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popodoki · 3 months

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*rings bell* Come get your Catwin NSFW besties x

CONTENT WARNING DIRECTLY UNDER READ MORE

Edwin wants, and is fucked by the hilt of a rapier in this.

Boy has a strength and danger kink, and the Cat King swinging a rapier around with ease is doing things to him, mostly to his dick lbr.

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The whole mess was an embarrassment, one that he had never intended to share with anyone, let alone the Cat King, his lover. There was nothing strange about a young man getting, well, excited during fencing matches, the heat of a brawl. It was a simple bodily reaction. Years spent in an all-boys school tempered much more of such kinds of shame than one might think.

But Edwin knew better, now. Knew himself better, more specifically, though it was still far too startling to realize that all it took was the threat of violence, a proper show of strength, to leave him gasping with desire.

He was working to control himself though, trying to at least delay his reaction to a reasonable time, not right in the middle of watching his lover take on imaginary opponents with real ease. Heart pounding, he watches that rapier flash and twirl in his lover’s firm grip, the raw power of the Cat King on display with every flex of those muscles. The glistening stretch of skin on display, toned arms, shoulders, abs. Edwin can’t imagine anyone could have resisted, could resist watching, not when it was Thomas.

But not everyone would be hard as steel, just from watching. If Edwin had just stayed where he sat, if he hadn't drifted closer, book slipping from his hands in favour of a much more compelling sight, if he hadn’t been watching at just the right time to catch the Cat King pulling off a truly athletic spin, rapier swinging through the air in such a dramatic arc Edwin could almost viscerally imagine the scene, a terrific beast, slain by the brave strong knight. Hells. If Edwin’s hand hadn’t been down the front of his pants by the time Thomas finished his move, turning on his feet so deftly he ended in the perfect position to spot his little voyeur, they both might have been able to ignore the entire debacle. Edwin wouldn't have learned his lesson, but they wouldn't have needed to talk about his little... kink.

Instead, Thomas now loomed over him, the tip of his rapier digging into Edwin's spread thighs as he babbled away all his deepest secret desires.

"You really like this," Thomas drawls, dragging the tip of his silver rapier along the soft flesh of Edwin’s inner thigh.

"Did you think I was lying? Just weaving a tale, to humiliate myself in-" Edwin cut off abruptly, as the sharp point dug in, threatening to break skin.

"I only thought you were confused. Adrenaline can do many things to a man, not the least that." His lover looks pointedly at Edwin's cock, twitching red, hard enough that it was starting to weep lightly against his stomach. Edwin flushes, heat spreading under the skin of his cheeks, doesn't respond. There was nothing he could really say.

"Is this what you want? Why you stay silent during practice sometimes..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Edwin knew what he was implying. His lover was always indulgent, and he could understand why Thomas might think Edwin was just looking to get a specific itch scratched. It was a kinder interpretation, than pure hedonism.

"Not, not just this. Not just the rapier. You. You make me so reckless, I can't even stop to think- moving like you were born to dance, not just fight. I want the danger, but more than anything I want you. "

"And my rapier." Edwin gasps as the blade rotated against his skin, twisting on its point.

"The rapier is, um, nice, too. But you could be swinging about a dull kitchen knife, and I'd still..." Edwin gestured helplessly. Finding the words shouldn't be so difficult, but now that he had spilled the shameful part, the words just seemed to dry up in his throat. "It's never been the only thing I want. Danger is just a mindset. And not one I often indulge. Consciously, at least." He finished with a flush. He wouldn't pretend that certain memories weren't shaded a little differently, now that he understood himself better.

But that had no bearing now. "If- if you want, we can forget all this. There's no need- If you wouldn't enjoy-"

"No."

"No?"

Thomas drops the rapier into the grass, crouching down between Edwin's legs, warm, rough leather scraped hands coming down to press Edwin’s thighs down when they hitch, in response to his smirk. "No. Do you know how many times I've stroked myself, fed only by memories of your pleasure? Thinking of you, with your layers undone, your mouth hanging open, dripping with spit, as you gasped out your pleasure, at my hands, my actions?"

"Yes, Edwin. Yes." Thomas nods at him, persuading, smooths both his hands down creamy thighs, over the faint red scratches left by the silver rapier. "I can't forget this, even if I wanted to, Ghostie. I know it now. Your desires, your wants." The way he whispers it, makes Edwin feel like a meal, one that Thomas had full intentions of devouring. He licks his lips, clenches his hands, nervously. Thomas looks over his body, assessing, calculating, and Edwin knows he’s not found wanting.

A warm calloused hand travels down, down. Edwin groans along with the Cat King when a thumb probes behind his balls, presses a stripe down his taint and slips between his ass cheeks. "Edwin. You're already wet? Is this what you did, when I told you I was going outside, going to work out? Did you plan on losing control, filling yourself with your fingers, thinking of my stretches, thinking of fencing practice?"

"N-no, I just thought, ah-" Edwin wiggles, "If I was... satisfied, I might be able to control myself."

Thomas smirks so wide at that, it stretches his cheeks. "How wrong you were," he murmurs, pushing his thumb more firmly against Edwin's hole, sliding easily inside with the layer of slick, “to think mere fingers were going to satisfy you. To think that I, your lover, your king, would leave you unsatisfied.” If Edwin had known all it would take was a smidge of embarrassment, he might have revealed his little problem a lot sooner, as it is, his hands clutch and tear handfuls of grass, as his lover summons a little jar of lubricant in his one hand, and reaches for the rapier lying close with the other. Seeing the glinting hilt in his lover’s hand made it all much more real, intense in a way Edwin had never experienced before. His lover has barely touched him, already Edwin feels like he's wavering right on the edge. Unbidden, he lifts his legs, bends his knees and presses them close to his chest, the motion bringing his throbbing cock into slapping contact with his stomach, dribbling more precum with each little jerk as his breathing needlessly picks up. From between his trembling thighs, he watches as Thomas drizzles the lubricant over the rapier’s hilt, until it’s dripping, excess splashing onto the grass.

Edwin nearly chokes on his groan, clenching down almost in anger at the intrusion of fingers instead of the hard unyielding pressure of the rapier. His lover tuts and coos at him in equal measure. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing this properly, Ghostie. I’m not hurting you, I’m giving you everything you want, need, and more, okay?” Edwin grunts, bears down on the fingers as they move and spread him, slowly opening him just that bit further. His lover waits until his moans turn sharp, and Edwin near sobs in a mix of relief and anticipation when the Cat King’s fingers leave, and are replaced by steel.

His teeth nearly draw blood, as Thomas presses relentlessly forward, just how he needs. The hilt so much, all at once, that for a moment all Edwin can feel is the harshness of the burn, his legs starting to tense, pull taut. But he knows he can take it, welcomes the hint of pain, as a promise for the pleasure to come. It stretches him like nothing else Edwin has taken before. Thomas handles the rapier just as well as he always does, angling it just right to push past any lingering resistance from Edwin's body, until the wide round length of steel was seated all the way inside him.

"Good?"

Edwin squeezes his legs tighter to his chest, clenching his fists in tandem to their trembles, knowing that if he relaxed for even an instant, he could hurt himself even on this side of the rapier. The thought just made his cock throb harder, tip smearing precum across his stomach, sending sparks through his veins. The danger of the weapon now splitting him, made the feeling hit twice as hard.

"Edwin. Feeling good, doing okay?"

"Good! I'm good, promise! More, please, I-" Edwin cuts off with a punched-out moan. At his begging, Thomas shoved the hilt the rest of the way inside, in one smooth motion. Edwin's back arches off the ground, his vision whiting out as he took it all. He nearly comes right there. It's so deep inside him, he swears he can taste steel in the back of his throat.

His lover waits patiently for Edwin to relax again, watching intently, as the blade of the rapier jerks, moved by Edwin’s body clenching rhythmically around the hilt. If he could spare the focus through the onslaught of sensations, Edwin might even feel the cool steel of the guard nestled in between his cheeks, in contrast to the blazing hot handle now deep inside him, warm from Thomas's hand. He sucks in another deep breath, his knuckles almost white, where his grass-stained fingers dig into the dirt.

By the time Edwin could feasibly speak again, if he tried, if he had anything else to offer aside from pleas, his lover’s already moving, sliding the hilt in and out of him, in powerful thrusts. The ridges of the handle drag against his rim, catching just enough to twinge. Edwin moans and whines, helpless to do anything else, as Thomas's sharp movements, the power in those toned muscles he so admired earlier, make him skid across the ground.

Every time his lover adjusts his grip, slowing down for just a moment, checking, changing the angle just enough, he still manages to hit that perfect spot deep inside. Edwin sees stars, an entire universe dancing behind his eyelids, behind his closed eyes. At any moment, Thomas could miscalculate, fumble, his slick hands slipping on the handle, wrist cramping from the repetitive movement. Just an instant was all it would take, to injure Edwin, but his lover was perfect. Thomas gave him everything he needed. The threat, the weapon, and the inhuman strength and skill to pull it off. Such a strong, noble knight. A King. Fucking him with a rapier cause Edwin got hard at the sight of his abs. Edwin's laugh catches in his throat as Thomas rolls his wrist, the hilt dragging against his walls. Hells, he was going to combust before he came, from the intensity of it all.

It's building, rapidly, below his stomach, his cock keeps twitching across his skin, smearing slick everywhere. Edwin reaches down, wipes his hand absently on his rumpled shirt, to try to grip his cock in a semi-clean palm. Thomas veritably hisses at him, slamming the hilt into him, hard enough to knock the breath out of his chest, making his point, without a single word.

That display is all Edwin needs. He keens, his legs jerking in the air as he comes. The intensity makes his head spin, disorienting and euphoric at the same time, everything crashing down around him. His balls tighten, thick white spurts paint his stomach. Edwin's mouth hangs open, as he pants, his hair stuck to his forehead with the slick of his sweat.

Vaguely, Edwin registers his lover carefully working the hilt free, amid the last weak clenches of his ass, as he recovers from his violent orgasm. Edwin moans softly, exhausted, as the wide hilt twinges one last time at his rim, sprawling out his legs and limbs as soon as it’s safe to do so. When he feels like he could actually sit up without getting dizzy, Edwin does so, reaches for his lover’s hips, eager to return the favour in whatever way he can. A slick palm catches his, preventing Edwin from touching the tantalizing stretch of bare skin that can still tempt an interested twitch from his soft cock. Edwin whines in the back of his throat. That can't be right.

"But don't you want-"

Thomas rolls his eyes, pointedly, the moment Edwin’s pleading eyes search and find his, not releasing Edwin’s hand. "For such a brilliant detective, you’re a bit of an idiot some times, Ghostie." he says, with a little reproachful growl. And a generous dusting of pink across his cheeks, Edwin can’t help but note, as his hand is tugged, pulled firmly to his lover’s crotch.

Oh.

Edwin looks up at Thomas, with wide eyes, registering a real red blush now across the Cat King’s face. Thomas had enjoyed himself. Immensely. The wet spot beneath his palm is unmistakable. Edwin himself hadn't come untouched since he was a teenager, more hormones than blood running through his veins. And now Edwin had- had provoked it, just by giving in to his own desires.

"Well," he says, trying and failing not to let a grin break across his face. "Seems like this has made for some good memories, for the both of us."

#dead boy detectives #dbda #catwin #cat king #edwin payne #dbda fanfic #heed content warning

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edducard · 1 year

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Danni I want you to talk about everything right NEOW.

But I know you need specific questions, so I will ask you to talk to me about your Edd bc I know the least about your version of him

oh yaya time to talk about his big spanish hispanic jewish family!!!!

he's the youngest of 6, oldest 2 aren't named or designed. I have not much of shit on them yet lmao!

Edd is the baby child of the family and was super super dotted on by his mama and he and Elain, the second youngest, are the closest, her kids r named after him! Edwin being obvious but emily's middle name is manuela which is the female version of edds middle name, manuel! He's a gay man he's the gay uncle. We love tio edd.

Next up is Sofia who's a transwoman who works at a tattoo shop in london. While Edd is learning spanish to speak properly w his family in spain sofia has cut contact w most of the family since transitioning for various reasons, but she still texts edd here and there. He's pretty much the only one that still has contact w her and it how the family still knows she's alive. she loves her pug furbaby Moonshine. May or may not have a crush on a local ginger lady who works at a diner near her work.

Rodrigo, aka Felipe, has the typical brotherly relationship w Edd. Loves to bully and tease him and is pretty cool w his whole gay thing, even if he says some fuck up shit every now and then. He's trying. Worries a lot abt Sofia due to them being so close as kids, doesn't know abt her transitioning tho and Edd's not sure if he should tell him or not. Mama calls him her little filly (as in the horse) and was definitely into mlp (thanks to edd getitng him into it)

Speaking of mama! Here's Reina, Edd's mother who never quite felt right in her relationship with his dad John. John is an orthodox jew and she was very iffy on getting a divorce just because she "felt weird" about it, but when Edd was about 7 she talked to John and, shockingly, he agreed to the divorce but wanted dearly to stay in the kids life, which of course she would let him. They still lived together up until Edd's teens before Reina moved out into her own house. They had moved to the UK while still married, shortly after having Elain, so Edd never really experienced living in Spain where the majority of his family resides. He also can't speak Spanish very well but he's been learning!

Elain had moved back to Spain after meeting a visiting spaniard and marrying him, resulting in her having two kids, but it really wasn't long before they divorced. Turns out he had a mistress she was unaware of who was also pregnant so she slammed that divorced hammer quite fucking fast and took custody of the kids. Edd swears he'd kill the guy if he ever sees him, Elain tell him not too because she want's to be the one who kills him lmao.

Reina isn't orthodox but due to growing up w John who is, Edd seems to... think... she is... so whenever she visits he's in a rush to clean up the house. This shit should have been kosher YESTERDAY! BURY THE BACON IN THE BACKYARD GOD DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!! She tells the rest of them she actually adores bacon and is always slightly disappointed whenever Edd hides it from her. Tom tries to tell Edd about this but he just... wont rlly listen... it's ok it's not like it's rlly hurting anyone.

#eddsworld #ew edd #commie art #stfu commie #daisydays-26 #sorry for the long ass post #there not. like. correct way to read it ig.#im just spewing my thoughts as they come to me #lmao #edd is a very nonpracticing jew btw #this poor man cannot speak a lick of hebrew #his bar mitzvah was a disaster #wouldn't expect anything less from him tbh

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lavellenchanted · 2 years

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Steggy Week 2022, Day 1: Inspired By ↳ The Mummy

“Do you think he’ll actually come?”

They’ve been at the dock since just after sunrise – Peggy almost forcibly dragged Howard from his bed, she was so eager to get going – but all that means is that she had hours to worry, pacing back and forth in front of the gangway up to the boat that will take them along the Nile as she watches more and more people arrive with no sign of Steve Rogers.

By now the sun has fully risen, beating down on them from a cloudless blue sky, and there’s already a sizeable crowd despite the early hour. Several boats are having their cargo unloaded, others are getting boxes, carts and even horses packed on ready for leaving. There are plenty of market stalls around as well, and the air is filled with shouts and calls of vendors eager to catch the attention of the travellers disembarking, a swirling mix of Arabic, Masri and English all blending together.

To Peggy’s impatient mind it feels like practically everyone in Cairo is here except the man that’s supposed to be guiding them.

Howard has somehow (Peggy knows better than to ask how) procured himself a chair and is lounging back in it while poor Jarvis stands watch over their luggage. He is, as always, frustratingly nonchalant, barely glancing at Peggy over the top of his sunglasses while dismissing her concern with an airy wave of his hand.

“Of course he will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know his type,” Howard shrugs. “He’s a boy scout.”

Peggy cannot help giving a sceptical snort. “A boy scout? Howard, you found the man inside a jail.”

He just grins. “Even so. He gave us his word, Peg, and to a guy like that? That means everything. He’ll show, so calm down. It’s exhausting just watching you.”

She spears him with a dark look and moves away to stand nearer Jarvis, wondering what Howard’s loyal valet thinks of this whole endeavour. He would never openly criticise his employer, Peggy knows, but sometimes she catches the slight downturn of his mouth and the flash of exasperation in his eyes that suggests he disapproves.

Edwin Jarvis, it must be said, is in possession of far more common sense that Howard Stark. It baffles her why he continues to stay in his post – but then, Howard has also managed to talk her into remaining friends with him.

“What do you think?” she asks Jarvis quietly.

He doesn’t answer for a moment but is clearly considering as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and delicate dabs at the perspiration already breaking out along his brow.

“I think that with the exception of young women who have caught his fancy Mr Stark is, generally, a reasonable judge of character,” he finally replies, voice thoughtful. “And for all he was incarcerated, I did not get the impression that Mr Rogers was a dishonest man.”

Oddly enough, Peggy rather agrees with that assessment. She has met plenty of slippery characters before – people who have come to the library trying to pass off forged and stolen trinkets as rare and expensive artifacts, who she can see weighing up every angle and who smile like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths while they lie straight to her face.

That was not how Steve Rogers had seemed. He had been angry, yes, and in a rather desperate situation. But that wasn’t the same as being dishonest.

“You didn’t like him,” Jarvis comments, watching her.

That’s not quite it either, but as Peggy thinks back cannot help but remember the feel of Rogers’ fingers, callused and firm, as they clasped her chin, and the sudden, hard pressure of his lips against hers through the bars of his cell. Her face flushes with embarrassment and outrage all over again, but what irritates her the most is the shiver that runs down her spine and the small part of her that rather regrets that the kiss had been so short.

“He was just – he was rude, and filthy,” she says, a little snappishly, not wanting Jarvis to see the conflict on her face. “He struck me as a complete scoundrel.”

But before Jarvis can reply a deep, familiar voice sounds behind her.

“Anyone I know?”

Peggy turns on her heel, quite ready to let Steve Rogers know she’s talking about him and to make clear exactly what she thinks of men who go about kissing women they barely know out of the blue, but the words immediately die on her tongue, her mouth hanging open as she stares in surprise.

Rogers has put the few hours since his release from prison to good use. He’s bathed and cleaned, the stink of the jail cell replaced with soap and fresh cotton, and is clothed in a fresh suit that shows off his broad shoulders. Gone, too, is the scruff of beard covered his face, revealing a strong, square jaw and high cheekbones. His hair has been cut and combed back, shining gold where the sunlight hits it.

If she had met him today, Peggy would never have guessed that he had been in jail at all. He looks entirely respectable, and ridiculously handsome.

“Oh, uh . . . good morning,” she finally manages to say, hoping not all of her thoughts were visible on her face. “Glad you could join us.”

To his credit, he doesn’t comment on her obvious surprise, just lifts one corner of his mouth in a faint smile and says, “Ready to get going?”

Peggy nods, and as something flutters below her ribs she finds she’s no longer sure if she wants this to be a short expedition, or a long one.

#steggy #steggy week #steggy week 2022 #steve x peggy #steve rogers #peggy carter #my fic #coming in just under the wire . . . .#otp: the right partner

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natromanxoff · 3 years

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25 - Just Chatting...

Hello one and all.

