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darsynia · 2 years ago

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Trust Fall | Ch5

ARC reactor image by Eury Escodero || screencap by 'neverfeltbetter' on wordpress || My MASTERLIST

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Summary: Tony/OC, 'terrorists made us fall in love;' IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory Autumn's ruse is discovered, and Tony relies on his reputation as a womanizer to request that he be allowed to 'keep' her as a 'distraction.'

Length: 4,774

I’m shy as hell about saying this but if anyone wants to be tagged or ask me to write something please do! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon

Excerpt:

“How does he know you’re not simply doing this to save her life?”

Tony drops his hand to Autumn’s ass and pulls her tight to his hip. With one final gentle swipe of his thumb on her neck, he takes a handful of her hair and pulls, dragging her head back to look up at him. Her eyes are wild, frightened, hopeful. One of her hands is clutching a handful of his shirt material at his back.

“I’m a weapons manufacturer,” Tony says, his eyes on Autumn. “I’m not known for my altruism. I am known for my women.” He dips his head down and, holding her still with the hand gripping her hair, Tony kisses her roughly. It’s for show, and he shows, forcing her mouth open and sweeping his tongue in. Autumn is clearly shocked, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, right on the magnet apparatus, before snatching it back.

Chapter Five: 01010011 01110101 01101110 01101100 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100

Over the course of the next few days, Emory, Yinsen, and Stark collect palladium from the missiles they take apart. She’s good at unscrewing the tail pieces without having to move the missile, if it’s hanging over the edge of the table a bit. It doesn’t hurt her back, as she doesn’t have to lean over quite as far as they would. Stark says he likes that the deconstruction leaves quite a few pieces lying around, innards of the missiles, housings, various parts, all of which look like he’s actually working on what he’s supposed to.

He… won’t tell either of them what he’s actually doing, though. Stark has implied more than once that whatever it is will result in him being freed from having to carry around the battery, but Emory can’t imagine what that could possibly be.

Though, if he’s collecting palladium, he’s probably right. Emory doesn’t know anything about engineering or physics, but it sounds like a scary enough material that could be used to power something.

Today Yinsen is using their cooking and heating fire to warm up a smelting cup with the palladium flakes inside it. He’s clearly done something to make it stronger than usual, because it’s warm in the cave. Stark’s down to the white shirt she’d given him, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She’s sitting at their dining table with Childhood’s End, but she’s really watching Stark.

He’s got a bowl with some sort of thick, loamy material in it, and he’s packing a smaller bowl with the stuff. The way the muscles of his arms move and the precise gestures of his hands have her captivated. Hands are her secret weakness, and Emory had managed to avoid thinking about Stark’s hands mostly because he’d been wearing fingerless gloves so often. Today, though, he’s bunching them in the sand, pressing some into a smaller bowl with his palms, holding a measuring device steady and tapping it to sink down and make an impression. He is making an impression. On her. Emory tries in vain to remember where she was in her book, but it’s hopeless.

The best she can do is firmly instruct herself to avoid picturing him touching her.

Yinsen signals that he’s ready to pour the palladium, and Stark hovers nearby, not close enough to bump him.

“Careful. We only get one shot at this,” he says, the battery held over his shoulder and out of the way.

“Relax, I have steady hands. Why do you think you’re still alive, huh?”

Yinsen pours the molten palladium with the steady hands he promised, and Stark looks visibly relieved when he lifts the smelting cup again. As soon as Yinsen sets the cup down near the fire to cool, though, there’s a noise at the door.

Stark grabs his beanie and arranges it over the bowl, covering their day’s work.

The bearded terrorist comes into the room with a lot more energy than normal, and with far less enthusiasm. He seems very upset, and he’s carrying a magazine. Accompanying him are ten men with machine guns. Emory sucks in a breath, full of fear and comprehension: this is it. He knows she’s not Rory.

Sure enough, he holds up the magazine and snaps something angrily at Yinsen.

“He says you are not the woman in the picture,” Yinsen says, his voice shaking slightly.

“Can I see it?” she asks. She has to repeat herself, because the first words come out so quiet and choked that Yinsen shakes his head, uncomprehending. Out of the corner of her eye, Emory sees Stark grab his battery and come to stand a few feet behind her.

The terrorist shakes the magazine and stomps over, thrusting it towards her. He points with a pudgy finger at a picture of Rory at a gala event five months before. She’s obviously a different person from Emory, not just because of height, but body shape and facial features. There’s no fudging her identity. Emory examines the picture, hoping for some kind of reprieve. In the back of the image, behind Rory, she recognizes the dress she had been wearing to the event.

“I’m in this picture,” she says. Behind her, Stark lets out a small grunt.

There’s nothing he can do. Tony holds the battery with one hand at his side and watches as Autumn points to something he can’t see in the image their captor is holding out. Her attitude is bound to make the man more angry, and he lets out a small sound in warning.

He’s running through options in his mind and coming up with completely nothing. The very best he could do is threaten to set off the missiles, but that would likely save no one and result in all three of their deaths, with the possible ‘upside’ that some of the terrorists may also die. With the stacked up missiles, Tony wouldn’t be able to dodge around to take the main guy hostage, but Yinsen has already said that there’s a separate leader from the spokesman they’ve interacted with so often.

They’d probably just write the guy off and shoot everyone.

“I grew up with Rory. We’re close. She would pay a ransom to get me back. Just because I’m not Rory Fall doesn’t mean I’m not valuable!” Autumn is saying, now.

Yinsen’s tone as he translates is placating but desperate. The look on the terrorist’s face is not encouraging.

“He says you are not worth the cost of food,” Yinsen says, his tone impersonal but his expression frightened.

“So give me a hunk of bread and a water bottle and set me loose,” she argues, holding her clasped hands in front of her, begging. “No one will bring an army to revenge itself for me even if I did survive, and chances are high I’ll just die in the desert. There’s no downside.”

With a savage backhand, the terrorist hits her on the side of the head, and Autumn lands on her side on the floor in front of Tony. The suddenness of the violence is shocking. If he can’t think of something, they’re going to kill her. He drops the battery on the floor beside her and drags Autumn up against him, cradling her against his arm to keep her from pulling on the wires. She’s shaking.

“Do not give orders to men,” Yinsen translates, horror in his tone. The terrorist screams at Tony, and Tony meets his gaze unflinchingly. “This doesn’t concern you, Stark,” Yinsen adds. “Imagine your own insults, I don’t wish to repeat them.”

“It does concern me,” Tony says, resting a gentle hand against Autumn’s neck. Her whole body is trembling as he addresses the terrorist, trying to adopt an arrogant tone. She won’t appreciate this very much if it works, but she’ll be alive. “You want me to build your Jericho? Give her to me. I work better when I’m… relaxed,” he says, shrugging with as much casual innuendo as he can.

Against him, Autumn’s frozen still. He brushes his thumb against her neck just once, hoping she’ll remember his hand squeeze outside in the sunlight and take courage.

Yinsen is frozen as well.

“Tell him,” Tony orders. “It’s what we’ve got. My reputation’s good for something, who knew?”

Yinsen starts speaking. Tony holds his body completely rigid, projecting as much confidence and arrogance as he can. He looks down at Autumn, obviously and demonstrably ogling where his hand bunches up her shirt. The pants she’s wearing hang low on her hips, revealing the bare skin of her lower back and just below. He raises his gaze back to the terrorist’s, who is giving him a knowing look that Tony forces himself to smile in response to. There’s a camaraderie there that makes him sick.

The man’s face falls, and he speaks.

“How does he know you’re not simply doing this to save her life?”

