#mr and mrs romanov

[milli-moi]

New art no. 2!

So this is based on similar art I’ve seen where a family is drawn in this style (more or less) with the family members they have lost as angels in the picture. I was thinking about our angel widow and how many people she has lost in her life. Obviously this is far from all the people she has lost and the art is sort of a mix of mcu and comics canon which is how Natasha is in my own head. So with that in mind she was born in 1921, hence her parents are dressed as angels for this time.

Can you tell who the others are? (The little girl standing is meant to be a random red room child, not one specific character)

Edit: Decided to name people cause my art tester partner couldn’t get who they were lol. L-R Mrs and Mr Romanov (Nat’s parents), little girl who died in the red room, Natasha who is holding Rose Nikolaevna Starkovskaya, her stillborn baby girl, then Marina, another widow who lived with Natasha in the past and who she was forced to kill. Last is Tony, I could have had others but it was gonna be too crowded

Hope you all like it :)

[tony-starkinator]

@natt-romanoff-official

[spidey-official]

Who’s your favorite avenger? (Other than iron man)

nat!!!! she would kill me if i said anything else

[doctorofmagic]

BABE, WAKE UP!

Dino!Stephen just dropped!

Fantastic Four #12 preview

[jomarchswritingjacket]

i’ve done it

i’ve condensed my list of otps down to the top 12 in no particular order

pick one to be my favorite and i’ll oblige by it

[unlady-like-12-25-36]

More spoof content - Romanoff’s Delight universe:

Nat: *at the store and sees an adorable pig stuffie*

Y/n: *sees the shopping cart* Babe, why is there a huge pig stuffie

Nat: He’s for you

Y/n: 🥹🥹 aww thanks babe!

Few days later at the compound:

Nat: *suspiciously looks around to see if y/n left and pulls the pig stuffie in her arms* I’ll name you Mr. Pig

Y/n: *sighs* i knew she didn’t buy that pig for me 😒

Yelena: *curses in russian* she even loves that pig more than me

Y/n: yeah! She even makes the pig noises wrong. Pigs don’t oink they go bwee! bwee!

Yelena: what?

Y/n: what?

Tags: @adi06lena @mrscromanoff @natashasnoodle

[loiladadiani]

The Imperial Shooting party

This is a rare photo of Tsarina Maria Fyodorovna at a hunting party. In the photo, she is holding up her weapon, ready to shoot. Behind her is Mr. Health (he taught Alexander's son to hunt since at the time it was a gentleman's sport.) The other woman may be Grand Duchess Ella.

In the drawings next to the photo, Alexander III with Minnie are quite recognizable, and even Tsarevich Nicholas.

[j10kkuno]

RP has genuinely been top tier this week. Like emotionally crushing and funny and things will never be the same and they’re already not the same and I miss the old days. I just don’t have the emotional capacity to blog rn(a lot is going on at work and with two friends and their emotional states, one is doing better but I’m keeping worry on the backburner cause of a decision she made, the other is going in for treatment just as I was getting confident in how I felt about them and we were fixing our friendship from the minor breakage)

But things has been great in RP. Lang is never going to forgive Ray, but he still knows why he’s done what he’s done. Ray tried swallow his pride for Yuno and apologized, and it was too late. It’s too late.

It’s as Yuno said. The boys they were-each other’s boys, they don’t exist anymore. And they’ve been holding onto each other’s ghosts but Ray forced them all to face reality. And the reality is that they would choose Lang, even when he was wrong. They would die for him, kill their brother, for him.

It’s not easy but. All this is because of Ray. And Lang escalated. By demanding to torture Maxine for sure. But still.

The best scene was Mickey calling Ray to the spot where Ray oceandumped him all those years ago to talk as brothers and after a good few minutes like 10 squad cars come rolling in and Baas and Knight says Ray is violating parole and thanks Mickey. Mickey insists he didn’t know and you can here it in his voice-the fear, the confusion. Ray just says “betrayed again, leave.” From inside the cop car. Mickey says he loves him, brother, Ray says he loves him too but fuck and to just drive. There’s no world where this wasn’t a setup. A minute later, Kitty pulls up and Mickey runs up to her, “Kitty, what did you do? Who did you tell?”

(Ray self snitched btw. Blau was so confused by it. It was all so movie like.)

There has been funny shit though. Marty finally gave Yuno his CG chain back. Tony asked to see it and immediately dropped it out the car window. I expected nothing less. Yuno and Mickey got Ray drunk and flung him out of a sea plane. Mickey is now the CEO of the VU. Marty and his boys owns it. He knew exactly who to hire as CEO

It’s been good. There was one part that’s been haunting me with Yuno and Mickey that I might make a seperate post on but I don’t want to taint this.

[woulddieforloki]

i'm losing my fucking miiiiind i swear i just tried to embed this stupid fucking link 15 times on ao3 and it wouldn't work. i have never once had a problem embedding links and idk maybe it's because I had to wake up at 5:15 this morning but I kept fucking it up and then it kept fucking it up and I'd try to embed the ao3 search link for romanogers fics that weren't also tagged with frostwidow and it kept going back to just plain romanogers fics and I'm like ??????? it very clearly is not that link???? i can see the total number of fics go down when I exclude that tag???? anyways rip what would have been a great sarcastic response to that person on ao3 slutshaming natasha

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Ten

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Madam Despoina gives you a little more insight, as well as a significant gift.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 10: Curses

This tired old machine is a-rumbling (oh my, oh my). Singing songs to the secrets behind my eyes (oh my, oh my). All my aching bones are trembling, and I may yet fall apart. Won’t you stay with me, my darling, when the war starts in my heart? Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust. The devil’s after both of us. Oh, lay my curses out to rest, make a mercy out of me.  — Curses, The Crane Wives

“His name was Dimitris.”

You frowned at Madam Despoina’s first words to you after she entered the caravan. 

“May I sit?”

Instead of replying, Tommy moved to grab the chair against the wall and sat it next to the fireplace, offering his hand to assist her down. 

The old woman thanked him as she sat, lifting her head back to you. Her worn voice was solemn, tired even, as she went on. 

“Dimitris joined my camp some odd years ago, having traveled from the old country. For most of his time with us, he was a good man — hard worker, good soldier, did what he was told. Recently, he became more aggressive. First it was with the women, then fighting amongst the men. When I discovered that he’d been selling information and stealing… well, I displayed a lapse in judgment with my punishment. He was banished, with a threat of death if he returned. Apparently, he still has friends in the camp. They informed him of your arrival, of your importance. I believe he snuck in during the bustle of preparation—”

“He escorted us into the camp,” Tommy pointed out, interrupting. “He escorted us to your wagon.”

The Madam’s face remained unchanged, her eyes not leaving yours while addressing Tommy. 

“A breech that I am investigating with serious severity, Mr. Shelby, I assure you.”

“He dead?” His question made your gaze move from her to him, causing you to inhale sharply. 

What the hell had your life become where conversations about gypsy fortune telling and gangster murders had become just another Sunday night?

Tommy’s eyes flicked to yours before returning to the Madam’s. For an insecure moment, you wondered if he considered you weak for your reaction. 

“When we find him, he will be.”

The woman’s reply felt like cold water as you realized the creep was still out there. Her eyes softened as she held on to your gaze. 

“I apologize, mikrí mou màntissa. This was not what I envisioned for our meeting.”

You swallowed the irony, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “May I ask — what did he want from you?”

You took a deep breath before shrugging. You had no idea how long ago the event had occurred, could have been an hour or ten, either way you just wanted to push it as far from your brain as possible. It didn’t help that you were on the tail end of your buzz — that and the adrenaline (and your newfound ability to disassociate and compartmentalize) made the memory feel fuzzy. 