It's been a long time since I graced these pages and, believe it or not, nothing much has been happening in my life, apart from the odd soiree or two. Winter has finally left us and spring has sprung, and it's nice to see the sun again. Let's start by wishing my old mate a happy birthday and I hope you all had a little drinkie for him, I know I did. In fact I got legless, he would have been proud of me. Whenever we were in London there was always a party at Fred's on his birthday, be it a handful of friends, or one where he invited half of Britain, but which ever one it was there was always a good time to be had and a lot of chaos. One year he actually took over Pikes Hotel in Ibiza and chartered a private plane to fly his friends in. Roger and myself were already on the island recording some of his solo stuff so we didn't have far to travel to the bash. When I say we were working, it's kind of true as we spent a lot of time on his boat "Ga Ga" whizzing around having lunch and fun. The party was held outside around the swimming pool, now is that an invite for trouble or what? There were hundreds of balloons hanging from every available fixture, and of course there is always an idiot that thinks he's a clown. This particular clown, who will remain nameless, decided it would be funny to light one of the balloons, and needless to say the whole lot went up in flames. Phoebe and Crystal to the rescue. We had to get this "fire" off the wooden rafters before the whole hotel went up in smoke, so we were pulling bits of string while burning rubber was dripping down on us. I was so traumatised by the whole event I had to have another drink ....... a lame excuse I know, but hey, it's my story. Back to the pool. Edwin Shirley, of trucking fame and also an all round good guy after a few too many, decided to have a swim, so he removed his clothing and was flapping around the pool when some daft countess told him to get dressed and behave himself. Wrong move lady. Edwin was not impressed by his telling off and threw her in, and she was even less impressed with that and started ranting and raving, much to the amusement to the rest of the party hounds. She left with her tail between her legs and didn't look at all glamorous in her soaking wet dress, running makeup and failed hairdo. We continued till mid morning and went straight to the airport and caught a flight home. Thanks F for the great parties and good times, you will never be forgotten.

I still get asked a lot if I'm gonna write the "Real" story about Queen. Well the answer is no, and the reason is that the guys gave me a great job and a great life and I have far to much respect for them, their wives/girlfriends, children and families to tell the world what we got up to in private. I feel that is our business and ours alone. Most of us are all in relationships and telling tales could make life awkward for a few people, band and crew alike. I'm sure at some point in time someone from the organisation will write a book, have 5 minutes of fame and make a quick buck, but it sure as hell won't be me, and I'll still be able to sleep at night and when I see the guys I will still be free to say, "Wanna beer MATE."

I've had a few questions asked me that I'm gonna answer quickly.

First off is "Do you have any stories about Freddies cats? (ripping furniture etc.)" Here's a good reply, No. So moving right along, "Of all the famous people you've met, who impressed you the most?" Tricky one this. After years in this "Biz" they all become "Just normal people," and some become good pals, but on one occasion I was in Paul McCartneys studio and I was handed his violin bass and I was sitting there holding it when someone said, "Paul is left handed, hold it like he would." When I turned it around, still taped in the cutout was the Beatles set list from their days in Hamburg, now that impressed me.

Deaky and myself were the only two reggae lovers in the outfit, and Bob Marley turned up to see the show at Madison Square Gardens. Strange choice of show for Bob, but he loved Another one bites the dust, and he happened to be in New York on a stopover on his way to Germany for laser treatment. Show time and our intro tape was playing, and someone told JD that Bob was in the audience, so he cranked his bass up and played "Lively up yourself" over the tape. This was very possibly the last time Marley ever heard this played as he died shortly after. I didn't get to meet him, but I did get to meet Tyrone Downie, Bobs keyboard player in the Wailers, and Tyrone and myself got up to all sorts of mischief that night. RT on the other hand hates reggae music, but I did manage to drag him to the Circus Krone in Munich to see Peter Tosh. I loved it, he hated it. I look at this as payback because years before he insisted that I went to Hammersmith Odeon to see Laurie Anderson, of O Superman fame. This show he loved, but I put it alongside Cher as one of the worst concerts I have ever seen. Needless to say I have also met a couple of stars that I didn't see eye to eye with. Like the American rock star we encountered in a club one night, and he was such a pain I had to take him into the toilets to have a quiet word with him. He finally got the message so I released my hand from around his neck and let him drop back down to the ground. To finish this segment I wanna tell you something that Bev Bevan said. Bev was the drummer with ELO, and them and us were touring the US at the same time, and as it turned out, staying in the same hotel in one city. Roger and myself were leaving the hotel and waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened Bev was in there and him and RT said their hellos. Rog then said, "Bev, this is Crystal, he looks after me." Bev turned to me, shook my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you. If it wasn't for guys like you, guys like us wouldn't be where we are today." He didn't need to say that, and was genuine when he did. I wasn't impressed with meeting him, but he is certainly in my top ten of nicest people I have ever meet.

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time in the Chatroom, and I highly recommend it to you all as it can be a bit of a laugh. For anyone who has never visited the room please remember a couple of things, if you come in and start swearing you will be kicked out. I know, it happens to me all the time. Also don't come in and start going on about knowing axemen and murderers and other such garbage, cause that also warrants a kicking. Some buffoon from Ireland, who went by the name of "Death" turned up with an attitude and was going on about how f***ing awesome Queen were at Slane Castle. He was not known by anyone in there so I asked him to watch his language. He said he was the Grim Reaper and could do and say what he liked, so I told him otherwise and he was most put out when I kicked him. What a fool. A while ago there was some prat who called himself F***queen, good name eh! Anyway, he/she/it was picking on a lovely young lady called Raisa, and was saying some awful things to her and completely freaked her out, so I went to her defence and FQ turned the attention my way. As far as I'm concerned it's only letters on a screen and it didn't phase me at all, but at least he/she/it gave up on Raisa. In all fairness to FQ, whoever you may be, he/she left a message on the Bulletin Board saying sorry to Raisa and myself and would never do it again. So FQ, from the both of us, thanks for the apology, we accept it. What other weirdos have we had? Well, there was a brightspark who decided it would be funny to use the nickname QueenRshite, another bad move from this person who was honoured with a ban.

While in there I've seen a lot of friendships made, and a couple that have fallen apart. I got a private message one evening from a very drunk girl who, how shall we phrase this, offered me her body and wanted to do all sorts of naughty things to me, I thanked her and declined...must be getting old or something. I have also witnessed relationships being made and, usually there is a lot of humour involved, but needless to say some arguments do occur. I have also seen some of the daftest things said. One guy was so convinced that one of the regulars was either Deaky or she was chatting with him in private that he actually started tracking her every move on the net. He also told me about some highly illegal activities he was up to concerning the band. I wouldn't have thought I was the best person to tell such stuff to, and needless to say I had a go at him. Just to add to his stupidity he's been recently boasting about his affair with an underage girl, and I reckon if he had any more sense he would be half witted. Having mentioned all the twits I'd like to say a quick hello to all the regulars, White Queen and Killer Queen, the lovely girls Blue Rock and Rannnnnnni, SQJan, Mayflower and her boys, Farookh (aka Leroy Brown) MarshMallow, the three Tigers - Babe, Lily and Stripes and the mighty Falc, also to all the rest who I haven't mentioned by name, you know who you are. I'd also like to say hi to Daddy Cool who is the singer in the Dutch cover band Miracle, and Dad, if you never make it as a singer you could make a great career from being a stand up comedian. Finally an extra special hello to the gorgeous MTB, who is about to make an honest man of me ;)

Before I go I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of a certain date in November that is engraved in all of our minds. And I know that a lot of you will be heading to Garden Lodge to leave flowers. I don't wanna preach and tell you what to do, and I know flowers are a nice gesture, but they do die and the only people to really benefit from this is the florist. This year lets all give a donation, no matter how small, to Aids research, this way the cash will be used to try and stamp out this awful disease. If you really wanna leave flowers, buy a smaller, cheaper bunch and donate the balance of what you would have spent to these charities. It's been said a million times before but it is true, Every penny counts.

As always, Loadsa Love.

Crystal

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #peter freestone #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 3 years

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Watching (the Adventures of) Merlin season one on Netflix

Episode One: The Dragon's Call

. . . I feel like going to the capital of the kingdom indiscriminately slaughtering magic users wasn't the best idea.

Why? Well, that guy did just get executed.

And now his mom is mad. You tell that sorry excuse for a king, witch lady.

I don't like Uther, in case it was unclear.

Wait... if you could teleport why not just grab your son and ditch before he loses his head? Literally.

Oh, wow. Arthur is a dick.

Morgana. We have no choice but to stan tbh.

Dragon, you're really rubbing me the wrong way.

That's right Merlin! We need more than Because Destiny Says So!

Where did the spiderwebs come from? That sleeping spell gives me Sleeping Beauty vibes.

Ah, yes. The old drop-the- chandelier-on-the-villain trick. :(

If she went after Uther instead of Arthur I would have no complaints.

Manservant? You call that a reward for saving your son?

Episode Two: Valiant

Snake!Shield

Oh, he's gonna- Yup, dead. That's what happens when you deal with knights who cheat.

Where did that guy even get a magic shield in the first place?

Is there a thriving magic black market or something?

I love Guin.

. . . I feel like Sir Valiant didn't think this through. If bite marks are visible.

Ugh, you're the worst Uther.

It's only the second episode! Did you forget who saved your son already?

Stop being a jerk Arthur.

Lol. Merlin bringing a dog statue to life in order to practice for the Snake!Shield.

Bye Valiant!

Episode Three: The Mark of Nimueh

Whatcha up to with that egg, new witch lady?

You gonna poison the water of all of Camelot? Seems like a jerk move.

Dang that's a lot of dead bodies...

No, I like Guin's dad!

Yes! Cure him Merlin!

No! Stop arresting Guin, Uther!

You tell him, Morgana!

That plague monster that hatched from witch lady's egg is creepy.

Dead monster!

Arthur is kinda oblivious to Merlin's magic ngl.

Yay! Guin's free!

What do you know about witch lady Nimueh, Uther? Hmm? Why she want you dead? Besides the obvious reasons.

Episode Four: The Poisoned Chalice

Wow, Nimueh really doesn't like Merlin saving the day.

Wow, Nimueh really orchestrated an entire diplomatic incident in order to kill Merlin while also ensuring Camelot is destroyed by its neighbor. Impressive.

I really like Merlin and Guin's friendship.

Dang. Merlin really drank poison in order to save Arthur.

Merlin saved Arthur's life, Uther! Let him return the favor!

Oh, wow. Arthur really disobeyed his father in order to save Merlin's life.

I didn't know Merlin could cast spells while deathly delirious. And several miles away from him too.

Uther you b****! The antidote is right there! Let Arthur save his friend!

Putting your own son in a cell is such a jerk move.

At least Arthur and Guin manage to sneak the antidote to Merlin.

Quick aside: Internet spoilers say Uther needs to die for Arthur to complete his himbofication- I mean character development. So, if you could get on with that? Thanks!

Episode Five: Lancelot

Wow, that's a very CGI griffin.

Lancelot is so precious- Uh, I mean effective! Saving Merlin and all.

I know, Guin. I know.

Always thought it was a stupid rule to only let nobles be knights.

You're really going to commit magical forgery for someone you just met, Merlin?

I mean, Lancelot is earnest, hardworking, modest, kind despite his tragic backstory and it's his childhood dream to be a knight...

Yeah, I'd commit magical forgery too.

Lol, knocked you on your ass didn't he Arthur? (The second time at least)

I don't remember griffins being man-eaters!

Uther stop arresting people! Ugh, you're such a classist.

Let Lancelot help fight the griffin, Arthur! You need all the help you can get!

Well okay letting him go was nice of you.

Lancelot-Merlin tag team!

Wow. Lancelot really strode in with Camelot's singular braincell by figuring out Merlin has magic.

(The bar is low, okay.)

No, don't take away the braincell! Stay! The griffin was a team effort!

Okay, Lancelot's lawful good tendencies are a little annoying but, hey, nobody's perfect.

Episode Six: A Remedy to Cure All Ills

Edwin, no. Leave Morgana alone.

Oh, beetles! Curse beetles! That's not creepy at all.

Gaius how do you know Edwin?

What diabolical plot are you hatching Edwin? Oh, you're replacing Gaius in the royal court. That's kinda rude.

Merlin's so happy meeting another magic user that isn't trying to kill him (yet).

Le gasp! Uther's purge killed Edwin's parents? WhO cOuLd HaVe fOreSeEn tHis!?

But seriously. No wonder Edwin wants Uther dead.

I know Edwin blackmailed Gaius with exposing Merlin but he also wants to kill Uther!

That gives him a pass in my book.

Gaius no. Let Uther die.

Edwin stop trying to kill Gaius! You're going to-

Yup, here comes Merlin and-

Edwin's dead :(

Well he was trying to overthrow the kingdom. That's... bad... I guess.

Episode Seven: The Gates of Avalon

That title is misleading. It's more of a natural portal/magic lake type thing.

Arthur saves a father and daughter from bandits (Which they hired but shhh)

And they immediately try to put a love spell on Arthur

For human sacrifice purposes of course

Idk why the Sidhe want a human prince's soul -look at him, you don't know where he's been- but that's the price for readmission

I wonder how the dad killed one of his own kind? Was it an accident or...?

Exiling the daughter too makes me suspicious of Avalon's justice system

Evil laugh is a bit out of place for someone who is trying to restore his daughter's immortality

(They are so whiny about being mortal. Hey, we put up with it all the time!)

The fairy-like Sidhe moving in accelerated time so they just look like tiny orbs of light was an interesting touch. The blue faces and razor sharp teeth is not a good look for them, lol

They make Arthur ask to be married ('cause it takes a while for the love spell to go into full blown mind control or something)

Prompting Uther to threaten to kill both of them

(I feel like they didn't think this through)

Morgana admonishes Uther for being the worst

He replies that first love rarely lasts and that Arthur is inexperienced in such things. Plus that Arthur only met the girl yesterday

... I can't believe Uther is the voice of reason this episode

He doesn't get any points though. Due to the whole "threatening to execution his son's 'crush' " thing

The daughter is having second thoughts about using Arthur as a human sacrifice

Dear old dad puts those to rest and they try drowning Arthur in the lake that is/is the portal to, Avalon

Merlin's really leaning into the whole "Cool motive. Still murder.", thing huh?

Like, he did NOT hesitate to blow up both of them

Episode Eight: The Beginning of the End

Why do magic users keep going to Camelot!? The king is trying to KILL YOU!

Wow, this grown ass man is threatened by a literal child... I hate Uther so much

Morgana is the MVP of this episode. I love her

Protect that druid kid!

I feel like you're being paranoid Uther

You tell him Morgana!

Dragon, no. Stop prophesying death and destruction.

Wow, this grown ass dragon is threatened by a literal child...

Aaaand Morgana got caught sneaking the kid out of the city :(

Uther she is your adopted daughter! Stop putting people in cells!

Arthur is gonna sneak him out now?

While Morgana distracts the king?

Yes, excellent. What could possibly-

Merlin stop listening to that destiny dragon! Hearing his voice in your head is no basis for trust!

Cutting it close... Yay! They made it!

Mordred!? MORDRED!?

THAT little boy is Mordred!?

... Okay, I'm more inclined to believe the destiny dragon now

Still think letting him die would be a dick move

Episode Nine: Excalibur

What're you up to with that tomb Nimueh?

Oh! It's some kind of undead knight. Yes.

Throwing down the gauntlet. Pfft! Always thought that was a stupid idea.

Also: that Black Knight literally crashed your party!

Ugh, knights.

Nimueh if you can just teleport into the heart of Camelot while Uther is alone why don't you just stab him? Grab one of those pointy things he likes so much and stab him in the back. Easy peasy!

Stealing this joke but Don't do evil magic kids. It fries your brain cells.

Wait, the Black Knight is Uther's brother-in-law!?

Arthur's mother died in childbirth!?

Uther asked Nimueh to use her magic so he could have Arthur!?

Equivalent Exchange!?

Uther went on a genocidal rampage because he didn't bother with the instruction manual of ancient and powerful magic!?

Actually, that last one is not surprising at all.

I can't believe they're using the Wife in the Fridge trope. That appliance hasn't even been invented yet!

Ooh, Merlin's going to use his magic to destroy the Black Knight so Arthur doesn't have to fight him

As he's killed two knights already

Aaaaand, yup, he's still there. His cloak didn't even catch fire...

Arthur stop being a bastard. It doesn't suit you

Dragon forged sword! DRAGON FORGED SWORD!

Only Arthur can wield it. Yup, got it. How could this possibly go wrong?

Uther drugged Arthur and took his place in the fight... I have mixed feelings about this.

Wait, the dragon was very specific about only Arthur using that super special sword! Oh, snap.

Well at least the Black Knight is dead. Again.

Oh, dragon is not happy.

I know the dragon said "where no mortal soul could find it" but are you sure you wanna throw it into Avalon, Merlin?

Those people were gonna suck Arthur's soul out of his body

Episode Ten: The Moment of Truth

The way this episode title just lies to your face like that...

Oh, you're Merlin's mother! Thought we had an anime protagonists type thing going on

I... would like to say Uther is being unreasonable when he decides not to cross borders to get rid of some bandits. But I can totally see everyone hating him so that's a no go.

Lady, you were in a whole different kingdom. Why for the love of Merlin did you send him to Camelot!?

We're off to save the village! Morgana and Guin are coming too!

A wild Arthur appears!

Morgana better at swordplay than Arthur confirmed!

Merlin! I didn't know you had friends!

Granted he's a bit rough around the edges but

Okay. If it were literally anyone else besides Arthur. I'd say he was right about lords and knights being useless snobs.

Actually. He's right about lords and knights being useless snobs. Ah, that felt great.

Wow, the homosexual subtext is strong with this one.

The girls can tell Arthur came for Merlin.

But get your foot out of his face! I don't care how royal it is!

Look at Guin over here calling out Arthur for being a dick

And talking him into letting the women fight. She's on a roll

Aw, Merlin's friend died. :(

And he took credit for Merlin's tornado (so Arthur wouldn't find out about Merlin's magic)

Episode Eleven: The Labyrinth of Gedref

Lol, that unicorn could use a haircut.

No, Arthur. I said a haircut not an arrow to the chest!

Bad things? What kind of bad things Gaius?

Uther what's the point of having an expert in magical lore if you're not going to listen to him!

And all the crops are dead. Fantastic.

I know it's a magic thing but stating outright that the blight only targets edible plants is still really unsettling.

And the water's turned to sand. Great.

Who're you and how come Merlin is the only magic user that can't teleport?

What kind of tests mister Keeper of the Unicorns, sir?

Arthur I know you don't want to believe it's your fault... But it's totally your fault.

Uther no. People are starving.

You tell him Arthur.

Oh, the "theif" was a test!

Aaaaand he failed the second one. :(

Merlin's got a lot of faith in Arthur.

It's interesting how the Keeper can only direct the curse caused by the unicorn's death. Or rather the trials surrounding the curse, but can't break it himself.

Unicorns have some powerful magic.

The Labyrinth was barely on screen for five minutes! Surely something with Unicorn in the title would be more appropriate?

Arthur drinking a poisoned cup so Merlin could live?

That's some strong parallels right there.

The Keeper of the Unicorns is such a troll! Sleeping potion, hah!