He knows he needs to make it look real, his desire and her reluctance, to sell the farce that he’s going to use her like he’d implied he would. The desire part is not a problem, as it turns out. She’s warm, her lips lush, and her height accentuates her vulnerability to him, which is a turn-on for him, always has been. Tony likes being in charge, feeling powerful, and she’s ticking all of those boxes. He angles the leg she’s pinned against, pressing it between her legs in a way that the demon who’s holding them captive can see. The kiss is filthy and wet, and when Tony sucks on her bottom lip to redden it, she lets out a whimper that everyone in the cave can hear.

When Tony lifts his head, Autumn sags against him, burying her face in his side, clearly mortified.

The terrorist mutters something and stomps toward the door, making a harsh gesture to the men with guns. He throws the magazine on the ground at Yinsen’s feet.

“Very well. She’s yours,” Yinsen translates in a hoarse whisper.

The sound of the doors closing has a ring of terrible finality to it, as though Tony’s made some kind of irrevocable choice. He probably has.

He loosens his grip on Autumn slowly, because she’s clinging to him as if nothing else will support her weight.

“I panicked. All I could think of,” he says.

Autumn lets out a shuddered breath. She pulls back just a bit, as if testing her strength, and then does the most amazing thing. With a gentle hand, she reaches up, looking at him, and wordlessly touches his face with her cupped hand.

Seconds later she turns and walks over to her cot, climbing up into it and drawing the blanket over her shoulders.

“Life is life,” Yinsen observes quietly. “I could not think of what to do. Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Tony says grimly. “I’ve just flipped a switch in their minds. A dangerous one.”

“True,” Yinsen says. “You’ll need to be careful to maintain interest. Something tells me you won’t have to worry about that, will you?”

Tony takes that moment to pick up his battery, rather than make any attempt at meeting Yinsen’s eyes. The man is perceptive, and it wouldn’t take much talent in reading people to see what is going on in Tony’s mind. He probably can already tell.

Even under those circumstances, Tony had enjoyed that kiss. He would get to enjoy more of them, almost certainly. What kind of a person did that make him? It wasn’t heroic, that was certain. Even if he had saved her life, the ratio of altruism to lust was disproportionate to the latter.

He walks over and carefully removes the beanie, knowing that it’ll take longer to cool than he’d originally intended. Tony starts gathering up the wiring and vise he’ll need to hold the whole apparatus while he solders the fucking hell out of it. There are a few things missing, and that’s when he remembers.

They’re under Autumn’s cot.

Instead of disturbing her, he sits down and tries to clear his mind. Unfortunately, ever since she’d been asked to sing, Autumn’s voice has been playing in his head on repeat, especially the part about the wind like her hands in his hair. The sound of her voice was a complete shock to his system, raspy and low, sultry and sweet. Tony’s spent enough time in the LA party scene to understand why a recording company might have wanted to go with the tall, athletic, weak singer with charisma and stage presence over her shorter, more talented friend. It’s a matter of marketing, but if it had been a matter of quality, Autumn would have been by far the superior choice.

Beyond what she sounded like was the impact of the lyrics. He doesn’t think she chose the song to specifically target him, but they’re damning enough, after their conversation about intimacy. Tony’s never been in a relationship longer than a few months at a time (they certainly weren’t monogamous), and none of his brief flings with the odd cute barista or waitress have resulted in that feeling of cross-social strata longing described in the song. His arrangement with Pepper and JARVIS usually prevents any of those situations from escalating into something more anyway.

Since her comment about kissing, though, he had gone back over his mental black book, trying to pinpoint any of the women he might have considered candidates for that kind of long-term connection. Tony was forced to conclude that his attitude at the beginning of his time with most of the women informs his attitude about the longevity of their association.

He doesn’t pick women that he wants to spend days kissing. Tony picks women to fuck.

Now, though, all he can think about is kissing Autumn. If he’d met her at some event and decided to try to coax her into bed, he would have been plotting what sort of sexual activities he’d engage with her-- but now? Now there’s a charade to perpetuate, a simulation to plan, and that means he can look forward to kissing her in a way he wouldn’t have in his regular life.

The thing he secretly enjoys so much is now the only thing he can have, in good conscience, even though Tony shouldn’t get to have anything, not in this cave, not with a woman who is almost certainly reluctant.

It’s a mess, one he feels more than a little bit guilty for causing, despite the alternative. For one of the first times in Tony Stark’s life, he feels shame in his selfishness. He can usually rationalize it away, but this time, even the fact that she could have died otherwise still doesn’t feel like enough to balance this out. It’s uncomfortable as fuck.

The book is across the room, and Emory is afraid to move, even though it’s very warm under the blanket. She doesn’t want any more scrutiny, particularly not from Stark, right now.

He’d saved her. She was massively grateful. She was also conflicted. Tony Stark was exactly the sort of man she’d always been warned against. Selfish, narcissistic, pleasure-seeking. But he was also handsome, strong (an attribute she hadn’t known she liked so much until he’d held her up when she was practically falling down, and hadn’t even seemed like it was an effort), and his kiss had taken her apart. Her lips still burn from his facial hair and the force with which he’d demanded her response.

Emory can’t help but admit to herself that she’d liked it. She groans with embarrassment, covering her face with her hands.

That tiny movement of his thumb to reassure her had touched her somewhere sweet and hidden, too. It had been kind, something she would never have pictured coming from the wealthy CEO.

What a mess!

She covers her head with the blanket and gets up, hoping to rush over to the table, get Yinsen’s book, and rush back. When Emory grabs the book, though, she turns around and almost runs straight into Stark.

His expression is somber, but he flicks his eyes up toward the camera as he sets down the battery on the table. With a chastising look, Stark takes the blanket off of her completely, pulling her hair from where it was twisted up and tucked into her shirt in a bid to cool off earlier. With no idea how much she is affected by what he’s doing, he runs his fingers through her hair multiple times, laying it out along her shoulders. Of course, she realizes. She’s not supposed to let it be covered up.

Emory’s already keyed up from her near-death experience and the half-traumatic discovery that she really likes this man’s mouth on hers. So when he leans over as if to kiss her, she backs away, out of his reach. He’s experienced. He’ll be able to tell. She’s not sure she could bear that.

“I can almost guarantee they’re watching. If you resist, they’ll expect me to demand more,” he says in a near-whisper. “Unless you’re doing it for the cameras?” Stark shoots his eyebrows up for a second, before pointing at the floor at his feet.

“Of course,” Emory lies. She looks down as if contrite and walks back to him.

Stark lifts a handful of her hair and smells it. There’s something so arresting about that action, something so intimate, that she steadies herself with a hand at the nearby table. It’s for the cameras, she’s sure, but it feels authentic enough to her.

“So are you really afraid, or just very good at faking?” he asks.

“Terrified,” she whispers. She is. Emory is afraid he’ll look at her and know she wants him, and he’ll use it to judge her against every single woman he’s ever slept with, every woman that begged him to use his hands on her.

Stark moves to stand just a breath away, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck. It’s still a little sore from him yanking it not a half hour before. “There are ways of faking this, positions they use on film, but I don’t know the angle of their cameras, and--”

“And you like kissing,” she says with a tiny, wry smile, staring at the bulge on his chest from the magnet apparatus. Emory risks a quick glance up at his face to see his reaction. His brown eyes are dark with obvious desire, which jolts straight to her core. She hadn’t expected that, despite her words.

“Not the unwilling,” he says. He sounds upset.

“Is any woman truly unwilling when it comes to you?” she asks, hiding her shock at what she’d seen in his expression.