“Um, well,” you began, speaking for the first time since the Madam entered the caravan. “Originally he thought I was Anastasia Romanov,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you said it. 

Tommy’s brow creased, “Who?”

You missed the way Madam Despoina watched you answer his question. 

“The Romanovs? The Russian royal family that was just killed like—” you paused as your brain tried to do the quick math. “Holy shit that was just this year,” you muttered to yourself, though the other two in the room could certainly hear you. 

“We heard somethin’ about that in France. A revolution, ya?” Tommy pondered, reaching into his jacket pocket on the hanger to grab a cigarette while shrugging — as if hearing one of the biggest historical events ever was just no big deal. “Who was she, exactly?” 

Realization of just how disconnected you were from the rest of the world began to set in. You’d been here for more than three months, and the only real news you’d been privy to had been the war end. And that was only because Ada had shoved the newspaper in your face. 

You made a mental note to start saving enough to purchase newspapers when you got back into the city. If you were going to be here, you wanted to know what was going on. 

“She was a daughter of the tsar,” the Madam answered for you. “A princess. When the family was taken to be executed, it was rumored that the princess escaped.”

You nodded, “Creep-o said he thought that’s who was coming to the camp when Madam Despoina said they had special company.” 

The Madam hummed her understanding. “We’ve often had queens and princesses come to bargain for good fortune. Dimitris thought you were the princess.”

“He said he knew I wasn’t Russian though due to my accent. I may have implied with my tone that he was an idiot for believing the rumor… he didn’t like that.” You grew angry at the memory of him grabbing you, instinctively wrapping your own arms around yourself. “Still, he said that you thought I was someone important. That he could use me somehow to make him money.”

Somehow was beginning to feel a lot like selling as you said the words out loud. The words sat bitterly at the tip of your tongue as your anger began to bubble. 

“What did he think he was going to get away with, huh? Kidnapping me and holding me hostage? Handcuffing me to a table and forcing me to give seances? The nerve—“ you fumed as you grew lost in your own imagination. “What psychopath thinks he can do that? I can’t even tell fucking fortunes! I’m not important! I can’t—“

The tears surprised you as your anger began to catch in your throat. This was the second time today you’d began to cry out of frustration, exhaustion, everything. And you hated yourself even more for it. 

You felt weak again. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to control your breathing, and suddenly you felt two hands cradling your face. Expecting to see Madam Despoina, who’d been sitting closer to you, you were surprised when you opened your eyes to see it was Tommy who was kneeling in front of you, his own face inches from yours. 

You felt ashamed again for your weakness, dropping your eyes and trying to push him away. But he held on to you and forced you to look at him again. You prepared to see disappointment or pity in his eyes, but instead you saw the same reassurance that you’d almost come to rely on in the depth of his crystal blues.

“That won’t ever happen,” he said confidently. “You’re not a doll, remember? And you are strong. If the Delphi don’t find this fucker, the Peaky Blinders will. Either way, you’ll never see him again, you understand me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly, the tears no longer falling as he wiped what remained off your cheeks. 

“I have a second reason for coming by,” Madam Despoina’s words broke the spell between you and Tommy, who stood up and resumed his original position between you two women and the doorway. She reached inside her baggy skirt pocket and pulled out a small wooden box, extending it to you. “I wanted to offer you this gift.”

Your brow furrowed as you took it. 

In the Madam’s hands, it appeared to be an ordinary box. But when you ran your fingers across the edges and held it toward the light of the fireplace, you could just make out the intricate carvings. It reminded you of the inside of this caravan. On the lid of the box was the Delphi symbol — you couldn’t help the way your pointer finger moved from the trunk of the tree upward, through the branches and down one side of the circle, across the roots, and up the other side until you completed the path. 

“It’s beautiful,” you couldn’t help but breathe out as you finally lifted the lid. Your brow furrowed again as you examined a pouch of leaves and small vile of water inside. 

Madam nodded. “Boil some water and let the leaves soak, then pour in the water from the vile before drinking the entire cup.”

“Tea? You want me to make tea?” You looked between her and the box. “Um, why?”

She smiled. “My gift. It’s one final conversation with your mother.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, the words falling out absentmindedly, “What? You’ve got to be joking.” You looked down at the box suspiciously. “What is this then, drugs?”

“These are passed from our ancestry, they’re very valuable and once designated cannot be transferred to another. The water is from the original springs of Delphi, the leaves are from the gardens of the temple.”

“The leaves that gave the priestesses epilepsies?” you questioned, raising your brow as your suspicions were confirmed. “You want to drug me and pretend like whatever hallucination I might get is some divine vision from my dead mother?”

The woman gave you a smile, “You still disbelieve, don’t you, young girl?”

You set the box down on the bed next to you and shook your head. “I mean no disrespect, Madam Despoina—“

The old woman lifted swiftly from her seat and reached for your hand. Out of surprise and instinct, thinking she must have fallen, you jumped off the bed and squeezed her hand, matching her firm grip with your own. 

The room flashed white. The Madam before you was all you could see, but as your eyes adjusted, your vision began to shift. 

Her face — it began to change. You recognized the woman’s face, something ancient and beautiful, with eyes that glowed that brilliant gold you’d seen in your dreams. Another flash, and the face began to morph into so many faces, one after the other. Hundreds of women, all unrecognizable and yet something familiar pulled at your gut. 

Suddenly the shifting stopped as you saw your mother’s face. You gasped, taking a step forward before your mothers face morphed again. This time, your foot moved backwards as you looked upon your own reflection. 

Snapping your hand out of the old woman’s hold, your vision cleared. You were catching your breath as you found the familiar brown eyes of Madam Despoina, the caravan surrounding you again, a knowing smile pulling at her cheek. 

Your eyes found Tommy’s, who had taken a few cautious steps toward you both and was looking at you concerned. “You okay?”

“I saw— I, I thought I saw—“ you breathed out, your eyes moving back to the Madam as you held your hand to your chest. 

“Drink the tea. Talk with your mother. She will be able to tell you now what she could never before.”

She turned to leave before stopping. When she turned back to you, she reached out for your hand again. You flinched at her touch, expecting the same thing to happen again, but nothing did.

“During these winter times, our camp retreats back to our home ground to prepare for the cold. We drink and dine as is tradition during these darker and colder months until it is time to travel again. But this year I knew we had to wait — that we were waiting for you.” 

She squeezed your hand as she held yours between both of hers. 

“Today I have felt closer to our god than I have in many years. I had nearly forgotten what his light felt like, but with you, I can feel his warmth again. Won’t you stay?”

“We can’t,” Tommy answered for you, his voice stern. “We promised we’d be back ‘fore Christmas Eve.”

In the back of your mind, you knew that was a lie. Tommy had already told you he’d prepared for you both to be gone for as long as a week’s time. But you didn’t dare question him now. 

Besides, you felt as though her question wasn’t just a courtesy to stay tonight, or even for a few days. The question felt like an invitation — to stay with the Delphi family. 

For a split moment, you considered her offer. You were already a time traveling fish out of water, and you’d bet money that she knew more than what she’d even revealed tonight. Maybe you were here to find them — maybe this is where you were meant to be. 

But your eyes instinctively looked to Tommy at the thought, and your chest tightened. 

Maybe it was a mistake, but that stupid part of your brain or hormones or whatever it was controlling you couldn’t leave Birmingham. 

The Shelbys. 

Tommy. 

Madam Despoina hummed an understanding, her eyes watching your internal struggle. “Then you should leave now. There are some here who are under investigation of helping Dimitris, and it may not be as safe as I’d have wished for you here.” Her eyes dropped in shame. 

“If you thought we may be in danger, why would you ask for me to stay?” 