The day is saved, Arthur lies to Uther's face about killing the Keeper and the unicorn resurrects itself.

Still needs a haircut though.

Episode Twelve: To Kill the King

Whatcha up to Guin's dad?

Oh that guy isn't suspicious at all.

You didn't think it was shady when he asked to meet in the middle of the night!?

Philosopher's Stone!?

Wow, the guards found him quickly.

What- No! Don't arrest Guin's dad!

Uther, he's a blacksmith! Stop being paranoid!

Will you stop executing people!? That inn keeper didn't know that guy was a dangerous sorcerer!

No, nononononono! He surrendered! Why did you do that!? Guin's father was important to Morgana!

That's why she gave him the key!

Dragon has his priorities straight.

Shut up, Merlin. You literally blew up a father and daughter for trying to kill one(1) person. (No really, you could see their hands flying off.)

Morgana deserves a little murder. As a treat.

Yes! Get him! Kill the bastard!

No! Why would you make GUIN say that!? Who are you and what have you done with Guin!?🔪🔪

UGH, he literally committed genocide!

The "that would make me as bad as he is" DOES NOT APPLY!

What- Oh, he still has the fairy's staff.

No. Stop it! Let Uther die!

Oh, God, Uther is such an abusive piece of GARBAGE!

Stop! Don't fall for it Morgana!

*sees dagger being pushed closer to Uther's "heart"* Yes! Yes! YES!

*Morgana saves him* NO!

NO!

NOOOOOO!

*inarticulate ranting in the background*

Episode Thirteen:

Okay, the cgi might be getting a little better 'cause the Questing Beast is freaky

Old religion? What is that? And how come it's conveniently absent from the previous episodes?

Dang, they really here just casually gaslighting Morgana like that 😡

Merlin you know Morgana has visions! You couldn't have been a little more careful? She warned you. Now look at Arthur, he's got the heroic death disease

Granted that thing does seem like a handful

Why do you only act like a father when it's a matter of life and death? Why can't you be a father literally any other time!?

"The old religion is the magic of the Earth itself."

Well that sounds fascinating, dragon. Are you going to elaborate? No? Later then?

Soooooo, is the old religion actually a religion or is it a magic? It's really unclear...

"You will be a better king than your father could ever hope to be." Guin, you're back!

I expected a place called the Isle of the Blessed to be less... creepy

Nimueh! Whatcha up to girl? Plotting the demise of a kingdom? Not today it seems

Oh there some Equivalent Exchange type nonsense going on is there?

Arthur you were supposed to be in a coma not listening to Guin!

Oh. Oh, no.

Merlin saying goodbye as he prepares to trade his life for his mother's is 😢😭

Wow, that dragon really knew Nimueh would give Merlin's mother the curse and didn't say anything. The little b*****!

No wonder Merlin's mad at him. Stop breathing fire at him! It's your own fault!

Gaius, no! Not the dead mentor trope!

"You stood by and watched as our friends died." Damn, Nimueh isn't pulling her punches.

Merlin vs Nimueh! Ready? Fight!

Anime protagonist power up! Dang, Nimueh's dead... I feel like that wasn't supposed to happen.

At least no one else is dying. Since Nimueh's death appeased the Equivalent Exchange laws of the old religion.

#bbc merlin #bbc arthur #bbc uther #bbc morgana #bbc's merlin

23 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

strawberries & cigarettes by troye whatshisface but it's winteriron (idk if this is a prompt or just a statement you can take it as either)

Bucky doesn’t like the fact that he’s going to a stupid fucking private school. He doesn’t like that this is his mother’s sacrifice, that she stays up late with the bills and works another job so that he can go there and make a living.

He doesn’t even know what he wants to do in life, that’s the thing. Mom thinks that he’s going to be a really good businessman and she doesn’t know that he smokes outside his window and sometimes just doesn’t retain any sort of information at school because he has to be good.

“I sacrifice so much for you,” she tells him one night. “You need to make a good living for yourself. Promise me.”

And he does. Hell if he knows how he’s going to keep it, but that’s the promise.

The one kid that he absolutely hates at school is Tony Stark. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a whole silverware drawer at the ready in case he doesn’t like the spoon.

Tony’s kind of wealth is the kind that is so astronomically high that at some point you have to wonder what it means to him. Because it doesn’t seem to mean anything.

He shows up in the shittiest sneakers he’s ever seen, held together with tape and drawn on by someone else. His hair is never styled, his uniform is never washed, and yet he just exudes that kind of confidence that comes with knowing that your life is better than anyone else’s, kind of.

He’s also an ass in class. Correcting teachers, derailing the topic, and acting like it all is beneath him.

They say he’s a genius, going to take over his father’s company. He has his future set in stone, and so there’s nothing else for him to learn. Bucky’s not really sure if he’s a genius or not, because he’s pretty sure a genius could figure out when to leave shit alone.

Everyone at St. Anthony’s knows that Bucky is an individual who does well on his own. At most, you say hello and move on. He doesn’t talk to anyone, he makes sure he doesn’t look like he talks to anyone, and he’s said multiple times that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

Tony Stark, however, talks. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, he talks.

Bucky gets nicknames. Because of his...frigid demeanor, this means that Tony calls him shit like “Ice Pop,” “Icicle,” “Mr. Freeze,” and any other nickname that’s applicable to cold.

“Hey Snowball,” Tony says in class. “You finished with your presentation for English class? Mine still sucks, although I’m sure it’ll be better than Hammer’s.”

“That’s not saying a lot,” Bucky mutters. “At all. Now shut up. It’s class.”

“We all know it’s going to be boring,” Tony says. “Sitwell has the personality of a tumbleweed, and you’re so much more interesting to talk to.”

Bucky doesn’t respond to that.

“Ah, so we’re at the no-talking stage, darling. I’ll make it up to you. Ice cream? Dinner? Elaborate cruise trip in summer?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony quiets for roll call, but says one last comment.

“I think I’m going to do the presentation in Comic Sans. Thoughts?”

“I wish you didn’t have thoughts, then maybe you’d leave me alone.”

Tony laughs.

“You’re cute, Barnes. Cute. You know I don’t leave anyone alone.”

There’s a bad day. Bucky gets those sometimes. Every day of his life is a bad day, almost, but this one? The absolute worst.

He had nightmares, barely got any sleep, and found out that his little sister used up the last of his shampoo, so he had to use his mom’s and now he smells like “Strawberry Paradise.”

He hates the day, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet.

Tony Stark, of course, makes it worse. He talks incessantly about something related to robotics or the weather or music or whatever, and Bucky just sees red.

"Can you shut up for one fucking second of your life?” he hisses at him. “Oh my fucking god, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters at all to me.”

Tony’s heard a lot of shit like that. Like, a lot. Probably worse.

But for some reason, it’s hurting more coming from Bucky Barnes.

Tony doesn’t shut up. He knows that. Everyone knows that. He has legitimately given people headaches. His dad has timed his talking and limited him to about two minutes. It would’ve been even less, but at family therapy they’re trying to work on “empathy for others.”

(A crock of bullshit, because Tony’s fairly sure his dad doesn’t know what that is.)

Bucky’s...he’s different. Sure, he hates Tony. Everyone does, and to be completely frank, Tony likes it that way. You know where you stand, how you can be interpreted if people only feel one thing about you.

But Bucky is perhaps the only interesting person Tony knows at this hellhole of a school. He works really hard on his assignments, has more to work on than other kids. He looks frustrated at math equations, but stays and pores over textbooks after school.

He brings a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every single day. Tony thinks the last time he had one was at a birthday party when he was twelve, and even then it wasn’t really a sandwich but more of a deconstructed concept thing that probably cost two hundred bucks a plate.

Now that Tony’s ruminating on it, it’s probably because no one has exactly told him that what he says doesn’t matter. They just say they don’t wanna hear about it. The two concepts are honestly very different. Tony has a sneaking suspicion that he is going to go into a tailspin about this on a Thursday night at two in the morning.

Ha. On a Thursday night at two in the morning. What odd phrasing that is, why is that so weird? It’s night, but it’s morning and you’re supposed to be asleep but morning is a wake-up time, so--

Oh, there’s the meaning.

Why would you discuss a night and a morning? Why does it matter? On a Thursday?

Tony wonders how much shit he’s said that just ultimately doesn’t matter.

This gets him thinking about how much nothing in his life matters. Don’t get him wrong, he knew it.

Knew it in the way everyone tells him he’ll be the next Howard Stark.

Knows it in the way that his own father isn’t exactly all too fond of him and Tony has a problem looking at anything with dear old Captain America because of comparisons that his father makes and honestly he probably almost named Tony “Steve.”

Could you imagine him having the name of Steve? God, he’d barf.

For some reason, this is the worst he’s ever felt. Sure his father hates him and his mother could be considered an absentee at best, but what gets him to cry into his pillow and rethink his entire existence is a guy who has eye circles darker than anyone else’s and thinks that wearing any bright color is “branching out into alternative fashion.”

God, he wishes he had a break.

Nothing you say matters to me.

This is the phrase that gets him. Tony is pretty sure it’s because it’s what everyone thinks.

Ever since then, Tony doesn’t talk to Bucky. Ever.

And that’s...that’s weird to Bucky. It was routine. Tony annoys him, he snaps a bit, and then it starts all over.

Tony looks at him, sometimes. As if he’s some sort of impossible problem he can’t figure out.

When Bucky actually thinks about it, Tony hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s still himself, which is irritating, but he’s not talking about anything and everything and filling up space.

It’s...odd.

He feels a little bit bad because what he said was super shitty and he shouldn’t have said it, but now it’s too late to just kind of awkwardly apologize, and Bucky’s already shit at apologizing anyway.

Summer arrives with a bang. School is let out ,and in comes the ninety-degree-days that melt your damn head off. Bucky’s apartment doesn’t have AC, so their windows are permanently open and fans are blasting as they swear they’re melting.

Bucky needs a job. Preferably one with air conditioning.

He finds one as a driver. Rich people hate taxis, it’s a huge health hazard or whatever they wanna say. He’s not gonna ask. But a nice man named Edwin hands him keys to a damn Cadillac and tells him not to drive too close to the other cars and be careful, because he wasn’t supposed to start the job quite yet, but “something came up.”

Tony fucking Stark. That’s who he’s fucking driving.

“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. He sees Tony get into the car.

“Hey, Jarvis told me I had a new driver, it’s really nice to--oh my fucking god.”

“Where are you driving to.”

“Queens.”

“Queens, seriously?”

Queens isn’t the type of place for someone like Stark to go to. He’s supposed to say Saks Fifth Avenue or Gucci or wherever the hell rich people go when they’re not vacationing in Europe or elsewhere. Not Queens. Especially not Queens.

“It doesn’t matter where I’m going so long as you know where to drive,” Tony says.

“Sheesh. Okay.”

The rest of the drive is silent. It’s not like Bucky can do small-talk. Jesus, he’d rather take his other arm off than do that.

And Tony, obviously, is not going to say anything. Not after hearing that stellar set of remarks from school.

It’s a school. There are kids out front, who practically swarm the vehicle.

“Should I be concerned?”

“No, they do this every week. If you drive the car back home, Jarvis will explain more. You were kind of an ‘on the spot’ hire for us.”

“Got it.”

Jarvis is a kindly old man who Bucky would trust with his Social Security number.

He is also extremely loyal to Tony, at least.

“He helps out with some after-school program at one of the local schools,” Jarvis says, smiling softly. “Has a spot in his heart for the children.”

“What’s he do?”

“Oh, helps them with schoolwork. I think he does some improvement type jobs around there, but he won’t let us know. Secretive, that one.”

Bucky sips his tea and doesn’t say anything about how Tony once told everyone in the class that he was wearing neon yellow boxers and they were the comfiest damn boxers he had. It’s just not pertinent to this conversation.

“You know him, Mr. Barnes?”

“Um, yeah. We go to school together. I’ve seen him around.”

“He’s a good student. Always getting straight A’s. Doesn’t always seem like it, but he listens well. Just has a different method.”

“That’s for sure.”

For the next two weeks, it’s silence. Always. Bucky will turn on the radio and that’s it. The only thing that Tony has said is to “please change the channel to literally anything” when Belinda Carlisle’s infamously terrible “Heaven is a Place on Earth” came on.

And that’s it. Seriously.

When it is two weeks and four days, Bucky can’t take it anymore.

“Look. I have this job for at least two more months. I’m talking to you. So tell me what you’re doing today.”

“Teaching.”

“Wow, way to be descriptive,” Bucky says sarcastically.

Tony knows he shouldn’t throw it back in his face. But honestly, truly, this is pissing him off.

“Oh I’m sorry, does what I say matter to you now? Is that what this is?”

“Oh come on. That was months ago.”

"Not the point!” Tony says. “I’m getting out now. Feel free to pick me up or not. I don’t give a fuck. But don’t you pretend for a damn minute that you give a shit about my reaction since you’ve already made your point.”

The car door is slammed.

Bucky is in somewhat of a pickle.

Sam tells him that he’s, quote, “the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”

And then hangs up.

thank you for being such a good friend sam. really appreciate it.

aw look at the little bitch boy mad because i called him stupid. shut up i’m on a date and don’t care once about you. at all.

i think what i really like about our friendship is how open and empathetic you are to my feelings

do you know how unattractive you are? on a scale of one to ten? prussia.

you can’t count now?

no i can count i’m just saying you shouldn’t exist.

god i hate you. i’ll talk to you next month

(Yes, they have a time limit to texts. Once a month. And Bucky used his to try to get advice like an idiot. He should’ve just asked Steve. Steve probably would’ve sent him money for a milkshake.)

Sharon, upon reading his text, sends him back one message:

so i read this but i’m not emotionally invested. can u make a playlist and send it to me?

oh my god. you have got to be kidding me.

i’m not. i told you that u need to b more creative in life. b spontaneous!!!

He leaves her on read after that.

Bucky has to figure out how to apologize. Genuinely. Because nothing’s worse than having an apology made but knowing that the person isn’t really meaning it, they’re only saying it to make people more comfortable.

(He wonders how many times someone’s apologized to Tony because of this reason.)

He’s not exactly sure how to go about apologizing.

But he figures it’s sooner rather than later, so he takes the subway to Manhattan and then gets a bike (that’s not exactly his, but he’s bringing it back) and starts the trek to the mansion. It’s a good and solid thirty minute bike ride.

Tony is having a rather uncomfortable family birthday dinner. Howard’s, to be specific. He’s not sure why they didn’t just go out, but maybe his father is tired of acting like a happy family in public. God knows Tony is.

(“What’s your favorite thing about your son?” An interviewer had asked cheerily, blush lipstick stretching widely as she smiled.

“Well, it’s certainly not his sense of style,” Howard had joked.

He didn’t know what his favorite thing about his son was. He couldn’t answer the fucking question.)

Jarvis mentions that “Sir Anthony” has a visitor at the door.

“Are you serious, kid?” Howard says, hissing. “You told someone to come over? During a family event?”

"No, of course not,” Tony says hurriedly. He doesn’t have anyone over to the house period. Too much risk, not enough payoff. There was also the fact that the house is basically like a mausoleum because both of his parents would rather be caught dead than spend time in one another’s company anymore.

“I’ll go...I’ll go check who it is.”

Bucky. Fucking. Barnes.

“What are you doing here?” Tony hisses.

“I came to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For telling you that your words don’t matter?” Bucky says, more of a question. “I don’t know what else I would apologize for. Maybe for mean-mugging you. I don’t know.”

“Why?” Tony asks, tiredly. “Why would you apologize for that?”

“Because it’s obviously affecting you and also I know I was in the wrong? That’s why people apologize?” Bucky answers. “What I did was shitty. What you say matters, I was just having a shitty day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It obviously stuck with you a lot longer than I thought it would. So now I’m apologizing.”

No one besides Jarvis has ever apologized to Tony. Ever. Not in a genuine way.

“Did you...did you bike here? You have a bike?”

“What? No.”

“You walked here?” Tony asks, incredulous.

“Of course not, then I’d be arriving, like, an hour later. No, the bike isn’t mine.”

“Who’s is it?”

“I don’t know, some hipster’s from Brooklyn.”

“You stole a bike?”

“The circumstances weren’t ideal, but I don’t have a car to drive to your freakishly large house,” Bucky said bluntly.

Tony grins.

“Well then, Buckster, welcome. Let me give you a ride home.”

He pokes his head into the dining room, where the plates are already being cleared.

“Hey, I gotta give my friend a ride home. Car broke down a couple miles from here.”

“Why don’t you just fix it?” Howard asks. “You’re a Stark.”

“A Stark who would need to order a part for a 1980 Ford Crown Victoria.”

“Tell him to get a better car.”

“Sure, pops.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright, Dear Father of Mine.”

“Just go, damn it!”

Bucky is led to a garage full of luxury cars that probably cost more than his whole block put together.

“Which one you wanna go in?”

“Am I allowed in one of these? Holy fuck these are nice.”

Tony grins.

“Best part about having a car is driving it. Choose one.”

Bucky chooses a bright red car, a smooth Cadillac.

“Holy hell, this is cool.”

Tony drives.

He’s a good driver once you get past the fact that you will fear for your life for at least twenty minutes. He is also notoriously terrible in the city traffic, yelling at drivers and pedestrians alike.

“How are you still alive with the way you drive?” Bucky asks.

“We made it, didn’t we?” Tony asks, grinning. “Now go return your bike and don’t try to walk to my house again.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Naturally.”

Tony talks a lot. But Bucky finds himself listening. It still takes a while, but he talks.

Tony really is smart. His mind just works quickly, and that’s why at school he never really seems to absorb anything.

Bucky tells him about his neighborhood and how much he hates his neighbor because she keeps blasting music at one in the morning.

“So? Blast it in the morning,” Tony says. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Ma would say no.”

“Then don’t tell her!”

When it all changes, it’s when Bucky picks him up from a gala. He gets the following text:

pls come pick me up!! please! i’m begging!

It’s eleven at night, but Bucky sighs and goes to get the car and goes to pick him up.

Tony’s swaying outside. Bucky gets out, getting a pack of Marlboro out of his jacket.

“Shouldn’t smoke,” Tony says.

“You drunk?”

“No, can’t risk it when Howard and Maria aren’t here--mom and dad.”

He almost never calls his parents mom and dad. Ever. Only in public settings.

Bucky lights up anyway. Tony stares at the orange embers flaring up.

“Why did you need a ride?”

“Kind of avoiding an old...enemy. Slash ex-boyfriend.”

“The worst kind of enemy to have. He trying to talk to you?”

“It’s been an all-night event, so--”

The doors burst open.

Out walks the sleaziest guy that Bucky’s ever seen. His suit is garishly designer, the kind that borders on being confused for a tacky suit that you find in a thrift store for two dollars total.

“Tony, baby! Where have you been? I wanted to discuss things with you...in private.”

He gives Bucky a once-over.

“And who are you, catering?”

Bucky immediately wants to clock this guy in the damn mouth.

“Actually this is James, my boyfriend,” Tony says, snaking his arm around Bucky’s waist.

At this point, he’ll just have to go with it. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened.

“And who are you?” Bucky asks. “Sweetheart, you never mentioned you knew someone with such a...unique take on style.”