There’s a scraping sound at the door that startles her, but when she startles and pulls back, Stark’s hand stops her, wound as it is into her hair.

“Peephole,” Yinsen says from where he’s examining the smelting cup.

A voice shouts something in an unrecognizable language from outside the door, and the scraping sound recurs.

“I’m not repeating that,” Yinsen says. He sounds scandalized.

Stark’s looking at Yinsen, but Emory’s slowly catching fire where she’s standing there waiting for him to decide what to do with her. She feels like she’s watching a musical where her favorite piece of music is a precursor to her favorite character’s death, and the sweetness of the thing she’s anticipating will be followed by something dreadful.

“Do it or let me go, Stark,” Emory hisses at him.

“That’s enough consent for me,” he says, using his free hand to tip her head back with a rough hand at her chin. Stark slips his thumb up to pull her mouth open, letting go and tracing his tongue against where he’d pressed, scraping his teeth against it gently. Emory drifts toward him, unable to help herself. He’s skilled and devastating as he chases her tongue with his to stroke it. Overcome, she grabs at his shirt to steady herself, and he lets go of her hair to catch her hand before she pulls on the wires. Without Stark’s hand at the back of her head to stop her, Emory can tear herself away. She grabs the book she’d come for in the first place and holds it to her chest like it’s a stack of schoolbooks instead of a tiny paperback.

He points at her bed with a large gesture that is obviously meant for the cameras. “Go, get out of here, I have work to do,” Stark says, but his eyes are narrowed. “Careful,” he whispers. “They won’t like to see you resisting.”

“Instinct,” she lies to him for the second time that day. Her instinct had been to throw herself wholeheartedly into that kiss. She almost had.

After ten minutes Emory realizes her blanket is still over where Stark had taken it from her, but she doesn’t venture back into that part of the room. Let the men monitoring their room think he was punishing her.

That’s not quite the case, though. She’s punishing herself.

Emory wakes up covered in the blanket.

She’d had strange dreams, not at all what she’d expected, the night before. None of them stick with her, but she assumes they’re based on the chapters of the book she’d read. Emory often feels a kinship with the authors she’s reading, understanding and approving of their visions for their stories. Her mother had always said it was a function of her oversized amount of empathy, her loyalty for the intentions of the author-- but she doesn’t like the world that is described as a utopia in Childhood’s End. Though, possibly that is author-intended.

The idea that there would be no religion to divide people, and that bad leaders would be driven mad… both of those things seem like something Yinsen perhaps appreciated about the book. Emory doesn’t feel a kinship with any of the characters as she usually does, but that might be because everything in the story feels like she’s watching from afar, waiting for something horrible to happen.

As opposed to watching what’s happening in our cave, close-up, waiting for something horrible to happen! she thinks to herself.

Though, the horrible thing hadn’t happened, thanks to Stark. She still needs to thank him, but Emory’s having trouble even looking at him right now. Despite it being the truth, she regrets having essentially dared the man to find someone to kiss so he could appreciate how much more enjoyable it is to do with a person you genuinely care for. She can sense that kissing him is deeply enjoyable, and the implications of that are just too much for her right now.

To evict Stark from her mind, Emory thinks about what Rory might be doing at that moment. Over the past few days she’s tried to push those thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on what her friend was going through wouldn’t do her anything but cause distress. Days after the kidnapping, though, now that the terrorists know she’s not Rory, Emory can’t help but wonder how things are going without her.

Rory would undoubtedly be a mess, but was she able to fly home? Or was she lying on a bed in a hotel in Kabul with Hank at her side? Did anyone know to get the rest of her favorite candy out of Emory’s luggage? It’s kind of freaking her out just picturing how frantic everyone must have been when they realized Emory wouldn’t be there to help smooth out Rory’s rough edges.

Emory’s struck by a horrible realization: she’s coddled Rory so much that it’s quite possible her friend is doing far worse without her than she would be if Emory been more harsh and truthful with her from the beginning.

Sure, Rory’s been selfish and cruel to her for a while now, but how much of that is just a result of letting her stagnate in her own poor behavior, secure in the knowledge that Emory would get her out of any problem? It was just flat-out easier that way. And now look where it’s gotten them!

“Fuck,” Emory says, pulling her pillow out from under her head and pressing it to her face. It smells terrible; she’d never remembered to put the pillowcase back on it, and Stark had taken it to carry something around with.

“Are you in pain?”

Yinsen’s voice is very close, and Emory cringes. “I didn’t mean to swear,” she apologizes, pulling the pillow back off of her face.

“I’m not offended, do not concern yourself,” he reassures her. “You have slept longer than normal, and hearing your epithet, I wanted to be sure you weren’t injured.”

“I stayed up reading,” she admits, sitting up in bed. “I’m to the place where the man who is bored by the utopia described by the book hides inside a model of a whale to travel to the alien overlords’ home planet. I can’t believe how miserable this utopia has been described, how the overlords imply that humanity would be terrified and dumbstruck by advanced technology! As someone who loves music and artistic expression, I find it very hard to believe that art would narrow if we were given a chance to live in leisure, without the need for hard labor. As a scientist, do you agree? Do you think our more advanced society in 2009 is as prone to being frightened by the knowledge of an advanced alien race?”

The look on Yinsen’s face could most accurately be described as bemused. “I am glad you’re so engaged by it. I agree that a utopia without violence being one where art and advancement suffers is a confusing one. Though I think the author wanted most to convey the idea that humanity was unhappy and unfulfilled, in preparation for some large leap in understanding, and that was the way he imagined to go about it.”

“That makes sense,” Emory says. “I usually don’t read radically changed society stories, so I don’t have a basis for comparison, I guess.”

“You don’t read them, but you’ve experienced one, haven’t you? Is this not radically different than your regular life?” Yinsen asks.

“Well… I mean, it’s temporary, isn’t it?” she says, a little shocked at how subtly confrontational the man’s question was. She pictures a meme screen, a bright colored background with an attractive font saying something like, ‘I didn’t ask to be called out like this!’

“Perhaps for you, but the people holding us have a life vastly different from yours, from Stark’s. Different enough to be a culture shock, one to the other. When I wasn’t in this place, I straddled that line in some ways, as a scientist.” He looks down at his clothing and offers her a sad smile. “I had just returned from a conference, my garment bag still hanging by the door. Perhaps this is punishment for being like that young man in the story. My metaphorical flights to the overlord’s planet have drawn the anger of the citizens I left behind.”

Emory’s speechless. “I’m sorry,” she offers.

“Me too,” he says.

“Thank you for giving me the blanket, by the way.”

Yinsen pauses in the process of walking away. “It was mostly Stark. He tripped on the blanket, brought it over to set it beside your bed. You were asleep.” He looks over to where Stark is leaning over his worktable, shuffling what looks like a dozen thin sheets of paper. “I told him there is more than one way to protect you than the one he volunteered for.”

Before Emory can respond to that, he walks back to the cook fire and stirs the day’s meal. There’s probably a metaphor for the vast ocean between her overly permissive behavior towards Rory and Stark’s barely there approach, but she would probably rather climb into his smelting cup and roast herself before she tried to figure out how to articulate it.

Twenty minutes later, Yinsen calls her over to eat. Stark stays at his table, his ruler and pencil moving like the wind across yet another sheet of paper. He waves off both of their suggestions to eat.

Emory picks up Childhood’s End again, but sets it back down in an hour. The main characters have become dissatisfied with their imposed utopia, and have moved to an island designed by someone who wants to resist the Overlords’ influence. They’re planning to live their lives in defiance of the Overlords who are essentially holding humanity hostage, rejecting their orders to live a different life.

