#first mrs. potts

[ginnyrules27]

[literallycogsworth]

I was doodling and I thought I might as well do something really quick for today's theme for batb week ‼️

[groveofsouls]

tag dump seven ft. general charas part two !!

[picturebookshelf]

Beauty and the Beast: The Tale of Chip the Teacup (1992)

Story: Betty Birney -- Art: Edward R Gutierrez and Mones

[earl-grey-crow]

oh what an episode

[hurtspideyparker]

One night in the lab Peter finds an old prototype of the EDITH glasses and puts them on.

"Look Mr. Stark! I am Iron Man," he says with a deep voice.

"C'mon kid, that's the best impression you got?" Tony says before looking up.

He sees Peter with those rectangular frames and big grin. For a moment he thinks he's looking at old publicity photos of himself. A confident Tony Stark, tinted glasses and cocky smile, hair fluffed up and oozing manly charm.

Tony's easy smile drops a bit at the thought of Peter being anything like who he used to be.

"Oh sorry for talking over you Ms. Potts I just like the sound of my own voice more than hearing about the safety of our company. I'm too cool to apologize so I'll buy you a zoo for endangered species later honey," Peter tries again with the mocking deep voice.

Tony is quick to recover from the odd deja-vu feeling of seeing the teenager in the frame of a mirror, focusing back on his hologram.

"Yeah because I call the love of my life by her last name. And for your information it was an alpaca sanctuary, and she loved it." Tony corrects, pointing a pen at Peter in rebuke without looking up from his work.

"I chose to be respectful over accurate. Also I saw those alpaca photos and one of them was trying to chew on her skirt, she didn't look very impressed." Peter replies with a matter of fact press of his lips.

Tony glances back at the boy only to find himself unable to look away. He can't help but hear echoes of "I just wanted to be like you!" when he sees the boy wearing frames reminiscent of Tony's classic fashion sense.

Tony thinks about Howard, how he used to run laps to prove he was good enough, better than, worthy of being his son.

He was never enough for Howard.

"You're always better at remembering that kind of stuff than me anyways kid."

Peter is taken back by the earnest tone the older man suddenly possesses. His mouth opens but no words come out in reply, Tony looking at him as if he can see right through the spiderling.

"Now stop playing with my old crap and c'mere, we have some important decisions to make," Tony waves him over to look at something on his phone.

When Peter gets close enough he sees that it's a food delivery app, Tony's fingers hovering between an Indian and Thai restaurant.

Peter shoots him another grin, "I vote for samosas!"

Tony rolls his eyes but clicks on the Indian restaurant anyways.

Peter notices in the reflection of the phone that he still has the glasses on, reaching up to remove them before Tony puts a hand on his wrist to stop him.

"Keep em on, it's the first time you've ever looked cool enough to hang out with me. The tech in those is useless anyways, they're just a pair of sunglasses now."

Peter looks up at his mentor with such awe and admiration that Tony nearly melts like butter under the sun.

Tony may not do many things right when it comes to people, but he knows that even when he was still young and naive he'd known better than to ever look at Howard like that.

So maybe there's one thing he hasn't screwed up.

[katemiosh]

I like Beauty and the Beast cartoon. And I adore Bagginshield. These two universes were made for each other…

Okay, this must have already been thought up, drawn or written by someone before me because it's so perfect and obvious.

In the kingdom of Erebor lives the greedy and rude King Thorin. One day he refuses to shelter an old man in his beautiful castle under the mountain. The old man turns out to be the ancient dragon Smaug. He is enraged. He sends a curse on the King and his entire kingdom. Smaug turns the King into a monster and his inhabitants into utensils of gold.

And so Balin becomes a clock (Cogsworth). Instead of one candelabra (Lumiere), there are two bigger and smaller ones, Fili and Kili. Ori becomes a cup (Chip). And Dori into a teapot (Mrs. Potts).

Not far from the castle is the small town of Shire. Here lives a strange family of Beggins: Bilbo and his nephew Frodo. They are unsociable, a little strange, in no hurry to start a family.

Bilbo loves stories, books, maps and dreams of long journeys and adventures. But the most popular and rude hobbit in the Shire, Azog (Gaston), wants to take Bilbo in marriage.

One day Frodo leaves town and ends up in the castle of a monster. But Bilbo finds him and offers to stay in return. And that's where the story really begins.

And just Bilbo's vest of perfect yellow color from the first part of The Hobbit (the first meeting with Gandalf), in which he dances with the Beast-Thorin to the song Beauty And The Beast…

Sorry if there's a bunch of dumb mistakes in the text, I'm terrible at English ._.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Four)

Summary: You and Tommy suddenly find yourselves in a small predicament as the impending hour of your engagement ball draws near. Only to be made worse when you make an unexpected bold move in your war of words. As alliances begin to form between the gangster and an unlikely guest later that evening. Yours and Tommy's feelings also begin to show when he makes a move that will leave you as equally breathless. But with someone watching from afar, another problem comes your way. One that could leave everything in jeopardy.

Warnings: Language, angst, domestic violence, use of one racial slur, very brief 18+ themes.

Word Count: 5692

Authors Note: The waltz played at the engagement ball is called "Second Waltz" by Dmitri Shostakovich. Which was also used in my trailer for this series.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" you asked with gritted teeth, hovering over the workman with half his body buried deep under the intricate rail work of pipes as you silently prayed for a better outcome than what the current situation held.

" Busted main pipe, Miss" Mr Potts grunted as he hoisted himself up from under the dusty floors of your aging home.

Well, bollocks, you thought to yourself as you wiped the layer of sweat that had accumulated on the back of your neck. The sweltering heat that had descended over the country, having no mercy on you and every other citizen that was accustomed to summers your southern neighbors would consider dreary and wet.

" Is it possible you could fix it...by tonight?" you questioned in hopes things could be swiftly sorted before your engagement ball set to take place that evening. The soirée you had no choice but to put a brave face on for. But not a sweaty, frazzled-haired one if you had any control over your bathing habits.

" Mr Potts?" you queried once again when a hearty crescendo of laughter left the plumbers jiggling girth at your lack of knowledge for manual labor, and the hours it would take to fix such a problem.

" Tonight? Are you 'aving a laugh?" he snorted as you crossed your arms, the deepening creases of your brow furrowing with every chuckle that left his raspy lungs.

" It's not that funny..." you mumbled as he continued to echo his amusement. Could probably fix it myself, given the chance, your strong willingness pushed through your pouting lips when Tommy came striding down the hallway.

"Y/N" he greeted you with a soft smile, dressed in only a vest and suit trousers, his suspenders hanging loosely from his hips. It would almost be unusual to see him fully dressed in your presence at this point, you thought to yourself as you watched him wipe the sticking heat from under his chin down to his toned collarbone. Hot. So...so, terribly hot...

"Mr Shelby" you greeted him back with flushed cheeks, pulling yourself away from your steamy thoughts as he stood arm to arm with you. His darting eyes unable to divert from the beads of perspiration that had settled on your rising chest, dripping down to the curves of your...fuck

" Pipes about to burst " you said, catching his wandering eye as you subtly shimmied the frills of your dress over your steamy display.

" Right" he replied as he cleared his throat, finding a degree of innuendo in your passing statement he felt would be best kept to himself than shared with the room and it's causing effect. You.

As you both watched the plumber plod about, a silence momentarily settled between you both, free from the bickering, cocky remarks and slamming of doors.

Something had unexpectedly changed since Tommy turned up in both support and respect to your father's funeral. The sudden shift away from butting heads, replaced by the echoing spark of yearning from your first encounter. But for how long, until you faced yet another bump in your precariously winding road to admitting your sentiments towards the other?

"Me and my boys will be 'round first thing tomorrow" the workman announced as he settled his cap on his head, breaking the tension between you both.

" But...but how are we supposed to wash?"you hurried after his heavy footsteps, left inconveniently in the lurch.

" Servants' quarters aren't connected to the main buildings' plumbing" he replied, turning around as his pout belly bounced into yours, the sudden impact causing you to fly back two feet. " Their bath is hooked up to the pipes for the horses stables. That ain't gonna be a problem is it now, Miss? he asked with his hands on his hips as his eyes honed in on your bumbling lips.

" I...I didn't build this house, Mr Potts" you said with darting eyes and reddened cheeks, feeling like you were suddenly the one to be blamed for the houses' layout, and the divide it created between classes.

" I can assure you, had I been the one to oversee the architecture..." you rambled off into an incoherent speech on how you was for workers rights as the plumbers' brow began to scrunch at your nattering to a comment he made in jest.

" No, it's not a problem. Absolutely, definitely not, a problem" you answered, catching your breath with a weary smile as your embarrassment for not being able to reply to a simple question without going into a rant caught up with you.

" Splendid" he replied, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders as he turned around. A chuckle leaving his lips for the high society lady he had left in a dizzy.

Spinning on your heel, you came face to face with your smoking squatter, casually leaning against the wall as a small grin of amusement he had no intention of hiding, lurked behind the fumes of tobacco as you slowly padded towards him, awaiting the dose of humiliation you were sure was on the tip of his tongue.

" One bath" he said stood in front of you as his eyes darted back and forth to the servants' quarters.

" Hmm" you hummed as you watched him brush the droplets of heat from his brow. Both of you in dire need to cool down. But with only one bath, the race to it's location was now tethering on the starting line as you both waited for the other to make the first move.

"Excuse me" you said before taking off down the very hallway he'd been eyeing up, attempting to get a head start on your mutually shared agenda.

" Stifling isn't it?" You said, flapping the top of your dress in attempt to get a draft down to your sweating crevices as he quickly appeared beside you, matching your quickened pace as you both exchanged pleasantries to hide the determination you had to get to the only bath with running water.

" Suffocating" he replied as you jogged breathlessly next to his long strides, distracted enough for him to take a quick peek at the beautiful sight of your bouncing bosom.

" You dropped something, love" Tommy warned you as he glanced down at your feet, causing you to momentarily stop in your tracks.

Dropped something, your eyes narrowed in on him briskly walking away with a throaty chuckle. Dropped your guard for him mischievously fooling you more like!

" You cheat!" you pouted as you summoned the will of your inner child, racing after his steps like a charging young boy, red-faced and sweaty about to tackle down his biggest rival, when you came to a stumbling stop into his body, quickly wrapping your slippery hand around his on the brass handle of the door as you both fought for dominance.

" Ladies first" he relented to the gentlemanly way of doing things, gesturing for you to go as you blew a lock of hair from in front of your eyes,

" No, you go" you replied coyly, intending to play a back and forth game of politeness until your graciously gave. Ignoring the fact you had launched yourself into him seconds earlier, ready to fight him to the death on who gets first dibs.

"Well, if you insist" he opened the door with a smirk, swiftly shutting it behind him.

"But..but..." He left you muted and mumbling as you stood with crossed arms, your eyes darting in disbelief to and from the room he had just entered.

What a... you scoffed to yourself unable to find the appropriate insult as you heard him turn the water on, obnoxiously whistling to himself in the process.

And to think you thought the unspoken ceasefire between you was a treaty you had both signed.

What was he doing, practicing his butterfly stroke? you thought to yourself as your eyes honed in on the bathroom door. One hour. One full hour he'd been in there bathing himself as if he was a Greek goddess in the seas of Pathos.

" Right" you stormed up from the chair placed directly outside the door you had been waiting in front of for the hour of your life you'd never get back.

"Mr Shelby?" you politely knocked for the first time since his arrival, only to have a response of silence.

"Mr Shelby!?" Your patience lasted all but two seconds as your fist began to pound on the door before you dramatically swung it open. It's not like you hadn't already seen the lengthy manhood the gods had bestowed upon him, you reasoned to yourself as you charged through to see him with his head lulled back against the ceramic bath, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers.