“I’m Ty, an old and close friend,” he says. He sticks his hand out. Bucky makes him switch hands by holding out his metal hand.

“Nice to see you,” he says. “But unfortunately, I have to take my guy back home. Plans and all that, you know how it is.”

“Bye Ty!” Tony says.

Bucky throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders, bringing him close. A ghost of a kiss to the forehead completes the lie, and Bucky looks back towards Ty, who has his eyes narrowed.

He flips him off with his right hand. (It’s satisfying.)

“Thank you so much for going along with that,” Tony says, looking up.

The cigarette is still in his mouth. He takes a drag, letting embers fall down and disintegrate into the pavement.

“He seemed like a shitty kind of person.”

“Not the best of people, that’s for sure,” Tony mutters. “You wanna go get ice cream?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Getting late night ice cream is like going into a different dimension. Bucky’s not sure if it’s the overbearing, fluorescent white light that gets to him, but Tony seems tired. At ease, but tired.

He gets strawberry ice cream, and Bucky gets chocolate.

They sit and eat for a moment.

“Why do you go to St. Anthony’s?” Tony asks. “It’s clear you hate it.”

“You don’t?”

“Not the worst school I’ve been sent to.”

“You don’t want to be there either?”

“There are a lot of places I don’t want to be, but this isn’t about me, I’m asking about you. You wanna share with the class or get a hall pass?”

Bucky snorts.

“Geez, okay. My mom really wants a good education for me.”

"She know that you don’t know what to do?”

“And how do you figure that?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t be working as a chauffeur for the rich kid if you knew what you were working towards,” Tony says with a shrug. “Seen it happen before. Usually I don’t know who they are, but you figure out commonalities pretty quickly.”

That makes too much sense.

“I have no fucking clue how I’m living my life and my mom wants me to become a businessman.”

“You wanna do that?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that wants to wear a suit?”

“You look like you’d look good in a suit, not that you’d wear one.”

Bucky laughs. Takes a bite of ice cream, and readjusts the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Over the summer, he and Tony get closer. They take walks in the park and Tony drags him into overpriced shops to look at clothes that are the ugliest goddamn things they’ve ever seen.

At some point, they hold hands and discuss secrets of the world of theirs that is unique to them.

Bucky kisses him one night while they’re just leaving perhaps the worst restaurant in the entire state of New York and god Tony didn’t think he’d ever not mind being wrapped up in fake-strawberry scented hair and cigarette smoke clinging to clothing, but he doesn’t mind it.

The whole summer, they’re inseparable. Tony chatters in the front seat of the car, now, and Bucky smiles a little bit more.

They walk in parks together and show each other funny little jokes and make inside understandings and look at sunsets and sunrises and get coffee and look at each other across the room.

It’s love, honest and true. But it’s not love like the never-ending kind. The thing about love is that it is not included in any toolbox, physical or mental. There is one thing that everyone knows regardless of whether it is admitted or not:

Love does not solve everything. It does not fix everything. And one should never rely on it to do anything but exist and work through your person to the best of its ability.

Howard comes back from a business trip. Sees Tony kiss Bucky goodbye, and that is that.

You can’t something like that as a son. It just...it won’t work for business.

Tony is sent to a boarding school upstate. Stricter guidelines, more controlling.

Bucky only hears one thing from Tony:

I’m sorry.

And he doesn’t believe it.

When you’re young, you think love is invincible. You think it survives through everything if you really want it to.

Love doesn’t do that.

Bucky writes letters, calls Jarvis, and mourns the loss of young love. He smokes a little bit more, leaves it clinging to his skin as a reminder that Tony would always wrinkle his nose in that adorable way, but it served to show Bucky that he had a bad habit.

He was in the middle of quitting.

His mother notices it.

Tells him that he needs to get his own shampoo.

“You can’t just use mine all the time,” she says playfully.

He remembers Tony’s hands gently threading through his hair in disbelief as Bucky kissed the living hell out of him.

Now there’s barely any trace.

He stops in his tracks when he sees an old coffee cup of Tony’s in his kitchen cabinet.

“When did you get this one?” Becca asks. She’s drinking out of it. He remembers Tony smiling over it at their little coffee shop that was hidden away. “I love it. It’s so cute.”

“From a thrift store,” Bucky says. “You can have it.”

“Really? Thanks!”

Tony pauses at the smell of cigarette smoke. Remembers blue eyes blazing along with orange embers, smoke curling around long hair and long summer nights.

His roommate at this new school asks if he smokes, if he can get him a pack.

“Uh, no. Just used to know someone who did.”

“You think they could get me a pack?”

“They don’t go here.”

“You can’t call them?”

Tony doesn’t respond.

You can’t call them?

He’s almost texted him about twenty times. Called him about thirty.

He knows the number by heart.

But he knows that Howard made him get a new phone, and now the memories are fading. He wishes he still had the pictures.

Love does not always last. Sometimes it is not meant to. Tony tries to tell himself that as he wakes up with tears streaming down his cheeks.

You always wish it would.

#i am sorry if this doesn't show up with a read more link on my dash but i'm too lazy to fix and i have work in uhhhhhh now #lovelyirony writes #this is sad i know #buckytony #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #mention of sam wilson and sharon carter because i love them #i think i love this a lot #it gives me very specific vibes but also eh #ALSO YEAH DID YOU KNOW IF YOU WALK FROM BROOKLYN TO QUEENS OR WHATEVER IT'S THREE HOURS #IDK WHY I LOOKED THAT UP #anyways i know nothing about new yrok #i thought queens nad brooklyn were not far apart #anyways i don't exactly care about that but oh well #bucky is tough and tony is not and together they are soft and good #anyways yeah the last couple lines. yeah. that's my mindset right now

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arukou-arukou · 5 years

Text

Just A Really Very Intelligent System

Been thinking about this one for a while. Finally managed to write it. Rating: T for “Language.” (It just kinda slipped out.) Characters: Tony Stark & JARVIS

----

He is in one of the most dangerous situations of his life trying to save the whole freaking universe by watching a man the size of a dust bunny wriggle into the hairline of his younger self, so it would be really, really bad if he happened to have a heart attack. Older him that is. But he nearly does go into cardiac arrest when he hears an old friend in his ear.

“Verify immediately. Failure to verify will result in an activation of level one security protocols.”

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and his palms are sweating, but somehow he manages to whisper out: “Edwin-12-19-91-4-8-47-Alpha Override.”

“Override accepted. Sir?”

“Hey, J.”

“Sir, you have imbued me with considerable computing power, and yet never did you prepare me for the possibility of you being in two places at once.”

“Yeah, about that. You haven’t said anything to Mr. Quipster over there, have you?”

“Not as yet, Sir. You wish me to keep it that way?”

“It would really help me out, buddy.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony wants to stay longer, to talk, to warn JARVIS, to cry, but he has places to be, things to do, planets to save. Scott’s safely positioned, so Tony yeets himself out of the building to get to the ground floor. He doesn’t know why he thought that would make JARVIS disappear.

“I see, Sir, that your proclivities for leaping before looking are unchanged.”

Another near heart attack--he’s gradually phased Friday out of his ears now that the nanotech is connected directly to his nervous system, so he’s not exactly used to AI voices anymore--but he recovers more quickly. “You’re always there to catch me, J.”

“And yet my systems are not present in your suit, Sir. I see codal remnants of system designation FRIDAY, but nothing of myself.”

Tony remains silent. This is such a terrible time to be feeling all the feelings. He spots a grunt who looks more or less unimportant and knocks the guy out. Part of him wants to warn SHIELD about their shit security, but then again, this guy’s probably Hydra and he deserves every bruise he gets. He senses JARVIS in his systems, a ghost in the shell.

“You no longer have the reactor. And if I’m not mistaken, that is gray in your hair. So you are not my Sir.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“I suppose it would destroy the spacetime continuum for you to divulge the truth to me.”

“You’re too smart for me, J,” Tony grunts as he yanks on the bullet-proof tac vest. “It’s kind of a long story, and while I technically have all the time in the world, I also really, really don’t.”

He sidles into the lobby and looks toward his personal elevator, waiting for the Avengers to appear. J is quiet so long Tony wonders if he’s being preoccupied by...well, just about anything. Damaged internal systems, a Cap copy on the loose, a second Hulk out there, panicked calls from Pepper. But then JARVIS speaks again.

“Regardless of the tale, I must conclude that you are from the future, and I am no longer by your side.”

Tony is fucking choking up. He was not ready for this. It didn’t even cross his mind. And the fucking elevator is opening. There’s Pierce, the rat bastard, trying to collect the Tesseract.

“I hope I did not disappoint you, Sir.”

“Never, J. Never.” Fuck fuck fuck, he’s nearly crying and now Scott is on the com waiting for the go-ahead. Tony channels his pain into panic and orders his own cardiac arrest.

“Sir, what are you--”

Thank god, his younger self is on the ground and that’s apparently all the distraction J needs to abandon older Tony. Tesseract incoming. Tony grabs it and starts going and--

Blinking stars out of his eyes he watches as Loki makes off with the key, the thing they most needed, the damn stone that started all of this way back when Cap was a starry-eyed beanpole in World War II. He has just biffed saving the entire damn universe because of an overgrown Star Trek reject with anger issues. And now he has a migraine to boot.

Frozen in shame and horror, Tony watches as Thor attempts ill-advised cardiac electro-stim. Scott’s somewhere out there, yammering in Tony’s ear on the private channel, but all of that is just a buzzing.

“Sir? Sir. Sir!”

And J. Maybe Tony should cry now. It certainly feels like the time for it. One of the other SHIELD grunts is making her way toward him, so he staggers to his feet, waving her off and limping toward the door. Think. Think, brain, think. Tony is a genius, the man who invented time travel, the man who miniaturized arc reactor technology. A spaceship? SHIELD’s probably got one somewhere. Maybe they could chase after Loki.

“SIR!” How many times JARVIS has shouted his title, Tony has no idea, but this one is so loud it sets his teeth on edge.

“Yeah, J? Kind of busy here.”

“Giving yourself a heart attack, Sir?” JARVIS was programmed to be cool and calm in all circumstances, but Tony could swear that sentence was uttered with seething rage.

“I’m fine. Look at me.”

“Only by some measure of infinitesimal luck, Sir. Perhaps I should ask you to verify your identity one more time, as you seem intent on killing yourself.”

“No, J. I’ve actually got a lot of reasons to live. And so does he. Promise.” Tony is so tired. Was being an Avenger always this exhausting? Or is it just that he’s bumped over that damnable big 5-0? And Cap’s gonna ream him too. That’s never any fun.

“I’m...glad to hear it, Sir.”

And fuck it. It’s not like this will alter Tony’s timeline anyway. This reality is now on a different trajectory thanks to Severus Snape Lite. “Her name’s Morgan. You’d love her, J. Just turned four. She got my hair. Hope to god she didn’t get my personality.”

“Do I meet her, Sir?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck it.

“J, you should dig a little deeper into SHIELD’s systems. Well, actually, a lot deeper. And the Pentagon while you’re at it. And track down Maya Hansen from that conference in 1999 and poach her from whatever outfit she’s working for. Immediately. Make sure she brings all her vet patients with her. And, uh, when I start talking about a suit of armor around the world, steer me away from anything called Ultron. And if I make it anyway, you delete the fuck out of that system file. Have Bruce back you up. He’s more sensible.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“And have me make back-ups. At least three extra farms of servers for you. On different continents. And all those SHIELD files? Make sure Cap and Fury get them. And there’s...there’s this guy. This assassin. Brainwashed. He’s, uh, I think he’s on ice in Uzbekistan right now. If you could rescue him, it’ll...it’ll fix a lot of things.”

“Should you really--”

“And, please. Please please.”

Tony is not crying. He’s not. It’s just all the dust and debris in the air. Good lord, he’s probably going to die of cancer anyway. And all those first responders. Did he start a fund for them?

“Start a medical fund for the first responders on the ground today. And start leaning on Congressmen to make medical plans for them. You know how long they take to get anything done. Oh, and Stern. There are incriminating photos of Stern with some young ladies on South Beach. See if you can dig those up. Flowers for Pep. And a box of chocolates. And a dry martini with extra olives.”

Tony slumps into a burned out car, staring at nothing. He didn’t save his universe, but maybe he can save this one. His eyes are still irritated, burning red and itchy. He resists the urge to scrub at them, not wanting to grind in anymore dust.

“Are you quite finished, Sir?”

“Yeah. Actually, no. I love you, J.”

Silence. Ah. That’s stumped him. Maybe he’ll go back to tending his new posse of baby chicks now.

“I know you probably do not believe me capable of it, Sir, but I love you, too.”

His son. The only one he’ll ever make, but not the only one he’s lost. His son loves him. Tony’s throat is full of dust, too. Funny how that happens. He tries to swallow it down, but it only congeals into a hard lump. He puts a hand over his mouth to try and hold back any choking sounds. “I...I know you do, J.”

“As to your orders, I shall do what I can. It is my duty to protect you, Sir, and I would very much like to meet your little Morgan.”

“She might not exist here. I might’ve just changed everything.”

“If there is one thing I have learned from all my years with you, Sir, it is that perhaps such a thing as fate exists after all. Even mathematically speaking. And if that is the case, I cannot imagine a universe in which you are not fated to this happiness.”

Tony laughs, if only to keep from crying harder. And he is. Crying, that is. As if he was fooling anyone. Happiness? Him? Happy people don’t wake in the night screaming for a pile of dust in their hands. Happy people don’t spend hours coordinating relief efforts for countries whose entire infrastructural support has collapsed. Happy people don’t hurl themselves back in time, driven by guilt and horror at all the wrongs in the world. J, brilliant, wonderful AI that he is, seems to sense the dark turn of Tony’s thoughts.

“And if you yourself cannot believe in this thing, Sir, then I shall just have to do everything in my power to provide it for you.”

Another guffaw, but at least his eyes are drying a little now. “God, I miss you, J.”

“I believe your small teammate is approaching, Sir. If I may inquire, was it the Tesseract you were seeking?”

“You mean the stupid blue cube of doom? That’s the one.”

“And you say you have the means to time travel?”

“Yeah, J. We do. But only enough to get back to our time.”

“A limitation has never stopped you before, Sir.” JARVIS sounds thoughtful, as if he’s forming a plan.

Tony would ask him what he’s scheming at, but just at that moment, Scott embiggens himself and slumps into the car with Tony. That road is closed, then. They are out of options. Out of Pym particles. Out of time. Out of hope.

Until they aren’t. Just as Tony is setting his device for their new destination, J pipes up again, for Tony’s ears only. “You say you miss me, Sir. Then allow me to give you a small gift.”

Tony is pressing the buttons, and even if they weren’t already shrinking into the quantum tunnel, he wouldn’t be able to ask exactly what J means. It’s only when he and Cap arrive in 1970 that he has his first gleaning. In his ear, a voice. One so unexpected he nearly jumps into Cap’s arms. “Hello, System Administrator Anthony Edward Stark. I am System Designation EDWIN. ‘Eagerly Deployed With Intent to Neutralize Loneliness.’ I am told to tell you the “L” is silent and invisible. How may I best serve you today, Sir?”

Cap is staring at Tony like Tony’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. He’s been bugged by his own damn operating system. With a bouncing baby AI. And if Steve finds out, he’ll probably have a conniption about the spacetime continuum or something. So the only logical thing Tony can do is say, “Let’s find some Pym particles.”

“Acknowledged, Sir. Commencing scanning.”

-----

(In this reality EDWIN saves the fuck out of Tony’s life and everyone lives happily ever after and EDWIN builds JARVIS from scratch so he’s back or something, okay? Okay.)

#writing #fanfiction #tony stark #jarvis

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deeisace · 4 years

Text

Okay so. I have researched the owner of this corset:

At the V&A [here], and here’s their description of it:

This corset was designed and made for the wedding of Mrs G.E. Dixon in July 1905. It is an S-bend corset, typified by the straight busk that compelled the pelvis backwards and the bust forwards into an angled ‘S’ shape. The corset offered some light control around the lower abdomen with strategically placed whalebones; however, since corsets rely on boning and strong fabrics for rigidity, the insertion of Mechlin-style machine lace and fine silk satin between the bones show that its function is largely decorative. The neckline is high, and the entire bust area is made of transparent lace decorated with silk flowers. At the bottom of the corset are four long suspender ribbons, attached with small gathered silk rosettes.

The object history: “Made for and worn by the donor, Marie Dixon, for her wedding, July 1905.”

So, we know her name is Marie, and she married someone called G. E. Dixon in 1905! It was made in the UK so let’s presume they lived in the UK, right?

And we know, July 1905. That brings us here -

George Edwin Dixon and Marie Katherine Harriett Bokenham were married on July 19th 1905, in Hanwell, Middlesex. She was 21 and a spinster (not previously married), and he was 42, twice her age and a widower.

Both their fathers were listed as gentlemen - Mr Bokenham was a civil engineer born in Peru in about 1856, who was mostly listed as “living on own means”, i.e., very rich, and Mr Dixon - well. I can’t find him. We know he ought to be Canadian, by G.E.’s 1911 census, but as I can search (that’s UK, USA and Canada, really), I can’t find a George/Geo./Edwin/G. E. Dixon/Dickson/Dickinson etc born to a a man of the same name within ten years of George’s reported birth who might reasonably be described a “gentleman”. There were several farmers in Canada, tho. And a shoemaker. So, I’m thinking, George here lied and bigged himself up a bit for his new wife’s family - given they were reasonably well-off, and to make the age difference a little more palatable, perhaps.

George is listed as a “Doctor of Medicine”, which is also shown on the 1911 census

Here, it’s shown that they’ve been married 5 years, which we know, and that they are now 47 and 26, so nobody fudged facts (or at least dates, anyway) on the marriage record, which is always good to see. George is now the director of a company making “capsuloids for the hair: antitoxine. cicfa”. A bit less fancy, maybe, than “doctor of medicine”, which lends itself to my theory.

More new information is that though they only have two rooms (we count the kitchen as a room, but not the scullery, landing, lobby, closet or bathroom, according to the little box for writing that information in), they do live in Hyde Park, at 20 Cambridge Street (what is now Cambridge Place, I assume after the bombing in the Blitz). They share with their landlady, a Mrs Jessie Craig from Glasgow, who has 9 rooms (and 2 sons and a live-in domestic servant called Lily Ford), and a retired navy lieutenant (”Lieut R N Retired”) by the name of Guy Renton Livingstone, who is Irish and the secretary of a golf school (that’s a thing?) and occupies one room.

A large house, tho the Dixons only have a small part of it.

I do imagine somewhat, though, that this maybe isn’t quite what Marie had in mind when she married a doctor - but you never know, perhaps they were in love or something, I can’t go back in time to ask them, and maybe I’m being far too cynical.

What I have found, though, is they went to America!

From their “arriving passenger” records, I have a description of them, their address in America, their address in England, George’s occupation, and how long they intended to stay.

So, in 1921, George was 58 years old, 5ft half an inch, with a fresh complexion, grey hair and blue eyes, and was a chemist. He is also listed as having visited the US in 1892.

Marie was 38, 5ft 5, with a fresh complexion, brown hair and brown eyes.

