Discover Top Posts Tagged with #stony fic

💀✍️ abandoned WIP: The Gilded Age AU

early in 2024, i started writing a stony-fied AU of the tv series, "the gilded age," featuring tony as the gay/semi-closeted (albeit flamboyant), socialite son (and presumed heir) of industry titan howard stark. his world gets upended when his father invites the hayseed cousin he never met (steve) to live in their fancy house and apprentice under howard, to learn the family business.

spoiler: steve isn't actually the cousin, though we wouldn't learn this until several chapters in -- he's actually a union activist posing as the cousin (unbeknownst to the family, who had been semi-estranged from their country relations) in order to infiltrate the corrupt industry at the highest level. identity porn! with incestuous undertones! because tony is hot for his mysterious 'cousin' ofc!! this intrigue would ultimately lead to a scene in which—during a tense standoff with the workers vs armed-and-ready-to-shoot pinkertons—steve reveals his true identity, placing himself in front of the gunmen as a human shield and telling howard something along the lines of "if you're gonna shoot them, you're gonna have to shoot through me, first" while tony (who we already know is sympathetic to the workers) looks on in awestruck concern.

in all reality i'm never going to finish what i started here, so i figured i'd post what there is to tumblr ¯_(ツ)_/¯ included here are all the manips i made for the moodboard i put together to inspire me as i wrote (i had such big plans! alas)

Tony had it all: wealth and status, wit and intellect, charm and beauty - and the unrivaled popularity that comes of having all of these while remaining a notorious bachelor. At some point he would have to forego his raffish lifestyle and choose a wife before inheriting his father's industrial empire — but that remained, as ever, a problem for another day. That is until his so-called "cousin" Steven Rogers turns up and manages to win over Tony's father—along with the affection of seemingly every last eligible lady in New York—and suddenly the prodigal heir finds himself embroiled in heated competition with the intractable, golden-haired upstart, as he realizes that his future might not be as guaranteed as he'd imagined...

more behind the cut:

"You seem agitated, darling," Maria mused, smoothing her voluminous skirts out of the way as she settled onto the sofa across from her husband. "Was anything not to your liking, tonight? Would you like me to have a word with Batroc about the menu?"

"Of course not, my dear," Howard sighed, twisting the glass in his hand slowly and watching as the cut crystal shimmered with reflected lamplight. "The dinner was perfect. And you were splendid as ever."

"Then what's bothering you? I can tell that there's something..."

"...Do you think that Douglas seemed put out by my comment about civil service reform? I only meant it as a joke, but perhaps it was in poor taste," Howard asked his wife, frowning slightly with concern.

Maria's mouth took on a wry shape as she replied, "The Rockwells are one of the oldest families in New York. Nobody wants to dine with them for their sense of humor."

"Are you saying that you think he took it the wrong way, then? Perhaps I ought to try to smooth it over..."

"I don't imagine he was being any more curmudgeonly than usual," Maria lightly supplied, sipping daintily at her nightcap before continuing, "...you know how he and his ilk can be about change. Would you expect anything else from him?"

"I suppose not," Howard huffed. "Still, I would like to have him on my side. It's going to be difficult enough convincing the rest of the aldermen to back this latest venture, even with his support."

"The only thing that the Rockwells value more than tradition is the size of their bank account," Maria flatly retorted. "He'll come around once he sees the figures."

"I hope you're right."

"You don't need 'hope,' darling," Maria smirked. "I'm never wrong about these things."

"It is why I married you," Howard replied, flashing a subdued smile of his own as he raised his glass.

"Not the only reason, surely." Before Howard could respond to the bait, the appearance of a figure in the sitting room doorway caught his wife's attention. "Ah, Jarvis -- you and the staff have outdone yourselves. Howard was just saying how marvelous the meal was."

"I didn't put it quite like that," Howard quipped, turning toward the butler to say, "...but it was a fine evening on the whole."

"I'm gratified to hear it, sir," Jarvis serenely replied. "If there's nothing else you'll be needing, I should like to retire shortly. There's a situation downstairs that needs my attention."

"A situation?" Maria repeated, "What sort of situation?"

"Nothing for you or Mr. Stark to worry about, ma'am," Jarvis calmly insisted. "A minor thing, really; but better seen to sooner than later."