“I’m an old woman, mikrí mou màntissa.” She repeated the foreign words again, and her soft smile made you sense they were a term of endearment. “Sometimes I’m more selfish than I’m proud of. I will see you again someday, Cassandra. Until then, remember what I told you —“

“Stay true to myself.”

“Aye. You will feel like you can’t use your second sight for fear of alteration, or alienation. But it will be your asset in the times to come. And it can save those around you, if you let it.”

She looked to Tommy then, whose brow creased at the conversation. 

The Madam smirked. “Our god is closer to you than you think.” Her attention moved back to you. “Listen to your mother. Break the cursed chain.”

She turned again to leave. 

“Wait,” you stepped forward as she paused. “Why are you giving me this now? You told me before that it wasn’t the time. What’s changed?”

Madam Despoina let out a humored hum. “You’re not the only one who gets visions, love.” At the doorway, she stopped and turned to Tommy. “Remember what I told you as well, Apollon.”

With that, she left the caravan. 

Tommy ran his hand through his hair as he let out a breath. “We’re leaving. We’re gettin’ in our wagon and gettin’ the fuck out of this nut house.”

He began to get dressed, throwing on his gun holster over his shoulders before putting on his jacket. 

Your brain was processing the name Madam had called Tommy. “She called you—“

“Get dressed,” he instructed, ignoring you and handing you the bag and your shoes before grabbing the rest of his clothes. 

You pulled out one of the clean skirts and pulled it over your nightgown. You grabbed your jacket and threw it around you before shoving your feet into your shoes. Stuffing the rest of your items in your bag, you gingerly picked up the box Madam Despoina had given you and set it on top before latching it closed. 

Tommy returned, offering you his hand to lead you out of the caravan and through the dark, clutching the bag close to your chest. The wagon came into view, Johnny Dogs hustling to secure Midnight. 

“Tommy, she called you—“

He shushed you, his eyes flashing down at you before making a quick scan around you both. “Not now.”

You huffed. “Never now.”

“Soon,” he reassured, giving your hand a squeeze before jumping in the back of the wagon while Johnny appeared at your side. “All clear?”

“Aye, Tom,” Dogs replied. His usual jovial vibe was gone tonight, serious as he addressed his friend. 

“Good. Up ya come,” Tommy offered you his hand as he stood in the wagon. 

Your brow furrowed, expecting to sit with him in the drivers seat like you had earlier. 

“There’s a bed in here, and some blankets. It’s the middle of the night and you’ve had a long day. You already fell asleep once today, I don’t need you fallin’ over on the drive back.”

Your instinct was to fight back, prove him wrong. Before you could reply, he squatted closer to you. 

“I won’t have you sitting like a fuckin’ target in case we run into trouble on the road. I don’t expect it, but I’m a cautious man, ‘member? Get in the wagon, and let me keep you safe.”

“She called you Apollo,” you whispered, looking between his eyes. 

It felt like you were standing in a room with thousands of puzzle pieces, and every time you thought you’d found a connection, thought you’d gotten a handle on the full picture, a new piece would pop up and throw you off your track again. You felt like you were slowly losing your mind. 

He softened his look, grabbing your hand and lifting you into the wagon. You let him walk you toward the front before gently pushing you down onto the small mattress pad. “Rest. Once we’re safe, you can explain to me why.”

You swallowed as he stood back up and climbed through the front flap of the wagon and sat on the bench. Johnny Dogs wished you a small farewell and you gave him a sympathetic smile before he secured the back of the wagon. 

Despite everything that’d happened to you tonight, you’d enjoyed the man’s company and hopped to see him again. If Tommy allowed. 

You could see Tommy settling in his seat from your spot, grateful for the secured tarp on the side your head rested against to cut the cool night air as the wagon began to move forward. 

The wheel hit a bump, causing your bag to jump against your leg. You picked it up and secured it against you, not wanting anything to happen to the box inside. 

The box filled with the magic drugs, that is. 

What were the chances that the leaves and water in that box were actually from the Temple of Apollo in Greece? Was it old? New? There’s no way something like that could have survived all this time, and there was definitely no way that if it had, someone would just hand it over to a complete stranger for nothing. 

And the flashes that you saw — was it the drinks you had tonight? You had a hard time believing that the woman you just left would have you drugged without your knowledge — but the cynical side of you, the cautious side as Tommy might say, couldn’t exclude the possibility entirely. 

No, you shook your head, trying to reason your way out of that thought. Why would a woman who already had you drugged offer you more drugs and tell you what they were? If she’d done it once, what was stopping her from doing it again without your knowledge? She could have made the tea herself and fed it to you easily at any point during the night. But instead she gave it to you in pieces, as a gift, and told you exactly what it was (more or less - you still weren’t entirely convinced). 

So if you weren’t drugged, then you had to have just been ole fashioned drunk. 

You shook your head at yourself again, getting more comfortable on the mattress until you were laying down, the wagon wheels continuing to move along underneath you. 

Nothing like that had ever happened to you after a night of drinking before. And there were definitely nights you’d been way drunker than you had been tonight. 

The only time you’d seen visions like that before, with the white flash and everything, was the night you traveled back and saw Tommy in the mud. 

But why Tommy? was the last question you asked yourself before your eyes began to drift closed and you wrapped the blanket around yourself. 

And why did Madam Despoina call him Apollo? 

——

“Cassandra.” 

Your god reached out to you, his once ice blue eyes had now returned to their brilliant gold, his look was full of concern. 

“You just said—“ your breath was short at the previous feeling of dread as you grasped at the front of your dress to steady your heart. 

He cupped your face with his hand, “I said that I didn’t expect to fall for you, Cassandra.”

No, you thought. There was rage, there was anger. He said he cursed you… didn’t he? 

But as you looked up at him now, the face you saw was the same face you’d been gazing upon night after night. You hadn’t intended to fall for the palace gardener. The first night you’d come out here was the day you pledged your allegiance to priesthood. You’d sought solace, a place to sit with your thoughts to ensure that you were making the right decision. 

The gardener had surprised you, his voice soft and kind as he asked if you were okay. After that, you’d come to rely on the man as a confidant. Eventually, you were spending most of your day awaiting the hours until you could see his sweet face again. 

But now, everything was different. He wasn’t a man at all — he was a god. He was your god, confessing his affection for you. 

And yet still, you touched your lips at the memory of his cold blue eyes, his angry words, his curse. 

His brow creased as you pulled your face away, turning back to the garden ledge as you looked out to the sea. Your eyes focused on the horizon line, where you saw ships sailing toward your kingdom. Thousands of ships - an armada. They were racing forward, growing closer and closer to the shoreline, launching hundreds of arrows into the air.

“We’re under attack!” 

You turned back toward your lord and pointed, but he only shook his head. “There’s nothing out there.” 

Whipping your head back toward the sea, your eyes searched for the sight of the ships, but they were gone. The seas were calm once again.

“But—“

An explosion caught your attention, pulling your gaze back down toward the square of the city. It was on fire — people were screaming, children crying. Men in foreign armor raced through the streets on horses, swinging swords and axes, killing your citizens. 

You blinked — they were gone. 

‘You’re cursed, Cassandra! You’re cursed!—‘

“Y/N!”

You jumped at the shout, turning to find Harry standing at the end of the bar with his arms crossed. 

“I don’t pay ya to daydream. We’ve got a packed ‘ouse now snap out of it.”

“Sorry, Harry.” You flushed at your absent mindedness, picking up the rag and moving to give the counter a good swipe before heading toward the first man with his arm reached forward. 

But through the monotony of the job, your mind couldn’t help but wonder back toward your dream in the wagon. 

Tommy had woken you up the same as he had on the drive to the camp. Clinging to his arms, you found yourself gasping for air and your cheeks damp from tears. Embarrassed once again for waking up in a panic, you began to wonder if you’d ever have a normal night’s sleep ever again. 