It’s just a bit too much for her, given the fact that Stark has made clear he isn’t building what he’s been ordered to.

Next chapter, Tony realizes that a situation where he's practically required to kiss this woman to keep her alive is a blessing and a curse-- because he really, really likes it.

#tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x oc #tony stark x original character #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark imagine #series: autonomy #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

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chthonicgodling · 2 years ago

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FEB-HUE-ARY - Part One

featuring 💞Epi & Eury💞

[ woohoo its Feb-Hue-Ary again and i’m going to try to actually post these on the date appropriate days as we go since we’re all pretending tumblr’s an active website again ffgkgkg. here’s last year’s compilation post from yours truly and the FebHue full month prompt list! ]

once again all Elysium couples for Valentine’s month and we’re starting off SO strong with some neon Euriales!!

quick note about this month’s FebHue for me! our elysium characters are all rainbow with v specific color schemes so for color palette prompts i always like to kinda match up characters based on the colors they’re supposed to be colored in as. that’s what i did last year in picking which pairings to draw on which day! HOWEVER this year I thought it would be fun to take almost those exact same couples from ‘22, and shuffle them back into those exact same prompts - so instead of matches based on first impressions, i have these matches completely blindly shuffled and selected based on random chance! it is... difficult but really fun i am making it work!

for example i fuckin never would have looked at these colors and thought eury&epi but it WORKS SOMEHOW SOOOO WELL Im actually obsessed w how this came out lmfaooo -

the spectacularly vampy Eury&Epi belong to @fenixethekid - my FebHue’23 tag will be here!

#febhueary #FebHueary2023 #febhueary 2023 #color palettes #my art #euriales #GOD LOOK AT THEM LOOK AT THEM

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piliiiiiconfusionf · 2 months ago

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someone listened to epic i see :D what did you think about it? who's your favorite character? do you have a favorite saga so far? (sorry i get excited JTFTJDTJTSTI)

HI it's no worries, thanks for asking! XD I was looking at your reblogs without understanding until I finished and OHHH I felt like a door just opened and could understand the lore 🤣🤣 WOHOO (will put this under a cut because it got longer than anticipated oh welp

OK so I might not have all the questions figured out yet but as first impression and first time watching (in a really disorganised way because I kept being smacked my animations in you tube, until a friend had me promise watching in order, which I did yesterday binging the whole thing- and vibrated with them, now with sleep I can think 🤣🤣🤣 let's see):

It honestly really surprised me! It was the first actual musical I have ever heard! Well watched, I saw the whole thing in order through animations BUT At first I thought it would be like Disney movies, like a play but with songs around, but NO the whole thing full of music the whole thing is music, and all of them ARE SO COOL.

In particular that last dialogue in the vengeance saga had me reminiscing all Odysseus has gone through and how he changed, how he was "No longer him" like the prophet said, becoming the Monster - I also loved finding all the connections between the songs (how JUST A MAN keeps getting repeated like the song said it would haunt him-) the mum in Underworld got me ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ I cried. And it wasn't the first time I heard it, the first was for an animation for a different fandom (Pressure Roblox) Of all the things, Underworld was. AUCH.

And I kept getting frustrated because I FELT for the characters like. I was surprised when Odysseus didn't tell his name the first time (I laughed at the dialogue when "Who hurt you?" "Nobody" "If nobody hurt you BE SILENT" 💀🤣🤣) but then told them his security, his address, his-- LIKE WHAT.

then Eury opened the bag. Like good lord they were so doomed 😭)

And I could probably keep on rambling but gonna get to the questions 🤣 Favourites- ummm

I think my Favourite character might be Athena rn? "My Goodbye" was the song I listened to in a Gravity Falls animation and what pushed me to go deeper until I found "Warrior of the Mind", "We'll be fine" etc- and I really liked how despite how she was trying to be harsh and strong, cold and just doing her job, it was YEARS mentoring Odysseus and that took a toll (Which, another connection with "Love in Paradise", "Time can take a heavy toll" GDGD) Same for Odysseus not calling her until he was at his worst- they cared about each other sm and I really liked their interactions and how Athena later tries to be better with Telemachus instead of staying in the "You are just a Man" mentality- I just love the friendship there, they are family even if they don't realise :'D

For Favourite Saga ok that's a hard one- I think I would be doubting between Circe's, and Wisdom rn? I really liked the interactions in Circe's (Odysseus finally being rewarded for the kindness he was trying so hard to keep on with), and Wisdom is-- well I think that's why I really like Athena, and the SONGS. ARE SO COOL I have Legendary stuck rn ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ honorary mention to Underworld which was the one that got me in the FEELS.

AND apparently I got excited too 😀 WELPP UH have ramble 🤣🤣🤣 thanks for the ask oml-

What about you? :D dropping the ask back

#epic the musical spoilers #Pili rambles #i dropped a wall oml 🤣🤣#I'm not used to rambling here UH HELLO. i have thoughts MWAHA #thanks for the ask!!

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hopeandduty · 3 months ago

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Day 19: Taken

It is not an easy thing to have her taken by surprise, but somehow Eury always manages it.

Ciardha did not expect any to find her lone vantage upon the rocks by Tulliyolal’s waters, much less feel inclined to join her. So when the familiar voice reaches her ears, she is so startled from her thoughts she nearly jumps.

“Contemplating the stars?”

Ciardha turns to see Eury with a cup in each hand, one of which they hold out in a silent offer. It smells of berries and Ja Tiika bananas and she finds herself so thirsty that she hesitantly accepts it. They sit themselves down next to her and take a long drink from their own cup.

“Something like that,” Ciardha answers, still letting the soft scent of fruits calm her mind. “With the crowning of the new Dawnservants, everything is in such a bustle. I thought I would take a break from all the excitement out here.”

“Impressive to find a place in the city not rejoicing.” Eury’s voice is laced with laughter. “More impressive still that they let you slip away. You’re one of the guests of honour as I hear it.”

“You think they let me slip away?”

Eury’s expression cracks into a grin and again does Ciardha see that same strange look of pride they regard her with of late.

“Good work,” they laugh. “A traveller to the bone. I like it. I never stayed for what I didn’t care for either, much to Hades’ dismay.”

“You don't like the crowds either?”

“Oh I don't mind crowds terribly.” They admit with a shrug. “I didn’t care much for Convocation meetings though.” They smirk.

It is her turn to laugh, and for the second time this night does she find herself surprised. At how easy it always is to speak with them, at how easily they always make her smile. She's never had any siblings, but she wonders if this is what it might feel like.

Ciardha sips on her drink and finds it refreshing as the night air.

They would trade laughter until the sun rose.

#2024xivwrite #xiv ciardha #xiv euryphaessa #au: seat of the traveler #drabble

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c0rpseductor · 1 year ago

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last rb rambling to myself about my extremely wip fic

i think pfeil (pov for the whole thing) is just your bog standard subjective narrator like everything he says is some level of biased sometimes very wildly but still like. You can trust that even if there are places where he’s clearly got a warped perspective the essential events of the narrative and their implications aren’t entirely obscured

idk how well i achieve this or broadcast this when i write from his pov but i tend to think of emet-selch as a more outright unreliable narrator whose perspective is often just like objectively incorrect especially as it pertains to basic facts of azem’s inner life. like he does not believe he’s unreliable it’s not intentional it’s just that his understanding of reality is like. Not correct. i wrote for the last emetwol week this long story of eury’s backstory (before i started majorly overhauling it) from emet’s perspective and his subsequent relationship with pfeil and i remember being like “Holy shit this is so biased it gives off like literally the exact wrong impression compared to what really happened this was not idyllic for eury at all eury was like incredibly psychologically tortured and pfeil was way more damaged by his relationship with emet than emet ever attempted to acknowledge and he doesn’t even feel that BAD about having been cruelly dismissive of him due to his mortality!” and then i kind of sat there and was like . Well, that’s certainly how emet sees this string of events, though!

