman led them to a long ship and a new future.

Granny ran a tight kitchen galley, and Emma was the perfect size to stay compactly out of her way while washing pots and pans or peeling potatoes. David, at ten, was quick footed and small enough to climb the rigging into the crow’s nest of the ship and call down. They fell into their roles quietly and the captain of The Lion’s Heart let them know everyday that their place was beneath free men.

The Lion’s Heart was a merchant longship, stocked with silks, furs, and jewels. They stayed close to the coast furthest from trouble in the calmer currents, cutting a quick path through the water to drop off goods. The crew were hearty men, cold and stern, who did not take kindly to frivolity. While other crews could be heard at port singing raucous and bawdy songs from the taverns, the men of The Lion’s Heart found sharpening their weapons and wrestling each other a far better use of their time.

Emma and David stayed together as much as they could, accepting as much knowledge as they were given. The captain, Richard Kingsley, took David under his wing after a few months at sea. He found that David could read, keep ledgers, and was keen to learn to navigate. Emma learned about dice, climbing the rigging, and how to throw knives, as well as several of Granny’s secret recipes. Years passed, and although they were still slaves, they found their bearings like a compass held in one’s palm.

When Emma turned twelve, they gave her a birthday cake, and she felt like she almost had a family again. The crew began teaching them songs of the countries from the far West, as well as sword fighting. They taught David the traditional Northern style of heavy blades, and the Western style of quick, forceful attacks. Emma learned about fluidity, using your opponent's strength against themselves, death blows with a staff, and how to move so quickly you could shave a man’s beard without him knowing you used a scythe to do it. The latter was taught by a quiet South Eastern man with an accent, who always offered her sugar dates and pistachios. He showed her how to fold paper in the shape of stars, how to braid rope, twine and leather while telling her stories of the creatures of his desert homeland. The knotted leather piece she cherished was turned into a bracelet, braided beautifully in intricate patterns, blue beads and shells through it.

Before her fifteenth birthday, Kingsley became gravely ill. David took over much of the paperwork and the first mate, Nottingham, tried to keep the crew together. He hired more sailors to pick up the slack and for once, Emma saw Granny bristle with apprehension. Emma felt it too. Nottingham spoke in a way that reminded her of her other brother, James. It pulled at her when he announced the new, “honorable” men, and again when he said he hoped the captain got better. He had the same look James would get when he stole her meager portion of bread, leaving her with crusts.

She talked to David and he dismissed her worries, caught up in ledger balances and accounting for stock.

They left port laden with rich velvets, linens, furs, and silks, heading off towards the kingdoms that were flecked with snow. There was no way to stay on the coastline here; they’d have to cross open waters. Some of the crew seemed actively anxious as if they could feel something in the air.

Kingsley died at sea as they were crossing an icy strait the crew actually had to break apart with heavy picks. Nottingham didn’t shed a tear for his captain as he slipped under the cold, dark waters. Instead, he picked a new first mate, one with beady eyes that seemed to always be darting to something shiny - Walsh. Emma disliked him, but not nearly as much as Granny, who believed he was stealing fruit from her pantry.

The years became harder for Emma, as Eric became harder to make convincing. She bound her breasts tight as they grew, and when she got her first sign of the woman’s curse blooming red in her breeches, she used ripped burlap from potato sacks to line her sensitive parts. David was getting nervous for her as well. He’d grown into a tall teenager, muscled and strong, inheriting Kingsley’s charm at haggling with merchants. Kingsley had taught David to, in his words, “Sell a Merman pearls at full coin”.

When he’d asked if their debt was paid, Nottingham was immune to his silver tongue. Money was drying up, the newer crew and Nottingham having spent much of it on ale and taverns. Stocked goods were not making it to their buyers; rolls of velvet or silk missing, or worse, jewels and priceless valuables. David had offered to help and was whipped for insolence against the captain. Long time crew members left to seek better fortunes on the breeze with more honorable men. David and Emma were bound, however, by a contract Nottingham pulled out, signed by Mr. Kingsley before his death. When a ship got a new owner, the indebted aboard owed the new captain what was due at the time they were first bought.