" Get out. It's my turn" you huffed with your back against the sink as you watched him with annoyance, peacefully submerged in the cloudy water filled with Epsom salts.

" Oh, It's you. I would've never guessed" he opened one eye with a smirk to see you getting furiously irritated by the locks of hair sticking to your face.

" It's been an hour. Now leave" you said as you turned to the sink, fiddling with the cold tap to relive yourself from the heat radiating from your skin.

"It's been ten minutes" he said, lifting his cigarette to his lips as his eyes roamed over your dress adhered to your skin with sweat.

"You've used all the water! I can't...I can't believe you!" you snapped, turning the silver faucet to the very end for only a pitiful drop of water to settle in your palm.

" You can use mine when I get out" he said, causing your eyes to widen as big as his cocky grin. He may very well have been accustomed to sharing mucky bath water when he was a child in a bid for his mother to save on pennies, but you had never done anything of the sort. Let alone with a grown man you had only known for a matter of weeks. "Or there's a pond at the bottom of the garden"

" Pond?!"

" Too posh for ponds as well, ey princess?" a sly smirk settled on his ridiculously plump lips as he waited, watching you in the corners of his blue irises with amusement.

"Leave" you demanded, succumbing to the realisation that you had no choice but to bathe in his leftovers than share a pond with any potential slithering beings that lived in it.

" Five more minutes" he said closing his eyes, blowing a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. Had he become so accustomed to your daily bickering, that he was in fact doing this on purpose just so he would have an excuse to interact with you? Yes.

Whatever possessed you to do what you did next, when you propped your foot on the edge of the toilet seat and unclasped your garter straps, shimmying the stockings from your legs along with them. Would plague you for the rest of the evening if not, your entire life.

" Out" you approached the side of the bath, throwing your most intimate of undergarments on top of his bundled up clothes on a nearby chair.

" I think I'd rather stay, darling" he said watching you pull your dress from over your head as his cigarette slowly submerged itself under the murky water. The sight of you now only in your under slip leaving him momentarily stunned.

"Fine" you said forcing a sarcastic smile through your slowly evaporating bravado.

There's no going back now, you thought to yourself, dipping your foot into the bath as Tommy bolted upright until his body was firmly against the back of the cool enclosure.

"Fuck, what are..." he was lost for words at your unexpected display of both competitiveness, and a boldness that would match any Small Heath lass he'd ever encountered.

" What does it look like I'm doing? I'm having a bath, Mr Shelby" you replied, following through with your endeavor without a blip as you poured a tinned jug of water over your locks, watching Tommy shift position as he rubbed the droplets of water sitting on the curls of his long lashes away with his hand. Was he seeing things? Dreaming, hallucinating?

" Do you ever relax?" he asked you after silently observing you laver the soap onto your chest and arms in the quickest manner you could possibly achieve to do it in. Watching the bubbles of perfumed lavender seep down to your ample cleavage as your entangled legs and little room to move, made matters worse for the growing predicament he now found himself in.

" Huh!" you scoffed at his remark that would be better attributed to himself as you went to reach for the bar of soap, when your slippery hands had it sinking to the bottom of the watery deep. Inconveniently close to his side of the bath. Dangerously close to his side.

Locking eyes, you cautiously dipped your hand under the water when you felt him grab hold of your wrist, saving you from discovering the effect you had on him, and grabbing something he'd prefer stayed attached to his body.

With a heaving chest your eyes met in a lustful gaze as you felt the gentle tightening of his hand around yours in the cool water. Beckoning your thoughts to join him in the unspoken line he wanted to cross. The line you had both been dancing precariously close to ever since you met.

Whether it was fear of what would come after, or the nerves you felt about being intimate with someone again after your first disastrous time. You abruptly stood up as Tommy's mouth fell agape at the sight before him. Your body sheathed in your slip, drenched in enough water to see through the thin fabric to reveal your bare body beneath. Knickerless. Fuck.

" Stay" Tommy's breathy voice churning with desire mumbled, swallowing the lump in his throat as his straining cock twitched at the sight of your bare body in front of him. His hands edging to wrap around your legs and pull you down on top of him to relive you both of the tension you had let build through weeks of bickering.

" I won't" you left, leaving him with the angry echo of your voice and the puddles of your parting footsteps. Anger you felt only for yourself, and the yearning you had to indulge in your forbidden desires. Knowing it would only further confuse your mounting feelings for him, and the emotional web it would create if your future dealt you the wrong hand.

" Fucking hell..." Tommy threw his head back, slowly engulfing himself until he was fully submerged under the water. You'd be the death of him.

What the hell was you thinking, you pushed your damp hair away from your face as you walked down the heavy wooded stairs into the foyer. The sight of an unknown woman in the dining room capturing your attention enough for you to momentarily forget your impromptu bath with the blue-eyed trespasser.

" Ghastly, isn't it?" you said with crossed arms coming to stand beside her as she pulled the cigarette from between her ruby painted lips, lowering her sunglasses enough from the large portrait of Tommy to look at you.

" So you're the one" she said with a pursed smile, her hazel eyes igniting with a shared mischievousness for infuriating your mutual acquaintance.

" And you must be?" you queried as she stubbed out her cigarette on the frame of Tommy's imposing painting.

" Polly Gray. Aunt Polly to some" she said, reaching her immaculately painted talons out in a polite handshake before returning her eyes to the large framed picture.

" Whatever do you think possessed him to commission such a monstrosity?" your nose scrunched up at the beady-eyed horse and it's owner looming over you.

"Grand home, grand aspirations" she waved her hand in front of her at the strokes of paint, and it's ill fitting placement. A dining room. His mug watching everyone eat their breakfast. How delightful.

" Grand ego, more like" you said when a puff of smoke to your left came into view as you carried on your torment, knowing the very owner of the painting both you and his Aunt were ruthlessly insulting was standing right beside you.

" Well, he certainly has enough of that" she replied with a smirk, as Tommy furrowed his brow at you both simultaneously ganging up on him, having only met moments ago.

He liked his portrait, he thought to himself as he stiffened his posture, admiring the work that had been done when a burst of giggles came from next of him.

" You two finished?" he said as you both pulled your eyes away from the brooding painting of himself to the grumpy human version.

" Oh, Mr Shelby. I didn't see you there" you said with your hand to your chest, his shaking head not joining you and his Aunts shared amusement.

" Tommy. Y/N and I were just getting to know each other. Or rather, your interesting painting" she said, turning to pick up the folder of documents her nephews' distracted thoughts had forgotten to sign, when Tommy ceased the opportunity to enclose the small space between you as his Aunt bundled her belongings together.

" You left these with my clothes" his hot breath whispered into your ear with a curling smile, prickling the skin of your neck in a gentle wave of pleasure as he reached into his back pocket to pull out your laced underwear.

" Give them" you said quietly through gritted teeth, as you both tugged on the delicate item of clothing until they ripped and Tommy let go with a breathy chuckle.

" What's with you all of a sudden, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled to you, gently elbowing you in the side to get your attention, you reciprocated back twice as hard just as Polly turned to see the tense display between you both.

Don't think she hadn't noticed, nor the fact both of you had hair still damp with water. Just what had you two been up to?

" It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gray" you bid his Aunt goodbye with the bundled knickers scrunched in your hand behind your back as Tommy's thumb gently brushed over the fleshy part of your wrist.

Why were you suddenly playing so hard to get? You had got in the bath with him for Christ' sake, he thought to himself as his eyes followed you out the room. Were you playing games? his thoughts further nagged him with the idea of you toying with him. He'd seen you looking at him. Seen you stealing glances when you thought he wasn't watching. How long were you going to keep pretending you didn't want it as much as him?

" Until next time" she said with a curious smile, intrigued to know more about you and what had her nephew away from the office so frequently after mouthing to anyone forced to listen, how much you got under his skin.

" Now that's a rare sight worth painting" her drawn lips closed into a tight smile as the door closed and her head turned to see the pining eyes of her nephew, held in captivation for the woman that had just left the room.

" Be careful Thomas, anyone might just think you're in love" she arched her brow with a matching smirk before making her way to his office. Leaving a huffing Tommy with a disgruntled thrown as he shoved his hands into the depths of his trouser pockets.

Shit.

" Don't think I haven't noticed, Mr Shelby" your Grannie lifted her chin, her eyes looking at the gangster from head to toe stood beside her.

"I've seen that look" her lips pouted with a knowing smile, catching him staring at you from across the ballroom later that evening, as your fiance loomed over you. A look she herself had shared with a man not so different to Tommy.

" And what look would that be, Dowager? Tommy said through the toying smirk on the corner of his mouth as he took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, before taking a seat on the gold plush settee next to her.

" A look as old as time" she said, lifting the glass of bubbles to her lips as Tommy's eyes creased into a mischievous smile.

" Your secret is safe with me, Mr Shelby" Grannie's eyes met the spark of youth in his as she returned to keeping a watchful eye on you. Her loathing for the gangster having taken a sudden blow after witnessing his attentiveness to you at her son's funeral in the absence of your betrothed.

"Brute!" her eyes filled with anger as she watched Cal grab hold of your arm, pulling you into the darkness of the corner of the room.

" I can have him find his way into the cut, if you'd like" Tommy scoffed cocking a brow, passing your Grannie the small pocket square of white cotton from the front of his tailored tux, to usher the tears for your bleak circumstances away.

"Behave" she let a small giggle slip, patting his leg as her new budding companion for the evening sent her a boyish grin as she dabbed her eyes through her laughter.

" I'm afraid my dear girl will have even dire choices if Mr Astor happens to go missing. Her last remaining option looking ever the more bleak with each passing day" she sighed as her head cast down in exhaustion to her fingers clutched tightly around the champagne glass resting in her lap.

"Arrow House" Tommy let a breathy exhale out. Your Grannie only confirming his suspicions as to what had you clinging on for dear life to the house that would be better torn down than the many repairs needed to fix the state your father had left it in.

" For what it's worth, Mr Shelby. Your arrival may have thrown a spanner into my granddaughter's secret scheming, but it also brought a spring in her step for the life she once lived to it's full. Something I haven't had the joy of witnessing for many years" she confided in him, resting her aged hand creased with the wrinkles of wisdom she had earned on his arm. "And for that, I'm forever grateful to you"

" You're hurting me" you flinched at Cal's hand clasped tightly around your wrist, his eyes darkening into a bottomless glare of blackness.

" I will have you answer me, Y/N" he demanded, pulling you further into his body, hiding your guests from the controlling nature of your relationship.

" Why was he there, hm? Did you invite him?" his eyes blazed at you with fury. Breaths away from insulting you for his own insecurities having learnt of Tommy's appearance at your father's funeral from your brother.

" Are you whoring yourself out to him?" His paranoia spat through gritted teeth, his tightening hold numbing the extremities of your throbbing hand as your eyes welled with fear." Answer me!"

" Y/N?" Tommy's concerned voice drifted to you with his enclosing footsteps.

" Mr Shelby" you turned away from him, wiping the tears from your eyes with your bruising hand.

" Once again, Shelby. You seek out my fiance" Cal seethed though a throaty laugh, stretching the strain from his fingers that were moments away from snapping your wrist.

" It seems he is quite fond of you, dear" he scoffed with amusement as Tommy handed you a glass of gin, his look of disgust for the man beside him and the state of upset he had left you in further angering him when your limp hand had no strength to hold the small glass of liquor you quietly mumbled your gratitude for.

" A backstreet gypsy boy trying to win himself a woman of society. Whoever gave you the idea you could achieve such a thing?"