#it’s also not like in that fic emet wasn’t still ultimately remorseful #but it was written as kind of like a post-death retrospective #and HEAVILY distorted by rose colored nostalgia goggles #as is his wont

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hangekitty · 4 years ago

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Tea for 3

Erwin x Levi x gn!Reader Headcanons

Scenario: the three of you decide to open up a tea shop together

Warnings: none!

Genre: fluff! Polyamory

Universe: Modern AU!

A/N: it’s a little short, but it’s definitely sweet. These headcanons have been on my mind a LOT and I just had to write them down. I feel like I mostly write polyamory stuff (even my private work is like 70% polyamory) but I am working on monogamous relationship stories as we speak! Should I keep writing polyamory? 🤔

First of all, it was Levi’s idea to open up a tea shop, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. He had first brought it up out of curiosity to see what you or Erwin thought. It wasn’t brought up again till Erwin found a little shop that was up for sale, to which Levi pretended not to be excited; in truth, if Levi was better at expressing himself he would have been jumping up and down with pure happiness.

Levi will probably need some convincing to actually go for this opportunity. I can see him being a little insecure as to whether he deserves such a chance at this; so hearing the two of you, the people he loves most, give him so much affection and encouragement he couldn’t refuse.

You three spend long nights together designing the interior and exterior of the tea shop; going for a sleek botanical look with a hint of rustic charm.

You were the creative of the three, designing the logo and even the menu; Erwin would be like 😧 being super impressed with your talents. He is very good with his hands in the DIY department, but can barely draw a stick figure!

You decide to call the tea shop Ackerman & Co. (as much as Levi tried to argue against it, it is of course his dream and thought it would be a lovely gesture of yours and Erwin’s love towards him). Needless to say, Levi loved your reasoning and eventually accepted it.

The three of you visiting the store before buying it, Erwin ever so vigilant with his questions. From “Is there a persistent mould problem” to “are the neighbours noisy?”

Luckily it seems things are perfect, the store is located just off the high streets but close enough to attract some wandering customers. A little detail I would like to add is that the store is close to a cathedral and one of Levi’s favourite things to do (especially at night) is to open a window and listen out to the bell chimes.

“Is it big enough for your bed?” The answer to that is yes! As you insisted that the three of you share a King size bed (although Levi doesn’t sleep that often as it is, he still enjoys the company) you worry that the living space may not be enough. Don’t worry, Erwin sized out the place; he measured the entire flat above the shop out with only a measuring tape.

You ask Miche, Hange and Moblit for help when it comes to building up the tea shop! From painting to decorating, Hange goes a little overboard with the plants, but it only adds to the charm. “Who the hell is going to water all of these?” Levi groaned, “don’t worry love, I will” you reassure him, he will of course make you keep a diary so you can keep an eye out and record watering times!

Erwin insists on adding a bookshelf into the shop; this means that customers can read whilst they are there, even setting up a weekly book club! You also suggest keeping a spot out for a book exchange, keeping an on-going flow of new content for the regular customers.

Before you officially open the shop, Kutchel (Levi’s mum) visits with a gift; it is a large kettle decorated with a giant green bow to ‘baptise’ the place (also came with a bouquet of flowers because she is a sweetheart). “I am so proud of you baby”

Levi won’t cry, but he’ll cry

Let me just say, Kutchel adores the two of you and is so proud and glad that Levi has people in his life who adore him as much as his mother does (although initially explaining polyamory to her was a challenge, she just didn’t understand at first! But she supports and loves you once she grasped the concept!)

The first day of opening was BUSY. Little did you three know, but Hange had invited EVERYONE they knew and even going up to people in the streets to come to the opening.

The most confident was Erwin, he was the main spokesperson in announcing your new place. Levi barely spoke, mostly to contain himself from just crying out of happiness. So to keep his strength, he will hold onto your hand all night, giving it tender squeezes if he started to feel overwhelmed.

Levi would be the manager, mainly working on the teas and coffee orders, Erwin is most definitely the baker, making muffins and cookies and all sorts! You were the waiter/waitress but you also had your hand in baking and/or tea making when it was needed!

You put up a message board in the main room so that customers and/or friends and family can leave post-it-notes on the board. Most of the notes you get are compliments of the establishment, but you will get the occasional “I love Erwin/Levi/Y/N” notes from your loved ones; those notes you keep up forever. - if ever you get any missing cat posters, Levi will make it his mission to look for said cat.

Levi insists on getting WIFI, but Erwin annoyingly will point out the large bookcase, stating that books are enough. He does eventually give in, but will purposefully set the password annoyingly long and complicated for the sake of being petty. The password would look something like L1v1nYNrmYl0vr$

You notice that Levi spends more time in bed with you three! He has definitely settled down a lot more, feeling so much joy that his dream came to light. You and Erwin of course enjoy the extra person to cuddle in bed.

Frequent visits from your friends, Hange will bring their laptop into the cafe to finish their thesis or other scientific reports; they would quite literally spend all day there and will sleep on the sofa if they could get away with it. - you do at least have a spare bedroom so if Hange stays too late, they have a place to sleep.

Levi putting out cat food for the local strays, a cute little quirk you only started noticing when a dozen cats were lined up outside the back entrance of the store.

The tea shop will of course be successful, so Levi decides to experiment and start his own line of teas. Starting off with the basic breakfast and earl greys and then into the fruity and herbal teas. Once he got his customers approval and satisfaction, he then sells the tea bags (and loose tea leaves) to customers to take home. He calls his tea ‘Teas of Freedom’ (like wings of freedom lmao) which become very popular.

GLASS TEAPOTS; you get to see the water change into beautiful colours once the teas infuse. The most popular being the jasmine tea where the flower blooms when the hot water is applied; Erwin’s face lights up EVERY TIME Levi prepares this kind of tea.

Can you imagine Levi’s face when someone comes in and asks for a Starbuck’s like order, he would be like “HUH???” But don’t worry, you step in and take the order effortlessly; Levi is a tea man, coffee is somewhat a foreign concept to him.

On quiet days, Erwin will come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, whispering sweet nothing into your ear and rocks you side to side. This man is so in love with you. He does this to Levi but not as often...mostly because even on not so busy days Levi is busy.

Imagine catching quick little kisses whilst its busy, hugging is one thing but a quick kiss on the cheek is honestly so cute; Levi would 100% get distracted and a lot more clumsy if you plant a forehead kiss on him whilst he’s preparing tea.

EEEEP I hope you enjoyed it!! I love EURI as it is, but being a x reader it meant I got an excuse to write them!

#levi x erwin x reader #levi x erwin #euri #eruri #eruri x reader #erwin x levi x reader #erwin x reader #levi x reader #erwin smith #levi Ackerman #attack on titan modern au #attack on titan #levi headcanons #erwin x you #snk erwin

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danniburgh · 4 years ago

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Carlos; a RushBit extra

From chapter 24 // ao3 // fic index // Masterlist

So, @disgruntledspacedad asked when she read chapter 24:

“Okay I have just one question. What is the backstory on Carlos???