They were slaves all over again.

The crew of late was mostly new folk; greasy haired, worm faced men that smelt of drink and piss. The ship was falling into disrepair, and Nottingham was having trouble picking up work. David had secured a deal to deliver ale to the next town over. A small paying job, but a job nonetheless.

Emma kept herself in the galley with Granny, trying her best to hide herself, though her womanhood was now almost entirely impossible to hide. Granny figured it out shortly after her eighteenth birthday. She had gotten Emma a heavy coat made of stiff material and breeches to match, along with a strange cup device that allowed her to bleed without worry during her curse.

“You were always too pretty to be a boy. Should have just been out with it ages ago, so Kingsley and me could have had at it. I’d have sent you to work at the tavern my granddaughter works at.” She sighed, looking down at the soup she was stirring as Emma peeled potatoes. “But now we have Nottingham and that creepy, twitchy, monkey man.” She threw pepper in the pot with force. “Can’t reason with those idiots.” In fact, the entire crew were stupid and lecherous, which was a dangerous combination.

Emma became more concerned about Granny’s warnings when David could no longer reason with the captain and his first. Walsh in particular was unconvinced that the tavern wouldn’t notice a cask or two missing from delivery. David’s protests earned him a sound lashing tied to the mast, where he cooked under the sun for hours before being undone to work until past sundown. When he collapsed in his hammock that night, sweat soaked and still bleeding, Emma was enraged. The rest of the crew joined the captain on deck to drink the ale they had no intention now of delivering.

She tended to David’s wounds, carefully cleaning them with water and a small bit of rum Granny had let her have. He groaned in misery, eyes rolling back into his head. She heard the clatter of feet above her as someone played an out-of-tune accordion.

“Stupid fools,” she muttered, ripping more cloth to wrap the worst of the rips across his back. Their singing and drinking the cargo disgusted her.

There was no warning that anything was amiss until that first crash. It felt like it was right on top of her as the harpoon split the wood easily. She screamed, but it wasn’t heard over the yells of the men on deck, drunken and scared.

“PIRATES! PIRATES OFF -” Another crash had her head spinning. She pulled David up, placing him against the landing of the stairs where a cannonball or stray harpoon would not hit. She ran on deck as fast as she could, sword gripped in hand.

The ship attacking had a black sail up, and they were drawing in fast as to her shock, they threw roped hooks into the rigging of The Lion’s Heart. The pirates flew over her head like gulls, calling out cries of war. The men on deck scattered like roaches, a few even jumping overboard like cowardly fish bellies. She took a stance, preparing to take arms to guard her brother.

A pirate landed near her with a thump. He was tall, and wore a dusty olive green long coat and a olive green tricorne hat that burnt orange curls spilled from. His face was obscured with an emerald green bandana that menacing green eyes peered out of. He moved quickly, drawing a large cutlass and lunged towards Emma.

Emma was quicker, and her training paid off. She was able to parry and dodge several blows with her own long rapier, catching her opponent off guard. She heard men dying around her and footsteps start to approach; she knew this wouldn’t be a fair fight. She moved quickly again and the cutlass caught her rapier, but not quite in time to stop it from loosing the bandana. It fell to the floor slowly, exposing red lips that smiled back at her.

“Good show, but you’re sorely outnumbered now, boy.” The revealed woman before her smiled.

Emma only gritted her teeth as she heard someone approach her from behind. Throwing an elbow back with all her might, she heard a shriek of fury as the approaching person clutched their nose.

The woman in green sighed. “Don’t do that again.” She whistled and pointed to a small form with dark brown hair, squatting on some barrels and watching with her head cocked. “Snow, show the boy what will happen if he steps closer to me.”