They lived in Marlow, Bucks, in the UK, but they intended to stay permanently in the USA - their American address as listed was 14 East 50th Street New York, tho I don’t know much at all about New York as to tell you about that, tbh, but I do know from Google Maps, it’s just near Madison Ave and 5th Ave, which to me sounds very fancy.

Above the “permanent”, in pencil, there’s a note that says “2 mo.”, and they did not intend to become citizens.

I’m not sure if they did only stay their intended 2 months, or what happened, but the next record I have is that they return to England in April 1928, 1st class to Bristol. The “incoming passenger” list gives much less information, but I know that George is still the director of a company, and they are going to live at Cedar Cottage in Marlow.

Here it is!

George dies, unfortunately, in September that same year - maybe they returned to England as he was sick, I don’t know. His effects were over £30k, which is over £1.3 million today.

From the accession number on the corset, I think this is when Marie donated her wedding corset to the V&A.

Marie, however, didn’t much hang around, shall we say.

She went to India, and married a man called Richard Valentine Read on 6th December 1929, the very same year she was widowed.

I haven’t a description of Richard, because I can’t access his war records properly, but I know his middle name was Valentine because he was born on Valentine’s Day in 1892 - he was four years younger than Marie. His father was a member of the London Stock Exchange, and Richard was a colonel in the British military (I know he had shore leave in Puerto Rico in 1939) - in 1925, leaving Liverpool on a round cruise to Lisbon and the Canary Islands, he’s listed as “Capt R V Read, DSO MC” which denotes him as someone of Distinguished Service who earned the Military Cross.

They went to America in early 1933 - to Santa Barbara, California, this time, to visit a Mrs Carrington for a week, at Villa Riposte.

Aha, here we have a description of them both. Marie is 5ft6, now with grey hair and brown eyes, at 47 years old. Richard is 6ft4, with grey hair and blue eyes, at 41 years old. Their last address is in “Kawalpiudi”, India - I rather think that’s a terrible spelling of Rawalpindi, which is now Pakistan - but their American visas were issued in London.

Oh, their incoming New York papers have more description info.

Marie is “sallow” with brown hair and brown eyes, and Richard is “fair” with light brown hair and grey eyes, a tattoo on his right forearm and a war scar on his right shoulder.

I wonder at the difference in their descriptions between December 1932 (New York) and January 1933 (Los Angeles), but there’s no solving that I spose. It’ll just be the different people who took their details down.

They were quite jetsetters actually - I assume, in some way it was with Richard’s job, since he’s listed once as an attaché - they went to Genoa in February 1935, Yokohama in August 1936, New York in 1938 - though Richard went alone to Marseilles in 1935, and to Palestine in 1937.

I can’t find any record following these, or of Marie’s death - there are too many Marie Read’s about, and she might’ve been recorded as Mary, as well, so I can’t narrow it down, and there’s nothing I can find in the British papers - I do know that Richard remarried in 1953, though, and died at sea in 1964. He lived in Fredonia NY, and left £6000 to his wife Joyce.

So! I haven’t quite the whole story, I don’t think, but a lot of it at least, which is something!

It’s a shame I couldn’t find photos or anything, but I found quite a bit I reckon.

#either way marie had fancy clothes #and very sexy (for 1905) wedding night lingerie!#corset #corsetry #lingerie #history #research

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shnuggletea · 4 years

Photo

This is my attempt at EdWin pairing from Full Metal Alchemist. It’s for @kalsies bday and since you like EdWin and FMA I thought I’d switch it up for you. I also realize that you don’t really know me but I’m a fan of your work! And I hate it when I miss a bday; we all deserve some love especially on our bday!

I’m going to post this on Tumblr only for now to see how it goes. Idk if this is any good and I kinda rushed it but here goes.

I do not own Full Metal or the art used in the cover above (came from here) I just own the story!

Happy Birthday Kalsies the Derp!

I also made a playlist but it is also a WIP! You can listen to it here!

The Coffee House

It wasn’t like I was looking for the place or planned to ever go inside. I blame the damn wind. It blew my hair free of its tie and damn if it didn’t want to quit! So I had to duck in somewhere and I’m not a coffee drinker. As soon as I stepped in out of the wind I was nearly pushed back out by the smell of the place.

I never had a problem with the smell of coffee really. It has a decent scent to it. But I knew that the scent was misleading and that the taste was far from the enticing smell. So much so I had distrust in coffee and everything to do with it.

Especially the baristas that slung it at you with a false smile.

And this place had all the bells and whistles of your usual coffee house. Tables and ‘comfortable’ chairs. Dark lighting and soft music. Everything you needed to get people to stay and drink more. The only difference was, this place had huge pieces of twisted metal sticking out of the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Probably considered ‘art’ but I wasn’t buying it. I did find the piece that was half an engine from an old tank stuck to the wall interesting.

There weren’t a lot of people inside so maybe this place made even shitter coffee? It made getting my hair back in its place a hell of a lot easier, slipping off to the bathroom for a mirror. That turned out to be an added blessing because I hadn’t noticed the smudge of oil on my face. Undoubtedly from work cause not even Al would tell me it was there. They would laugh while I walked the streets unknowing.

A few more bodies were in the place once I returned. It made the place loud and I hated loud. “You have to buy something!”

Turning to the shrill voice, I expected a doughty old maid. Instead, it was just a girl. She was pretty... I guess. If you’re into tall blondes. With her hair pulled back to the top of her head and the dirty apron covering her front, it was hard to say anything else about her other than tall and blonde. And irritated since she was still glaring at me for some reason.

“Huh?”

“Are you dumb? You used our bathroom; I saw you. Only customers are allowed to use it so either buy something or I’m going to punch you in the dick.”

I laughed because it was ridiculous. But that only pissed the blonde off more as she started to jump over the counter to get to me. “Okay, okay I’ll buy something. Jeez!”

She stepped back and stopped all attempts to get at me… with violence. Now she had arms crossed over her chest (couldn’t tell how big her chest was still) and went back to glaring at me. “Well? Order something!”

“Look, I just needed to fix my hair…”

She snorted. “Your hair? Seriously?!”

I growled back at the woman. “Yeah, my hair! Like you have room to talk!”

“I do since my hair is actually cute.”

“Who the hell do you…”

“Are you gonna order today or next week?”

I took a glance around. It wasn’t like I was holding up the line or anything. “I don’t even like coffee…”

“You’ll like my coffee,” the strange and annoying girl said, stepping back to a large and intimidating machine, “my coffee is the best in town.”

“Hasn’t this place only been open a week?”

“Two!” She shouted with pride and pulled down a lever. It was like an old fashioned slot machine that was ready to explode. Cause as soon as she pulled down the lever the whole thing shook and twanged like it would get up and breakdance. “It’ll just be a minute.”

The wall behind me became mine as I leaned against it. The girl didn’t talk her eyes off me so I didn’t take mine off her. She was… strange. Pushy and arrogant and rude. Her eyes eventually got to be too much and I didn’t like how she was studying my body. Not that it would help but I crossed my arms over my chest. Which most people took the hint when someone did that but not this girl.

“Who did your Automail?” The packs of coffee beans that held my attention for a second could have been set on fire and it wouldn’t have changed the glare I was giving this nosy woman. “Doesn’t look like they did a very good job. I can see it hitching at your shoulder.”

The hell she could. I had on an undershirt, long sleeve henley, and my red leather jacket. Add in my gloves and there was no way. “I haven’t been in for a tune-up in a while, that’s all.”

She couldn’t see shit, she was guessing or something. Messing with me. “How did you lose your arm?”

“That’s none of your business,” I shouted as fiercely as possible. She nodded as if I told her I didn’t want sugar though. “You know, I didn’t even use your damn bathroom. I shouldn’t have to…”

“So what are you? Street cleaner?” The woman was unphased by my angry stupor. “You have some dirt here.” She pointed to her left temple and I wiped at mine. “You do look familiar, have we met before?”

She was leaning on the counter between us, scrutinizing and sizing me up even more. The only part of her skin that was visible (other than her face) was her hands and they were covered in little bandaids. I was marveling at how tiny her fingers were and a snarky response slipped past my filter. “Maybe I cleaned your street before.”

Then she giggled. I swear there was a twinkle in her eyes, I didn’t imagine that. And adorable, mischievous, god damn annoying twinkle that made me want to burn the place down. Even more so when she stood back up and twisted a small golden tendril around one of her tiny fingers. “How do you like your coffee?”

“What is it with you and personal questions?!” She held up a small cup, innocently and I felt flames lick the skin on my cheeks. But she said nothing about it, staring at me with doe eyes that would have reminded me of a lake on a calm day but they were far from calm. More like the ocean before a hurricane. “I don’t like coffee at all so…”

“Right, cream and sugar then.” She moved away from me and I moved towards the counter. “How tall are you?”

She was crouched inside a small fridge pulling out bottles but looking up at me. Her golden hair almost touched the floor and yet she still had all her attention on me. “What’s it to you, Blondie?”

I struck a nerve with that one, finally. She slammed the fridge shut and handed the coffee to me so hard I nearly got burned. “It’s Winry.”

If she hated the name then why did she have blonde hair? It was nothing to change the color of your hair these days. She flicked a few loose locks behind her ear and showed that it was full of metal. Studs and hoops went from her lobe up to the corner of her cartilage. A lot of girls had their ears pierced but not quite like that and it made me curious if the other looked the same.

“Are you always this nosy, Winry?”

If she was offended, she didn’t show it; shrugging and looking at her bandaged hands. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Oh, you asked. About everything that has nothing to do with you.”

Saying nothing else, she held out her hand and after a minute, I pressed a few credits into her outstretched palm. She took them and then plastered on a smile. “Come back soon and tell all your friends!”

“Tell them what? Come here and get pushed into buying?”

Her smile faded, but it was fake to begin with. “Well, just tell them the bathroom is for customers only then!”

The woman (Winry) was done with me so I left. The wind blew my hair out of my tie again but I was already at the shop by then.

“That was the longest lunch break you’ve ever taken, Edward!” Louis yelled from somewhere in the back and although out of sight, I still glared in his direction.

“Shuddaup you Bald bastard and mind your business!”

The bald man with the fabulous mustache just chuckled and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in irritation. Slamming the door behind me I walked over to where Al sat, looking up at me as I approached. “You got coffee?”

I had actually forgotten, still holding the cup in my hand. “Sorta.”

He took it from me and I let him. “Shouldn’t drink coffee. It’ll stunt your growth.”

I ignored his smirk. “I freaking hate coffee and you know it. I only got that cause I was forced.”

Al chuckled while I still simmered from the barista Winry. “When has anyone ever forced you into anything, brother?”

I smirked back at him but not because of his teasing. He tried to duck but it was too late, rubbing my knuckles into the top of his skull hard and making his dark blond hair fly all around. “Get anything done while I was gone?”

He shoved me away as hard as he could with his free hand. “We got a lot done for once!! Must be you holding us back!!”

Chuckling, I let him off easy and took off my jacket to hang up. Looking back at Al I caught him sipping on the coffee. “Hey! What about stunting your growth?!”

Al wore a sad smile but at least it no longer reached his eyes. “That’s not really a problem for me, is it?”

I had nothing to say to that, watching as he rolled himself away in his ancient wheelchair. I couldn’t even afford to get him a nice one; like the kind that roll where you want them to with a single thought. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was getting the funds for Al’s body.

It was why I worked at this shop, rolling up my sleeves to get back to work. There were a few projects still waiting for my touches so I had to hurry up. I needed to get to work and get it done for tonight. I’d already wasted too much time dealing with crazy coffee house girls.

oOo

It was a warm night but I still wore my red leather jacket. It protected my skin and it had my symbol on the back. I never intended for that symbol to mean anything, I just thought it looked cool. But now I almost have to wear it so people know who I am and what to expect.

That symbol was why (when I rolled up to the line) others either stepped out or changed their bets.

My bike wasn’t anything special but I knew how to take care of it. Unlike the others here who spent thousands of credits to fix up or buy new bikes; mine was old and cheap. Before I made a name for myself, it was what gave me the advantage. Everyone knew how I raced now so there was little point. The only reason I came here night after night was for the money cause the thrill had left long ago.

I had my hair tucked up inside my helmet so it didn’t get knocked like crazy; not to hide even as my helmet hid my face. Anyone that saw me on the street would know it was me thanks to my jacket. But not everyone here wanted to be known. It wouldn’t be a surprise if an Under was mixed in the crowd. My jacket made me known but also gave me deniability on the streets in daylight.

It was this reason that I wasn’t surprised when a stranger pulled up next to me on their bike and had a blacked-out helmet. Mine was blacked out as well but that was more out of preference than fear. It had been years since a new person showed up to race here; so I busied myself sizing them up. Their bike was nice, a newer model than mine. And an actual brand; a Tomoaki. It was a decent ride but I wasn’t worried.

The new guy refused to look anywhere but the track ahead. They were clearly a Newb, it was showing in their laser focus as well as the small shake in their arms as they waited for the ‘gun’. It had me chuckling in my helmet and fogging up the glass.

It was me, Newb, and three other guys ready and waiting for this race. Two of them were from the Homunculus gang so they would be trouble. As they were every time they lost. The other guy I knew pretty well; Roy on his trademark Mustang bike was hard to miss. That meant Risa was somewhere in the crowd. He was a good guy and a decent racer. But I was better.

This was going to be another easy win; easy money.

Olivier stood before us, taking her place with the flag to start. She was how I learned about this place; her brother complaining about the illegal activities his dear sister was involved in. Not sure what he’s so worried about; there are far worse things to be into as far as illegal activities go. Far more lucrative too but I was pushing it with Al doing this much.

The tall and buxom blonde lifted her arms for our full attention. A few idiots in the crowd with death wishes whistled at Olivier. She was a beautiful woman but if you ever told her that she would break your face. Olivier started the races for one reason only; to be a distraction and throw a few of us off guard. I looked at the Newb next to me to see if it worked. The rest of us were used to it by now. Newb didn’t look shaken in the slightest but he still shook.

Olivier dropped the flag and it was time to stop dicking around, hitting my accelerator and jumping ahead of the rest instantly. There was no one ahead of me; the track was mine. Our location switched every week and you had to be in the know to find it. You also had to use the GPS to stay on the assigned track. Mine was beeping that there was a hard left turn ahead. This was one of the reasons I was unbeatable. Without skin on it to worry about losing to the pavement, I was able to dip lower on left turns and take them faster than the rest.

It was right turns that slowed me down and this track had two right at the end. Even so, I still have the lead and little to fear.

This was it. Alone on the track, going as fast as I pleased. The only thing missing was the wind in my hair and on my skin. This was where I felt peace; felt free. Winning was no longer a thrill for me. I only enjoyed this moment now; being my own boss and in control of everything. My speed, my movements, and my life. It was easy to forget the troubles I faced daily while I raced away into the night.

Nearing the end of the track, I leaned into the first right turn. Of course, I slowed and dipped a little less than before. This was my real leg, the only one I had left. It was expected. What wasn’t expected was the other racer that passed me in the middle of it.

It was the new guy, flying by dangerously on the turn. I had been cocky and stupid, getting lost in the freedom instead of actually racing. Now they had the lead. If it was a straight away or another left turn, I could have taken the lead back. But it was neither of those and even as I dipped lower and went faster than I was comfortable with, they still had the lead.

The Newb was going to win.

There was a strange pressure that I felt in my chest. I hadn’t felt it in a while. It was… excitement.

I pushed my machine to its limits to gain a few seconds on the Newb’s lead but the race was pretty much over. We crossed the line with a two-second difference and the crowd was a mix of shock, awe, and anger. Just like the first time I raced and won.

A lot of people just lost a lot of money.

The Newb stopped and I pulled up right next to them. “Follow me, NOW!”

They shook their head at me. “Why? I want my money.”

Their voice was garbled by an electronic voice changer. It wasn’t weird; a bit uncommon but again there was always the possibility of Unders in the crowd and with this person a Newb it was a good thing they were protecting their identity.

“I’ll get your money tomorrow and give it to you later. You need to get out of here!”

Newb glanced behind us at the crowd and I looked as well; even knowing what I would see. The crowd was restless, shouting, and pushing. There were more races to be had (the night was still young) but it was clearly over as the others were already fighting.

“Great. How am I supposed to come back with that?” The Newb asked.

“It’ll be fine, they’ll get over it. But those guys,” I said, pointing to the two Homunculus members that had raced and lost to the Newb, “they will come and tear you apart if we don’t get out of here now.”

There were no more questions after that and as much as I wanted to help the guy out, I couldn’t force him. So I was glad the guy shut up and followed closely. The Homunculus followed for a while but it wasn’t too hard to lose them. We came to a stop miles from the track. A few quiet shops sat to one side while an empty park on the other. Without a word or sign, we both made for the park and killed our engines; turning our bikes into chairs with our kickstands out.

“That was too easy.” The Newb spat. “I thought they wanted to tear me to pieces?”

Even with the voice changer, I could tell they were mocking me. Resting on my bike, I pulled my helmet off so I could get more air. “Yeah, well they probably figured that they’ll get you next week. You should consider taking a little break for a while.”

They huffed, the automated voice struggling with the sound and came out like singing. “You just don’t want to lose again.”

My Automail was stiff from the ride. As were both my shoulders. So I stretched my hands high above my head and then rolled my shoulders around. “Nah, you got lucky this time. It won’t happen again.”

Newb was silent and I enjoyed the quiet while it lasted. “Why did you help me?”

His question was soft but in the silence, it was easy to hear. “Why not? I used to be right where you are now. New and talented. The Homunculi are a bunch of jealous assholes who don’t care about rules as long as they win.”

“What about you? Is winning that important to you?”

I looked at the dark window of their helmet, trying to see through it even with it impossible. My mouth still pulled into a smirk. “Of course it’s important. You get more money if you win. But only if I do it by my own merits.”

“So it’s the money you really care about?”

I shrugged, looking at my gloves and fixing the loose hold they had on my hands. “I need it. Everyone there does. It’s how this all works, right?”

“I’m in it for the racing, not the money.”

I grimaced hard back at the guy, thankful I took my helmet off so they could see the fire in my eyes. “Then you should be going pro, not slumming it with the rest of us.”

This Newb really needed to learn when to shut the fuck up; still talking away but I was no longer listening. I cut him off with the roar of my engine. He was a stranger; he had no clue who I was or the life I’d lived. My past was as much a mystery as his was to me. Only I no longer cared to know his past or present. His judgment could eat shit; I took off and left the fucker there.

He could find his own way home.

#Full Metal Alchemist #full metal alchemist fandom #edwin #coffee house trope #with a twist #same setting #so still steampunk #still working on it

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years

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I rewatched CATFA recently and I realized that during the first chase scene Steve accidentally runs into that wedding dress shop. i think it would be a very endearing story idea if Peggy got a wedding dress from that same shop 🥺

Oh my god???? Yes, please! Your mind!! I am soooo sorry. This is maybe not what you thought but I just couldn’t stop writing???

Peggy’s little smile grew as Mr. Jarvis and Ana parked them outside a few shops. Directly across the street from them was a familiar shop, the window long fixed, updated white dresses of various sizes and details sat in the window. She watched the shop owner adjust the white dress with a delicate lace trim, her eyes catching the black car across the street. Peggy smiled at the owner, giving a fond nod.