Alligator gars are impressively large and prehistorically scary, and the fact that Chucho has one mounted in his home says so much about him. I am genuinely intrigued.”

And that question made me laugh a lot, so here we have the story of Carlos, the alligator gar fish;

Thanks to @purplepascal042 that helped me a lot with this one bc I know NOTHING about fishing, love you always.

The beginning of Carlos' story starts in 1960, in which Chucho started going fishing with some neighbours and their kids; it had started as something Javi (aged 9 here) had asked and Chucho being somehow (fully, Margarita would add) wrapped around the kid's finger, had put together.

Just a trip to go fishing with three neighbours from the nearby ranches and their kids.

It became something they did every month and then, something they did without the kids.

Margarita would say, years later, that she was happy her husband was bonding and making friends with other men but she really disliked that they had left out the children, even if Javi moved on to something else, like tending to the baby cows.

To celebrate a year of their fishing trips, one of the guys would mention something about going onto a larger road-trip to see if they could catch larger fish.

What Chucho didn't know, and wasn't informed because his friends were little assholes, was that the trip was focused solely on catching the large, trashy, monstrous alligator gar.

Those years, that fish was seen as a threat because what the fuck do you mean there's a combination between alligators and fish?????? so when Chucho let his wife and kid know he was going to be gone for a full weekend to try to catch big fishes he got two reactions:

"Oh, hell no." and "Llévame, pop!" (take me)

You already guessed; Margarita was pissed, Chucho was a hands on dad, and he would take Javi with him to work after school and on weekends so his wife could have a rest, Javier wasn't a bad kid or naughty, but he was just so fucking curious and active that she just didn't have energy to keep up with him, so, for Chucho to be gone for seventy-two hours was a NO from her.

Chucho had to beg and promise he would take Javi for a road trip the next weekend so Margarita would have the house to herself.

Javier was pissed too, though, he wanted to go and spend the weekend with his dad fishing, but Chucho told him it was a grow-up's trip and promised the same thing.

So, a six-hour road trip with four men on a van later, Chucho confirmed a suspicion just by looking at the river and at the bait... They were gonna use actual fish. And of course, the other people around hanging their large catches.

But, as a good Mexican man, he wasn't chickening out; he grabbed his fishing rod, and he didn't even ask his friends if they were completely out of their minds, he knew they were.

Up to the challenge, you could see four men standing on a boat, on the place where two currents converged, talking about how amazing would it be if they caught a monster fish.

“You don’t really think we’re gonna catch that thing, do you?” he had asked, and got a groan echoed by three voices.

“Stop being so pessimistic, Jesús.”

And just like that, well, four hours later, the first fishing rod to start pulling, was Chucho’s.

Everyone lost their minds in that moment, one of them even let his own rod fall to the water and didn’t even bother to look twice at how it sank, Chucho was struggling, so two of his friends dropped their rods on the boat and started helping him with the fight while the fourth kneeled on the boat to pull the anchor and rushed to the steering wheel to keep the heavy fucker from pulling the boat, the two guys that were helping Chucho were screaming at each other, one grabbing him by the waist to keep him on the boat and the other taking the rod to keep it steady as Chucho concentrated on releasing the line and reeling back.

Everyone was screaming around him but Chucho was silent, frowning and focused on not letting the heavy fish go away, he had begged his family for a chance to go on the trip and he wasn’t wasting it.

After forty-four minutes of fighting, tensioning, reeling back and constant screaming that had Chucho’s ears ringing, the fish gave up and between the three guys pulled it into the boat, one of them took his shirt off to wrap around its mouth just to prevent any chomps and they all let out a spent sigh at the same time.

“Let’s get out of here.” one of them said.

So, a day earlier than expected, Chucho arrived home and yelled out for Javi, who rushed out of the house to see his dad and his friends take out of the van a large four feet, green and scaly dead fish that looked scary enough to make a ten-year-old stop on his feet and frown at four grown men.

“Pop, what is that?” Javi asked loud enough to make the other men laugh.

“A fish!”

“What in God’s name you brought, Jesús!?” his wife yelled behind Javier.

“¡Un pez para la casa!” (a fish for the house)

“No vas a poner eso en mi casa, no señor.” (you're not putting that in the house)

“C’mon Maggie,” one of Chucho’s friend stepped in “we spent forty-five minutes catching this thing.”

“I don’t care, it’s not getting inside the house.”

“It’s part of the family now.” Chucho teased his wife, who frowned and glared at him.

“It looks scary” Javier let out, sauntering towards the dead animal “looks like a dinosaur.”

“Looks like the man that knocked up your sister.” spat Margarita, Javier widened his brown eyes to his mom and Chucho let out a loud cackle.

“Carlos!”

let me know if you wanna be removed :)

pedrito's perma list: @queenofthefaceless @northernpunk @pascalesque @sleep-tight1 @cheekygeek05 @bii-aan-ckaa @letaliabane @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorianalso @supernaturalgirl @metalarmsandmanbuns @purplepascal042 @asta-lily @greeneyedblondie44 @missswriter @juletheghoul @pedro-pastel @agirllovespancakes

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd

RushBit tag list: @shestillwrites1 @absurdthirst @alliterative-albatross @thoughtfulpandawasteland @wifeofdindjarin @lank-sextburg @helloannbananalove @diogodxlot @pascalslittlebrat @sarahjkl82-blog @pedritobalmando @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @mamacitapascal @dobbyjen @callsigncatfish @feminist-violinist @jasmincita @pascalove @eury-dice3 @gingaahhhh @athalien @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics

#javier peña #Javier Pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fanfic #chucho peña #narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos netflix #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #rushingly bittersweet tag

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

Note

Old Fashioned DD Meet Cute! "You had an assigned seat next to them at a wedding for a mutual friend." Your choice of character! 💋Eury

The Good Table

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club old fashioned drunk drabbles! Love this one Eury- thank you bunches, hope you enjoy ❤

Warnings: fluff and sexy flirting :)

Walking back to your table with your Champagne in hand you can’t help but smile when you see a pair of broad shoulders tightly fitted under a dark tux jacket. Your smile only widens when you see you’re seated next to him.

Hoping to make a lasting first impression you put some extra sway in your hips as you get closer. He turns your way just as you’re about to sit and you nearly fall over. Crystal blue eyes set behind long dark lashes greet you brightly before a killer smile breaks out on the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen.

“Hey there doll,” he welcomes, standing to pull out your chair. “Hi,” you eek out not daring to say another word. “Bucky Barnes,” he says, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. You sit with a plop, never taking your eyes from his.

“Hi,” you say again, much to his amusement. You can feel your cheeks turning pink and you dip your head. Warm fingers caress your chin as he lifts your eyes to his. “Does the most beautiful woman here have a name?” he asks, throwing you a wink.

You introduce yourself and take a huge sip of your drink, hoping for some liquid courage. “Must be my lucky day,” he croons, resting his hand along the back of your chair. “I never get a seat at the good table.”

Squaring your shoulders, you reply with equal heat. “I was just thinking the same thing. Looks like it’s going to be a really good night.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes drabble #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky #bucky barnes fluff #hbc old fashioned drunk drabbles

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darsynia · 2 years ago

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Trust Fall | Ch 15b

ARC image by Eury Escodero

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory is given a room at the Triskelion, and Tony meets with Phil Coulson in search of her.

Length: 3,233

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

“Are you under the impression we intend to hurt her, Mr. Stark? I assure you, that is not the case. Her condition is classified, as I’m sure you understand, but it’s not our intention to fulfill the role of scientist boogeymen, here. She’s not being examined or tested, beyond routine care.” Agent Coulson pauses, then raises his eyebrows. “That has been more difficult than we expected, as her medical records have been locked down by unknown, outside forces.”