" This backstreet gypsy has never been one to turn down a challenge, Mr Astor. Especially not something as pretty as your wife to be" Tommy raised his brow, letting his mouth fall open with a challenging smirk, knowing the bastard in front of him wouldn't have a leg to stand on if he tried his luck with the cutthroat gangster, notorious for killing anyone who dared to come up against him.

" Fellas" your brother came between the two men in an attempt to calm the tension before a bloody shootout ensued.

"Dicky, Harold, meet Mr Shelby. My baby sister's houseguest" he turned to the men beside him as Tommy and your fiance continued to lock horns with a glaring, shared stance.

" Oh yes, the criminal" they tallest sniggered as the other took a chuckling bite of fish eggs on the wafer thin piece of bread in his hand.

" Harold Sterling. We share a business acquaintance" Tommy's head snapped to the giggling duo as he pointed his finger.

" I doubt that" he scoffed as his wife appeared beside him, curious as to who the smartly dressed gentleman was.

" Mr J.R Hughes from Hampstead, London" Tommy reminded him, lighting a cigarette, blowing the first drag of tobacco in his smug face.

" He mentioned you'd be attending this evening's ball. Said for me to send his regards to your wife, Kitty." His eyes narrowed in as Mr Sterling's widened with embarrassment.

" Your secretary, you've been sleeping with her again, haven't you? You dirty pig" his wife quietly snarled at him, as he tried to usher her away from causing a scene in front of the many dignitaries and fellow business partners present.

" Oh I'm sorry, I mean Gladys" Tommy named his second mistress through his cigarette loosely sitting between his lips before he could escape his dues.

" You bastard, you rotten bastard!" She snapped, swatting him across the arm as he cowered away.

" Dicky, how's your old man? Hear he got locked up?" Tommy turned to his next victim, picking them off one by one as you looked down at your drink, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to stop the smile of amusement you had for Tommy's brutal onslaught of the insufferable gang of merry men your brother spent time with.

" You have the wrong man, Mr Shelby. You don't know my father" he spat, turning to leave.

" The whole of Birmingham north of Aston knows him. The butcher of Bordesley Green"

" Your father's a butcher?" Johnathan's brow furrowed as his friend's lips wobbled without an answer.

" If butchering people is a profession" Tommy raised his brow. Ruthlessly unveiling the man's secret, his family had done their upmost to keep hidden from high society. But not from the backstreets of Birmingham his father's midnight killings had landed him in a life long stint at his majesty's pleasure until the noose called his name.

" Good lord, man!" Johnathan looked to his friend in horror, taking a step back from him and the small caviar knife on the porcelain plate in his hand, he feared he would use to gauge his organs out having learnt of his father's murderous hobby, as Tommy watched your finances eyes dart back and forth to him, waiting for the gang leader to reveal his own dirty secrets.

" Gentleman" Tommy left with a wicked smile of satisfaction. Leaving Cal momentarily with the comfort that his own legacy was safely secure. Safe for now, that is.

Watching you from afar at the side of the ballroom later that evening, Tommy continued to quietly endure your brother's nattering of unwarranted business ideas. Only entertaining his nonsense so he could peacefully steal glances at the woman who truly held his interest.

" Compelling, Johnathan" Tommy absently noted, pulling his eyes away from you as he took the last sip from his emptying glass of whisky.

" Another, old chap?" Your brother pointed to his glass, eager to continue his ridiculous business proposition he hoped would earn him big money.

" Yeh" Tommy cleared his throat, passing him his empty tumbler, thankful to be rid of him as he made his way to the lonely seat next to you.

" Mr Shelby" you looked up at him, away from the dancing guests as he settled himself beside you. " I want to thank you, for earlier" your tired eyes looked to him, hoping he understood the depth of your gratitude for intervening.

" Y/N..." he sighed, taking your battered wrist into his comforting touch, brushing his thumb gently over your bruising skin deepened once again with the marks of control your fiance had over you.

" Please, please don't say it. Just let me forget, if only for a moment" you interrupted him, resting your fingers gingerly over his hand as Tommy let out a stifled huff of frustration.

"So, what's this one?" Tommy changed the subject, turning his head to the swaying of ball dresses being guided in step around the ballroom.

" The waltz" you answered, thankful he'd not insisted on the matter you knew looked painfully frustrating to any bystander.

" And why aren't you dancing it, ey?" he turned back to you with a playful grin, keen to see you be spun around if to only have you smile for just one moment like he had witnessed at the ballet.

" I'm untouchable, I'm afraid" you said, raising your left hand and the diamond sitting on your finger. " Only male family members and Cal are seen as suitable dance members" you scoffed, looking down at the weighty piece of jewellery in your hand, only ever letting it grace your skin for events such as tonight's.

" You lot" Tommy chuckled leaning back in his seat, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the rules and expectations of the world you lived in. Small Heath didn't seem so bad after all.

" They show no mercy when they start gossiping" you looked back to the full room of unknown people who were only connected to you by wealth and status.

" Then let them talk" Tommy grabbed your hand, pulling you up and away to the patio doors as Grannie watched from afar with a hiccuping smile in her seat of observation as Tommy shot her a wink.

Naughty boy, she giggled to herself as the years of her own youth and the excitement it brought hurtled back to her.

" Wouldn't happen to have your hawk eyes on Mr Shelby, would you Grannie?" Your brother appeared beside her with two glasses of whisky, as he scanned the room for Tommy.

" Johnathan, must you lurk! Go make yourself busy, child" your Grannie jumped with fright, taking one of the glasses of liquor from his hand, then swatting him away with the other as Johnathan wandered off with a pout.

"Mr Shelby, what...what are you doing?" you breathlessly gasped, having been pulled from your seat to the outside patio quicker than you had time to react to.

" What does it look like, Y/N? I'm dancing " Tommy arched a brow as he pulled his wrapped hand around your waist further into his body.

" Don't be ridiculous, you can't dance" you rolled your eyes, trying to distance yourself from his strong frame, and the blushing effect it had on you.

" I'm a quick learner, love" he smirked as he straightened his back, grasping your hand in his.

As the booming drums rumbled from within the ballroom, Tommy began to lead you into a waltz with your guidance, or what he would best describe, bossy instructions he suspiciously didn't seem in need of, having picked up the steps of the dance astonishingly quickly for a novice.

Quick learner, your skeptical eyes looked up at the cocky grin trying to push past the bottom lip he was biting down on when the interlude of pounding drums had Tommy stomping his feet in unison.

" Stop it!" You huffed, swatting his arm at his playful mocking, when the thunderous sound of the strings recommenced and Tommy suddenly spun you around in his hold, freeing you both from the small patch of concrete he had kept you in as he guided you with long strides across your impromptu dance floor like he had danced it a thousand times.

" Tommy!" His name slipped past your squealing lips when he unexpectedly lifted you up to the starry night of stringed twinkling lights as your dress bloomed around you. The sound of his name and your beaming smile sending his thumping heart racing when he brought you back down into his arms, while your flushed cheeks and darting eyes revealed the embarrassment you felt for losing yourself in the moment.

" Mr Shel..."

"Y/N, shut up" Tommy quietened the use of formalities you had continued to insist on when he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, holding you tightly in his strong hold.

Breathlessly pulling back, your glistening eyes shone through the nervousness settling in your chest as your hands reached to rest on his pounding heart as he wantonly looked down at you, when the urge became too strong and you mutually crashed your lips back together in a passionate hold filled with a longing you had both been desperate to fill. Lips plush against each other, tongues intertwined in a secret dance only you knew.

" Mr Shelby?" Your brother called for the man who was currently locked in a heavy embrace with his sister as he pushed the French doors open with his back, simultaneously sipping from his whisky tumbler.

"Oh, dear" he quietly muttered as the remaining amber liquid poured to the greying concrete floor from his limp hand as he turned to see the unexpected sight of you together, oblivious of his presence.

Now this was a problem. A problem for him and your impending nuptials he was hoping would get him out of the small pickle he found himself in.

Oh dear, oh dear...

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings @classygirlything21 @dana-rmz

[leclerc-s]

paint the town red - part four

FERRARI (TAYLOR'S VERSION)

series masterlist

peter parker i'm going to miss you guys

sebastian vettel it's a week break peter. we'll be fine.

peter parker A WEEK IS TOO LONG! I SPENT THE LAST MONTH WITH YOU PEOPLE!

ollie bearman i'm happy to go home. away from peter. sometimes i worry for him.

bianca stark-potts you wouldn’t be the first ollie.

harley keener i bet oscar is happy to get away from peter

peter parker fuck off

tony stark language

bianca stark-potts pipe down steve rogers

charles leclerc i do not understand

harley keener the avengers were on a mission one time and steve accidentally said language when someone cursed.

peter parker I MISS YOU GUYS!

carlos sainz you just left???

tony stark we should spend the next break at seb’s farm

sebastian vettel ABSOLUTELY NOT! i don’t want you heathens on my farm!

charles leclerc aww come on. call it team bonding or something.

carlos sainz i’m sure you know all about that harley keener yeah you would know all about team bonding wouldn’t you?

tony stark what the hell does that mean?

harley keener nothing old man.

carlos sainz don’t worry about it.

peter parker YOU GUYS SHOULD COME TO NEW YORK SOON!!

charles leclerc i'd like to see my family, thank you for the invite though.

bianca stark-potts harley i swear to god you open your fat mouth and carlos will be down a race engineer.

harley keener well maybe someone and someone else shouldn’t have gotten drunk after bahrain and slept with each other.

charles leclerc it was a one time thing!

carlos sainz then what the hell was saudi?

harley keener IT HAPPENED TWICE??

bianca stark-potts three times actually

charles leclerc although that one doesn’t count because nothing happened. we did sleep on the same bed.

harley keener I’M TELLING NAT!

bianca stark-potts AND I’LL TELL EVERYONE YOU STARTED THAT RUMOR ABOUT CLINT LIVING IN THE VENTS!

charles leclerc it won’t happen again, i promise.

carlos sainz okay mr. 'i won't date her friend carlos. i promise.'

harley keener HOMIE HOPPER!!

charles leclerc fuck you keener.

harley keener of course you would want to, you already slept with my friend now you want to sleep with me. charles leclerc OH COME ON! harley keener it's okay, i know it was an inchident charles leclerc honestly just date arthur, you two are perfect for each other. fucking pricks

biancastark-potts has posted new stories

back home, new york how i've missed you.

mr.woofstappen is glad to be back home.

reunited with my favorite person michellejones

someone teach these boomers how to pose for pictures

AUSTRALIA 2024

scuderiaferrari posted new stories

quali day (carlos' version)

quali day (charles' version)

AND THAT'S ANOTHER POLE POSITION FOR CHARLES LECLERC HERE IN AUSTRALIA!!

THAT'S P1 AND P3 FOR OUR BOYS FOR QUALI!

taglist: @celesteblack08 @be-your-coffee-pot @evans-dejong @elliegrey2803 @bingewatche @arkhammaid @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @melanier7 @ironspdy @mypage-myfandoms @vellicora @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @enchantedthoughts @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @fulla02 @cowboylikemets1989 @six-call @embrosegraves @justtprachisblog @bionic-donut @rmeddar123 @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @raizelchrysanderoctavius

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

¡leclerc-s speaks! peter parker is a swiftie, you cannot convince me otherwise. let's get ready for whatever shitshow las vegas is going to be (i say this as an american. at least i live on the west coast so the schedule isn't as bad for me as it is for others. same time zone as vegas baby!!!)

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[avengers--assembly]

Sleep deprived results

Summary: Peter basically calls Tony dad for the first time and Tony? He is too sleep deprived to actually realise. The end

Word count: 602

Warnings: none

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

Peter yawned hugely as the equations blurred together under his tired gaze. He and Mr. Stark had been working for what felt like forever. They’d started after dinner with Miss Potts, who had promptly chased them away to do their "science stuff." Neither had complained initially, but now that the clock was creeping past two in the morning, Peter knew they both desperately needed sleep. Maybe a snack too, he thought, just as his stomach let out a loud growl. Stifling one last yawn, Peter decided to address his own needs.