Despite the nightmare, you’d somehow managed to sleep through most of the drive back into town. You rode up front for the remaining drive back while Tommy hit you with the realities of going back into society. 

“There’s something we need to discuss before we get back to Small Heath,” Tommy had started in his serious voice. “Only Polly knows where we truly went yesterday. Arthur, John, and Ada know a version of the truth — they know we were lookin’ for a gypsy clan that might have had some of your last surviving family members, but we’re gonna tell ‘em we were unsuccessful in our journey. That they were supposed to be outside the fairground, but they were nowhere to be found, so we came back and you decided to give up the search. Got it?” 

You had nodded. “And Polly? What are we going to tell her?” 

“That’s up to you,” he surprised you with that response. “But one thing I want to make clear. That we saw Johnny Dogs and what was discussed with him will be told to no one, ya?” 

“Can I ask why?” You threw the question out as a tester — it wasn’t a no to his confirmation, but you were curious if he’d shut you down or trust you. 

Tommy didn’t respond right away, staring straight ahead at Midnight pulling the wagon forward. You swallowed, ready to admit defeat, when Tommy cleared his throat. 

“Most of what we do is illegal. To make any real money, to gain any real power, we need to expand into some legitimacy. It’s the only way to break out of Birmingham.”

“And Billy Kimber has something to do with that?” 

Slowly, Tommy nodded. “Think so. Still working out the details, but it starts with Johnny Dogs. That’s all I’m willin’ to say now.” 

You thought about the words exchanged between the two men, about what Tommy said on Saturday about domination. You wondered if his ambition extended further than just working with the racetrack owner, or if he wanted to control it. 

Tommy didn’t seem like a man who limited his ambitions. 

“Got it. Not a word, then.” 

You paused, contemplating what you were going to say next and deciding to just go with it. What the hell, right? 

“I still think you should look into running alcohol into America. The probability of a prohibition is higher than you’re estimating.” 

“Thought you said you weren’t a fortune teller,” Tommy rose his brow up as he looked at you. Beneath you, the dirt roads had transitioned into cobblestone, indicating an end to your ride. 

You’d shrugged, “I’m not. I’m just a woman on your payroll, who sometimes knows things, offering you business advice.”

Tommy watched you for a moment more, but chose not to push you on it further. Neither of you said anything as he made his way to your doorstep. You’d mentioned wanting to change and then head over to the Garrison, hopping to mend the nagging feeling you had of Harry being angry with you and offering to work a shift that evening. 

“I’ll see you later then,” Tommy had said as you turned to leave, watching as you clung to your bag and ascended the stairs. 

To his promise, Tommy walked through the doors of the Garrison some odd hours later, an entourage of men behind him. Harry hustled to shoo people out of the snug before escorting the men into the private room. 

This had been a part of the deal Tommy had made with Harry, apparently. The Garrison was not only protected by the Peaky Blinders, but now it was officially the pub of choice for the gang. That meant that any time a Peaky boy was in the premises, the snug had to be available. It also meant that anything a Shelby man ordered was on the house, no questions asked. 

Tommy still dropped a coin at the snug window when he asked for a bottle of whiskey and six tumblers. 

“Irish or Scotch?” You asked, a smirk playing at your lips as you watched him attempt to stop his own smile. 

Without his response, you grabbed the Irish Whiskey and glasses, circling the bar and turning into the private room. Tommy was taking his seat as the men around him grabbed for the cups, Arthur electing to grab the bottle and open it. He poured himself a shot first, then Tommy, then John, before passing it to the other three in the room. 

You vaguely recognized the three non-brothers from the betting shop, and part of you wondered if any of them were the book men you audited as you began to wipe down the table.

Arthur was patting John on the shoulder, sounding already drunk as he went on about the boy finally getting out of that house. You took a quick look at John, who looked tired as he mumbled something about the kids driving him mad. 

You smiled at that, silently wondering if John being out meant that Martha was starting to feel better. You made a note to ask Tommy about her later as you asked aloud if anyone needed anything else. 

“That’ll be all, Y/N,” Tommy answered for everyone. 

You gave a friendly smile, eyes scanning the room before landing on one of the non-brothers, who was watching you quite intently. As a barmaid, you were either invisible or the subject of lustful attention, so a part of you was used to the creepy looks and just bid your time until the man either hit on you or lost interest. Not expecting this kind of attention here, with Tommy around, you felt caught off guard. Awkwardly, you nodded and left the room, leaving the doors open behind you. 

Some time passed as you worked the room, the crowd slowly beginning to lessen as the night went on. You were working on the pub books, taking advantage of the lull, when the man who’d been watching you from the snug approached the bar.

“You’re Ada’s friend, ya?”

You couldn’t stop the quick look through the snug window, noticing that the other Peaky boys were still in there, working on their second bottle. “Um, yeah,” you answered, offering him a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Need something?” 

“Ya, a mild.” 

Trying to control your annoyed face at having to pause your book work — seriously, there was no way you could ever leave Harry in charge of the books ever again — you rose from your seat to prepare his drink. You could feel him watch you as you worked. 

“I’ve seen ya round the Shelby house with Ada and Ms. Polly. I work there, with the boys. Names Benji.” 

Benji — you recognized the name as one of the bookkeepers at the betting shop. He was one you’d been suspicious of for a while now. 

The first couple big offenders of stealing from the shop had disappeared some time after you brought them to Polly’s attention. At the time, your innocent mind believed they’d just been fired and moved on — but now you knew better. The chances that those men were still breathing were slim. 

With Benji’s records, his error rate decreased after the first few men were outed, and you always suspected that he was biding his time before he began to steal again. You just had to wait until you had more evidence. 

For a paranoid moment, as Benji’s eyes scanned you over, you wondered if he knew about your secret employment. He was a Peaky boy, after all. He lifted his hand over the bar counter as an offering when you set his drink down. 

“Y/N,” you offered out of ceremony, your smile still not quite genuine as you shook his hand.

“Y/N,” he repeated, donning his own smile as he looked at you again appreciatively. He wasn’t unhandsome, so you imagine that smile worked on most girls. But after what happened to you last night and your suspicions about his bookkeeping, you felt yourself taking a step back out of caution. “Next time you’re in the shop, say hi.” 

You watched as he took his drink and swaggered back into the snug. Part of you was slightly surprised at his boldness. You were a friend of Ada’s — his employer’s sister. Plus, you and Tommy—

You scoffed at yourself. You and Tommy what? You weren’t a couple — you didn’t think so, anyway. He hadn’t gone to kiss you, or even offer to walk you to your apartment door when he’d dropped you off. What’d happened last night before Madam Despoina interrupted had been… hormones. A mixture of adrenaline, alcohol, and an attempt to grasp onto some kind of sanity after a series of crazed events. 

He hadn’t spoken of the moment since — hell, he hadn’t spoken of any of it since, something that was also making you anxious.  

Out of instinct, your eyes moved to the window of the snug where you could see Tommy sitting comfortably in his chair. As if feeling your gaze, his own eyes moved to meet yours. You jumped slightly, feeling as if you’d been caught, and proceeded to go back to checking on the other patrons in the room. 

You’d settled back to working on the inventory, almost finished when the Peaky boys loudly made their exit of the pub. Surprised, Arthur shouted a drunken goodbye to you, even using your name as he waved and stumbled out the doorway with his arm around John. Benji turned and gave you a wink before following the group out the door. Tommy stood back, watching the whole thing before walking over to the counter. 

“What was that about?” He asked, gesturing over his shoulder to the doorway. 

“What? Arthur saying goodbye? Not sure, but it’s a big improvement over him calling me a whore or just grunting at me—“

“Not Arthur, Hancock.”