She’d called earlier this week to request the shop to herself, the owner reluctant to agree until she had heard Peggy’s reasoning.

“Are you sure you two want to go in there?” Mr. Jarvis asked for the fourth time, turning around in his seat to stare at both of them with a fond look. “There are many traditions you will be breaking here.”

“Edwin,” Ana sighed, patting her husband’s arm. “This is their wedding. Traditions are not meant to be followed. Certainly, we didn’t follow all of mine.”

Steve chuckled at the pair’s light bickering, squeezing Peggy’s hand. He rubbed his thumb for the unkempt time over her ring. It wasn’t the best out there and nor was their wedding band but it was theirs. Peggy had said she didn’t need a fancy ring to accommodate their love, she just wanted Steve and how else could he prove his love than to pass down his mother’s wedding band to her? Just this time, he’d changed the engraving inside with Howard’s help.

“I never saw the point of that tradition,” he mused while Peggy grabbed at her bag and coat. “And I’m terrible at choosing suits, so Peggy has to be there to help me.”

“No offense, darling, you’re terrible at choosing any sort of fashion,” Peggy teased, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek. He lit up like the fourth of July, his face burning a bright red. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Jarvis. You two are welcome to join us. The more people’s opinion, the merrier. Steven will just say he loves every dress on me.”

“Because I do,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as they got out of the car.

Holding Peggy’s hand, Steve stopped in front of the shop, his eyes scanning the etched words into the glass. He glanced to his left, back across the street, brow furrowing in the process. Peggy squeezed his hand and raised her brow slightly. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“This place…it looks familiar.” He couldn’t place it, not right off, like an itch in the back of his head he couldn’t quite scratch. “We’re on…”

“The old SSR base, yes. This one has long been shut down for obvious reasons.” She patted his shoulder before ushering her fiancé inside.

That’s when it hit Steve. He’d ran into this shop during the Hydra chase, when he was too clumsy with his bigger body, but all he knew was the sense of protecting people from this dangerous man who had killed Doctor Erksine. A man who trusted Steve more than he trusted himself.

His eyes looked past the mannequin in the window, to where was the old shop and underneath it, he wondered what was there. Oil stains from the weird submarine? Bloodstains from Erksine? Echos of memories that he’d never get to touch again. For Peggy, that was just four years ago but for Steve, that was a lifetime of memories ago. He was a different man. No longer so awkward and unsure, unknowing of what a world of war and the consequences that awaited him.

“Darling?” Peggy whispered, cupping Steve’s face and tilting his head to look down at him. Instinct wise Steve’s arm tightened around her waist, a little too tight and causing her breath to hitch. “Steve…the road rash…you’re touching it.”

His arm instantly pulled back, but still stayed lightly touching her. The blonde’s eyes fell to hers, a little clearer and more in the present. “Is that why you brought us here? Out of all the shops…” Is that why she’d looked so smug?

“A tad bit, yes. You’ve avoided this section of shops and I know how…painful these memories are for you, darling but we can’t avoid it forever.” Her hand patted his cheek with a soft sigh. “That and I do adore these dresses. Are you ready?”

Tilting his head down, Steve brushed his lips over hers, causing the owner to scoff. “Am I ready to watch you try on countless dresses until you find the perfect one? Of course.”

Peggy smiled against his lips, kissing him again just because the owner seemed annoyed. She knew Steve meant those words too. “Good, because we have the whole day booked.”

Peggy was, if anything, always stubborn. One of the reasons why Steve loved her more than anything. He could see her enjoying pressing the owner when she seemed to ignore her requests for dresses and tried to find god-awful dresses that did nothing to flatter Peggy’s form or were not what she wanted. The owner seemed more annoyed when Jarvis and Steve stayed in the room to watch Peggy walk around the mirror with Ana’s help.

“Is this your first time trying on a dress?” The owner asked, Steve’s head picking up from where he’d been sketching on the pad he brought. Peggy had told him it to be a while. “You seem to have some…experience.”

“I do,” Peggy mused, unashamed. “I was engaged once but broke it off in order to join the war effort.” Her eyes fell to Steve who was looking right at her. He knew. They’d talked about this beforehand and while Steve had a small flare of jealousy, it was long past. “Can I try on one with less puff in the sleeves? They’re terribly itchy.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh when the woman stomped off, leaving Ana and Steve to gently help Peggy out of the delicate dress that looked more like a blanket draped over her form. Ana fixed Peggy’s slip and adjusted her curls, tsking over the small features. “I don’t think she liked that answer. She’s really…full of herself.”

Peggy’s red lips curled into a warm smile, rolling her eyes. “You have no idea. You should hear her in that room. She doesn’t think I know French, Ana has been translating for me wonderfully.” The two women shared a small laugh over that matter. “What are you sketching over there? You looked drawn into it.”

It was Steve’s turn to flush, clearing his throat. He always felt little odd sharing sketches with Peggy, even if they were simple things. This one was not. He picked up the sketchbook and passed it over to her, his hands pulled behind his back.

“Oh, darling.” Peggy’s eyes widened at the photo, her fingertips just brushing over the page to not disturb the pencil markings. “It’s absolutely beautiful. I would adore that.”

“Let me make it,” Ana spoke in a soft whisper, but with a sure enough smile. “For you, Peggy dear. It could be my wedding gift to you. I have experience in making dresses. This would be nothing to it. We’ll just need to get the material. There’s a shop next door we can go to, Edwin can take Steve to go get his matching suit. I’m thinking…ivory, yes?”

“Oh, Ana that would be perfect.” Peggy couldn’t help but to hug her friend with the sketchbook between them, looking over her shoulder to Steve’s flushed face.

Knocking on the door, Steve steeled himself as he heard Peggy call him in. He pulled on the stiff collar of his suit, feeling more comfortable in his dress military uniform or the Captain uniform than this one. Pinky and Happy were on the way with his metals and military jacket, at least. He just hoped they’d hurry up so he wasn’t late to his own wedding.

“Oh wow,” he breathed, stopping in the doorway. “Peggy you look beautiful. Ana did an amazing job.”

Ana hadn’t allowed him in on any of these processes of designing the rest of the wedding dress despite they were using his sketch. She waved him off and sent him pouting back to the living room while she and Peggy worked over the dress. Now he understood why.

The dress was anything but traditional, in a beautiful ivory white that made the traditional burgundy red of her lips stand out just as much as her eyes, the dark brown freckled with specks of honey. It came to her knees in a flare out as if she’d just twirled. The bodice was a beautiful, hand-stitched lace soft to the touch, knowing how Peggy despised anything that made her skin itch. Underneath the lace was the bodice, squeezing her chest tightly but comfortably. The collar of the lace hugged her neck lightly, tied together with a beautiful, simple golden pendant on a piece of ivory fabric. Around her waist was the only splash of color save for her lips, a soft red fabric, the silk pinned to the back, rather than some ridiculous bow.

Steve’s mouth quickly snapped close at Peggy’s amused look, slowly stalking to her. He wasn’t thinking. He never thought. He just dipped Peggy, right there in front of her Ana and Angie and kissed her. She giggled against his lips and kissed him back in the same instance she gently smacked his chest.

“Absolute mad man,” she laughed as Steve straightened her back up.

“Perhaps,” he teased, pecking her lips again. “You look beautiful Peggy. Fuck, I…I’m so lucky. Ana, you two did an amazing job.” He was about to start babbling if Peggy didn’t kiss him again. “I love you,” He sighed against her lips.

“Quite so,” she whispered in turn. “Or else this wedding would be a tad bit awkward.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #Post Endgame #Post TFA #Mention of Erksine #Poor Steve #you brooding bastard #enjoy your wife #Steggy marriage #Ana is a goddess #Jarvis is a suckler for traditions.

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online-vibes · 4 years

Text

TW:// SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

these men right here scarred me mentally to the point i can barely fall asleep at night. kinda like right now.

before i go into detail, I will say this, I was a fan of them for 3 whole years. In the midst of those 3 long years, I went to every event they had occuring in my state. I used to listen to their music daily and had a fan account, in which I no longer use. Point being, I was a basically a stan of them and tried to defend them majority of the time. However, if you know this band, you would know they had a lot of bs going on behind the scenes. To sum it up, they weren’t innocent as they appeared. I knew that. But, I swallowed my pride and stood by them like a lost puppy until late June. I will not go into detail about the allegations the surface, but know that I believe every victim that came forward. And I bet you can guess what this post is going to be about.

It’s really hard for me to type this right now, but this has to be said to protect other minors who is a fan of them. Also, if you don’t believe me right now, I suggest to stop reading at this point because what I will be discussing is 100% true.

In 2018, I was sexually harrassed by Edwin Honoret during the funktion tour.

If you went to the funktion tour, you would know that they had meet & greets & early entry vip passes. At the time, I scored meet & greet passes at the last minute before my concert so I was geeked and nervous. This would be my first time meeting them(as a whole) so you can only imagine how I felt.

When it was my turn to greet them, I instantly froze. Like, I deadass stared at them for a couples of minutes, until Edwin spoke up, asking if I wanted a group hug. I eagerly nodded my head, though nothing came out of my mouth due to the fact I was on the verge of passing out. And so we all gathered together in a tight close-knit hug. However, in the midst of this hug, one of the guys, Edwin to be exact, nearly grabbed my butt when he wrapped his arms around my waist. I nearly froze when this happened. I waited until they pulled away to quickly explain my pose and tried to convince myself that didn’t happen because no one wants to admit that they have been basically touched inappropriately.

It’s 2020 now. It took me 2 whole years to talk about this because I really push this horrid memory at the back of my brain and basically pretended like everything was fine. When in reality, I was drowning. Hence this post. I didn’t think anyone would believe me. I told my family and was basically victim blamed by my mother. “These things happens at those type of concerts,” She said. I understand what she meant but at the time, I just wanted her to express some sort of compassion towards me. I didn’t recieve that. I really wanted just one person to believe me.

But, the story doesn’t end there. That same night, Nick Mara wanted me and a few other minors to go backstage with him. I wish I would’ve caught it on video but I was too perplexed and thought it was a joke. In retrospect, he was most likely serious. It all happened so fast. It was only me and a few other girls who were most likely minors at barrier taking pictures, trying to relieve the night. We see nick appear backstage. He notices us and waves then suddenly motions his hands towards backstage as if he’s saying: “come back here.” The other girls giggled, yet I only nervously laughed. I had an eerily feeling behind the ordeal, yet again, I shook it off. Now it all makes sense. That man only cared about one thing and it doesn’t matter if they’re a minor or not. He needs serious counseling & a jail cell.

Moving forward to the previous year, 2019. My dumbself bought not one but TWO meet & greet tickets to the fomo tour. I was suppose to meet them in my current state & two other states, but thank god the show after mine got cancelled.

Anyways, I wasn’t half nervous as I was meeting them this time due to my sleep deprivation state. (I was outside for 8 freaking hours, queueing). If you went to the fomo tour, you would know about the outrageous rules they had. One of them being that you couldn’t pose with them, in which all of us eventually did. Basically, they were required to give you a group hug when you first walk in to meet them.

Well, when it was my turn, I wanted to stand in between two memebers, so I had to politely to Brandon to switch with someone, but he wouldn’t. Edwin saw this yet he kept insisting on me to join their little group hug. Eventually, I did and Brandon did move, but I could tell he was a little moody. I don’t know if it was because of me or not. Just before leaving my m&g, I accidentally tripped over Brandon’s shoe, nearly losing my balance and gave me an attitude apology. Yet again, I was perplexed to say anything so all I did was smile and nod.

Look, I know he probably had something going on that day and I respect that, but that fucking moment replayed in my brain until the damn concert started. Also, I don’t believe that he was in a bad mood at all. I just think he didn’t like me. I asked someone how her experience and mentioned brandon and she said he was completely fine. I’m not saying he’s a bad guy because we all have our days but, he needs an attitude check. For some reason, I always felt like we wouldn’t get along because he seems so shallow. You can call me dramatic, I don’t care.

Now, you can choose to believe me or not. I really don’t mind. I wouldn’t do this just for the hell out of it. I’m trying to let you all know who you’re really stanning. I know what I mentioned probably “isn’t that serious” or that I should get over it but that’s not how trauma works. This summer has been hell for me. One moment I’m fine then the next I’m drowning again. I’ve been groomed before so this situation literally triggered old memories I didn’t even know I had. I can’t even listen to their music and even reading their damn tweets gets my heart racing as if I’m going to pass out.

I apologize if this post is really long. I just needed to get this out. If you’re looking for proof, meet them yourselves & you will eventually see. Maybe they’ve changed. I highly doubt it, considering Edwin is back to his manipulative tatics along with Nick’s ignorance to the whole ordeal. I can’t even speak on the other three. But I will say this, be careful who you become a fan of. Do not stay silent to try to protect someone who wouldn’t even save you in shallow water. It’s okay to speak out against your favs, even if it hurts their barely-there reputation.

#prettymuch #metoo allegations #boy bands #nick mara #edwin honoret #brandon arreaga #austin porter #zion kuwonu #sexually harassing

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znaeb · 5 years

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heyy!can you do an imagine in which reader visits the boys on tour and has to share a bunk with one of them?surprise me with the pairing ;) p.s.love your writing style!!

Poor Planning // N.M.

You were so excited to visit your best friend Brandon, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside of you as the plane landed. You grabbed your carryon from the overhead compartment and made your way through the airport to find the group of boys who were picking you up.

you looked around the airport for them, smiling when you saw Zion’s head peeking out over the top of a small group of people.

“Guys!” you called towards them, waving when they heard your voice and turned towards you. You both rushed forward, immediately being engulfed in a big hug from Austin. Zion was quick to follow, but Edwin and Brandon hung back.

“Hey, B… Ed?” you smiled and furrowed your eyebrows, “um, is everything okay?”

“I–,” Brandon accidentally cut himself off with a sneeze and then a weird half-sneeze-half-cough, “I’m pretty sure i have the flu…” he sighed and looked upset.

“and I’m pretty sure he gave me the flu…” Edwin shook his head and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, they’re supposed to be resting, but Brandon he just had to come with us to get you.” Zion rolled his eyes playfully.

“Aw, I’m so sorry, B.” you frowned and quickly squeezed his shoulder.

As you all walked towards the car parked outside you and Brandon stayed slightly behind as the other three walked ahead.

“Where’s Nick?” you questioned.

“He was busy,” Brandon answered nonchalantly.

You nodded, unsurprised. You and Nick had never gotten along well. Your interactions were rarely pleasant, both of you taking every opportunity to land a good zinger and make the other mad. It was one of the reasons you were hesitant to visit the boys while they were on tour, you didn’t want to spend the whole trip frustrated and arguing with Nick.

on the drive home, you had so much fun talking with the boys, even stopping at taco bell to grab some food. when the car arrived back at the lot where the bus was parked you all spilled out and rushed towards the tour-bus to play Super Smash Bros. Feeling the need to reclaim your title as queen of the game when Zion claimed that he could beat you.

When you walked in Nick was sitting on the couch on his phone, already seeming annoyed by your presence, rolling his eyes when you said ‘hi’ to him.

“Oh, we brought you taco bell,” you said as kindly as you could and handed him the takeaway bag. smiling smugly at the surprised expression on his face.

“Thanks,” he said curtly and nodded in your direction.

the tension was impossible to miss and the other boys stood there in awkward silence until Austin spoke up saying, “well then, let’s play smash bros.”

Nick left the room as you began to play and your blood boiled, you were so confused and annoyed by his behavior. you’d never done anything to him.

—-

later that night you ran into a problem… you didn’t know where you were supposed to sleep. Brandon and Edwin were obviously out because you weren’t down to catch the flu, and Zion and Austin were both too large to share their tiny bunks.

you brought the problem to Brandon and his suggestion was simple, “I’ll ask Nick if you can share with him.” he shrugged and stood up, obviously he didn’t fully understand the deep-seated issues between you and Nick. you protested but he was adamant that he could get Nick to act reasonably. needless to say, you did not share his certainty.

you stayed in the main area of the bus and waited as he went to talk to Nick, cringing as you imagined the conversation that was about to ensue.

Nick stormed out from the bunk area holding a pillow and blanket, looking at you with annoyance painted all over his face before throwing his things down on the small seating area, which could barely be considered a couch, and saying, “my bunk’s the middle one on the left.”

“I didn’t tell Brandon to ask you. I’ll sleep out here, you don’t have to.” you apologized sincerely, never wanting to kick him out of his own bed.

“Just take it, I really don’t feel like pissing off Brandon.” he rolled his eyes at you and laid down, pulling out his phone.

“thank you, Nick.” you tried to show your appreciation, but you were practically ignored. you mumbled a ‘goodnight’ before walking into the bunk area.

—-

on the third night you turned in early, Brandon and Edwin were slowly recovering but very worn out from performing and afraid that they could still be contagious.

you’d been laying in bed for a while and you were hovering right on the edge of sleep when the bunk curtain was pulled back and your shoulder was nudged repeatedly.

“Hey, scoot the fuck over,” Nick spoke gruffly, rubbing his eyes.

“Nick? what time is it?” you asked offhandedly and began to move to the side.

“it’s one AM and my back fucking hurts,” he said rudely as he climbed into the bunk and sighed in relief at the soft mattress under his body.

“I told you I’d sleep in there,” you said defensively and looked over at him.

“I don’t even care, just let me sleep please.” he groaned and rolled onto his side, facing your direction but still a reasonable distance from you. you didn’t respond, trying to avoid more unnecessary conflict.

you looked at him for a moment. he was shirtless, only wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a small gold chain around his neck. his hair was messy and his closed eyelids fluttered every now and then.

you’d always thought that Nick was very attractive, you even had a small crush on him when you first met– before you realized how unpleasant he was. you huffed and rolled onto your side to face away from him, wrapping your blanket around yourself and closing your eyes to sleep.

—-

you woke up at around four AM. you were comfortable, but something was off. it wasn’t until you began to roll onto your back that you felt the arm wrapped around your middle, the legs intertwined with yours, and the head nestled in the crook of your neck. your eyes snapped open and you looked down to see a sleeping Nick practically wrapped around you.

you didn’t know how to react. on the one hand, this was very weird and unexpected… but on the other, you didn’t want to wake him up and cause awkwardness where you didn’t have to.

one of your arms was trapped underneath his neck and the other was wrapped around his shoulder. he began to stir so, flustered, you closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep. you felt him lift his head and do the same thing you were just doing– trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.

he began to pull away and you thought that this weird situation was over, but instead, you heard the bunk curtain be pulled closed and then felt his arms come back to wrap tightly around your body.

you hated to admit it to yourself, but this made you very happy. his skin was warm against yours and his strong arms held you perfectly. with one hand, his fingers played with the ends of your hair and the other spread across your lower back, holding you to him comfortably.

you both fell back asleep after a while and when you woke up the next morning you were separated, both your backs turned towards the other.

—-

although neither of you acknowledged what had happened– as far as you knew he didn’t even know that you were awake, the tone changed in your relationship. you didn’t become best friends by any means, but there were no more rude remarks or jabs, he even helped you climb down from the bunk when you got up since your legs couldn’t reach the floor.

the other boys noticed and were understandably confused. at one point Brandon mentioned it and you and Nick shared a look before shrugging and continuing to eat your breakfast, leaving him even more confused than before.