“Dad?”

No, no, no. Peter couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He couldn’t have called his mentor, Iron Man, "Dad." Peter's mind raced, conjuring up every mortifying scenario possible. Was Mr. Stark going to disown him or even cancel the adoption?

Before he could spiral further, Mr. Stark replied,“Yes, Petey?”

Was Peter breathing more heavily than usual? It certainly felt that way. Deep breaths. Mr. Stark remained fixated on him, offering no additional input, his half-lidded eyes glazed over. Maybe he didn’t hear me? Should I answer? Yes, yes, of course!

“I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to, uh, have a snack?” Peter finished lamely. If Mr. Stark noticed anything amiss, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Sure kiddo, let’s go. I didn’t even realize we’d been down here so long.” Mr. Stark ended with a sparing glance at the clock.

Peter nodded mutely, following the man and eventually plopping down on one of the island’s bar stools. Mr. Stark started making hot cocoa on the stove, and Peter adjusted his legs nervously. Pepper would definitely deem their current activity unsafe, considering their half-asleep states and the extremely warm milk and open flame.

Peter leveled his gaze with Mr. Stark’s and said the first random thing he could come up with. He had to double-check if Tony’s distant look meant he’d missed the whole "dad" slip.

“Can we make a real cutting-edge, neon pink lightsaber?”

Tony tried to concentrate on the boy’s words but didn’t catch them completely. Peter was staring at him with an analyzing and hopeful expression. Tony was almost certain he’d heard the word "can," so maybe the kid wanted something?

“Sure kid, whatever you want.”

Peter gasped dramatically, and Tony’s half-dead mind tried to grasp a good explanation but found none. Maybe the kid was just excited about whatever he’d agreed to? Tony shrugged and poured the warm, chocolaty drink into two cups before guiding Peter to the couch. Snagging a few cookies on the way, they started a movie that Tony really wasn’t paying attention to.

******

The next morning, Pepper found them both still fast asleep, snuggled up together. Feeling a streak of mischief, she left each of them a personal note. She had things to say after Friday had played some footage from the previous night, things she deemed cute and others not so much. If anybody asked, there were no early morning photos taken.

Peter's note, in neat handwriting, read: "Tony would be honored if you called him Dad, as he already refers to you as his kid."

Tony’s note read: "I swear Tony, if you build a functional lightsaber, no matter what weird color, I will harm you.

P.S. with love from Pepper."

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 2 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Ahead of your first rehearsal with the Los Angeles Symphony, you become reacquainted with Maestra Agatha Harkness.

Word Count: 4.6K

A/N: Helllooo, welcome to chapter 2 of The Lark Ascending! This chapter features a very, very special piece that I strongly recommend giving a listen, I'll link an earlier post with the video. I'm going to try to do updates around every 2-3 weeks but it will sadly depend on my schedule. I'd also like to give a special shoutout to 🫂 anon, who told me of an idea they had of Agatha using her baton to secure her hair back. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the inspiration, I hope I did your idea justice. As always I hope you enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think :)

Danzón No. 2

Previous Chapter

The head of marketing for the orchestra, Pepper Potts, motioned to the promotional materials laid out in front of you. “So what do you think?” 

Squinting, you tilted your head to look at it from a different angle, taking it all in. They were certainly…interesting. Your face had been blown up on all of them, some featured you holding or playing your violin. 

“Um….” You trailed off, trying to keep your tone cheerful. “Well, they’re a little different from what I was expecting, but they look nice.”

The last time you spoke with Pepper, you had explained how you were more interested in focusing on the music than yourself, you had even brainstormed on a few different campaign ideas. At the time you thought it had been a productive conversation. 

“I know they’re not what we originally discussed, but we’ve found that interest groups respond better to a face, or rather, the face of what we’re trying to promote,” Pepper explained, laying out a few different options in front of you. “As our newest artist in residence, you are the face, the center focus. We’ve been trying to appeal to a wider audience, as well as a younger audience. This is the perfect way to accomplish it.”

“What she means to say is, your original idea was boring. But she’s too professional to say that, isn’t that right, Pepper?” Tony chimed in from where he was sitting on the opposite side of the room, scrolling through his phone. 

Pepper let out an exasperated sigh, shooting Tony a glare. “That is not right, Tony.” She gave you an apologetic smile, something she appeared to be used to doing. “Just ignore him. Everyone else does.”

Tony checked the time on his watch, before turning his attention back to you. “If we could wrap this up in a few, is there anything else we need to cover?”

Pepper glanced at her tablet, shaking her head. “We’ve gone over everything as far as marketing is concerned.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, standing up, stretching his legs out. “Let’s get those materials finalized before next week’s Donor Gala.” As he began walking to his desk, he paused, snapping his fingers. “See if we can get Harkness to conduct something? Something more modern, maybe, but not funky Glass modern. The donors will love that. She’s so much more entertaining to watch than Strange.”

“Well that’s not too difficult to accomplish when the man conducts like he’s performing surgery,” Agatha drawled out, and you jumped at the sound of her voice. 

The door to Tony’s office was now wide open as Agatha came strolling in, followed closely by Tony’s assistant.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I told her you were still in a meeting,” the woman profusely apologized, giving Agatha a terrified glance before adding, “but she wouldn’t listen.”

Tony waved off the apology, clearly unphased by Agatha’s behavior. “It’s fine, Sharon. Maestra! Please, come in. I hope you’ve found everything to your liking?”

“You know me, Tony, I’m not particularly picky,” Agatha replied, enunciating every last syllable as she gave you a simmering glance that resulted in you blushing and looking down at your feet. “But I must say, I’m rather enjoying my time so far.”

“Have you met our artist in residence?” Tony prompted, and you suddenly realized he had no idea of your history with the conductor. “Peps, why don’t we get a photo of the three of us for socials? Ask that one intern for a caption, she’s pretty clever. Kamala, I think?”

Pepper sighed in defeat, fishing around for her camera. “Don’t call it socials, Tony.”

Tony then turned his attention to you, as you finally broke the rather intense staring match with Agatha. “Y/N? Have you had the pleasure of meeting the Maestra?” 

Oh have you ever, you thought to yourself. Agatha merely smirked, arching an eyebrow as you stammered for a moment. “I, um, you know it’s funny you mention that, actually. I used to work for her.”

Both Tony and Pepper appeared to be equally surprised with that revelation, and the CFO’s face lit up. “You’re kidding. What a small world!”

“Y/N was my assistant a few years ago, right before she moved to Vienna,” Agatha interjected, still gazing at you with a look you couldn’t decipher. “I’ve been…quite proud of her accomplishments since.”

She was proud of your accomplishments? You knew she apparently watched a video of one of your last performances; you were curious if she had seen anything else (while also wondering why she never bothered to reach out). 

“Rather high praise coming from you, Maestra,” Tony said, folding his hands across his chest as he leaned against his desk.

“Well I wouldn’t have been able to have done any of it without Agatha,” you insisted, various memories of late night practice sessions with the conductor rushing back in nostalgic flashes. “She mentored me while I was still her assistant. She always believed in me, sometimes even more than I believed in myself.”

Tony nodded, and you watched him silently brainstorm as an idea hit him. “That’s it. The Maestra and her protegee. Who wouldn’t want to see a series of concerts with one of the most beloved conductors and her former mentee turned rising soloist? Pepper?”

Pepper was already typing on her tablet, nodding along to Tony’s words. “Already on it. I’ll book a shoot for promotional materials, and we’ll have the press release ready by the end of the week.”

Tony folded his hands together, grinning as he looked back and forth between you and Agatha. “Outstanding. What a lucky coincidence you happened to be in LA, Maestra.”

What a lucky coincidence indeed, you agreed, giving Agatha a curious look. The conductor shrugged her shoulders, her usual poker face hiding whatever emotion she was feeling. “What can I say, it must have been fate.”

Tony started rambling on to Pepper about various ideas for both the Donors Gala and marketing, all whilst you found yourself getting lost once more in the enigma that was Agatha Harkness.

Eventually, you found yourself back in the concert hall right before the start of that evening’s rehearsal. The meeting with Tony had been rather successful, even if your obligations now included doing a handful of press and events with Agatha. How the conductor felt on that subject matter was a mystery to you, as she remained uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, offering only the occasional sarcastic, witty comment whenever Tony suggested something particularly outlandish. 

Now, as you walked with your violin case in hand, you once again thought about being reunited with Agatha after all this time, as it forced you to think about your feelings for the conductor. Even after all this time, it felt as though a large part of your heart was reserved solely for her, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with that information. Agatha wasn’t exactly the most open individual, and last time you nearly had to wrestle her feelings out of her. Plus, who’s to say she even feels the same way- you knew a lot could change in five years. 

As usual, you were getting ahead of yourself. Right now, you just need to focus on getting through your first rehearsal, and worry about your relationship with Agatha later.

You greeted a few musicians you passed, and you nearly froze as you saw someone very familiar waving at you. Standing in the front row with her violin case was your friend and formed stand partner, Monica Rambeau. You stayed in touch with the violinist after you moved to Vienna, but she never mentioned coming to LA. Running up to her, you set your violin down before embracing her in a hug, fully in disbelief she was here. 

“Monica, what are you doing here?” You breathed out, grinning at your friend who smiled back at you.

“The MSO is off for the summer while they remodel the symphony building, so a few of us are filling in out here for the season,” Monica explained, and it was then that you noticed one of the MSO flutists, Dottie and the principal cellist, Hope, up on stage.

“Dottie certainly looks happy,” you noted, watching the flutist enthusiastically chat with a few members of the orchestra on the stage. 

“I think she’s looking forward to having a break from Harkness,” Monica admitted, taking a quick glance around to make sure no one else was listening before adding, “not that Maestra was even around for the majority of the season to terrorize her.”

You felt a twinge of pity at the mention of that. Poor Dottie. Agatha did seem to get some sadistic form of pleasure from tormenting her. But it was the latter part of Monica’s sentence that caught your attention, and you gave her a curious glance. “What do you mean she wasn’t around for the majority of the season?” 

Although you and Monica had stayed in touch over the past few years, you made a point to never ask about Agatha. While Monica never knew about your relationship with the conductor, she at least knew not to bring her up whenever you talked.

Monica shrugged, grabbing her sheet music from her bag. “She was traveling a lot this year, and missed a lot of rehearsals. You know how she gets. Anytime someone would ask where she was, she would change the subject and find someone new to pick on.”

It didn’t take much effort for you to picture that particular scenario. “That certainly sounds like Agatha.”

“A few people think she’s looking for a job with a different orchestra,” Monica quietly told you. “But between you and me, I think she’s seeing someone.”

You froze in place, choosing your next words carefully. “Seeing someone? Why would you think that?”

“She seemed different whenever she’d come back,” Monica explained as she gently grabbed her violin from its case. “Happier, or as happy as she can be, I guess.”

You fell silent at that, trying to keep your facial expression neutral. Was Agatha dating someone? Was it serious? Is that why she came to LA? The questions began to pile on in your brain, the biggest of all being why did you even care?

As if Monica sensed your discomfort, she changed the subject. “So, have you met Strange yet? I’ve heard he’s pretty straight-laced during rehearsals.”

Strange? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the question, until you remembered you never told Monica the news of the change in music directors. 

Clearing your throat, you nervously bit your lip. “Actually, Monica, I should have mentioned this earlier, but Stephen isn’t conducting-”

The all too familiar sound of clapping rang out from the entrance of the hall, cutting you off as everyone turned their attention to the noise, and you were unsurprised to hear frantic whispering at the sight of Tony Stark eagerly conversing with a brooding Agatha Harkness.