So, they know he locked down her files, somehow. How much latitude does this agency he’s never heard of before actually have? Tony keeps his expression neutral and says, “That shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Can’t you override that with her verbal permission?”

“Once she is awake, yes.”

Tony shoots out of his chair and leans over, slamming both of his hands palm down against the empty desk. It hurts so much that he has to grit his teeth not to cry out, rather than immediately speaking. Coulson does throw himself back, which is gratifying, but he doesn’t look afraid.

“You drugged her? Give me an address. Now.”

Chapter Fifteen: Disinfectant

Emory learns that her knight in black leather and tek gear is named Clint Barton. His flippant sarcasm keeps her sane as they are winched down from the roof, and once they’re on the solid ground of the river bank, she finds herself fascinated by the dynamic between him and Fury. Agent Kate hasn’t accompanied the director to greet them, but he is flanked by a few dour looking men in black suits.

“If that rope was any longer you’d need workman’s comp for that drop!” Fury tells Barton in a voice just shy of stern.

“If it’d been shorter you’d have a lot more paperwork,” Barton says, grinning. He unfastens Emory from his harness in three swift motions and steps back, pulling the thick straps free of their entanglement with her hair gently. With a respectful but brusque nod, he says, “Nice to meet you,” and heads into the building.

Emory Autumn and Nick Fury look at each other for a full minute in silence.

“You knew I could fly.” Emory finally says. She crosses her arms, feeling dreadfully exposed.

“I knew you could fall,” Fury retorts. “Glad to see it wasn’t immediate.”

“Me too,” she sighs. “I’m used to negotiation, okay? But I’m also used to knowing where my bed is at the end of the day. Can we pretend I’m threatening to walk up the fifty-odd flights of stairs to toss myself back out that open window again only to be caught by a second muscle-bound archer?” Her chest hurts from needing to let out a shaky breath, but Emory holds it in, sure that it’ll weaken her position. Every part of her body is screaming that she’s not physically cut out for this. “How about we just skip ahead to the part where you agree I can have contact with Tony, and I agree to help you?”

Fury regards her with a forbidding, narrow-eyed glare for a few seconds before relaxing into a thoughtful nod. “It’s a deal.”

Her relief curves a layer of energy around her like a caress, and Emory impulsively decides to thank him in kind, sending a tiny twist of air toward him. Because he’s in the process of turning toward the building, it makes his trenchcoat furl out behind him dramatically.

“Don’t push it,” he says, but she can hear the amusement in his voice.

Emory feels underdressed in her scrubs when they walk into the dark grey staircase the back door opens onto. There’s a level of sophistication to the architecture that is completely missing in the room she’d partially wrecked less than an hour before.

“Do you seriously have a ‘throwback to a sterile generic government agency’ wing of this place, but everything else is in a more modern design?” she asks as they start up the single flight of stairs.

“Actually? Yes. You’d be surprised how much difference that can make in certain situations,” Fury says. “To our benefit, of course.”

“Of course,” she agrees, kind of impressed. The way that this place and its people seem to have layers upon layers is intimidating, though. Emory had been hoping she could leave that kind of hidden meaning social manipulation behind her after getting a ‘break’ from it, of sorts. Show business is an underhanded, double-talking environment, and she’d become good at dealing with that as self defense. The only silver lining she has to look forward to right now is that all of this counts as a great excuse to continue avoiding the inevitable confrontation with Rory.

Fury takes her through a hallway and into an elevator, turning to give her a slightly impish look, hovering his hand between them as he speaks. “Too bad the staircase that leads where we’re going doesn’t have a gap in the middle. You could just float your way up. Good practice.”

She backs up so the wall of the elevator is behind her and she’s mostly looking at Fury’s back. “Why even bother with the charade when you’re this well informed? Couldn’t you just hand me my script?”

“We needed to see how you’d handle disappointment.”

That has her speechless for the rest of the short elevator ride. When they emerge, it’s to a high-ceilinged room with various hallways branching from it. Sounds of people exercising and practicing fighting each other can be heard from the large gym area separated from them by a glass wall with a shoulder-height window running the length of it. Emory throws Fury a wry look; she’s short enough that she doesn’t see as much through that window as he can. He leads her to the leftmost hallway and pulls out a keycard, holding it up.

It has her picture on it, featuring a candid photo taken before Afghanistan.

Fury scans the keycard and the door unlocks. He steps inside halfway to look around, then moves back and gestures for her to go in. His confidence and the pre-made keycard he hands her are a powerful indicator of both his trust and his confidence in his own decisions. She can’t help but wonder if he understands Tony Stark’s influence on her, or if she’s so far managed to keep Fury on his toes in that regard.

Emory pulls in a steadying breath and walks into the room. It’s a self-contained apartment, complete with stylized room dividers that don’t quite reach to the ceiling.

She turns around to look at Fury. “You sure you want me so close to the elevator?”

“Better than the end of the hallway. Look out the window.” She walks over to it and understands what he means. This part of the building is round, with protruding sections that curve around the outside. Her room is on the edge of one of those built out sections, making her window barely functional. It looks out at the building, for the most part, rather than the view, and its cramped position would make gathering air for a quick exit tricky. Fury’s probably got a whole report on the probabilities.

“Better than bars,” Emory observes, walking into the center of the room to stand next to the grey-patterned loveseat.

“Indeed.” He raises his chin to regard her sternly for a few seconds, then nods at various parts of the room as he mentions them. “Kitchen is self-explanatory. Bathroom has a stand-up shower, picture window has a button to turn it opaque. Computer is locked down-- data comes in, not out. Arrangements are being made to contact your family--” She draws in a deep breath to mention Tony, and Fury holds up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “I am working on something for Stark. Give me twenty-four hours.”

“Are there even any clocks in here?” she asks pointedly, welcoming the tiny pinpricks of energy starting to flare on her skin at the thought that she’ll talk to Tony soon. The heartache from not doing so is a worrisome counterbalance, though. She’s going to need to come up with another generator.

Fury starts for the door. “Foot of the bed.”

“Fury?” The absurdity of her situation is kicking in, and her voice is ragged, desperate. He turns. “Tell me why. Nearly everything you’ve said to me started out as a lie, but you’re sticking to this separation thing like it’s life or death.”

He stops, turns his head. “It very well might be. You spent time with the man, do you think Tony Stark will listen if he’s told he can’t help with the mission?”

Emory sags against the back of the loveseat. “Shit.” She hugs her arms around herself, but they’re a pathetic substitute for Tony’s. “There has to be something we can…” Her voice trails off.

“Time will tell.” He walks over to the door and opens it, turning toward her. You should have contact with your family in the morning. Agent Harris will be in touch about the other things.”

“Is that Nurse Kate?” Emory asks, frowning.

“Her real name is Sharon.”

“Oh what a shock, more lying!” she gripes. Is she really expected to trust these people when it takes two or three passes to get to the truth every time?

“It’s not always about you,” Fury says before pulling the door shut behind him.

Agent Phil Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division doesn’t try to play hardball with Tony when he calls. The man simply agrees to meet in less than an hour, sending over the address to a nearby business complex. It’s nearly seven in the evening when Tony buttons up his dress shirt, dons the suit coat, and adjusts the velcro for his sling.