The one the green woman called Snow moved like water, in an instant fluidly pulling out a bow and arrow from seemingly nowhere. The arrow flew through the air with a whistle, landing in the space between Emma and the captain. The captain stood and faced her attacker.

“Now, be a good boy, and throw that sword aside - Your captain’s dead, only two men still live of your crew, and you might make it home to a sweet lass like Miss Snow here if you stand down, my little monkey.”

Emma heard the person behind her get up, and felt a knife at her neck. The point pressed hard, pricking her skin. She dropped the sword, as a voice hissed in her ear, “Ye broke m’ fuckin’ nose. I should kill ye now, ye idjit boy. Slit yer throat like a pig if -”

”Meri.” The woman in green shook long red hair from her hat, smiling placidly. “That is not how we treat those who almost best the Captain.” She felt the knife’s point weaken its pressure as the girl behind her sighed. It was definitely a girl behind her; she could feel her breasts pushed into her back, and the wind pulled tightly wound red curls in front of her own gaze.

Snow approached quietly and Emma startled. Meri laughed. “This boy’s a chicken; scared of lovely ladies.”

“Hush, Meri. He’s terrified. Captain Zelena, permission to search below?” Snow acknowledged the woman in green. In fact, the entire crew were all women.

“Go ahead. I want to question the crew of… What’s this ruddy ship’s name anyway?”

Granny came up from the galley with Snow in tow. “That would be The Lion’s Heart. I assume you’d be Captain Zelena?” She smoothed her skirts as Snow balked at her for having no fear of the sword pointed at her.

“That I’d be.” The woman in green curtsied, laughing. “And you are?”

“I’m the galley cook, they call me Granny. If you’re going to kill me and the boy, and the boy’s brother, do it fast. I tell you this, though. They’re hard workers, that lot, and so am I. We deserve a fair chance at another ship.”

“Oh, and what about the other crew members?” She pointed to an older man they’d called Rot Mouth for the stench of his breath and rudeness to everyone, and to Walsh.

Granny shrugged. “Those two aren’t worth the piss you’d get out of them.”

“And what are you carrying. Anything worthwhile?”

“Ha.” Granny spat out of the side of her mouth. “I wish. Casks of ale for a tavern, and these idiots drank half without even a deposit.”

Zelena seemed to think on it a moment, a slight frown on her face, while Meri rifled through Emma’s pockets, patting her down.

“Snow, go check on this other boy. See why he’s not up here.” Zelena made a dismissive gesture, looking around at the casks of ale.

“Yes, Captain.” Snow nodded, heading below deck once more.

“OI! CAPTAIN!” Meri exclaimed, with a dark laugh. “This ‘uns a chit! She’s a girl!” Emma’s eyes widened with fear and she looked at Granny.

Zelena, however was delighted. “Well then. This is promising. A chit like that who can hold her own against me without training for weeks.” She shot Meri a look, and Emma felt the girl tense.

Walking over to Walsh and Rot Mouth, Zelena pulled them both up and examined them. Walsh trembled in fear, while Rot Mouth swayed slightly, still drunk. Zelena smiled her placid smile, and pulled their gags down.

“Hello, gentleman.”

Walsh looked as if he was about to pass out, and Rot Mouth glared, still swaying.

“We could use a few cleaning hands on my ship, what say you? Are you up to swab some decks in exchange for keeping your necks attached to your heads?”

For his response, Rot Mouth spat a wad of yellow spit. It had barely touched the ground as Zelena’s face contorted, and her sword was up in the air for a split second before it settled, slicing his neck. Rot Mouth clutched at his throat, dropping to his knees. His body finally reacted after seconds that felt like minutes, squirting blood all over the deck.

Zelena wiped blood from her face, flicking it off absentmindedly. She turned to Walsh, the placid smile returning and eyes glittering.

“How about you, my little monkey?”

“Yes, Gods, yes. I’ll do anything,” he trembled. “I pledge loyalty to you, Captain.”