The conductor had changed from the outfit you last saw her in earlier that day, opting for a pair of black dress slacks and a violet button down. Her dark brown hair messily fell over her shoulders. In one hand she lightly grasped her baton, while a few music scores were held by the other. 

“Orchestra!” Tony called out, motioning for everyone to gather around him as he walked to the center of the stage. “Unfortunately, Maestro Strange will be taking a personal leave of absence for the duration of our summer season. But I’m very pleased to announce our interim conductor will be none other than Agatha Harkness. She’ll be taking over for the time being, so any questions or concerns are to be directed to her.”

From where you were standing, you watched Dottie’s face turn a sickeningly pale shade of white as Tony went on about what a fantastic marketing opportunity this was for the orchestra. 

“I’m going to turn it over to you now, Maestra. I think you’ll be pleased to see a few members from your orchestra are filling in for the summer,” Tony informed Agatha with a grin, giving her a final handshake before exiting through the side stage doors. 

Agatha leisurely strolled to stand on the podium, her music dropping down with a loud thud as she twirled the baton between her fingers. “Good evening, orchestra. I understand all of you on the West Coast tend to enjoy your relaxed, Erewhon smoothie drinking, sandal wearing, kumbaya lifestyles, but I have a lot to get through tonight. So, I would like to formally invite those of you not on stage to please grace the rest of us with your presence.”

“Sorry, I should have told you sooner,” you whispered apologetically as Monica stared in disbelief at the sight of the conductor. “She ambushed me earlier when I was practicing.”

“It’s fine,” Monica insisted, carefully managing to hold her violin and bow with one hand, while grasping her music with the other. “I’ll see you after rehearsal, good luck!”

While the rest of the orchestra filed on stage, quickly taking their seats, Agatha's eyes scanned the rows of musicians until she stopped, fixating on the empty chair directly to her left. “I see we’re missing our concertmaster? What a pity.”

As you settled in a seat towards the front of the hall, you noticed Dottie squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Unfortunately, Agatha also took notice, and you watched her shark tooth grin widen. “Dottie, I must say I’m rather surprised to see you. I don’t know if I should be more flattered or alarmed, are you stalking me now?”

A strikingly tall woman with jet black hair suddenly appeared out of nowhere, taking a seat next to you, as she gently opened a violin case on her lap. “She’s certainly something, isn’t she?” 

Cocking your head to the side, you frowned. “Who?” 

The woman nodded to the stage, where Agatha was still berating an increasingly embarrassed Dottie. “Harkness, she’s a bit of a wild one. Quite different from our usual Maestro.”

You nodded, watching as the mysterious woman applied a generous amount of rosin to her bow, before carefully placing her now empty case under the seat. “She’s definitely one of a kind. I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman quipped, a knowing smirk on her lips as she stood up. “Our esteemed artist in residence. I caught your performance with the Boston Philharmonic last winter. Your interpretation of Mendelssohn was…surprisingly tasteful.”

You weren’t sure if she was insulting or praising you, but you chose to believe the latter, offering her a polite smile. “Thanks, and you are?”

“Hela Odinson,” the woman introduced herself as she towered over you, giving your shoulder a brief squeeze before she turned away, adding, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have an orchestra to tune.”

Sauntering on stage, Hela cordially nodded to a few of the violinists who said hello to her, making her way to her seat at the front of the section.

It appeared Agatha also noticed the late arrival, as had she paused her verbal rant, curiously eyeing the violinist. “Nice of you to join us, Odinson. I see time management still isn’t one of your strong suits.”

“Well we can’t all be deranged tyrants, Maestra,” Hela playfully fired back, settling in her seat as she placed her bow on the stand, using her free hand to adjust her shoulder rest. “Some of us don’t feel the need to adhere to strict schedules.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Dottie nearly fall out of her chair at Hela’s comment.

Rolling her eyes, Agatha’s grip on her baton tightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s always such a treat to speak with you, Hela.” Tapping her baton on the stand, she waited for the side chatter to stop. “Orchestra, your revered Mr. Stark has requested our presence at next week’s Donor Gala. So, we’ll be switching up our rehearsal schedule. We’re starting with Márquez.”

Dropping her baton on the stand, she stalked off the stage as the orchestra began to tune, the sound of winds, brass, and strings filling the hall, making her way to where you were sitting. 

“I thought you said Stephen was sick,” you reminded the conductor as she approached you.

“A personal leave of absence is just that, dear, personal,” Agatha waved off your concern, “I promise it’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.”

She looked at you and for just a moment it felt like nothing had changed, as if you were still her assistant and you hadn’t spent the past five years apart. You used to love sitting in on rehearsals, always eager for any excuse you could to watch Agatha conduct. Although you’d never willingly admit it, heaven knows her ego didn’t need it, you failed to find a conductor you enjoyed working with as much as Agatha. While most conductors shared the same stubborn, prideful qualities, there was no one quite like Maestra Agatha Harkness. 

But, as quickly as the bittersweet feeling came over you, it was gone again, and you were left with the reminder of how much changed, how much you’ve changed. Leaving you to wonder if Agatha has changed much too?

Taking a step closer to you, the conductor pursed her lips, humming to get your attention. “Did you hear a single word I just said?” The guilty expression on your face gave you away, and Agatha sighed. “I hate to do this, but I need to cut Vaughn-Williams today. You know classically trained musicians have difficulty with more…wild rhythms. I’ll need the rehearsal time to run the Márquez to beat every single last syncopated rhythm into their thick skulls.”

“It’s fine,” you insisted, and you should use the extra time to rehearse other music for the Gala, but you felt something urging you to do something else entirely. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay and listen? It’s been a few years since I last played Danzón, I’d love to hear it.”

As if she was somehow expecting you to say that, she smirked. “It’s funny you mention that, because I’m short a violinist today. I know you’re a hot shot soloist now, and I’m sure this is beneath you, but why don’t you sit in with them.”

It wasn’t a question as much as a demand, but you didn’t mind. You never did when it was coming from Agatha.

“I wouldn’t say it’s beneath me, but of course, Maestra. I’d be honored,” you accepted, turning to grab your violin from its case, and your expression fell as you saw a distraught Dottie slouching in her seat. “Hey, maybe you could try to take it easy on Dottie? She really isn’t that bad, you know.”

The once familiar scent of the conductor’s perfume, subtle hints of violet, jasmine, and sandalwood, overtook your senses as she took yet another step closer to you. “I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I seem to recall you used to enjoy being beneath me, hm?”

Of course she brought up the memory comment you made earlier, knowing the conductor she would torture you with it for all of eternity. You felt your face grow hot as you blushed, before remembering where you were. “Agatha…”

“Besides, I thought you liked how mean I was,” the conductor murmured, in reference to your comment on Dottie, as she stood far too close to you for far too long. “This is my orchestra after all, at least for the next few months.”

Agatha gave you an absolutely filthy wink, heading back to the podium. Raising her baton, she tapped the stand to signal for the orchestra to pay attention. “We’ll be joined by our summer artist in residence, Y/N, for the rest of rehearsal.” 

She paused as the orchestra broke out into a brief round of applause, and you dared to think she looked pleased at that reaction. After a few seconds she waved her hands to cut them off. “From the top, please.”

You were thrilled to find the open chair was next to Monica, and you grinned wildly. “It’s like I’m having deja vu.”

“I know, right. I’ve gotta say, Maestra seems happier than I’ve seen in a while,” Monica said coyly, giving you an inquisitive look. 

“What?” You whispered, wondering what she was implying. Surely Agatha’s good mood had nothing to do with you, there were a few things that occasionally made her happy. She always appeared happier after picking on Dottie, for example, or when one of the interns got fired. 

“Oh, nothing,” Monica innocently replied, getting the music ready. 

Agatha raised her baton, and the room fell silent in anticipation of her downbeat. Then it began, as her hands masterfully began to conduct, cueing in the solo clarinet, piano, and then oboe with a swish of her baton. You loved almost every piece of music you ever performed, but your heart always held a special spot for Danzón No. 2. Filled with sultry and exquisite melodies, it had several different tempo changes that required you to keep your eyes locked on the conductor. In this case, you had no difficulty doing that, as Agatha Harkness was the most engaging conductor you had ever met. 

You were always surprised at how well she was able to connect with any piece and make it her own, with every flourish of her baton and wave of her hands, it was as if she was the one composing the musical masterpiece herself. Danzón No. 2 was no exception, you realized, mesmerized at the sight of Agatha in her element after so long. There was a tempo change shortly after the start of the piece, and the conductor increased the speed of her baton, urging the orchestra to follow her with little difficulty. This was a particularly fun run to play as a violinist, and you allowed your muscle memory to guide you through the familiar rhythms and notes, as it had been a few years since you had last played it, bow moving in unison with the rest of the first violin section. 

As much as you loved being a soloist, there were few things that could compare to the feeling of playing in the violin section. Mastering difficult passages while your fingers moved completely in sync, counting every rest until you were cued back in, it was a special, tingly, heartwarming feeling that you hadn’t realized you had missed until now. 

One of your favorite sections of this piece was the violin solo, and you watched Agatha cue Hela in. The concertmaster was, unsurprisingly, extremely talented, as she used an impressive amount of vibrato on all of her notes, ringing out through the hall. It was a slow, seductive melody, and every shift of her fingers was exaggerated to draw out the intended luscious sound. As you counted the rests until the rest of the section came back in, you couldn’t help but notice the prolonged eye contact between the conductor and the concertmaster. You then thought back to their brief exchange at the start of rehearsal. Did they know each other? Is Hela the reason why Agatha seemed so happy?

The solo came to an end as Hela played her final note, and as Agatha cued the rest of the section back in, she did something you had never seen before. Using the hand not holding her baton, she pulled her hair back, twisting it into a bun before securing it with her baton. Both hands now free, the conductor took more freedom with the slower tempo, leading the orchestra through the gorgeous melody. As the strings took over, Agatha exaggerated her conducting pattern to encourage the orchestra to grow in sound. Closing her eyes to truly feel the beat, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, completely content with watching her in all her beauty.

Her eyes opened, suddenly, and they landed on you, her lips twisted upwards to form a rare, but genuine, smile. You couldn’t help but smile back, you had missed this; had missed her. You never stopped missing her. The moment was broken all too soon, as the next tempo change was approaching, and the strings went back to the background syncopated rhythm, Agatha beat out the faster tempo with her hands, baton remaining in her hair. It continued on, with the brass leading the rest of the ensemble to the home stretch, as the violinists did another run up the fingerboard. 

Embracing her dramatic flair, the conductor whipped the baton back out, her hair flying every which way as she furiously laid out the last tempo change, and the orchestra followed suit. A final piccolo and piano duet played out as the brass accompanied, and you were pleased that Agatha wasn’t glaring at Dotite at all. The rest of the piece was a colorful, loud blend of syncopated rhythms and passages filled with scales that were embellished, pushing the orchestra forward with every measure, unrelenting until they reached the ending. Agatha conducted the last beat with a final twirl of her hands, effectively cutting the orchestra off.

“That wasn’t half bad,” Agatha offered, flipping back through her score and making half scribbled notes with her pencil. “If we could go back to the beginning, I need to hear more of the oboe when they come in, so strings make sure you stay below that.” She turned another page back, making a huge circle, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, and Dottie I need you not to fall over, but that wasn’t terrible. I need more piccolo, so play out more…please.”

From where you were sitting, you noticed the MSO cellist, Hope, raise her eyebrows almost comically high from shock, and Monica stifled a gasp. Craning your neck, you watched Dottie nearly fall out of her chair once more, and you were happy for her. You knew Agatha meant well, in most cases, but sometimes she could take things a bit too far. 