"You're a man of mystery, Jarvis," Howard teased with a raised eyebrow. "Of course you can be excused. Oh— before you go, did anything come for me in the post while I was at the office today? I still haven't heard back from my supplier in Pittsburgh."

"Ah, yes, there was something, but not from Pennsylvania I'm afraid," Jarvis mentioned. "I left it on your desk for you. Would you like me to fetch it?"

"Never mind, just have the boy do it. You've earned your... well, I suppose it's too soon to say 'rest,' given your mysterious errand downstairs -- but you needn't trouble yourself. Do you recall who sent it?"

"I believe it was postmarked from 'Millville,' sir."

"...New Jersey?" Howard frowned, turning to his wife with a stumped expression. "...Who do we know in New Jersey?"

"No one of any consequence, surely," Maria huffed, dismissively speculating, "...perhaps it's to do with your supply delay; there are plenty of factories in that area."

"Well, now I am curious," Howard muttered before turning back to Jarvis and instructing, "Have Parker fetch that letter, and tell him to be quick about it."

"Very well, sir."

"Goodnight, Jarvis," Maria added.

"Goodnight, ma'am."

With a slight bow, the butler departed the sitting room as Mr. and Mrs. Stark continued to idly guess at the provenance of the unexpected letter. It wasn't long before the young footman appeared, tamping down his eagerness to be helpful as he cleared his throat in the entryway.

"Well don't just stand there, son, bring it here," Howard instructed with slight impatience, though the young footman quickly recovered from his blunder.

"Yessir, sorry, sir."

Howard favored the boy with an assessing look as he reached for the proffered missive. The footman had only been in his employ for a brief time, now, and Howard was trying to be tolerant of his youthful inexperience. He still wasn't convinced that taking on his cook's nephew had been less of a charitable decision than a sensible one... At least the boy seemed to be a fast learner. He was certainly quick on his feet.

"You may leave us," Howard told him as he scrutinized the letter, waving off the footman with an imperious hand. "Go see if Jarvis needs any help with his 'situation' downstairs."

The nervous boy bowed his head before swiftly departing, apparently more anxious to be out of the formal sitting room than its occupants were to be rid of him.

After Howard had opened the letter and taken a brief look at its contents, Maria prompted, "...Well?"

Her husband's eyebrows rose as he took in something written on the stationery before lifting his gaze to drolly inform his wife, "Apparently I have relatives in New Jersey."

Maria let out a long-suffering sigh, complaining, "Oh, good heavens. Not more long-lost relations from out of the woodwork, looking for 'investment advice'..."

"It isn't that," Howard murmured, peering down at the letter again.

"Please don't tell me it's someone seeking a blatant hand-out, then -- how dreadfully gauche..."

"It's from my cousin, Bertrand," Howard distractedly murmured.

"Ah," Maria recalled, as if suddenly understanding. "The philanthropic one. It'll be some new, pet charity of his, then."

Howard didn't confirm his wife's suspicion, though, still reading over the letter intently. After a moment, he knit his brows together and asked, "Do you remember my great aunt Tabitha?"

"...Vaguely..."

"She died when Tony was still in diapers. We met her sons at the funeral. You liked them well enough, as I recall."

Maria narrowed her eyes with suspicion, asking, "...And what of it?"

"I never met their sister; Bertrand writes that she married beneath her—young—to some 'Theodore Rogers'—tradesman, presumably—then had a son, Joseph, who took up with an Irish gal. Never met him either, my second cousin," Howard remarked, pushing out his lower lip as he admitted, "...I think this is the first I've even heard of him..."

"This is all rather convoluted," Maria complained, lifting her glass to her mouth.

"It says here that he died a couple years back, leaving his wife and son in an unfortunate state. Apparently the son had had a promising career in politics before setting it aside to care for his mother when she took ill."

"Aha. I'm beginning to see where this is headed," Maria surmised, covering her displeasure with another sip of her sherry.

"Bertrand vouches for the young man; says he has 'a real knack for leadership,' a 'sharp mind,' and is 'perfectly well-mannered.' You know that Bertrand doesn't dole out compliments lightly, my dear."

Maria fixed her husband with a sardonic look before replying, "Bertrand is hardly the authority on manners; he spends far too much time in the company of his workers. What could Bertrand possibly expect you to do for this young man?"

