Stitches⚣Stony

Twenty-Five

This is a very wordy chapter. It's long as fuck, I really worked hard on this and dialogue inky becomes a thing after all the wordy words and explanation and like 10 years of solid catch up on Tony's shitstorm of a life. I really worked hard on this chapter, it's interesting, it shows how Tony turns out at 30, why he turns out as such a man that he is at 30, and all this wonderful character development, oh my god, I love.

As I said, Tony is my main character, he's centerstage, but I will also have Steve's catchup of 10 years too. I'm just so heavily focused on Tony because he's such a complex and wounded character and it's so interesting to write and shape him.

COMMENT YOUR HEARTS OUT I WANT TO HEAR EVERYONES OPINIONS

~~~ indicates a shift of direction, or a time skip, just to let you all know xox

Enjoy!

It started with Jarvis

Tony had been elbow deep into a cars engine at the time, engine grease not only staining the material of his jeans or tank top, but smeared into the skin of his cheeks, of his arms, glued into his hair as he tried to reach for a bolt that was smack in the middle of the old cars engine. The car itself, is a mess, unkept and unloved by its owner and they're lucky that Tony is kind enough, and bored enough, to take the old Chevy off of their hands for a couple hundred bucks so he could tamper with it and sell it off for a couple of thousand instead.

Buying and reselling cars was something that Tony had started doing as a past time back when he was at MIT, where instead of buying and reselling, he had done touch up jobs to busted Harley Davidson's or upgraded engines to shitty Ford Focus's in an attempt to ween needy upperclassmen off of him who either wanted his money or his mouth. It was also therapeutic, in a sort of weird way because it was an act that needed your undying attention in order not to cut his own wrist off of a sharp edge of metal but also one that took him out of his normal schedule too.

His schedule, that being at the time, consisting of attending never ending Board Meetings before being strung off to meeting after meeting in other parts of the City or mostly, in Stark Industries New York building itself, learning the trade of a company that Tony had no interest in with a heavy hand on his shoulder of a man who he didn't want to be touched by. A touch that still ghosts on his skin, a smell that still lingers at his nostrils.

So far, Tony had been casted off to the basement when he wasn't forced to sit in Board Meetings or attend banquets or to snort cocaine off of the white marble counter tops, that in which, not being something he had been forced into but more like indulged. Tony's brains were not being overlooked and neither was his skill, his talent to create, to think, to be intelligent. So he was given a workshop, Howard's old Workshop, a couple of floors below ground level and given only mer descriptions of what the company wanted him to make, deadlines to meet, a budget to be constricted by.