In the back of your mind you were still wondering if she had something to do with Stephen’s sudden personal leave of absence, but when you looked back to the podium, those thoughts were swept aside as the woman who occupied nearly all your thoughts was looking at you expectantly, her baton lowered. She didn’t give Dottie a half-compliment because of you, did she? 

Her hair was still flying all over, as it was even more uncontrollable than normal, and you could make out the beads of sweat on her forehead from the effort of conducting such a fast-paced, intense piece. A rather intrusive thought popped in your head as you stared, reminding you the last time you had seen the conductor that out of breath and glistening with sweat was when you were naked in her bed with her fingers curling inside you as she counted how many times she could make you come. 

No, you could not reminisce on those particular memories now, you thought as you tried to keep the blush from spreading on your cheeks.

It hit you full force, for what felt like the millionth time, how much you had missed Agatha Harkness. But here she was, in all her glory, looking at you for some sort of response and all you could do was stare dumbly at her, trying to wordlessly convey every thought, every feeling you had bottled up for the past five years. 

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Agatha, grateful if she had indeed listened to you.

Finally raising her baton, Agatha gave you a wink, another one of those special, rare smiles on her face. “Let’s take it from the top!”

[natashaslesbian]

Mommy’s Got You Now🤍

Summary: Y/n has a fall while staying at the Starks cabin. Natasha rushes back from her mission to take care of her little girl.

Word Count: 770

Pairings: little/kid reader x Natasha Romanoff , little/kid reader x Morgan Stark, little/kid reader x Pepper Potts, Tony x Pepper (mentions of Clint and Kate)

Hurt/Angst/Comfort/Fluff

Warnings: mention of injury(broken arm and nose bleed) brief hospital mention(no details of medical procedure or instruments)

————

“Morgan! Morgan! Look how high I can jump!” Little y/n called to her bestest friend. The two 5 year olds were competing to see who could jump the highest on the bed, Tony and Peppers bed…

…Y/n had been staying with the Stark family for 3 days while her mother, Natasha Romanoff, was on an intel mission along with her uncle clint and auntie Kate…

“No y/n, look I can jump higher than you!” Morgan said. The girls laughter filled the woodland cabin, all the way down to Pepper’s office. There she sat, listening to the joy echoing through the walls.

“I’m gonna touch the ceiling Morgan! Watch me watch me!”

Y/n used all her strength and bounced up to touch the lampshade, and she reached it - but as y/n began to come back down, she caught her foot on the bedpost and starting diving head first towards the wooden floor. “Y/N!” Morgan cried as she tried to reach for her friend.

The cries and screams (and the rather loud thud) had Pepper bolting straight out of her office and up the stairs, there she met little redhead y/n bundled up on the floor.

“Oh y/n! Come here sweetheart, it’s ok.” Pepper cooed as she cradled y/n in her arms, her little throat screaming out in pain. “MOMMY! I WANT MAMMA!” Y/n cried. “I know sweetheart, I know” was all Pepper could offer as she reached for a tissue to wipe the blood running from y/n’s nose, it seemed she’d managed to land on the left side of her body and right side of her face.

“I’m sorry mom! We were just playing and she fell” Morgan began to also cry hysterically. “Oh honey it’s ok, it wasn’t your fault, do you think you could be a big girl and go find daddy for me?”

Mr. Stark came running up the stairs, following his crying daughter. “Y/n fell” Pepper said “I think we need to take her to the hospital…her arm Tony” Pepper said, whispering the last few words. Tony looked towards y/n’s left arm, bent the wrong way and purple with bruises. “I’ll get the car”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Clint pulled into the car park, Natasha was out the door and running to find her daughter. 3 hours ago Pepper had called and said y/n had fallen over, she hadn’t had an update as to how bad it was yet.

“Excuse me!” Natasha called to the receptionist “My daughter was brought in a few hours ago, Y/n, y/n Romanoff” the blue haired lady began aggressively typing as Natasha noticed a little brunette running towards her “Aunty Nat!” Morgan.

“Hey little bean” Natasha said as she picked up young Morgan. Tony soon followed behind her “Hey Nat, she’s ok, she’s with Pepper, come on I’ll take you”

“Ugh, wait a minute you can’t all go!” The receptionist called….too late.

Y/n laid wrapped up in blankets holding her new hospital bear, Sally. Tears gently slid down her cheeks as she looked over her pink cast. The pain was wearing off little by little but poor y/n was still very shaken up. Her nose yet to be cleaned of the dried up blood.

The curtain was pulled back and y/n shot up. “MOMMY!” She cried as Natasha ran to scoop up her toddler. “Oh baby it’s ok mommy’s here, I’m here now.” She whispered into y/n’s ear as she gave a small wave to Pepper. “Natasha, I’m so sorry” Pepper began. “It’s alright, these things happen, I’m just glad you were there” Natasha almost cried.

Y/n pulled back and looked up into her mommy’s beautiful green eyes. “It-it hurts mamma. Wanna go ho- go home” her little sobs broke Natasha’s heart, she wishes more than anything she could have been there to protect her little angel. “I know princess, you’re so so brave! Mamma’s here, we’ll get you home soon, get you curled up in bed with all the snacks.”

Natasha’s words did not disappoint, 2 hours later little y/n was laying in her mommy’s arms in her mommy’s bed. Toy Story 2 quietly played in the background as Nat stoked her fingers through y/n’s curly locks. “Itchy momma” y/n whined. “Oh darling I know, it’ll go away soon I promise” Natasha said.

Before long the events of the day forced

y/n’s tired eyes shut, empty bottle of milk still between her lips. Natasha swapped it out for her daughters favourite paci and pulled the duvet over them both. She kissed y/n on the head and got a little hum in response.

“Sleep well my angel, mommy’s got you now”

————

Ahhh my first time writing little reader! I hope you enjoyed! Soft mamma Nat is my fav<3

- Star🌷

[waywardcrow]

Timeless.

Chapter IV.

Summary: 1943. 1975. 2024. Three different decades, three different lives, three different times your life and Bucky's interwined; he lost you twice, will he do it again?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader.

TW: It can change each chapter but themes of Bucky as soldier and as the Winter Soldier in general, flashbacks and dreams in italics like this, lots of feels, reader's being a little anxious, some stalking lol, a brief sex scene (p in v), very bad written smut, implied domestic violence (not from Bucky), murder mentioned, past lives, past 40'sreader is mentioned to be named Beth but that changes for 2024 version of her so I nicknamed her little bird for Bucky, Ace for everybody else, this will be a +18 story so minors dni.

Disclaimer: Please remember english is not my first language so if I make a mistake or forget something let me know.

Pictures from pinterest and graphic and dividers by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

Previous chapter <;<<

You were fired, that wasn’t a surprise.

Mia Alexander didn’t sue you for every penny you had, that was shocking.

But getting a call from Pepper Potts herself, that was the real main event of your whole life.

She asked you to go and pay her a visit at her office in the Avengers tower, like if that didn’t send you in a spiral of bliss and terror, what will you wear? What could a woman like her want to talk with someone like you? Even if Sergeant Barnes –Bucky, you reminded yourself- told her what had happened in the gala, she might be mad at you.

Your head begun to think in the possibilities all the way there, considering that this was the reason why Mia didn’t sued you, maybe Pepper Potts would do it.

When you finally arrived to the tower your stomach was in knots, not even your lucky outfit made you feel better but like every other day in your life you sucked it up and walked to the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here to see Miss Potts?” you said, making it sound more like a question and the receptionist stared at your vintage midi skirt and blouse like he understood your hesitation. You offered him a smile before telling him your name so he looked for it in the screen in front of him and gave you a visitant pass.

“Third floor, follow the hall, last door in your right” he said and then went back to his screen.

“Oh, ok, thanks” your neck was hot with embarrassment when you reached the elevators and just became more evident when you got in and someone else did too.

“Good morning, third floor too?” Scott Lang, THE Scott Lang, asked you and you could only nod like an idiot. He did a double take on your face and smiled “hey, I know you; you are the girl who throws champagne at evil bosses.”

You were turning purple, it was a sure thing.

“What?” it was all you said.

“Yeah, the other night you did an incredible stunt, Sam told us everything” so Captain America knew too, great. Scott must saw something in your expression because his changed “is ok, seriously, when we hear what she did no one blamed you for it, I was sure Hope was about to kick her ass and don’t let me start with Yelena” your head was spinning “I think it was brave and more subtle than ruining your boss company and driving a car to his pool”

That earned a strangled laugh from you.

“Are you going to see Miss Potts too, Mr. Lang?” you asked when the elevator doors opened again and you walked with him.

“Actually I’m going to see Maria Hill but I’ll see you later” he smiled at you with such honesty that you relaxed for the first time in all day, making your way to your destiny you noticed the front desk for Miss Potts assistant was empty and you were just on time which was as good as being late.

Without not knowing what to do, you knocked at her door.

“Come in”.

Taking a deep breath, you did it squaring your shoulders and trying to tell yourself everything would be fine.

“Good morning, Miss Potts, I hope is ok I called, there was no one and-“

“It’s completely fine” she said gesturing for you to sit in front of her and went to address your formally even if contradicted her next words “Please call me Pepper, everyone does.

There was something about her, a professionalism that was inspiring but also made her approachable and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Only if you call me by my first name too”

“It’s what you like to be called? Because Sam told me about your friend calling you Ace when he went with Sergeant Barnes to the hospital, I think it fits you” at her words it was impossible not to blush again; first of all because of the mention of Bucky, the recurrent thought of your head the last days and then because of the nickname Harper gave you.

“I mean, yeah, my friends call me that” it was an exaggeration, you only had one friend.

“Maybe we should stick to it, between me and you Pepper is not even my name but I think is perfect for me” there was something like nostalgia in her eyes but she didn’t let you think too much about it “and I like that my employees feel comfortable when we talk.”

“Excuse me, what?” it was really embarrassing how you couldn’t form a decent sentence in front of her.

“I would like you to be my assistant, Ace” she said and then your life really changed.

Bucky still could tasted you, the other you, the one who reincarnated and was born in a rich Italian family in 1950, the one that somehow found him when he was The Winter Soldier.

He wasn’t supposed to fuck you in your fiancée’s car, well ex fiancée, you couldn’t marry a dead asshole. His mind couldn’t know why he needed you that bad but his body did, Bucky was sure it was the conditioning what made him be such a caveman with you but the truth was, you were his mirror back then.

You wanted him since Lucas bragged about his connections to Hydra and how they lend him their best asset to protect the arsenal his father’s company will provided for them. Your whole attention was in the silent assassin who looked at you like you were everything he could ever want.

Lucas wasn’t great with you, his little bird, that’s why he snapped his neck and took you away, sometimes his nightmares will let him breath and remember you surrounding him, riding his cock, high in pleasure, telling him that you loved him before you both were found and he was dragged back to Hell.

As a small blessing, he didn’t remembered that while dreaming, Bucky was too lost on you, in the salty taste of your skin against his tongue when he traced the valley of your naked breasts with it.

“Give me one more, little bird” he ordered, thrusting in and out of you with an incredible skill considering the small space “drench my cock again.”

His english was perfect with you, no sign of hesitation, not remembering he wasn’t supposed to speak it so naturally when it wasn’t necessary; the Brooklyn accent showing up without effort.

“I- I can’t” you sobbed, drunk on him, your body asking for more.

“You will” his metal hand let go your neck to play with your clit, the cold metal sending you to your climax once again, taking him with you.

The softness of your skin against his was the last thing he remembered before waking up.

Harper called you when you got back home and screamed when you tell her the news; she made a joke about coming to work with you so she could see Sam Wilson every day, making you feel better. Since you convinced your parents go and have the retirement they deserved, Harper was the only one you had and she was more than what you deserved but sometimes you wished for more, for someone to go home to.