"He writes that the sickly mother has passed, leaving her son without means or vocation. The bank will take the house. Bertrand fears that the boy's unique talents would be wasted, were he to find work for him at one of his factories. He suggests that I take him under my wing; thinks we may be of use to one another."

Scoffing, Maria objected, "Of course he does. For all this young man's supposed virtues, Bertrand seems rather intent on foisting him off... What 'use' could you possibly have for an orphaned young man with postponed political aspirations?"

Howard scratched at his chin as he set the letter aside, musing, "I suppose that remains to be seen..."

Clocking the look on her husband's face, Maria tapped her manicured fingernails against the stem of her glass and regarded him speculatively before she pressed, "What are you thinking, Howard?"

Meeting his wife's eyes, Howard settled back in his chair and thoughtfully replied, "...It might not hurt, having a 'promising' young man around; one with decent manners, eager to learn the ropes -- it would set an example... Suppose that Tony sees this young man stepping into a... certain role... and starts to recognize that his future isn't quite as guaranteed as he imagines it to be..."

Shaking her head, Maria replied, "You can't be serious. You would take in a stray like that, just to provoke your own son?"

"Tony's problem is that he believes himself to be my only feasible heir, which guarantees his future no matter how awful he behaves. A little competition can be healthy -- it might work," Howard pointed out.

"It might make him even more exasperating."

"And what if this 'Steven Rogers' does turn out to be the sort that Bertrand seems to take him for? He could be a real asset to me, our wayward son, aside..."

"He could be yet another opportunist seeking to exploit your connections," Maria flatly retorted.

"If he is, we'll find him out. If he isn't, though... just imagine: don't you think that it might do our son some good, having someone his own age around; someone who can set an example of proper conduct..."

"You mean to have him live here, then? With us?" Maria asked, surprised.

"Why not?" Howard countered. "He's family, isn't he? We've no lack of space for him."

"He's still a stranger," Maria protested. "What will we tell people?"

"He shall be my ward," Howard decisively announced. "Surely there's nothing objectionable about such an arrangement."

"And just how old is this young man?"

"Twenty three."

"Then he's too old to be your 'ward,' Howard," Maria insisted. "He's only two years younger than Anthony."

"Who still behaves like a child," Howard flatly pointed out. "We can't keep passing off his behavior as an adolescent quirk; how am I ever going to introduce him as the future of my company when we can barely stand to have him sit at our table? At his age, we can't have him embarrassing us at every turn -- it's high time he grew up and faced reality."

"Do you really think inviting this distant cousin into our home will make any difference with him?" Maria doubted.

"I think it might help," Howard optimistically argued. "Consider it, my dear: if this penniless, nameless young man manages to exceed him in manner and ambition, then Tony will be appropriately chastened."

"...Perhaps you put too much faith in our son's capacity for perspective," Maria sullenly mentioned.

"Well, either way, this Steven sounds like a good bet," Howard asserted, folding up the letter and setting it aside. "I think I'd like to take it."

"Then your mind is already made up," Maria sighed.

"Unless you have any major objections?"

Taking a deep breath, Maria set her glass aside and fixed her gaze on her husband as she said, "I only ask that you keep sight of your own expectations. I know how you get over shiny new things."

"And you worry that I'll be disappointed if the Rogers boy loses his shine?" Howard smirked as he settled back against his seat, apparently amused at the thought.

"More that I worry you'll try to remake him into an ideal that might not suit his character," Maria weightily corrected. "You'd do well to remember how that turned out with Anthony."

"Tony was broken from the start," Howard mulishly replied. "I've tried to fix him. I tire of the wasted effort. If Rogers' presence here doesn't shake some sense into Tony, then I don't know if anything ever will."

"He is still your son, darling," Maria pointedly reminded him. "You mustn't write him off as a lost cause."

"He has written himself off," Howard muttered, lifting his glass to his mouth.

Maria looked as if she wanted to say more, but ultimately thought better of it. She had no wish to argue over the subject, tonight. Not when she already knew how it would play out, having rehashed this same drama time and time again. She, too, was tiring of her son's antics, and running out of excuses to offer on his behalf. Even mothers had their limits.

...