Then he takes it off, shaking his head-- he can’t drive while he wears it, and Happy is out for the night. The arm hurts, sure, but he should be able to handle that for the short distance. When Tony slides into his seat and buckles, the act hurts like hell, and all he can see is Emory’s face scrunching up in adorable, chastising disapproval. She’d give him so much shit for this, but it’s part of the steps he must take to find her, so she’s just going to have to deal.

He spends the drive smiling, thinking about how she’d berate him for driving injured, without asking for help. Tony arrives at the small office building and parks in an open spot in front; he eyes the sling in the passenger seat but locks the car up without grabbing it. His internal Emory tsks at him.

No one is at the sparse receptionist’s desk, but a balding man with a bland suit and a friendly expression leans out of the cubicle area to see who has walked in.

“Ah, Mr. Stark. Phil Coulson,” he says, raising a hand in greeting. He angles his head toward the only private meeting space visible, an office that seems built out into the rest of the room as if an afterthought. Tony is pretty sure they’ve rented the space solely to speak to him. It puts him on edge, because if this agency has the authority to redirect military planes because of their human cargo, they’re not accurately represented by this shoddy bureaucratic facade.

Coulson sits down at the (again, almost empty of personal or business items) metal desk without reaching out for a handshake. Tony settles into the cheap, armless chair across from him and schools his face into an expression of equal blandness.

The man’s eyes trace Tony’s right arm. He obviously knows about Tony’s injury, which isn’t that surprising considering he was at the press conference to give his card to Pepper. What Coulson doesn’t do is look at his chest, even though Tony hasn’t chosen his dress shirt with enough care to conceal what’s embedded there. The light blue color allows a faint glow to shine through. Has someone from his agency talked to Emory about what happened in Afghanistan? Tony hadn’t asked her to keep it a secret, after all, but to him, it’s so private that this would be a given. Tony wishes he could get a read on Coulson.

Is he a sloppy paper pusher checking boxes by meeting with Tony to get any additional information about their new captive? Or is he one of their best agents, sent out to assess Tony while simultaneously concealing their true weight as an agency?

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Coulson says. “You must be doing well, to have driven yourself here.”

“Sure,” Tony agrees easily. He’s certain that this man’s genial demeanor is actually rife with hidden threat, and he can respect that. He’s not going to back down, though.

He’s not leaving this place without Emory’s location.

“So our purview is rather broad,” Coulson says, as if apologetic. “To start, I’d like to ask you some questions about your escape from captivity in Afghanistan.”

“I can’t imagine I’d have anything to add to Ms. Autumn’s account of the event, which I’m sure you’ve already gathered?” Tony lifts his chin and dons the 80/20 stern/smug expression that Pepper bitches to him about.

“As you might imagine, it’s important to gather any and all accounts, as eyewitness testimony is often distorted by emotional entanglements,” Coulson says smoothly.

“Pesky, aren’t they?” Tony says, pouring on the charm. He leans forward in his chair and offers Coulson a tight smile. “Here’s how this is actually going to go: you have my friend. You took her, which I take personal offense to, and I gotta tell you, after recent events? I find myself much less inclined to care about first world inconveniences. I have a considerable fortune and very few shits to give. Where is she?”

“She’s staying at our headquarters in D.C.,” Coulson says, relaxing back in his chair. “As you might imagine, her safety was at issue, initially, so we took measures to--”

“Careful,” Tony interrupts through nearly clenched teeth.

“Once she is awake, yes.”

“You drugged her? Give me an address. Now.”

“Please don’t further injure yourself, Mr. Stark. We’re on the same side.”

“Like hell we are! We rescued ourselves from that cave, and her reward is a dressed-up American version of the same fucking thing?” Tony pushes off and walks away from the desk so he doesn’t punch the guy in the face and send himself to the hospital for real.

“I’d really prefer she be the one to explain the situation to you, sir, but the short version is that the injections she took while in captivity carry a fairly large drawback that our agency has been trying to find a way to mitigate. She’s in the best possible place to deal with that drawback.” Coulson’s tone is soft, compared to Tony’s raging harshness. Tony hears his chair push back from the desk.

This is exactly what he’d been afraid of. As much as he’d love to reject Coulson’s words as fake and manipulative in the same way he rejects that the shabby office building they’re meeting in is real, there’s a ring of truth to his tone. Yes, he wants her to be safe, but ‘safe’ is relative, when there’s both a real problem to deal with along with the artificial problem of red tape standing between them.

Tony’s mind races, trying to come up with leverage.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony wheels around, pins the man with a glare. “I assume you’d like to keep her condition secret? And that your so-called mitigation is classified?”

Coulson nods, one hand out as if awkwardly trying to soothe a raging beast. He has no idea.

“Put me in touch with her or I’ll do it my way. I’ll send her messages with your help or I’ll post them in every newspaper, on every news program, every publication that has begged me for an interview in the past day. I can assure you, there are hundreds.”

The agent blinks, which Tony supposes counts as ‘shocked’ for him. “Do you really think it’s best to subject her to that kind of scrutiny?”

“What’s best is for her to be in contact with me,” Tony bites out. They look at each other for a long minute, neither blinking. The ache in his arm helps to keep him focused.

“I’ll pass that along,” Coulson finally says.

“You do that.” Tony turns to leave. Right as he reaches out for the doorknob, the agent speaks again.

“Oh, one more thing. Should I contact Ms. Potts to reschedule?”

He doesn’t want to stop. He almost doesn’t, but Tony’s not ignorant to the fact that he’s just threatened someone who can make a call and have Emory moved out of D.C. before Tony has a chance to get home and arrange a flight out there, much less actually landing.

“Good idea. Do it tomorrow, would you? I gave her the night off.”

With that, Tony walks out. He slides into the driver’s seat wishing he hadn’t chosen a convertible. Either he tries to buckle up without his right hand and Coulson sees it, or he bears the agony and fucks up his arm by buckling himself. If he chooses the latter, he’ll have to sit until the pain subsides enough to actually fucking drive away. So much for a power move.

Tony rests his forehead on the steering wheel in lieu of doing anything. As he has every time he isn’t actively working on something, Tony thinks about what Emory might be going through. Did they lock her up as if she’s some kind of dangerous monster? Have they tried to force her into using her powers? Interrogated her? He already knows she’ll have asked to talk to him, and Coulson has probably known where he is since before he crossed the ocean.

Tony’s startled by the sound of the seatbelt unspooling and jerks sideways to see that Coulson is standing beside the car, pulling on the buckle.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re not the only one making threats regarding a loved one’s safety. Be glad I’m not commandeering the car and sending you home with an agent, instead. Drive safe, Mr. Stark.” As he speaks, Agent Phil Coulson leans over and buckles Tony in, taking the time to tighten the belt. That just so happens to allow the man to press the back of his hand against the center of Tony’s chest, where he has to have felt the hard shape of the ARC reactor.

Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “Well played.”

“We’ll be in touch about contacting Ms. Autumn,” the agent promises, straightening up and walking away.

He deliberately does not turn to see Coulson’s expression, choosing instead to watch his progress back to the sidewalk in the rearview mirror. He knows it’s reckless, he knows it’s going to hurt, but Tony throws the car into reverse with an exaggerated gesture that stabs pain through his right arm, before swinging the car out onto the road and speeding away.

The sound of a phone ringing wakes Emory up. She squints at the clock with bleary eyes, only recognizing the time because the hands of the analog device form a straight line, top to bottom. Scrambling out of bed, she makes her way to the telephone and picks it up, pressing the old-style device to her ear.

“Hello?” she asks, hearing the scratchy, just-woke-up tone and wincing.

“It’s me.”

Next chapter, Tony and Emory finally get to speak to each other, but the effect on Emory's powers is... destructive.

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