“Good. We’ll discuss this further on my ship. Let’s see who else we can drag up here.” She glanced at Snow who was dragging a barely conscious David on deck. Emma blanched, yanking away from Meri, and helped to lay him down. Meri made no moves to stop her as Zelena came over.

“What happened to him?” she asked, nudging him with an olive colored boot. He groaned, blinking slightly, before looking at Snow.

“Are you an angel?” he said slowly, looking up at her with glazed eyes. Snow visibly flinched.

“He got flogged. He disrespected the old captain by suggesting the crew shouldn’t drink the haul,” Emma said dryly.

“Is he a hard worker like your Granny says?” Zelena asked, squatting to Emma’s level.

“Yes.”

“Will you and Granny join us if we don’t take him?” Zelena asked lowly, picking up his arm and letting it drop back onto the hardwood. Emma shook her head as a firm no. “What if we do take him? You’ll stay if he dies?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded. She looked back to David’s face, and Snow wiped sweat off his brow with her sleeve. “He’ll survive though. That’s what we do.”

Zelena’s ship, The Emerald Envy of Oz was beautiful. She was sleek, as fast as some naval runners, but her speed was balanced by a lack of firepower. At only twenty odd guns, they focused on bloody battles that left her crew always in need of new recruits.

Zelena cried out to her assembled hands, “HELL HATH NO FURY!”, listening to their cries of victory as they sped away from the burning hulk of the Lion’s Heart. David was taken away from Emma by Snow and a sandy brown haired man, disappearing below the deck. Emma felt the anxious pull in her chest watching him go.  

Zelena gave little thought to having few men aboard, Emma found with at first, a large bit of admiration. The crew was made up of almost entirely women to her shock. Since the beginning of the Ogre Wars, many felt it was safer to be on the seas than on land. What safe lands were left were constantly warring, leaving only minor claims for the thrones remaining. Allegiances born of gold and steel were far more lucrative in war time than those of blood and marriage.

Zelena wasn’t too proud to nod at the ex-royalty she’d collected. There was a brunette with huge doe eyes, reading in the crow’s nest. Once a princess in a long lost realm, they referred to her as Book & Belle, but mostly the latter. Snow, who at one point may have been heiress to the ruins of Misthaven, but now took refuge on this ship while her Step Mother tried to find safety on land. Rory, with Phillip and Fa, who had been a pedigreed princess before fleeing with her betrothed and his bodyguard during a brutal ogre siege razing their kingdom. Meri, who was from the lands to the far Northeast, where tribal law decreed she must vacate her throne to one of her three brothers. And now added to their motley crew were Granny, David and Walsh. Emma didn’t mention the contract, hoping it would be resigned to the past now that they were among free folk.

The few menfolk had a small bunk area in the bottom of the ship that used to be a holding cell, Meri had explained while showing Emma around. She seemed to hold no grudge for her nose, and had cracked it back into place as soon as they had made their way down the stairs below deck, relishing in the disgusted look Emma gave her. If anything, she seemed proud that Emma had practically knocked her nose into the backside of her skull.

“Aye, I love a tough lass, that I do.” She winked with total disregard at Emma’s confusion. Nodding her head, they walked through a doorway into the normal hammocked sleeping room for crews.

“Now ‘ere, let’s get that all off of ye.” She gestured at the menswear Emma had become accustomed to. Emma glanced at Meri’s choice of dress: some mixture of trousers and a cut off long shirt. Emma shook her head.

“I’ll wait until we get to shore. That doesn’t look comfortable.”

Meri shrugged. “Suit yerself. You can untie yerself at least, if it’s wot ya be wontin’.” She gestured at Emma’s chest, and left without saying anything more.

Emma let her breasts hang unrestrained, her shirt cut to allow air under her vest, and for the first time ever, joined the crew on the upper deck as her true self.