"Is there anything you need me to do, Auntie May?" Peter checked, wringing his hands as his wide eyes took in the shocking scene before him. It wasn't anything the rest of the servants hadn't seen plenty of times by now, but young Peter was still unfamiliar with this facet of the secret lives of the aristocracy. Or at least, of this one aristocrat in particular.

"Auntie May! Auntie May!" The disheveled heir drunkenly parroted, chuckling insensibly at the moniker. "...You are far too beautiful to be anyone's aunt."

Swatting away the hand that reached up to caress her cheek, May scolded, "You are far too drunk for your compliments to be convincing."

"Pfffft," Tony eloquently replied, wincing when May dabbed her cloth at the cut over his eye.

"You shouldn't be in here, Peter. Go to bed, and say nothing about what you've seen here tonight."

"Mr. Stark told me to help Mr. Jarvis," Peter objected.

"It is under control, Mr. Parker," Jarvis assured the boy, ushering him out of the kitchen. "Listen to your aunt."

"But shouldn't someone alert the police, if Mr. Tony's been robbed?" Peter tried.

"No police," Jarvis firmly countered. "That would only lead to more scandal, which is the last thing anyone wants. Go along, now."

As the young footman reluctantly departed, May's back straightened as she picked up a sound outside.

"I hear the carriage. Happy knows to bring it round the side, doesn't he?"

"Of course," Jarvis assured her. "We can count on his discretion."

"I hate to send him off like this, but I don't know what more I can do for him," May fretted, soothing a hand over the mess of Tony's hair. Tony clung to her wrist in a maudlin display of gratitude, pressing a kiss to her palm and murmuring some nonsense against the work-roughened skin as May pouted at him and gently wrenched free of his grasp.

"If you weren't so pathetic, you'd almost be sweet," May lightly chastised.

"Funny—I believe I more or less told him the same thing the last time this happened," a familiar voice intoned from the side doorway.

"Rhodey!" Tony beamed, twisting around in May's lap to smile idiotically at his friend.

"Dear lord," Rhodes sighed, resting his hands on his hips, "you are one sorry sight."

"I was robbed," Tony pouted. "Have you come to soothe my bruised ego?"

"I have come to ensure that your parents don't see what a mess you've made of yourself," Rhodes pointedly countered. "I will escort you to your apartment, since you certainly can't remain here until you've sobered up and healed over some."

"Batroc might come back, soon," May worried. "We should move him quickly."

Nodding with understanding, Rhodes agreed, "Right. The chef with a big mouth. Come on, then."

"As ever, we are indebted to you, Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis thanked him.

"He may be, perhaps, but the rest of you owe me nothing," Rhodes politely corrected. "I'll take over from here."

May gratefully helped Rhodes to gather Tony to his feet, unable to duck away in time before the drunkard pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek.

"Oh, you stink of booze," May blushed, wiping at her cheek as Rhodes wrenched Tony away.

"And you smell as lovely as the prize roses in mother's garden," Tony slurred.

"Off with you, rascal," May huffed, adding to Rhodes, "...try to get some coffee in him, and bread too, if you can find any. He never eats enough."

"Sure thing, ma'am," Rhodes assured her, securing Tony's arm around his neck as he led him out to the waiting carriage.

"Thank you for your assistance," Jarvis sincerely told him as Rhodes departed. "You are a good friend to master Anthony."

"I suppose he ought to have at least one of those," Rhodes murmured, "—one who isn't under his father's employment, at any rate. I mean no offense."

"You're quite right," Jarvis agreed in an undertone.

Nodding at Jarvis before ushering Tony through the doorway, Rhodes made his way back to the carriage waiting discreetly outside the servants' entrance. Jarvis waited until Happy led the horses away at a quiet trot before stepping back to latch the door, wishing against his better judgement that this would be the last time he'd see the young master Stark whisked away under cover of darkness.

...

"I feel like death warmed over," Tony complained as Rhodes pressed a fresh cup of coffee into his hand the following morning.

"You look it," Rhodes told him, settling down heavily into the seat opposite him.

"Do I even want to know how we ended up here?" Tony murmured, holding the cup beneath his mustache as he blew away the curling steam.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to guess by this point," Rhodes mentioned. "This is becoming something of a routine, don't you agree?"

"...It does remind me a little of the time we first met," Tony smirked, before taking a tentative sip of the fragrant brew.