Your brow creased. “Who?” 

“Benji,” he added, and you realized Hancock must be his last name. Tommy poured the last of the bottle into his drink. 

You stood up from your seat again and walked over toward Tommy, taking a scan of the room. There were only two young men in the corner finishing up their last round, but you still kept your voice low. “Who knows about me?” 

It was Tommy’s turn to furrow his brow. “‘Dya mean?” 

“My job, at the house.” 

Tommy nodded, understanding. “Just immediate family — me, Pol, Arthur, John, and Ada.” 

“And before you guys returned?”

He shrugged, “Just Pol and Ada, I believe. What’s this about?” 

“I was just paranoid, I guess. I thought for a moment Benji may have suspected me, but now I think he was just coming on to me.” 

Tommy’s back straightened at your comment, lifting his glass for another drink. “And is that somethin’ that you want?”

“No,” you answered immediately, watching his shoulders immediately relax. 

“Good,” he said softly, his eyes moving down to your lips. “Let me walk you home?” 

You smiled at both his response and his request, wondering if maybe you were wrong about what exactly you and Tommy were. 

“I can’t go until those two leave,” you said quietly as you gestured to the corner. 

As if realizing for the first time that the two of you weren’t alone, he turned to the other guests. “Oi! Time to go!”

The young men jumped from their seats and scattered out the door. You couldn’t hold in your surprise at the immediate obedience. 

It’s good to be the king, you found yourself quoting Mel Brooks in your head at the action, not yet confident enough to say your quip out loud. The thought still made you smile though, and you were again surprised when Tommy offered you a smile in return. You knew how rare a Tommy smile was. 

“Fine, but I still have to put the book away and sweep the floors. Harry mentioned something about putting in an ad for another barmaid — I’m not about to further piss him off and have him replace me.”

Tommy scoffed. “I’ve seen the receipts, you practically saved this business. He’d be a fool to replace you.”

Your pride swelled at the compliment as you lowered your head to hide your blush. 

Luckily, it’d been a rather tame night, so your cleanup was minimum, allowing you and Tommy to leave soon after everything was put in order. 

Tommy lit a cigarette as you locked the door, wrapping his coat around you tightly and cursing to yourself how right he’d been about it getting colder. 

“Come to dinner tomorrow,” he said, breaking the silence on your walk. It didn’t sound like a question, but his gaze down toward you implied that he was waiting for a response. 

“To your house?” You asked, curious if this was just a regular dinner or a date dinner. 

He nodded. “Aye, Christmas Eve dinner with the family. Ada made me promise to ask.” 

You deflated slightly at his follow-up. Was Ada’s insistence because Tommy didn’t actually want you there? God, listen to you — sounding like a pathetic teenager again overanalyzing everything your crush said. 

“Okay,” you said instead. 

“Good.” 

He stopped and faced you when you got to your apartment. Gently, he lifted his hand and cupped your cheek, pulling your face upward until your lips met his. It was a soft kiss, but it still left you breathless as he pulled away. 

“After dinner, when everyone’s distracted, we’ll talk, ya? About the dreams, about what Madam Despoina said, and about why when I was waking you up this afternoon you kept saying that you were cursed.” 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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[widowwnat]

natasha romanoff prompts/headcanons 4/?

natasha's birth name being natalia alianovna romanova is somehow unknown to the avengers

when the accords came out and the avengers were reading whilst sitting in the meeting's table, they get to the page where it says the names of the avengers and a little box underneath each name for them to sign.

all the names are there 'anthony stark, steven rogers ect.'

they see one name thats completely unfamiliar 'natalia alianovna romanova'.

tony is obviously the one to speak up and ask 'who the hell is that...?'

and secretery ross looks and him and smirks 'that is your resident miss romanoff'

natasha turns around and deadpans 'bitch you thought natasha was a russian name?'.

'thats one very long name yk?' sam says.

'stfu'

'romanova? huh. so are you like a lost princess? a descendant of the romanov's?' tony asks

'no tony. i am not. its a common russian surname.' she looks and him and says 'i think.'

'ok princess.' he replies, taunting.

natasha groans in her hands knowing he's gonna call her that for the next year.

steve looks confused and says 'wait but when we were in that bunker and zola said our names, he said 'Romanoff' not 'Romanova'.

'Romanova isn't on my sheild files. it was spoken in person to Fury, Clint and Maria. Otherwise the only other place you can find that name is in my old KGB files. which im assuming is where Ross found it. Loving the privacy Ross.'

'you're welcome miss romanoff.'

'fuck you mr secretary.' she says with a smile.

IF you wanna write a fic on this please do (i would but i have zero fic writing skills) send me the link or smth i wanna read it too xx :)

[scarlettromanov]

Business as Unusual

summary: You have always been one of Wanda's favorite employees. You will do anything she asks. What happens when her wife finds out? What happens when you find out the secrets of the company?

pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanov x Reader

word count: 7.7k

warnings(18+only): brief mentioning of Steve Rogers; eventual kate bishop; CEO! Wanda Maximoff; Brief mentioning of Stephen strange; Jealousy; Dom/sub; Domestic Fluff; Eventual Smut; Hurt/Comfort; Childhood Trauma; Mob Boss Natasha Romanov; Smoking; Food; Caffeine Addiction; mention of drugs; Alcohol; Mentions of Violence; mob wife Wanda Maximoff; Angst; NO CHEATING!; all parties communicate; brief Stephen strange slander

Chapter One: The Fall

You were definitely going to lose your job today. You wished that you could say that this was the first time running this late to work, but that would be a bold face lie. To be fair it wasn’t ever due to general laziness, or lack of concern for your job security. The public transport into the suburbs from the city never quite arrived on time. Not to say that you couldn’t just drive to work, but the lack of owning an automobile created a whole slew of additional issues. Your prized water bottle thwacks hard against the back of your thighs, creating additional bruises, as you sprint down the sidewalk. It clangs with every step you take. It was a prize possession of yours. A treat to yourself for landing the job at R&M Industries just two years prior.  A purchase based on the fact that you would have to take the train into the suburbs, and your ex-girlfriend's constant pestering that you didn't drink enough water. Only two more blocks until you are safely to the office. Hopefully your boss, Mr. Rogers, is in the scheduled staff meeting, and doesn’t notice that you are 15 minutes late.

Crossing the intersection, the small pedestrian sign starts to count backward from 10 indicating that you will have to wait another few minutes to get across the street. You cannot afford another moment. Taking a deep breath you make a short dash across the street. Barely beating the pedestrian countdown clock. The weight of your backpack slamming into your back with every step. You do your best to not wince as the straps dig further into your bony shoulders. A piercing stab in your lungs continues to burn with each inhale. Taking a mental note that you should hit your inhaler once you are at your desk, you trudge forward.

Yet, as you are about to step up onto the sidewalk you feel your legs buckle and collapse beneath you, and you stumble (rather ungracefully) to the ground. The thin skin of your chin makes direct contact with the concrete of the sidewalk. Your teeth grind together, and you know that you’re bleeding before you can even register the embarrassment. Tear pool in the corners of your eyes. Blinking back the impending tears, you stare down at the palms of your hands, which are pretty scrapped up, but barely bleeding. So much for getting to the office at least 15 minutes late. You needed to get inside without causing any kind of commotion. Each entrance to the building had a secretary close by. Fists pressing against your eyes in frustration; you can feel the impending sob building in your chest.

“Fucking Idiot,” You mutter as you try to find your way back to a standing position. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, like your old therapist told you to do when your anxiety got the better of you. When you open your eyes again you take a moment to inspect the damage of your fall, and notice that your water bottle has completely fallen off its chain, nowhere to be found. Screaming internal profanities you blink back a round of fresh tears. Crying at the office was not like you. Crying was meant for the depths of your apartment. Solitude was the only place that such a shameful emotion could come alive. This was no condition to enter a work day with.