Like a fool, your mind went to Sergeant Barnes; you needed to thank him for what he did for you.

If not for him, you would have be ruined but how could someone put that in a thank you card?

Maybe you could bake something for him.

Bucky likes apple pie.

The thought came out of nowhere with an intense hint of pain between your eyebrows, what was that?

Maybe a nap would help, your new job waited for you and this was the chance you dreamed of, ruining it wasn’t an option.

When Bucky went to check on you that night, you were already sleeping in your couch, making very difficult for him to let you there. Of course he could break in and carry you to your room without waking you up but it would make you feel unsafe.

It was hard for him to go back to a civilian life, or the closest he could have, his actions needed to be careful, especially around you. It was also torture he remembered almost everything and you nothing at all, that he couldn’t tell you about that night on your porch in 1943 or your breakfast with him, Steve and the Howlies when your unit was sent to Europe and destiny brought you both together again, he couldn't tell you about that time in Italy.

Bucky wanted you to know everything but you will never believe him, in the best case you'd believe it was a joke or a proof of him losing his mind but you could also believe him dangerous –which he was- and get away from him where Bucky would not be able protect you.

Sited there in your fire escape, he started to memorize every part of you he could see through the darkness, if that was all he could have from you, he would make it be enough.

Tag list: @cjand10 @bunnyforhim @cookingdancingchick

Next chapter >>>

Hello lovelies! Sorry for bringing this short chapter, I tried to start going through their past lives but witout giving so much details so this don't gets very confusing, if it still is please tell me so I can work on it, what de you think? I'll love to read about it in the comments!

Love, Lily.

[starker-raving-mads]

For you: Part V

This is the part I was waiting for. :)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

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Peter hadn't slept a wink in two days.

"Baby, come on, you're scaring me here," Aunt May said, frown firmly on her face as she ran her hands through the teen's hair. Peter had been at their small dining table, coffee in hand, bags under his eyes, when May woke up, took one look at him, and realized his insomnia had kicked in again. "Is it the noises again?"

Peter often couldn't sleep because the city was too loud. Even louder now than it had been before, because there was so much more construction and angry shouting from people still trying to make space for themselves in a world that had been half empty a few months ago. That wasn't why he couldn't sleep this time, his mind too entrenched in Tony Stark missed you to shut down. He hummed in agreement to Aunt May, though. Let her think it's the sound, there's no way he could possibly explain the reality.

She pet his hair for another minute, soothing the both of them in the same ritualistic maternal way she always had, before she took his face in both her hands and made him look at her.

"You need to get some sleep," she said, tone firm. "And I know you can't just - turn off the Spider-Man thing," she huffed before he could protest. "But maybe - maybe you could sleep in the penthouse. I know it's quieter there than it is here." She sounded hesitant saying it, and Peter knew why.

Despite it having been months since the will reading and his life having been irrevocably changed, despite feeling comfortable with what was left of the Avengers and spending time in Tony's - his - lab, he hadn't set foot into the penthouse. It felt too raw. Too intimate. Too much.

"No, May, I'll be fine," he protested weakly. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, thankful it would be months yet before his first semester at Columbia started. He could get a hold of himself by then, right?

"Peter Parker," May's voice was sharp. "I will not have you getting yourself sick because of this. If you can't find a way to nap today, here, you're going to spend the night at the penthouse I don't care what you have to say, mister."

That was how, 12 hours later, he found himself at the elevator exit to the Stark Tower penthouse, bag of clothes in hand.

"Mother, would you like to come in?" Friday asked. Her tone was curious, not sure why Peter had just been standing inside the open elevator when the door to the Penthouse was right there. Humans were strange.

"I - yeah, sure, baby girl, sorry," he said, shaking his head.

If being in Mr. Stark's labs was enough to make his inner voice echo he missed you, he missed you, he missed you then being in his penthouse was enough for it to say you miss him right back. The living room was much the same as the last time he'd seen it, though a little sparser. Pictures of Tony and Pepper were now missing, the random pieces of artwork that had lined the walls were conspicuous in their absence, and the caddy that normally held his favorite, ultra-soft blanket he used during movie nights was gone.

He set his bag down on the sleek waterfall counter of the open kitchen and wandered the space, feeling Tony's absence like a discordant note in a song.

"Friday, what happened to - Mr. Stark's stuff?" he asked, not really sure how to phrase the question. There was a lot missing there, like the blankets, some of the pillows, even Mr. Stark's desk.

"Boss moved a lot of the items that were here out when he and Ms. Potts officially moved to the cabin," the AI said before continuing. "Then, after his death and the will reading, Ms. Potts sent movers up to retrieve last minute items."

He frowned.

"Lock everything down that belongs to me, that was Mr. Stark's," he asked. "I don't want anyone coming in or out without my express permission. I don't like the thought of her taking things that don't belong to her."

"Yes, Mother. If you would like, I can send a request through official channels to get any missing items back?"

He sighed. "No," he grumbled. "It's fine, I don't think anything serious was taken - she didn't grab any of the tech did she?"

"No, it was primarily artwork, sculptures, furniture, and other such items," Friday replied. "There were a few things, like blankets, books, and vinyl records she also retrieved. I am sorry if anything was taken that you had wished to remain, Mother." The intelligence sensed his slight distress and her tone had shifted to slightly sorrowful.

"It's fine, sweetheart," he sighed. "You didn't know and it wasn't anything too important."

He walked the rest of the penthouse, the floor very familiar to him. He had his own room here from crashing after too-late lab binges, and sometimes he and Tony would skip the lab all together for a 'day off' and watch movies, order pizza, and just relax. Not every hallway or room had memories, but enough did to the point that the reminders were becoming more of a dull ache than the sharp stabs he'd been expecting.

Walking down the hallway where the bedrooms were, he peered into his own. Officially it was a guest room, but it had been Peter's for long enough that a few of his clothes were stuffed into the drawers of the dresser, one of his favorite pillows was tossed onto the bed, and his old, half-broken laptop was on the desk. He smiled softly. His new laptop - still new to him, despite it having been months (years) in his possession - had come from Mr. Stark after he'd watched Peter fix his DIY one too many times.

"Here, kid," the older man had said, thunking down a sleek piece of silver tech in front of him. "I'm tired of watching you try to bring Frankenstein to life over here."

"You mean Frankenstein's Monster," Peter had replied, smiling up at the man playfully. Tony rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh before walking away. "Thank you, sir!"

"Yeah, yeah, just try to keep your Monster away from me." A wink, and he was on the other side of the room.

Stepping away from his room, he walked further down the hallway, to an area of the penthouse he'd never actually explored - Mr. Stark's bedroom. And, realistically, it was Mr. Stark's. He knew that Ms. Potts had infinitely preferred the brownstone that she was left in Manhattan to the sleek, open views of the penthouse. Peter didn't think he'd ever seen her around the apartment, and from what Mr. Stark said, she'd only stayed over in the early days of their relationship and hadn't spent time here after it became Avenger Tower, and then Stark Tower again.

Peter couldn't really bring himself to feel bad about being so happy over that fact, either when he learned it, or now, as he opened up Tony's bedroom and walked inside.

The room was low-lit, with most of the light coming from the entire wall of windows to one side, city lights gleaming in like stars. There was a patio with a hot tub just outside the barrier of the windows and the silent, faint muffle of city life beyond. This room, in particular, was quiet. Peter had to wonder if it was actually more soundproofed than the rest of the penthouse, or if it was just in his head.

The bed was made, all dark wood and metal platform with deep blue-gray sheets on top. The comforter was probably the softest thing he'd ever felt and god, the smell. It felt like Tony had just left the room, smell lingering across every surface - rich, spicy and musky. Something indulgent and instinctual made Peter toe off his shoes and, still fully dressed, get into the bed.

He covered his head with the blankets and laid in the silent dark, surrounded by Mr. Stark - his scent, his belongings, feeling like he was finally where he was meant to be. His throat closed up with emotions he barely willed away.

Uncovering his head again, he said to Friday, "Fri, turn out the lights and wake me up at 9?", before shimmying out of his jeans. He laid there for a long time before, at long last, sleep took him.

For the first time since he returned from the Blip - and to be honest, probably from before then too - he had no nightmares. No buildings crushing him, no existential pain of being disintegrated, no Mr. Stark covered in blood, light dying in his eyes.

Instead, he was surrounded in warmth and an amazing scent. His senses tingled in the best way, like everything was as it should be. Mind quiet, muscles finally losing their tension. It was perfect.

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Over the course of the next month, Peter split his time pretty evenly between his and May's apartment and Tony's penthouse. He loved May, and he didn't want to leave her alone after so long, but there was something that just felt right about being at the penthouse. She seemed to understand, and said that as long as he still came by to see her a few times a week and they talked on the phone every day that she wouldn't begrudge him the independence. It was a relief to her, he thought, to see him becoming more stable rather than wallowing in depression.

This was probably the biggest change, thus far, since becoming Tony's heir. That, the amount of messages Friday received bugging him for interviews with any and all media outlets, and working on Tony's 'Peter Project.'

A few days after stumbling on the billionaire's research into recreating organic intelligence, Peter decided to pick the project back up again. No matter that it made his heart squeeze almost painfully, he felt like he had to complete it. It was the man's last big effort and it felt wrong to leave it undone.

He'd spent most of his free time - when not with May, his friends, or patrolling - pouring over the data. He couldn't quite figure out why Mr. Stark had ceased his efforts as once Peter found the digital files for the project it looked as if the man had been practically finished.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, he asked, "Baby girl, I swear he made this difficult on purpose. Why did Mr. Stark stop looking into this?"

Could it simply have been that once it was within the man's grasp that it hurt too much to complete?

"Boss was unable to gather enough data that represented the you variable in the Peter Project to continue," she replied.

"What does that mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"The amount of information that needs to be analyzed simply was not enough," Friday explained. "The algorithm to extrapolate and recreate your personality, intelligence, and mannerisms needed approximately 130,000 hours of footage, metabolic data, and other such information before being able to provide a close approximation of what makes Peter, Peter."

The teen did the math in his head before his eyes widened. "15 years??"

"That is correct, Mother," there was that amusement laced within the AI's tone again. If Peter was right, it was happening more often. It made him proud to see his little AI start to grow up. "And since you are only 18 years old currently, this would have been an impossible task. Ideally, the 15 years worth of data would have been collected post-adolescence, as well, to cement what was Peter from what was Little Peter."

Peter hummed in understanding, leaning back into the couch. He crossed his arms behind his head and sat thinking for long, long moments as ideas formed in his head.

He sat upright as something occurred to him.

"Friday?" he asked, nerves making his voice waver.

"Yes, Mother?"

"How much data do you have on Mr. Stark? Like - " he gulped before continuing " - like the data needed for the Peter Project?"

She paused before saying, "As I have access to Jarvis's data as well as my own, I have approximately 144,540 hours of appropriate data."

His nerves tingled, every fiber of his being screaming at him - stop, go, do, don't. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But - but it was a way to get Mr. Stark back. Some semblance of him. A fairly accurate representation, at least, right?

"What's the latest data that you have access to for Mr. Stark?" he asked instead of saying what he really, really shouldn't. He would stop here and now if it was pre-Blip. He couldn't bring a Tony back that didn't have those -

"The final files I have appropriate for this measure are concurrent with the fight against Thanos," Friday said helpfully. "Technically speaking, as well, if you allow me to access Karen's records I would be able to shore up my data with that which was obtained via her recordings."

His heart stopped. Then, it raced.

"Okay baby," he finally said, mind running a million miles an hour now, standing and rushing to his desk. His hands flew, opening new files and folders, copying data, working. "We're opening a new project and I want you to copy over all the data from the Peter Project to it, okay?"