"Hardly," Rhodes countered. "At least you weren't nearly so drunk, that time."

"But I had been robbed," Tony pointed out. "And you came to my rescue."

"Perhaps I grew tired of listening you berating that unfortunate man at the train station, insisting that you could afford to buy the entire train a hundred times over, but you'd simply had your wallet stolen and needed a ticket to get back to New York."

"It was truly ridiculous that he didn't think I was good for the money!" Tony scoffed. "I'd have rewarded him handsomely if he'd only given me the benefit of the doubt..."

"In his defense, you didn't much look like the high-born aristocrat you claimed to be," Rhodes chuckled. "You looked like a tramp."

"But you believed me," Tony pressed. "You used what funds remained in your own wallet to purchase a second ticket for me, like a true gentleman."

"You say that as if you weren't deeply displeased to have been stuck in the third-class seats with me," Rhodes reminded him. "A white boy in the colored section, pressing your handkerchief to your face to try to avoid breathing in all that soot. Served you right for being so careless."

"You seem to think that I enjoy putting myself in positions of getting taken advantage of by ruffians," Tony grumbled.

"Do you not?" Rhodes countered with a lift of an eyebrow. "You could have fooled me, given the lifestyle you insist on carrying on with..."

"Oh, don't start on that again," Tony sighed.

"It is dangerous, for a number of reasons," Rhodes insisted, lowering his voice to add, "—not the least of which is the fact that if you were discovered, your parents would have no choice but to disown you. What then?"

Tony set his cup down to rub at his temples, squeezing his eyes shut as he complained, "I do so hate it when you berate me like this."

"And I'd hate to see you tossed out on your own, scorned and ridiculed, or worse -- stabbed through by someone with more hatred in his heart for your kind than greediness for the contents of your billfold."

"Oh, don't give me that 'your kind' nonsense again," Tony scoffed. "You know perfectly well that I adore women, as much as they adore me. Whatever I fancy getting up to when I've gotten a little too deep in my cups has nothing to do with the fact that I'm fully capable of happily marrying someday."

"That distinction will not matter one whit if it ever became public knowledge, as well you know," Rhodes solemnly intoned. "I do my best not to judge you—"

"He says as he proceeds to judge me."

"—but you mustn't mistake my tolerance for common opinion. By sheer luck, you happen to have befriended one of the most open-minded people you will ever meet; don't take that for granted, Tony. Most people would shun you at the mere suggestion of such a thing."

"I do so love these lighthearted, early morning chats of ours," Tony drawled.

"It's nearly noon already," Rhodes flatly pointed out.

Tony frowned deeply, turning to peer out the window as he murmured, "Is that so?"

"I should head home myself, soon. My mother wouldn't have overlooked the fact that I missed breakfast this morning, and I'm meeting my editor after lunch."

"Wouldn't want to get Mamma Rhodes sniffing after your whereabouts -- perhaps you should write a piece about how your mother is a far better investigator than you are..."

"Very funny."

"It would be honest journalism; isn't that your thing?"

"I'm leaving."

"How is Mamma Rhodes faring these days?" Tony smiled, taking up his cup again in both hands. "Does she ever ask after me?"

"Believe it or not, you aren't the center of everyone's world, Tony."

"I've yet to find substantial evidence to the contrary..."

"And if my mother ever does think of you, it's hardly in the most complimentary light," Rhodes reminded him.

"Surely she's forgiven me by now, even if I did make a less-than-ideal first impression..."

"You mean when you showed up at our doorstep with a basket of day-old bread and pastries and a carpetbag full of cast-off shoes?"

"You didn't tell me that your family was so well-off," Tony protested. "It was a terrible assumption to make; I can admit that in hindsight, now -- I was only trying to be charitable..."

"Right. By delivering stale bread and old shoes to the colored folks. Real hero, you are."

Groaning, Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes, muttering, "When are you going to let me live that one down?"

"Maybe when you stop getting beaten and robbed loitering around seedy bars at night, to start with. I mean it, Tony. This isn't funny anymore -- not that it ever was to begin with. You need to get your act together."

"Now you sound like my mother," Tony complained.

"I'm sure your mother would have much harsher things to say to you now if she knew what you've been getting up to."

#stony fic

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#stony fic