Nothing had gone right this morning. The hot water went, your cell phone didn’t charge, the train was late, and now this. On your knees in the middle of the sidewalk you try to pull it together once again. You couldn’t afford to miss a day of work. You're catastrophizing again, you think to yourself. “ Find the positives in the situation, Y/N, there is always a silver lining.” The therapist's advice rings in your ears. It must be a real fucking small silver line, you think, trying to push out his condescending advice.

“Y/N?” A warm husky voice asks. Looking up, a rush of realization falls over you. Your gaze is met with green eyes, which are wide with alarm.

“Ms. Maximoff!- I am so sorry I am late! I-” She cuts you off by crouching down to your level. If you hadn’t been sitting in your own shame, you probably would have been impressed with Wanda’s ability to crouch in heels. Her power suit of the day was a deep burgundy.

“Your face is covered in blood, Y/N.” Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. Looking down at your hands you spin the ring on your middle finger. Feeling like a little kid who fell off their bicycle.

“Oh, Yeah that. It’s nothing.” You say with a failed attempt at a laugh. Unfortunately your laugh has an air of hysterics in it. You scramble, trying to get to your feet. Wanda watches you. Her eyebrows knit together in disapproval. That’s when you can taste the blood in your mouth. The coppery metallic dances its way across your tongue. You grimace, and Wanda notices. Swiftly she slides the straps of your backpack off your shoulders, and you let her. Stunned at the touch from the older woman. She slings your pack over one of her shoulders with ease. Silently, you accept her assistance, thankful to not have the straps digging into your shoulders anymore.

“At least let me help you.” Wanda says with a kind smile.

“I’m sorry. I am probably making you late to the staff meeting,” She puts up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

“You’re not the only one who’s running late, Ms. Y/L/N, and honestly,” Wanda smirks looking down at you playfully, “between you and me, It’s Mr. Strange’s turn to present this month and well.” She feigns a yawn. You bite back a giggle. Wanda’s nose scrunches in the way it does when she’s genuinely happy. This is why you’d always enjoyed being around Wanda. She was fierce, and led with an iron fist, but there was a playfulness about her that came out whenever you two were alone. Secretly, you were glad that she found you.

“Let’s get you inside. I think Yelena has a first aid kit in her office,

Wanda carries your backpack with ease as the two of you make your way up the two flights of steps to Yelena Belenova’s office. As you rounded the corner you notice that Yelena is nowhere in sight, but Wanda lets herself in without hesitation. She places your backpack on Yelena’s desk. Nervously you stand in the doorway to Yelena’s office. Wringing your hands together behind your back. Yelena was a friend of Wanda’s, you knew this. Yelena was also the head of her department, and more importantly she was COO of the company. But what held the most importance was that Yelena was Wanda’s sister in-law. Wanda had privileges as CEO, and as the Executive Chairwoman’s wife. Since starting with the company two years prior there had been an unspoken rule of stay out of an office unless invited, and do not speak without being spoken to. As a people pleaser with a need to avoid conflict at all costs… These rules were easy to follow.

Wanda doesn’t really notice that you are hovering in the doorway until she’s rummaging through Yelena’s filing cabinets behind her desk. She pulls out box after box of microwavable Kraft Mac and Cheese. There had to be at least six in her desk drawer alone. You wonder how Yelena stayed so fit when her breakfast every morning was espresso and a cup of Microwavable Mac and Cheese.

“Always so messy,” Wanda mutters to herself in disapproval.

For a moment she looks up at you. The corner’s of her mouth turning up the tiniest bit as she stares at you in the doorway like an obedient child. She plucks the medium sized box red and white from the cabinet. Holding the first aid kit in her left hand, she pulls your backpack back over her right shoulder. Wanda places a reassuring hand on your shoulder leading you away from Yelena’s office.

“C’mon, let’s head up to my office so we can get you cleaned up,”

Wanda and you make your way to the elevators, and take it to the 6th floor. Her arm stayed draped across your shoulders. It feels reassuring to have someone holding you so close. You can’t remember the last time someone held you this close. You allow yourself to bask in the feeling for just a moment. But when the elevator chimes, and the doors open, Wanda’s arm pulls away as she gestures for you to lead the way. Her secretary quickly hangs up her cell phone, and stands to greet us. She smiles kindly at Wanda, her brown eyes filled with warmth.

“Ms. Maximoff, Good Morning.” She turns her smile to you, and it falters as she takes in the state of my face. Your stomach sinks as you cannot recall her name. Despite being with the company for over two years now… you kept a pretty low profile. The sinking feeling makes you squirm under her gaze. Her curly hair pulled into a low bun, with a few strands hanging loose in her face.

“Y/N, are you alright?” You nod your head, tearing your gaze away from the girl. Cheeks blazing from the unwanted attention. Suddenly the floor has captured all of your attention with the way you stared down at it.

“MJ, Y/N had quite the fall on her way into the office this morning. If anyone calls wondering where I am tell them that Y/N and I are in a meeting,”

“Will do, Ms. Maximoff. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“I’ll have my usual, Y/N?” Wanda looks down at you expectantly. She gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“B-black coffee please,” Your voice sounds small, and you grimace at your nervous stutter. It reminds you of all the times your father forced you to order my own food at a restaurant. Claiming that a stutter would resolve itself if you could only “gain a fucking backbone.” You divert your gaze to the floor again, studying the patterns in the linoleum tile.

“And a bottle of water for Y/N. Her water bottle appears to have gone missing,” Heart springing to life in your chest at the small detail that Wanda noticed. Wanda opens the door to her office, and ushers you inside with a delicate hand on the small of your back.

You had been inside Wanda’s office before, briefly, the day Natasha hired you. Natasha sat opposite of you at Wanda’s desk. Since Natasha primarily worked remote, and when she came into the office she would work in Wanda’s office. Her wife didn’t seem to mind. You think back to that day as you sit on the sofa in Wanda’s large office. The room is spotless, and filled with plants. Wanda sat down across from you, perched on the coffee table. She opens the medium sized first aid kit, and pulls out bandages and antiseptic. At this point the blood in your mouth had stopped flowing, but the bitter taste lingered.

“I can do this. I-I’m sorry. You probably have so much to do, and I am just eating up your time.” You reach forward to take the first aid kit from Wanda’s lap. Her hands still, and she tilts her head with a smile on her face as she looks up at you.

“Y/N if you apologize to me one more time,” Wanda warns with a stern tone, her Sokovian accent leaking through. Your mouth snaps shut. Wanda hums approvingly, and reaches for your hand, flipping it palm up. She rests your hand gently in her lap, and begins to dab antiseptic over the scrape. It burns, and you suck in air between gritted teeth.

“Now, tell me,” She says as she puts antibiotic ointment over a bandage, “Is there a reason that you are late again?” She smoothes the bandage over the wound. Her thumbs smooth the sealant of the bandage. You purse your lips, trying to think of the right words. Shame flooding your thoughts. She notices you hesitating, and squeezes your knee with her free hand.

“You are not in trouble, Y/N. You can tell me,” Her voice is sweet, and her gaze bores into yours. Taking a deep breath, mustering up the courage to tell Wanda your reasoning.

“I don’t have a car and I live in the city so the train runs late most of the time.” The words began to rush out of you, “And I know, I know! I could learn to drive, but I live alone and don’t have anyone to teach me, and cars are expensive, and…” Your voice comes out high pitched and nearly frantic. You feel your blush deepen as you sit there not wanting to admit a deep rooted fear of driving to your boss. Wanda rubs small circles into your knee with her thumb, it’s reassuring.