"Yes, Mother." Friday paused, deliberating. "May I ask what this is in reference to?"

"Yeah," he said, mind already ten steps ahead. "We're going to bring Mr. Stark back. Name the new project 'Tony Only Needs You'."

TONY.

[madeforstarker]

Fresh Out the Slammer ♡

♡ playlist ♡ pinboards

[ written with @thatis94 ]

Tony Stark is a handsome, genius, playboy, billionaire, and most of all, straight. Or is he? No, Tony Stark is gay. A secret that has been put in the slammer for all his life. Until he meets Peter Parker. The prettiest woman he has ever seen. And somehow, some way, he thinks he's served his time, and now he's running home, running free, into Peter's arms.

Tags: Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Howard Stark, Closeted Gay Tony Stark, Trans Peter Parker, MTF Peter Parker, Canon-Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Some Humor, Lots of Bisexual Panic, Everyone is Gay, Pepper Potts is a Lesbian Queen, DD/LG Dynamics, MD/LO Dynamics, Gwen is single af, Found Family, MJ is Pro-Potts, Not Cap Friendly (at first), Tony Stark has Abandonment Issues, Lots of Trauma Dumping

EXCERPT:

“We can work with that, yeah," the man responds simply.

Peter nods politely once more, “okay, so, where do you want me now, sir?”

The billionaire sighs deeply. “Just– you can tour the lab to get to know it and I will answer your questions if you have them.”

“Oh, that sounds like a good deal, sir,” Peter says with a beam, excited to see all the tech in the lab, “should I just take a look around… or uhm– will you join me sir?”

Mr. Stark hums, "sure, let me show you what's around here,” He extends his arm inviting her to follow him.

Peter smiles and follows the man, keeping a respectable distance, and if she checked out Mr. Stark’s ass? Well, she’s going to invoke her rights against self-incrimination.

♡ To be published soon... ♡

[princesssarisa]

Some “Little Women” thoughts – In defense of Meg’s marriage

@littlewomenpodcast, @thatscarletflycatcher, @joandfriedrich

Whether Little Women is a feminist book or an anti-feminist book will probably be debated forever.

Most of the debate seems to center around the character of Jo: whether she’s depressingly “tamed” in the end or matures in a healthy way, whether her marriage is anti-feminist or not, and whether or not it’s “anti-feminist” that in the end she’s a schoolmistress instead of a famous author. (Though of course she’ll eventually be a famous author in Jo’s Boys.) But similar debate surrounds the other March sisters too, for various reasons.

Not even Meg, the sister whom readers most often seem to overlook, is spared from these debates. Many feminist critics, such as (but not limited to) Samantha Ellis in her book How to Be a Heroine, have criticized the chapters depicting Meg and John Brooke’s married life in Part II. They label those chapters “depressing,” and they feel as if Meg and John are constantly at odds with each other and miserable. They argue that each of their marital conflicts ends with Meg learning to be a more submissive wife who placates and effaces herself for her husband. And they despise John, labeling him “selfish” and “disrespectful.”

Sometimes I wonder if I read the same book that they did.

It seems obvious to me that Meg and John’s marriage is a happy and healthy one: Alcott is just honest about the fact that even the happiest marriage includes conflict and requires work. Some of these critics seem to think fictional marriages only exist in two forms, “perfect” and “toxic,” with no in-betweens. Nor does John deserve half the negative commentary he gets, nor does Meg’s personal growth within her marriage consist of learning to be a submissive or self-effacing wife. On the contrary, much of her growth consists of her learning that she doesn’t need to be a “perfect” housewife and mother who gives and demands too much of herself, and their marriage becomes more of an equal partnership by the end, not less of one.

Let’s look in depth all three of Meg and John’s marital conflicts.

First there’s the jelly incident.

Here we see the first of a recurring theme: Meg is determined to be the perfect housewife and is "over-anxious to please.” She wants to do everything right and do it all by herself, because she’s afraid that otherwise, she'll be a failure. In terms of her personality type, I agree with @funkymbtifiction that Meg is an ESFJ. In the book, if not in all adaptations, Meg and Amy are both ESFJs: Amy is more of the sparkling “Glinda in Wicked” variety, while Meg, apart from her streak of vanity, is more of the down-to-earth, motherly, “Mrs. Potts in Beauty and the Beast” variety. But Meg in particular shows what @alittlebitofpersonality calls the ESFJ Type Angst. Her eagerness to manage her marriage and motherhood in the most pleasant, correct way (her strong Fe and Si) and her fear of possible failure (her weak Ne and Ti) give her, in A Little Bit of Personality’s words, a “frantic desire to do everything and get it done right now,” so she drives herself too hard.

She shouldn’t have promised John that he could bring home a dinner guest at any time; that’s unrealistic. Nor should she have tried to make jelly for the first time in her life using only the memory of watching Hannah make it; she should have invited Hannah over to help her. Nor should she have become so absorbed in making and re-making the jelly that she didn’t cook dinner; nor should she have let herself be so distraught about the failed jelly, or lost her temper with John and then run to her room, leaving him to improvise a bread-and-cheese dinner and entertain Mr. Scott alone.

John is also at fault and acknowledges it. He shouldn’t have forgotten that Meg was making jelly that day and brought home a guest without warning. He shouldn’t have laughed at Meg’s anguish over the failed jelly, nor should he have joked that he and Mr. Scott “won’t ask for jelly” with dinner. But let’s be fair to John. His laughter is probably just as much out of relief as out of amusement, because when he first comes home and finds Meg sobbing, he worries that something terrible has happened. Then, when he realizes no food has been cooked, he’s understandably annoyed because he’s come home from work tired and hungry, with a guest too, and Meg hasn’t done what she promised she would. But he doesn’t lose his temper; he stays calm and amiable and accepts a cold-cut meal; he just gives his annoyance a tiny vent with his joking barb about the jelly. Then Meg overreacts in response.

In the hours afterwards, he and Meg are still polite to each other, just a bit distant, each sorry but waiting for the other to apologize first. Then, when Meg finally breaks the ice, they both apologize (not just Meg – in fact only John verbally apologizes, Meg just does it with a kiss), everything is fine again, and from then on they both laugh about the incident.

Maybe by modern standards, it is problematic that Marmee has urged Meg to be careful not to make John angry and to always apologize first when they’re both at fault. But it’s not because John has “a volcanic temper,” as Samantha Ellis inexplicably claimed– he so clearly doesn’t! Nor is Marmee’s message “Men are less forgiving than women so we need to placate them.” She’s not talking about “men,” but about John the individual, and she’s not urging Meg to placate him either. All she means is that John’s anger doesn’t flare up and die quickly like the March women’s, but simmers much longer because he represses it.

Then there’s the silk incident.

Say what you will about vanity-shaming and other gendered implications (which of course are valid), but Meg didn’t need an expensive silk dress, and she shouldn’t have ordered it without telling John. It’s not that a wife should ask her husband’s permission to spend money; it’s that no one, regardless of gender, should do anything behind their spouse’s back that they’re ashamed to admit. And again, John doesn’t get angry. He accepts the expense without complaining. He’s just hurt; he works so hard to provide for Meg, and the fact that what he provides isn’t good enough for her, that she says “I’m tired of being poor,” makes him feel inadequate. Yet he tries not to show his hurt and is willing to let Meg have the dress. He cancels his own order for a new overcoat so they can afford it; he’s willing to sacrifice something he needs for something Meg wants but doesn’t need. When Meg sells the silk and buys the overcoat for John instead, she’s only repaying his selflessness in kind.

Finally, we reach the chapter “On the Shelf.”

I’ve read several feminist articles that criticize this chapter and especially John’s behavior in it. But I don’t agree with any of them. John isn’t being selfish the way Meg briefly thinks he is; he’s not jealous of her attention to the twins. By all appearances, Meg genuinely neglects him and overwhelms herself too, because she devotes every waking moment to her two toddlers and thinks no one can properly take care of them but herself. Again she’s trying to be superhuman because she’s afraid of failure. She doesn’t let John be a parent to his own children, or take any time to relax either, and she spoils the twins and makes things harder for herself by giving in to their tantrums. I understand why some feminists are rankled when John starts spending his evenings elsewhere, Meg feels ignored, and Marmee tells her it’s her own fault for forgetting ‘her duty to her husband.” But even if that wording isn’t ideal by modern standards, it's arguably true. To blame John for “not bothering” to help take care of the twins and “forcing” Meg to do it all alone, as some of these critics do, is just the opposite of what the chapter means to convey.

And again, John doesn’t get angry or complain. Nor, unlike what some of these critics seem to think, does he cheat on Meg, either physically or emotionally. He just goes to visit the Scotts rather than feel lonely and useless at home (where Samantha Ellis got the idea that he goes to “what sounds like a dodgy establishment” is beyond me; it’s a friend’s house), and just because Meg worries that his eye is roving to pretty Mrs. Scott doesn’t mean it is.

Arguably, this chapter has a very feminist message about egalitarian marriage and co-parenting. Instead of doing all the work alone and sacrificing her own wellbeing, Meg learns to share her parenting duties with John, and to let Hannah babysit often so they can have much-needed time to themselves too. She also starts to converse with John about politics, so he doesn’t constantly feel the need to seek out a male friend to discuss them, and he returns the favor by conversing with her about domestic subjects too. Traditional gender divides are relaxed. By the end of the chapter, their marriage is more balanced and equal than ever.

I’ve also read complaints about John’s co-parenting. The fact that Meg is portrayed as too soft-hearted, spoiling rowdy Demi and needing John to discipline him. The fact that John and therefore Alcott advocates the potentially traumatic “cry it out” method of sleep training. The fact that John insists on handling Demi’s tantrum in his own way despite Meg’s objections and Meg reluctantly gives in, with references to John’s “masterful tone” and Meg’s “docility.” The possible sexist implication that John knows how to parent better than Meg does.

But I don’t think Alcott meant to imply that John is a better parent than Meg or meant us to see him as lording over her. Even though he won’t let her give in to Demi’s demands, what finally stops Demi’s tantrum is a kiss from Meg after he’s been allowed to cry for a few minutes. They solve the problem together by combining John’s discipline with Meg’s tenderness. Then John shows tenderness of his own by lying down on the bed and holding Demi as he falls asleep, so it’s not a straightforward “cry it out” that he (or Alcott) advocates for sleep training, but something closer to the Ferber Method.

Of course there is an old-fashioned, traditional aura to Meg and John’s marriage and to their roles in the house: Meg as homemaker and John as breadwinner, Meg as nurturer and John as disciplinarian to the twins, and her fondness for sitting in his lap. But of the four March sisters, Meg was always the most traditional young woman of her era. Her marriage dynamic might not be what Jo or even Amy would want, but it’s just right for Meg. And Alcott shows us that with the right effort, even a basically traditional marriage can be egalitarian and mutually healthy.

The one feminist complaint I might sympathize with is that all three of these episodes do revolve around Meg learning to be a better wife. In each instance, Meg is portrayed as being more at fault than John, and she’s the one who learns the chief lesson. But I don’t consider this a sexist choice either. The March sisters are the protagonists of Little Women. Their coming-of-age journeys and personal growth are the focal point. John is a supporting character, so it’s arguably only natural that the “married life” chapters focus more on Meg’s personal growth than on his.

These are the reasons why I personally enjoy the chapters revolving around Meg and John’s marriage, and why I don’t consider them problematic or “depressing.” They’re just a realistic portrayal of the struggles, mistakes, and conflicts that occasionally rise within a happy marriage, which are resolved in a healthy way when both partners put in the necessary work. I understand where the critics who dislike those chapters are coming from, but I can’t bring myself to agree.