The work on Zelena’s ship was thankless and without end, even as part of the crew. Zelena, she found, was prone to moods of madness, where someone (usually male) would draw her ire and receive the full brunt of her rage. When it was a female member of the crew, it was usually and almost certainly due to Zelena perceiving a slight or one of her port side dandies favoring someone else heavy of the purse. She could come up with inventive and truly cruel tortures, and no one wanted to be the next singled out.

Emma had acclimated to being dressed as a woman for the most part. At port, she’d taken a small stipend and several of the female crew to help her pick out some clothes. There was, however, a vast difference in style preferences. Rory, Belle, and Zelena found form with flair to be their preferred choice. They wore cut skirts, draped cloaks, capes, dark brocade corsets, bejeweled pieces of fashion, and swirling silks in exotic patterns that could hide weapons or confuse their quarry. Snow and Fa liked function. They chose dark colors and sturdy fabrics, with light armored padding that allowed them to move with quick precision. Meri was a joyful and eclectic mix of both. Bright blue damask hid light armor, exotic pants that belled at the bottom, a corset made of soft cream satin, an unbuttoned men’s frilled shirt, and an armored coverlet were among her prized possessions. Emma joined her in her style, choosing a mixture of breeches, skirts, a loose hook and eye corset, and a silken blouse.

Her outfit drew attention she was not used to, which she discovered quickly. The women hadn’t warned her, so used to it themselves that it seemed second nature when a lout tried to cup their ass. Emma’s shock brought them peals of laughter and a long conversation on the best places to cut a man that would leave him in pain for the rest of his life. When Emma experienced this first hand in a port, she found that the fat older man was not prepared to lose the tool he claimed he could use so well.

David healed slowly as the months passed, but he was soon up on the deck cleaning with Emma and showing his aptitude for maintenance on the ship’s armament. Walsh began his campaign of finding how far his head could snugly fit up their new captain’s derriere, and found that even a woman captain had plenty of space he could weasel into. The crew was stunned to find him announced as her first mate, and Meri demoted after a particularly hard week of punishment on her. In their hammocks later, Meri had tried to hide her low rumbles of tears and anger, but come morning, had found extra sweets rationed to her by Granny.

Granny in turn had come to take an extreme dislike to Zelena, who had called her food ‘barely palatable’. She’d been struggling baking the pastries and fine cakes Zelena demanded on a whim after making ports, her hands beginning to tremble from age as much as she tried to hide it. Emma and David had both begged Zelena to let at least one of them help her in the galley, but she’d refused. Emma had taken to waking up earlier to cut, dice, knead, and peel so Granny needn’t do as much with her hands, while Granny sought out the newest recipe Zelena coveted from any bakery willing to offer it.

Emma was sneaking back into the bunks one morning when a hand caught her wrist and pulled her into the shadows of the small hallway leading above. A hand covered her mouth as she tried to protest. Hot breath huffed in her ear.

”Well, look at this.” Walsh whispered. She could feel her body stiffen. “Someone is up early. They say the early bird gets the worm, and the second mouse gets the cheese.” She felt his hand slip under her shirt, and tried to pull away from him. He held her tighter, hooking a leg around her ankle. “They don’t say what happens to the sneaking slave girl that looks like a sweet.” His tongue ran along her neck, and she shuddered, feeling like her skin was trying to crawl away from her bones.

“Here’s what I propose. You get to keep sneaking around on your little jaunts to help your dear sweet Gramma, and I get to take what I want in my quarters, after the ship’s asleep. No one needs to know a thing, and you and I both get what we want.” He pressed into her, and she could feel the imprint of him like so many men before who had tried to push their luck. She struggled again, and he hissed a whisper into her ear. “Do what I say, or I tell Zelena. Think on it. I’d hate to see what might happen to a feeble old woman who serves Zelena no use, but shares the spoils.” He released her, and she stumbled away up to the brightness of the deck.

She only made it a minute before vomiting over the side.