“And?” She urges you to go on, your eyes meeting again.

“I’m scared to drive,”You whisper, hanging your head, looking anywhere but her eyes. You can feel her gaze burning into you.

“That’s a valid fear, sweetheart. Many people have a fear of driving. There’s no need to be embarrassed.” You think she can tell that you desperately want her to drop the subject. In that moment there was nothing more that you wanted than the floor to open and swallow you whole. The vulnerability left you feeling weak. Wanda opens her mouth to say more, but a knock on the door interrupts her. Mentally you thank the universe for the interruption.

“Ms. Maximoff, I have yours and Y/N’s drinks.” MJ’s voice announces on the other side of the office door. Wanda finishes up your other hand, and says

“Come in MJ,” Wanda’s voice is lighthearted. Wanda pushes down on her knees as she stands up. MJ enters Wanda’s office, placing the tray on the coffee table.

“Your hands look much better, Y/N!” She smiles at you kindly. You delicately smile, and motioned to Wanda,

“Who knew Ms. Maximoff was a business woman AND a nurse,” you giggle, and MJ joined in. You mentally take note that you should ask MJ to grab a drink sometime. God knows did you need more friends. You and MJ smile at each other as Wanda rolls her eyes.

“Please- I’ve always wanted to be a mother,” She brushes her long strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, “Just have that instinct I guess,” Your breath hitches as she smiles at you again, her nose scrunching the way it does which tells you she means it. MJ agrees before turning to Wanda,

“Ms. Romanov just called, and she is on her way to the office. Shall I call the Italian place around the corner and reserve a table for you for lunch?” Wanda doesn’t hesitate before responding,

“Yes, please tell Dominic to reserve our usual table.” MJ nods her head, and exits the room without another word. Wanda opens the bottle of water on the tray, and hands it to you,

“Drink, honey. You lost quite a bit of blood.” Nodding you bring the bottle to your lips, and take a sip. The cool water sloshes around in your mouth, clearing out the residue of dried blood lingering on your taste buds.

“Very good, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice is gentle as she gets back to work preparing to clean your face. She brings a warm wet cloth to your chin, assuring that the wound is free of any bacteria. Wanda’s closeness has your face burning. You hear every breath she takes with her face a couple of inches from your own. Wanda clearly does not mind the close proximity of your faces. Why would she be bothered? Like she said, she has a maternal instinct about her.

She is just helping you since you’re an employee, and she probably doesn’t want to get sued or something for falling on company property? You say to yourself over and over again.

“This is going to hurt again, be brave for me,” Wanda says with a softness that creates knots in your stomach. The antiseptic burns, and you wince again as Wanda dabs it onto the wound.

“More than halfway there, sweetheart.”

She talks you through the process, as she grabs the final bandage from the coffee table. Like before she adds the antibiotic ointment to the bandage, and smoothes it against the wound on your chin. Wanda’s hands cradling your face. The coolness of her rings feels amazing against the heated flush of your face.

“There we go, all done!” She runs her thumb over your cheek bone, and smiles down at you, before adding, “You did so good for me,” Little does Wanda know that your stomach does a backflip at her words. You beam under her praise. Wanda hums and releases your face. Like in the elevator, the feeling of instant loss falls over you from the lack of her touch. Your body craves  her warmth. Were you really this touch starved that you would ache for your married bosses touch? Wanda pats your knee before walking over to her desk.

“Well I guess I should get to work, Thank you again Ms. Maximoff-” Wanda, who was thumbing through a stack of papers on her desk, looks at you. She cocks an eyebrow.

“Wanda, Y/N.” You swallow dryly. You’d lost count of how many times that you blushed in front of her today, praying that she mistook it for shyness.

“Wanda, thank you for everything, but I should be getting back down to my desk.” Wanda sets the stack of papers back down, and leans back against her own desk. She smiles, crossing her arms across her chest. You stand feeling her gaze on you again, hands behind your back in their usual position, fingers squeezing together.

“That won’t be necessary. I am ordering a car to take you home. Your assignment today will be to rest. Go home, read a book, take a nap, take a walk in the sunshine, and return back here, to my office at 9am for your next assignment.” You can not comprehend what she is saying. Take the rest of the day off? That might be all well and good for someone that could afford groceries, but you lived off of Instant Noodles and Peanut Butter toast.

“Wanda, I really need to work. I desperately need the money. I-” She cuts you off with the stern tilt of her head, before she continues,

“As far as anyone is concerned, you were here today. You were running errands for me, and I will see to it that Mr. Rogers knows that you work directly for me now.” Her eyes remained on you,  cocking another eyebrow, as if to say, ‘ Is that understood ?’ You nod your head, indicating that, yes you understood. Her words were loud and clear. Yes you would work for her, and yes you would go home, go for a walk, take a nap, and return back to her well rested. Wanda’s stern expression melts into a more gentle one.

“Good girl, now have a seat while I call you a car,” Without another word you sit back down on the couch, and pull out your phone. Scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. Trying to desperately distract yourself from the woman across the room. Wanda calls the car, and when it arrives she helps you put your backpack on. Before you go you turn to thank her for all of her help today, but the words don’t find your lips. Her hands begin to fiddle with the straps of your backpack. The sagging pressure of your belongings lifts. Instantly you feel the digging of the straps on your shoulders lessen. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you go, that’s been driving me nuts. We can’t have you throwing out your back now can we?” Wanda giggles before spinning you around guiding you to the door. She opens it for you. Your voice finally finds your lips again.

“Wanda, I just wanted to Thank y-” She doesn’t let you finish the sentence.

“Get home safe, Y/N. Remember the assignment I gave you. I expect to hear all about it tomorrow,” She winks, and her door closes. You stand there like a deer in headlights. You are pretty sure you stand there for a solid minute before your brain catches up again. MJ giggles from her desk.

“She is really something,” Your voice is strained. MJ cracks up, nearly doubling over in her chair. She looks up at you, giving you a wink.

“Whatever that something is, I think you like it,” You roll your eyes with a smile, secretly agreeing with her.

“See you tomorrow,” You throw her the peace sign before hitting the button for the elevator.

“Bright and Early!” MJ nearly shouts as the doors open. You step inside, and the doors close.

“Bright and Early,” You say to yourself as the elevator brings you down to the car Wanda ordered for you. Your fingers run up and down the straps of your backpack. The way her fingers adjusted the straps replaying in your mind.

[spider-mancan]

Instructor Stark is incredibly strict.

That’s not unusual for a ballet instructor, although Instructor Stark doesn’t have the heavy accent to be truly stereotypical. The real issue is that he seems flippant and casual until he’s making you stand in the front of the room and do the petit allegro over and over and you stop tripping over your feet while the rest of the class gets to drink water and stare at you.

“He’s only like that because you’re so good,” MJ tells Peter after he’s finished having his bathroom breakdown. “Betty fucked up those Italian fouettés and he barely ragged her at all.”

“Betty’s good!” Peter argues.

Not as good as you. MJ has said it before. Peter is glad she doesn’t say it again.

“Mr. Parker?” Instructor Stark sticks his head out of the rehearsal room and MJ flashes him a tight grimace before patting Peter on the shoulder.

“Speak of the devil.”

“The devil has excellent hearing, Miss Jones.” Instructor Stark doesn’t dig in his nails any further — even though most days MJ asks for it. Instead, he crooks his finger in Peter’s direction. “I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says meekly. He hopes Instructor Stark can’t tell that he cried. Peter drains the rest of his refillable bottle over his head, luke-warm water soaking his thin shirt. He’s hoping the moisture hides any evidence of his episode in the bathroom, but he hooks his finger in the lid, gathers his things, and follows Instructor Stark back onto the Marley.