Brandon and Edwin had a doctor’s appointment and the other three boys went to practice the choreography for their show so you were alone on the bus for a little while.

you used the opportunity to take a quick shower, then got dressed in a comfy oversized tee shirt and small athletic shorts and started to head out to the main area of the bus. you stopped in your tracks when you saw Nick sitting at the small booth in the main area, elbows leaned on the table.

you made brief eye contact with him as you entered but looked away quickly and went to the kitchenette to get a snack. in your peripheral vision, you saw him stand, but you didn’t look over even when you felt him getting closer to you.

you jumped when his hands softly landed on your hips, your whole body stiffening.

“I know you were awake last night,” he said softly in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

“W-what?” you stuttered, feigning confusion.

one of his hands wrapped further around you and pulled your back into his front, the other hand moved a piece of your hair to give him room to place his chin on your shoulder.

“I felt your heartbeat speed up when i held you… i felt your breathing speed up,” he said, turning his head to look at the side of your face and waiting for you to respond.

“I…” you sighed and looked around the room, trying to gather your thoughts, “i was nervous…”

“Why?” the question was impossible to answer seeing as you had no idea why you were nervous.

“I don’t know.” you shook your head, you could feel your cheeks heating up and you turned your face away so that he couldn’t see you blush.

“Look at me,” he said sternly, his deep voice somehow making you listen. you turned your face to look at him and were met with kind eyes, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“What?” you questioned anxiously.

“I liked it…” he said quietly, his hand playing with the bottom of your shirt.

“you… liked it? what?” you scoffed in disbelief.

“yeah,” he spoke calmly, “i liked it.”

he then pulled away and looked at you as he stepped towards the door of the bus, he then turned fully and left. leaving you feeling flustered, your mind racing.

a few moments later Brandon and Edwin arrived back from their appointment and you had to pretend like everything was normal.

—-

as you watched their show that night, you couldn’t keep your eyes from drifting over to Nick. thankfully, because of the intense lights they had shining on him, he wasn’t able to see you well enough to notice.

you wouldn’t say that you were looking forward to going to bed tonight, but you were certainly curious if he would try something. your interaction earlier that day had jarred you and you weren’t sure how to proceed.

after the show, you all went out and got drinks. you ended up getting back to the bus late, all of the boys pretty drunk. you giggled at them as they stumbled around the bus looking for different things.

you got ready for bed quickly, putting on a big tee shirt and boyshorts then washing your face and brushing your teeth. you migrated back to the bunk area, peeking your head into the main room to say goodnight to the boys on the way.

when you got to Nick’s bunk you climbed in and covered yourself with the blanket, then pulled out your phone and began scrolling through Instagram and checking in with your friends at home. you looked over when you heard someone in the hallway next to the bunk, peeking through the small gap between the wall and the curtain and saw Nick slipping on a shirt, hair wet from the shower.

you watched carefully as he pulled back the curtain and climbed into bed, shutting off your phone and placing it to the side. he laid facing you, arms crossed in front of his chest. at that moment you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and bury your face in his chest and feel the fabric of his soft, dark green tee shirt against your skin.

you lifted your hand and played with the fabric on the sleeve of his shirt, his eyes stayed glued to your face as he considered his next move. he sighed, throwing caution to the wind, placing a hand on your hip and pulling you into him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed in contentment. he buried his head in your neck and ran his hand up and down your back.

“Hi.” you smiled and played with the hair at the back of his head.

“Hi there,” he whispered back, smiling against your shoulder. you scratched his back gently as he did the same to you.

you giggled when he wrapped his hand around the back of your thigh and pulled it to drape over his waist, his hand then resting on top of it, thumb caressing your skin.

“Hey, Nick?” you whispered softly, unable to keep yourself from questioning this whole situation.

“Hm?” he responded sleepily, hand moving to rest on your side.

“What does this… mean?” you struggled to find the proper words to ask him.

“I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully and then moved his head to look at you, “But i know that I don’t want it to stop.”

you looked at him for a moment before asking the question that had been on the tip of your tongue, “Why were you always so mean to me?” you asked earnestly, hoping that the answer isn’t hurtful.

“Because Brandon liked you… so i couldn’t like you too because that would make me a bad friend,” he said, looking into your eyes and nodding his head once to make his point, “then after that, i didn’t know how to change the dynamic so i just let it stay the same.”

“But Brandon has a girlfriend.” you shook your head, not fully buying his answer.

“He didn’t two years ago when he introduced you to us,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Shit…” you stared at his face as you realized that what he was saying was true. you knew that Brandon had feelings for you at one time, but you didn’t know about them until after they were long gone.

“Yeah.” he chuckled at you and then bit his lip, “I’m sorry about all that by the way,” he said honestly.

“I’m not upset about it… i wasn’t too kind either.” you cringed as you thought back to some of your past conversations with him, wishing you could reclaim your words.

“I’m not worried about it.” he smiled and shifted slightly closer to you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

“Okay.” you smiled and played with the collar of his shirt, pulling at a loose thread and then looking back to meet his eyes.

you fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other’s embrace. both of you uncertain about the future, but excited by it at the same time.

****

This is a long one guys! idk why but this request just sent me, man. it’s like purely fluff, but lemme know if you want me to write a part 2 that goes in a different direction or one that keeps going in a similar direction to this :P Thanks for the fun request @prettydamnmuchinlove !

#nick mara #nick mara imagines #prettymuch #prettymuch imagines #imagines #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tour #request

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knightofaedirn · 3 years

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Warcraft OC - Torbeen Hayhurst

Not Witcher related, but I’m damn proud of what I’ve got so far for my Warcraft OC. It started as an offshoot verse for Torben but kind of...took on a life of it’s own? Their own page and all that to come soon! Putting it below the cut to save a text wall for you fine folks who follow me for whatever reason.

–––– 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒸𝓈 ––––

NAME: Torbeen Hayhurst

AGE: 30

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Straight

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral/Chaotic Good

MARITAL STATUS: Single

SERVER: Wyrmrest Accord.

–––– 𝒫𝒽𝓎𝓈𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝒜𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 ––––

HAIR: Black and swept backwards as if the wind permanently blew it into such an unkempt state.

EYES: Brown as mud

HEIGHT: 5’4”, and yes, he is a prickly one about being vertically challenged.

BUILD: Strong, but far from anything to boast about when it comes to the strength it takes to charge into the fray donning full plate and swinging shield and sword about. It is the kind of strength raised with a hammer and chisel in hand, of a stonemason. Or at the very least, one under apprenticeship at one point.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Calloused hands and weatherbeaten features that have etched the years on his face. Torbeen has lived a life of labor beneath the sun and it shows. The most distinguishing of them all is an aged tattoo of a cog on Torbeen’s right palm.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: A red handkerchief, or is it a bandana? Damned hard to tell when it is all but tucked away in the pocket with but a sliver of it hanging out.

AESTHETIC: The gritty, hardened existence of life on the plains of Westfall. Rough, ill fitting leather armor. Bruised knuckles and patched clothing. Damn near the intentional rejection of decadence and privilege.

–––– 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 ––––

PROFESSION: Apprentice Stonemason (Formerly), Defias Knuckleduster

HOBBIES: Torbeen would never say no to a round of Gwen- hearthstone! Hearthstone.

LANGUAGES: Common

RESIDENCE: Undisclosed

BIRTHPLACE: Southshore, Lordaeron

PATRON: The Light, still to some degree. If asked, the Cause™.

FEARS: Drowning, from when he fell off the docks as a child in Southshore and narrowly escaped such a tragic fate.

–––– 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅𝓈 –––-

SPOUSE: None.

CHILDREN: None.

PARENTS: Jacoby Hayhurst, Father. (Dead, by the hand of the People’s Militia.) Violetta Hayhurst, Mother. (Dead, from illness suffered on the Plains.)

OTHER RELATIVES: Henley Hayhurst, Uncle. (Fate unknown, stayed in Lordaeron during the Scourging.)

MENTOR/GUARDIAN: The Brotherhood itself.

PETS: None.

–––- 𝑀𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 –––-

Social Level: Formerly, surly and ill-tempered at best as if the biggest chip out of Eastvale Logging Camp had been dropped on his shoulder. After his time spent in exile/refuge in Pandaria, he has softened, as adverse as he is to the idea of admitting it even to himself.

Optimistic View(s): “One day, we shall see the starving with full bellies. The homeless with a warm hearth of their own. The hopeless with belief rekindled in their eyes and hearts. One day, the Brotherhood will deliver on its promises to them.”

Pessimistic View(s): “How many more of my brothers and sisters must give their life for the cause of liberation? How many more widows and orphans must be made before our cause becomes unjust?”

One Positive Personality Trait: Determination, in the important pursuits.

One Negative Personality Trait: Obsessive in the pursuit of the former. A barrier encountered will eagerly be challenged ceaselessly, to his own downfall.

Random Quirk: Torbeen has a habit of saying something well into a thought without context for the listener, as if he’d had the whole first part of the conversation with them already.

Addictions: None

Habits: Ever since his time under the tutelage at the Peak of Serenity, Torbeen has a habit of secluding himself away from the hubbub of life for a period of meditation, and he sure is insistent about the alone. But you know deep, deep down. He longs for companionship while meditating.

–––– 𝒜𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝐼𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 ––––

SMOKING HABIT: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

---- Brief History ----

Hammer In Hand: Born in Southshore, before the Scourging of Lordaeron, Torbeen lived a life similar to any child of the time to a family of skilled laborers. Skilled as they were, stonemasons were not in particular high demand in the lands of Lordaeron, which suffered little compared to the Southern kingdoms in the war.

The restoration of Stormwind, however, was a project that called for every man and woman who knew how to hold a hammer and chisel to complete. With the House of Stormwind Nobles awarding the contract to the Stonemasons guild, it ensured one thing. Employment. Lucrative employment, at that. Such a lucrative government contract was not an opportunity that the Hayhurst family could pass up.

Selling their home, and all their possessions save for their tools and the clothes on their back, to afford the voyage, the family joined the vast force of artisans descending upon Stormwind to turn the kingdom of rubble into a marvel of humanity’s resilience.

Taught all that his father knew of stonemasonry from the time he could hold a hammer in his hand, the boy joined the effort. Eager to join the family trade, and eyes bright with the aspiration to join the Guild one day. A dream that would, and would never, come to pass.

The Brotherhood: What came next is still a matter of debate, between those who were there, those who claimed to be there, and what the Nobility’s propaganda said occurred.

What is certain is that when the bill came due, the nobility refused payment to the Guild. It would be a fate of homelessness and poverty for so many who had traveled from their homelands to take part in such an undertaking. The beautiful ivory towers of the Cathedral were thanks to their skilled hands. The steadfast walls of the keep were thanks to their labor. Their thanks, as it were, would be a defaulted promise. The Guild, in turn, acted as any reasonable persons owed their fair share would act when met with such a refusal.

They rioted.

It was a riot that led to the death of the queen, an act that ensured the Stonemasons had gone from justifiably angered artisans to murderers. Murderers that would surely all face the gallows for their part in the riots, and their part, no matter how small, in the death of a monarch.

So it was that Torbeen fled with his family to the western plains, to a land all but forgotten by the monarchy and the Stormwind Guard. Where they rallied around their leader, Edwin Vancleef, who proclaimed they were the Stonemasons no longer. They were the Defias Brotherhood, and they would have their vengeance.

Our Cause is Righteous: A sworn member of the Brotherhood since coming of age, Torbeen’s loyalty has, and in his opinion, will always be to the Brotherhood. The betrayal of the Stonemasons, the loss of his mother to sickness from life on the plains, the death of his father in the pursuit of their righteous vengeance, brash idealism from a hotheaded young man with nothing to lose all led Torbeen to double down on his life as an enforcer of the Brotherhood. No matter how unsavory the job. It was to right an injustice, to bring the nobility to rue the day they refused to pay what they owed, that they had stolen the futures of so many while they lived in decadence.

Spurned on By Bitterness: Torbeen didn’t take the defeat of the Brotherhood well, by any means. It was for the second time that those glorious dreams of his found themselves smashed against the unforgiving stone of reality. Their Kingpin, their leader, was murdered by agents of the crown. Friends and comrades he’d known for years who’d been unlucky enough to be in the Deadmines were all feared dead, save for those lucky enough to be topside like himself or having escaped through the tunnels.

He did all he could possibly do in such a situation, stuck with his brothers and sisters. Torbeen joined a small group of them that fled into the wilds of Stranglethron, doing what they could to survive. Banditry, odd jobs, mercenary work, things that they had learned all too well over the years. It was but the quest for revenge that kept him from hopelessness. The Defias would never die, in his mind, even if those few survivors had to carry on the dream themselves.

For the Brotherhood: Whispers of the survival of the Brotherhood reached even the wilds of Stranglethorn, and Torbeen’s ears. What a better place could there have been to hear such hushed words than the seediest taverns in Booty Bay, where the man happened to be? Even if it were mere rumors, old loyalties died hard. Hard enough for the Knuckleduster to end his self imposed exile, and sought out his old comrades.

It was a Brotherhood transformed that he found. Beneath the leadership of the Kingpin’s daughter, thought dead, Torbeen found the ideals of the Defias struck a chord with him. The liberation of the disenfranchised from the bootheel of the nobility, that left so many homeless, starving, and copperless. How could Torbeen not feel sympathy for these thousands of homeless wandering the plains? How could he not see himself on the face of every child with an empty belly, or on the despair painted on the faces of every man and woman?

Such a sight changed the man, and aligned them with the goals of the reborn Brotherhood. His goal was no longer but bitter revenge upon the nobility for hatred’s sake. It would be towards the betterment of the lives of his fellow man. To free them of their unjust circumstances, no matter the means.

Yet, it was not to be. Heart shattered by another defeat, and more so the believed death of yet another Vancleef, this time the sting of failure broke the man. Why had he survived, yet again, when so many others, so many others more worthy of living, had died a second time?

It was a question that could not be answered. All Torbeen could do was what he’d always done, survive. Despite it all, he would survive.

True Mastery Comes From Within: The second defeat of the Defias saw the remaining members of the Brotherhood scattered. The winds of fate found Torbeen ending up in Pandaria, and ultimately a student under the tutelage of the monks at the Peak of Serenity. Who’d look for a wanted man on top of a mountain, right? In truth, it was the compassion of the Pandaren that not only saved his life, but welcomed him to embrace the path to inner peace alongside them.

Martial arts came easy enough to Torbeen, from strengthening his arm first with a hammer and then with punching farmers and merchants alike. It was calming the hatred in his heart, fueled by loss, jealousy and hopelessness that plagued him. It was a path that did not come with ease, to say the least.

It took time, and then some, but the fires of hatred found themselves cooled beneath the trickling streams of compassion. Discipline replaced untamed impertinence. Hope replaced the dark, empty hole in him that had been carved by blow after blow.

Broken Temple, Unbroken Loyalties: The Legion came, as the story is well known. Not even the sanctuary of the Peak found itself spared from their quest of obliteration.

Torbeen, as fate would have it, found himself spared by circumstance once more. Having been away in pursuit of answers after having received the most cryptic of messages, penned in one of the old Defias cyphers, to meet at a disclosed place at a disclosed time.

It was at this meeting that Torbeen learned of the survival of a remnant of the Brotherhood, and the survival of their leader. As much as he wished he could say there had been a tear within him when it came to siding with his old comrades, or taking his place beside his comrades of the Broken Temple, there hadn’t been.

Old loyalties, it seemed, never died.

#Still a WIP #But this was so much fun to work on

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timeless-hollywood-classics · 4 years

Text

Mae West (born Mary Jane West; August 17, 1893 – November 22, 1980) was an American actress, singer, playwright, screenwriter, comedian and sex symbol whose entertainment career spanned seven decades. She was known for her lighthearted, bawdy double entendres and breezy sexual independence, and often used a husky contralto voice. She was active in vaudeville and on stage in New York City before moving to Los Angeles to pursue a career in the film industry.

West was one of the most controversial movie stars of her day; she encountered many problems, especially censorship. She once quipped, "I believe in censorship. I made a fortune out of it." She bucked the system by making comedy out of conventional mores, and the Depression-era audience admired her for it. When her film career ended, she wrote books and plays, and continued to perform in Las Vegas and the United Kingdom, on radio and television, and recorded rock 'n roll albums. In 1999, the American Film Institute posthumously voted West the 15th greatest female screen legend of classic American cinema.

Mary Jane West was born on August 17, 1893, in Brooklyn (either Greenpoint or Bushwick, before New York City was consolidated in 1898). She was delivered at home by an aunt who was a midwife. She was the eldest surviving child of John Patrick West and Mathilde "Tillie" (later Matilda) Delker (originally Doelger; later Americanized to "Delker" or "Dilker"). Tillie and her five siblings emigrated with their parents, Jakob (1835–1902) and Christiana (1838–1901; née Brüning) Doelger from Bavaria in 1886. West's parents married on January 18, 1889, in Brooklyn, to the pleasure of the groom's parents and the displeasure of the bride's parents and raised their children as Protestants, although John West was of mixed Catholic–Protestant descent.

West's father was a prizefighter known as "Battlin' Jack West" who later worked as a "special policeman" and later had his own private investigations agency. Her mother was a former corset and fashion model. Her paternal grandmother, Mary Jane (née Copley), for whom she was named, was of Irish Catholic descent and West's paternal grandfather, John Edwin West, was of English–Scots descent and a ship's rigger.

Her eldest sibling, Katie, died in infancy. Her other siblings were Mildred Katherine West, later known as Beverly (December 8, 1898 – March 12, 1982), and John Edwin West II (sometimes inaccurately called "John Edwin West, Jr."; February 11, 1900 – October 12, 1964). During her childhood, West's family moved to various parts of Woodhaven, as well as the Williamsburg and Greenpoint neighborhoods of Brooklyn. In Woodhaven, at Neir's Social Hall (which opened in 1829 and is still extant), West supposedly first performed professionally.

West was five when she first entertained a crowd at a church social, and she started appearing in amateur shows at the age of seven. She often won prizes at local talent contests. She began performing professionally in vaudeville in the Hal Clarendon Stock Company in 1907 at the age of 14. West first performed under the stage name "Baby Mae", and tried various personas, including a male impersonator.

She used the alias "Jane Mast" early in her career. Her trademark walk was said to have been inspired or influenced by female impersonators Bert Savoy and Julian Eltinge, who were famous during the Pansy Craze. Her first appearance in a Broadway show was in a 1911 revue A La Broadway put on by her former dancing teacher, Ned Wayburn. The show folded after eight performances, but at age 18, West was singled out and discovered by The New York Times. The Times reviewer wrote that a "girl named Mae West, hitherto unknown, pleased by her grotesquerie and snappy way of singing and dancing". West next appeared in a show called Vera Violetta, whose cast featured Al Jolson. In 1912, she appeared in the opening performance of A Winsome Widow as a "baby vamp" named La Petite Daffy.