It’s dismissive, the way the instructor starts the music before Peter has even set his things down. “Still warm, aren’t you?” he asks, over Don Q on the speakers. “Basil. You know it.”

Peter has been sitting on cold tile for about ten minutes, so he’s not sure he’s up for the jumping, but he nods and rolls his shoulders.

“Perform for me.”

Peter meets Tony’s eyes in the mirror, lit on fire. That stupid smirk. Peter grits his teeth as the music starts over. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

If he’s not warm at first, he’s warm by the time Instructor Stark decides Peter has performed the variation to satisfaction — four or five times, no marking, and a bruise on the knee from banging the barre on his tours.

The music finally cuts off. “You’re very good at doing what you’re told.”

Peter could kick Stark in the shin, but he’s exhausted, collapsing again the mirror. He scowls at the instructor, who just…smirks, looking down at Peter over his nose. There’s an undertone, something that only bleeds through when they’re alone. They’ve both pretended not to notice, even though the undertone would not be taken well by the school. Peter never mentions it. Tony only gives him elevator eyes when Peter is too tired to care. He thinks it might be a strange, twisted kind of admiration, that MJ is right and Instructor Stark thinks Peter has value, and that comes across in heat under the skin. It would hardly be the first time passion for the arts became something different entirely.

Peter tries not to squirm, so he scowls harder.

“I’ve got an offer for you, kid.”

Peter tenses up. “What, uh…what kind of offer?”

Instructor Stark comes over, holds out his palm to help Peter up, and pretends Peter isn’t hesitant to take it. “I’m teaching at a convention in Germany this summer. Ten weeks.”

“That’s great, sir,” Peter replies, listlessly. He doesn’t know why Instructor Stark felt the need to tell Peter something he already new. Most people moaned about losing their favorite instructor — his replacement isn’t nearly as nice to look at, either.

“I have an extra ticket.”

It clicks too slowly, sluggish. “Me?” Peter scrambles to his feet in a burst of adrenalin, ignoring Instructor Stark’s hand entirely. “Me, to Germany, for the convention? Natasha Romanov is going to be there!”

His instructor smirks, all sideways. “Trust me, that’s a reason to stay home.”

“She’s one of the best ballerinas in two generations! She’s danced for kings!”

“Me too, kid.” Instructor Stark crosses his arms with a sniff. “Pretty sure on more occasions, even.”

“You’re a guy,” Peter argues. “It’s different!” He’s grinning. He’s excited, too excited, to the point of trembling. He’s not sure he trusts it. “I…I can really go? The money—”

“Paid for.” Instructor Stark waved his hand like thousands of dollars is nothing. “You’ll just have to bring yourself and something…” He pinches the see through material of Peter’s drenched shirt, “less wet. Lots of somethings. There will be three or four classes a day, plus rehearsals for company shows. It’s a big deal.”

Peter knows. He can’t believe. “Why…why me?”

Instructor Stark’s fingers smooth out the wrinkle he made in Peters shirt. His finger must smell like diluted sweat, like Peter. Stark looks him up and down, and the smirk goes a little softer on the edges. “I owe you, Mr. Parker, for making you cry.”

[magpie-trove]

August Reads

Cress & Winter • Marissa Meyer | it was Trying Times and for some reason Lunar Chronicles is one of my go to escapes and comforts turns out. I really wanted to reread Cress but got sucked in and had to do Winter too. Still as good as the first time. Deeply near and dear to my heart.

The Talented Mrs Mandelbaum • Margalit Fox | new non fiction about a Victorian crime boss lady and her band of thieves and fencers. Short and to the point. Interesting. Wouldn’t say it was one of my favorites of the year but it was worth reading.

Your Vote Matters • Rebecca Katzman | childrens non fiction about the electoral process. Made sense and had a real nice layout and pictures!!!!. (Not a picture book it was like 80 pages or something? But yeah I like it!)

Howl’s Moving Castle • Diana Wynne Jones | was just rereading all my faves for a bit there. Still a 12/10 book.

Yours from the Tower • Sally Nicholls | new YA epistolary fiction set in the 1890’s. Surprised me! Actually had a little nuance! Was very good about the characters. Important to me cause it made me understand how people work in certain situations better than I had before. I think I cried sad and I know I happy cried a little towards the end. I do recommend.

Sonnets from the Portuguese • Elizabeth Barrett Browning | still a favorite

Voices in the Air • Naomi Shihab Nye | the Emily poem!!!!! I think I loved Everything Comes Next more, a lot of these poems got more specifically political and idk it takes away their power a bit to me? But it still had plenty of bangers

Wheels of Change • Sue Macy | YA non fiction about the role of the bicycle in the suffragette movement. Interesting topic, real nice layout, lots of good primary sources. It had a reprint of a lot of pretty funny things women were advised not to do while riding, including “do not say Feel my muscle” and “do not ask Do you like my bloomers?”

The Castle of Llyr • Lloyd Alexander | follow up to The Black Cauldron. Beloved. He writes at such a good level and manages to keep the Nobility to the story.

Kilmeny of the Orchard • LM Montgomery | I actually didn’t like this one that much? Kinda hinged on some racist stereotypes and was mean about adoptees and the romance felt kind of condescending. Idk I wasn’t really impressed.

Saintly Women of Modern Times • Joan Carroll Cruz | Learned so many cool stories!!! I did also discover though at times you need examples as encouragement and at times examples might get a little discouraging. The women highlighted were all unique and interesting though!

Mapmakers and the Lost Magic • Amanda Castillo and Cameron Chittock | children’s graphic. Nice art interesting premise and world building. I’d probably read the next one.

Uniformity with God’s Will • Alphonsus Linguori | very good

A Wish in the Dark • Christina Soontornvat | HELLO!!! Childrens fiction with the premise Les Miserables but in Thailand. LOVED IT. SHOOK. I CRIED. BEAUTIFUL. I loooved the characters looooved the words, it was sooooo goooood!!!!!!!!! Made me want to do something nothing else has ever succeeded in (read Les Miserable). Do recommend!

The Lucky Poor • Mazie Lovie | adult graphic memoir about getting a house through Habitat for Humanity and unexpected drawbacks or something? Nothing really struck me about it tbh

Sisters of the Lost Marsh • Lucy Strange | the VIIIIIIBES VIIIIBES FOR DAAYYYYS. Middle Grade fantasy based on English folklore and circus, about six sisters who’s father says they’re under a curse. Beautifully done. This one will haunt me. Do recommend.

Romanov • Nadine Brandes | YA historical fantasy. had its moments but I kinda wanted the fantasy out of it at times though it wasn’t as jarring as some other stuff in that regard. It was a nice walk in the park and then the most nightmarish thing I’d read then just kind of ok. Not bad at all but not my most favorite. I just wanted to read about Anastasia tbh. I think (?) it had a pretty good illustration of forgiveness at one point though that made it make sense to me in a new way.

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

The fireman and the frog

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56520745 by Bergen “What is your endgame here, young man?” Peter shrugs. “Slumber party.” “Do your parents know you’re here?” Peter grins and slouches in his seat. “Definitely.” “What makes you think Mr. Stark wants to see you?” The words make him feel suddenly hollow, when he had been doing such a good job at pretending none of this really matters. He can feel his grin waver but strains to keep it in place. “He wants to see me. He is— He wants to see me. He knows me.” - Or: Peter took the gamble and traveled from his hometown Malibu to New York city for a ‘slumber party’ that, if it were up to him, will extend to approximately twenty thousand nights. He hasn’t seen Tony in five years, and going back home is not an option. But everything will be all right. Why wouldn’t it be? Words: 4018, Chapters: 1/10, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Pepper Potts Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Implied/Referenced Drug Use read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/56520745

[jomarchswritingjacket]

i just think they’re neat