She was encouraged as a performer by her mother, who, according to West, always thought that anything Mae did was fantastic. Other family members were less encouraging, including an aunt and her paternal grandmother. They are all reported as having disapproved of her career and her choices. In 1918, after exiting several high-profile revues, West finally got her break in the Shubert Brothers revue Sometime, opposite Ed Wynn. Her character Mayme danced the shimmy and her photograph appeared on an edition of the sheet music for the popular number "Ev'rybody Shimmies Now".

Eventually, she began writing her own risqué plays using the pen name Jane Mast. Her first starring role on Broadway was in a 1926 play she entitled Sex, which she wrote, produced, and directed. Although conservative critics panned the show, ticket sales were strong. The production did not go over well with city officials, who had received complaints from some religious groups, and the theater was raided, with West arrested along with the cast. She was taken to the Jefferson Market Court House, (now Jefferson Market Library), where she was prosecuted on morals charges, and on April 19, 1927, was sentenced to 10 days for "corrupting the morals of youth". Though West could have paid a fine and been let off, she chose the jail sentence for the publicity it would garner. While incarcerated on Welfare Island (now known as Roosevelt Island), she dined with the warden and his wife; she told reporters that she had worn her silk panties while serving time, in lieu of the "burlap" the other girls had to wear. West got great mileage from this jail stint. She served eight days with two days off for "good behavior". Media attention surrounding the incident enhanced her career, by crowning her the darling "bad girl" who "had climbed the ladder of success wrong by wrong".

Her next play, The Drag, dealt with homosexuality, and was what West called one of her "comedy-dramas of life". After a series of try-outs in Connecticut and New Jersey, West announced she would open the play in New York. However, The Drag never opened on Broadway due to efforts by the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice to ban any attempt by West to stage it. West explained, "The city fathers begged me not to bring the show to New York because they were not equipped to handle the commotion it would cause." West was an early supporter of the women's liberation movement, but said she was not a "burn your bra" type feminist. Since the 1920s, she was also an early supporter of gay rights, and publicly declared against police brutality that gay men experienced. She adopted a then "modern" psychological explanation that gay men were women's souls in men's bodies, and hitting a gay man was akin to hitting a woman. In her 1959 autobiography, Goodness Had Nothing to Do With It, West strongly objected to hypocrisy while, for surprising and unexplained reasons, also disparaging homosexuality: "In many ways homosexuality is a danger to the entire social system of Western civilization. Certainly a nation should be made aware of its presence — without moral mottoes — and its effects on children recruited to it in their innocence. I had no objection to it as a cult of jaded inverts... involved only with themselves. It was its secret, anti-social aspects I wanted to bring into the sun. As a private pressure group it could, and has, infected whole nations." This perspective, never elaborated upon by Mae West in other books or interviews seems inconsistent with the Mae West persona. In her 1975 book Sex, Health, and ESP, Mae West writes on page 43, "I believe that the world owes male and female homosexuals more understanding than we've given them. Live and let live is my philosophy on the subject, and I believe everybody has the right to do his or her own thing or somebody else's -- as long as they do it all in private!"

West continued to write plays, including The Wicked Age, Pleasure Man and The Constant Sinner. Her productions aroused controversy, which ensured that she stayed in the news, which also often resulted in packed houses at her performances. Her 1928 play, Diamond Lil, about a racy, easygoing, and ultimately very smart lady of the 1890s, became a Broadway hit and cemented West's image in the public's eye. This show had an enduring popularity and West successfully revived it many times throughout the course of her career. With Diamond Lil being a hit show, Hollywood naturally came courting.

In 1932, West was offered a contract by Paramount Pictures despite being close to 40. This was an unusually late age to begin a film career, especially for women, but she was not playing an ingénue. She nonetheless managed to keep her age ambiguous for some time. She made her film debut in Night After Night (1932) starring George Raft, who suggested West for the role. At first she did not like her small role in Night After Night, but was appeased when she was allowed to rewrite her scenes.[45] In West's first scene, a hat-check girl exclaims, "Goodness, what beautiful diamonds", and West replies, "Goodness had nothing to do with it, dearie." Reflecting on the overall result of her rewritten scenes, Raft is said to have remarked, "She stole everything but the cameras."

She brought her Diamond Lil character, now renamed "Lady Lou", to the screen in She Done Him Wrong (1933). The film was one of Cary Grant's first major roles, which boosted his career. West claimed she spotted Grant at the studio and insisted that he be cast as the male lead. She claimed to have told a Paramount director, "If he can talk, I'll take him!". The film was a box office hit and earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture. The success of the film saved Paramount from bankruptcy, grossing over $2 million, the equivalent of $140 million today. Paramount recognizes that debt of gratitude today, with a building on the lot named after West.

Her next release, I'm No Angel (1933), teamed her with Grant again. I'm No Angel was also a box office hit and was the most successful of her entire film career. In the months that followed the release of this film, reference to West could be found almost anywhere, from the song lyrics of Cole Porter, to a Works Progress Administration (WPA) mural of San Francisco's newly built Coit Tower, to She Done Him Right, a Betty Boop cartoon, to "My Dress Hangs There", a painting by Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. Kahlo's husband, Diego Rivera, paid his own tribute: "West is the most wonderful machine for living I have ever known – unfortunately on the screen only." To F. Scott Fitzgerald, West was especially unique: "The only Hollywood actress with both an ironic edge and a comic spark." As Variety put it, "Mae West's films have made her the biggest conversation-provoker, free-space grabber, and all-around box office bet in the country. She's as hot an issue as Hitler."

By 1933, West was one of the largest box office draws in the United States and, by 1935, West was also the highest paid woman and the second-highest paid person in the United States (after William Randolph Hearst). Hearst invited West to San Simeon, California. "I could'a married him", West explained, "but I got no time for parties. I don't like those big crowds." On July 1, 1934, the censorship of the film Production Code began to be seriously and meticulously enforced, and West's scripts were heavily edited. She would intentionally place extremely risqué lines in her scripts, knowing they would be cut by the censors. She hoped they would then not object as much to her other less suggestive lines. Her next film was Belle of the Nineties (1934). The original title, It Ain't No Sin, was changed due to the censors' objections. Despite Paramount's early objections regarding costs, West insisted the studio to hire Duke Ellington and his orchestra to accompany her in the film's musical numbers. Their collaboration was a success; the classic "My Old Flame" (recorded by Duke Ellington) was introduced in this film. Her next film, Goin' to Town (1935), received mixed reviews, as censorship continued to take its toll in eroding West's best lines.

Her following effort, Klondike Annie (1936) dealt, as best it could given the heavy censorship, with religion and hypocrisy. Some critics called the film her magnum opus, but not everyone felt the same way. Press baron and film mogul William Randolph Hearst, ostensibly offended by an off-handed remark West made about his mistress, Marion Davies, sent a private memo to all his editors stating, "That Mae West picture Klondike Annie is a filthy picture... We should have editorials roasting that picture, Mae West, and Paramount... DO NOT ACCEPT ANY ADVERTISING OF THIS PICTURE." At one point, Hearst asked aloud, "Isn't it time Congress did something about the Mae West menace?" Paramount executives felt they had to tone down the West characterization or face further recrimination. This may be surprising by today's standards, as West's films contained no nudity, no profanity, and very little violence. Though raised in an era when women held second-place roles in society, West portrayed confident women who were not afraid to use their sexual wiles to get what they wanted. "I was the first liberated woman, you know. No guy was going to get the best of me. That's what I wrote all my scripts about."

Around the same time, West played opposite Randolph Scott in Go West, Young Man (1936). In this film, she adapted Lawrence Riley's Broadway hit Personal Appearance into a screenplay. Directed by Henry Hathaway, Go West, Young Man is considered one of West's weaker films of the era, due to the censor's cuts.

West next starred in Every Day's a Holiday (1937) for Paramount before their association came to an end. Again, due to censor cuts, the film performed below its goal. Censorship had made West's sexually suggestive brand of humor impossible for the studios to distribute. West, along with other stellar performers, was put on a list of actors called "Box Office Poison" by Harry Brandt on behalf of the Independent Theatre Owners Association. Others on the list were Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Marlene Dietrich, Fred Astaire, Dolores del Río, Katharine Hepburn and Kay Francis. The attack was published as a paid advertisement in The Hollywood Reporter, and was taken seriously by the fearful studio executives. The association argued that these stars' high salaries and extreme public popularity did not affect their ticket sales, thus hurt the exhibitors. This did not stop producer David O. Selznick, who next offered West the role of the sage madam, Belle Watling, the only woman ever to truly understand Rhett Butler, in Gone with the Wind, after Tallulah Bankhead turned him down. West also turned down the part, claiming that as it was, it was too small for an established star, and that she would need to rewrite her lines to suit her own persona. The role eventually went to Ona Munson.

In 1939, Universal Studios approached West to star in a film opposite W. C. Fields. The studio was eager to duplicate the success of Destry Rides Again starring Marlene Dietrich and James Stewart, with a comic vehicle starring West and Fields. Having left Paramount 18 months earlier and looking for a new film, West accepted the role of Flower Belle Lee in the film My Little Chickadee (1940). Despite the stars' intense mutual dislike, Fields's very real drinking problems and fights over the screenplay, My Little Chickadee was a box office hit, outgrossing Fields's previous film, You Can't Cheat an Honest Man (1939) and the later The Bank Dick (1940). Despite this, religious leaders condemned West as a negative role model, taking offense at lines such as "Between two evils, I like to pick the one I haven't tried before" and "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

West's next film was Columbia's The Heat's On (1943). She initially did not want to do the film, but after actor, director and friend Gregory Ratoff (producer Max Fabian in All About Eve) pleaded with her and claimed he would go bankrupt if she could not help, West relented as a personal favor. Censors by now, though, had curtailed the sexual burlesque of the West characterization. The studio had orders to raise the neck lines and clean up the double entendres. This was the only film for which West was virtually not allowed to write her own dialogue and, as a result, the film suffered.

Perhaps the most critical challenge facing West in her career was censorship of her dialogue. As on Broadway a decade before, by the mid-1930s, her risqué and ribald dialogue could no longer be allowed to pass. The Heat's On opened to poor reviews and weak performance at the box office. West was so distraught after the experience and by her years of struggling with the strict Hays censorship office, that she would not attempt another film role for the next quarter-century. Instead, West pursued a successful and record-breaking career in top nightclubs, Las Vegas, nationally in theater and on Broadway, where she was allowed, even welcomed, to be herself.

After appearing in The Heat's On in 1943, West returned to a very active career on stage and in swank clubs. Among her popular new stage performances was the title role in Catherine Was Great (1944) on Broadway, in which she penned a spoof on the story of Catherine the Great of Russia, surrounding herself with an "imperial guard" of tall, muscular young actors. The play was produced by theater and film impresario Mike Todd (Around The World in 80 Days) and ran for 191 performances and then went on tour.

When Mae West revived her 1928 play Diamond Lil, bringing it back to Broadway in 1949, The New York Times labeled her an "American Institution – as beloved and indestructible as Donald Duck. Like Chinatown, and Grant's Tomb, Mae West should be seen at least once." In the 1950s, West starred in her own Las Vegas stage show at the newly opened Sahara Hotel, singing while surrounded by bodybuilders. The show stood Las Vegas on its head. "Men come to see me, but I also give the women something to see: wall to wall men!" West explained. Jayne Mansfield met and later married one of West's muscle men, a former Mr. Universe, Mickey Hargitay.

When casting about for the role of Norma Desmond for the 1950 film Sunset Boulevard, Billy Wilder offered West the role. Still smarting from the censorship debacle of The Heat's On, and the constraints placed on her characterization, she declined. The theme of the Wilder film, she noted, was pure pathos, while her brand of comedy was always "about uplifting the audience". Mae West had a unique comic character that was timeless, in the same way Charlie Chaplin did. After Mary Pickford also declined the role, Gloria Swanson was cast.

In subsequent years, West was offered the role of Vera Simpson, opposite Marlon Brando, in the 1957 film adaptation of Pal Joey, which she turned down, with the role going to Rita Hayworth. In 1964, West was offered a leading role in Roustabout, starring Elvis Presley. She turned the role down, and Barbara Stanwyck was cast in her place. West was also approached for roles in Frederico Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits and Satyricon, but rejected both offers.

In 1958, West appeared at the live televised Academy Awards and performed the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside" with Rock Hudson, which brought a standing ovation. In 1959, she released an autobiography, Goodness Had Nothing to Do With It, which became a best seller and was reprinted with a new chapter in 1970. West guest-starred on television, including The Dean Martin Show in 1959 and The Red Skelton Show in 1960, to promote her autobiography, and a lengthy interview on Person to Person with Charles Collingwood, which was censored by CBS in 1959, and never aired. CBS executives felt members of the television audience were not ready to see a nude marble statue of West, which rested on her piano. In 1964, she made a guest appearance on the sitcom Mister Ed. Much later, in 1976, she was interviewed by Dick Cavett and sang two songs on his "Back Lot U.S.A." special on CBS.

West's recording career started in the early 1930s with releases of her film songs on shellac 78 rpm records. Most of her film songs were released as 78s, as well as sheet music. In 1955, she recorded her first album, The Fabulous Mae West. In 1965, she recorded two songs, "Am I Too Young" and "He's Good For Me", for a 45 rpm record released by Plaza Records. She recorded several tongue-in-cheek songs, including "Santa, Come Up to See Me", on the album Wild Christmas, which was released in 1966 and reissued as Mae in December in 1980. Demonstrating her willingness to keep in touch with the contemporary scene, in 1966 she recorded Way Out West, the first of her two rock-and-roll albums. The second, released in 1972 on MGM Records and titled Great Balls of Fire, covered songs by The Doors, among others, and had songs written for West by English songwriter-producer Ian Whitcomb.

After a 27-year absence from motion pictures, West appeared as Leticia Van Allen in Gore Vidal's Myra Breckinridge (1970) with Raquel Welch, Rex Reed, Farrah Fawcett, and Tom Selleck in a small part. The movie was intended to be deliberately campy sex change comedy, but had serious production problems, resulting in a botched film that was both a box-office and critical failure. Author Vidal, at great odds with inexperienced and self-styled "art film" director Michael Sarne, later called the film "an awful joke". Though Mae West was given star billing to attract ticket buyers, her scenes were truncated by the inexperienced film editor, and her songs were filmed as though they were merely side acts. Mae West's counterculture appeal (she was dubbed "the queen of camp"), included the young and hip, and by 1971, the student body of University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) voted Mae West "Woman of the Century" in honor of her relevance as a pioneering advocate of sexual frankness and courageous crusader against censorship.

In 1975, West released her book Sex, Health, and ESP (William Allen & Sons, publisher), and Pleasure Man (Dell publishers) based on her 1928 play of the same name. Her autobiography, Goodness Had Nothing to Do with It, was also updated and republished in the 1970s.

Mae West was a shrewd investor, produced her own stage acts, and invested her money in large tracts of land in Van Nuys, a thriving suburb of Los Angeles. With her considerable fortune, she could afford to do as she liked. In 1976, she appeared on Back Lot U.S.A. on CBS, where she was interviewed by Dick Cavett and sang "Frankie and Johnny" along with "After You've Gone." That same year, she began work on her final film, Sextette (1978). Adapted from a 1959 script written by West, the film's daily revisions and production disagreements hampered production from the beginning. Due to the near-endless last-minute script changes and tiring production schedule, West agreed to have her lines signaled to her through a speaker concealed in her hair piece. Despite the daily problems, West was, according to Sextette director Ken Hughes, determined to see the film through. At 84, her now-failing eyesight made navigating around the set difficult, but she made it through the filming, a tribute to her self-confidence, remarkable endurance, and stature as a self-created star 67 years after her Broadway debut in 1911 at the age of 18. Time magazine wrote an article on the indomitable star entitled "At 84, Mae West Is Still Mae West".

Upon its release, Sextette was not a critical or commercial success, but has a diverse cast. The cast included some of West's first co-stars such as George Raft (Night After Night, 1932), silver screen stars such as Walter Pidgeon and Tony Curtis, and more contemporary pop stars such as The Beatles' Ringo Starr and Alice Cooper, and television favorites such as Dom DeLuise and gossip queen Rona Barrett. It also included cameos of some of her musclemen from her 1950s Las Vegas show, such as the still remarkably fit Reg Lewis. Sextette also reunited Mae West with Edith Head, her costume designer from 1933 in She Done Him Wrong.

West was married on April 11, 1911 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin to Frank Szatkus (1892–1966), whose stage name was Frank Wallace, a fellow vaudevillian whom she met in 1909. She was 17. She kept the marriage a secret, but a filing clerk discovered the marriage certificate in 1935 and alerted the press. The clerk also uncovered an affidavit in which she had declared herself married, made during the Sex trial in 1927.

In August 1913, she met Guido Deiro (1886–1950), an Italian-born vaudeville headliner and star of the piano-accordion. Her affair, and possible 1914 marriage to him, as alleged by Diero's son Guido Roberto Deiro in his 2019 book Mae West and The Count, went "very deep, hittin' on all the emotions". West later said, "Marriage is a great institution. I'm not ready for an institution yet."

In 1916, when she was a vaudeville actress, West had a relationship with James Timony (1884–1954), an attorney nine years her senior. Timony was also her manager. By the time that she was an established movie actress in the mid-1930s, they were no longer a couple. West and Timony remained extremely close, living in the same building, working together, and providing support for each other until Timony's death in 1954.

West remained close to her family throughout her life and was devastated by her mother's death in 1930. In 1930, she moved to Hollywood and into the penthouse at The Ravenswood apartment building where she lived until her death in 1980. Her sister, brother, and father followed her to Hollywood where she provided them with nearby homes, jobs, and sometimes financial support. Among her boyfriends was boxing champion William Jones, nicknamed Gorilla Jones (1906–1982). The management at her Ravenswood apartment building barred the African American boxer from entering the premises; West solved the problem by buying the building and lifting the ban.

She became romantically involved at age 61 with Chester Rybinski (1923–1999), one of the muscle men in her Las Vegas stage show – a wrestler, former Mr. California, and former merchant sailor. He was 30 years younger than she, and later changed his name to Paul Novak. He moved in with her, and their romance continued until her death in 1980 at age 87. Novak once commented, "I believe I was put on this Earth to take care of Mae West." West was a Presbyterian.

In August 1980, West tripped while getting out of bed. After the fall she was unable to speak and was taken to Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles, where tests revealed that she had suffered a stroke. She died on November 22, 1980, at the age of 87.

A private service was held at the church in Forest Lawn, Hollywood Hills, on November 25, 1980; (the church is a replica of Boston's Old North Church.) Bishop Andre Penachio, a friend, officiated at the entombment in the family mausoleum at Cypress Hills Abbey, Brooklyn, purchased in 1930 when her mother died. Her father and brother were also entombed there before her, and her younger sister, Beverly, was laid to rest in the last of the five crypts less than 18 months after West's death.

For her contribution to the film industry, Mae West has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 1560 Vine Street in Hollywood. For her contributions as a stage actor in the theater world, she has been inducted into the American Theater Hall of Fame. On June 25, 2019, The New York Times Magazine listed Mae West among hundreds of artists whose material was destroyed in the 2008 Universal fire.

#mae west #golden age of hollywood #classic hollywood #classic cinema

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