arcreactorheart



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    “Tony fucking Stark,” Clint says, and he points at the black smoke. “Did you blow up that base, you piece of shit?”
    “Absolutely not. I almost got blown up with it.”
    Clint is not alone. A few yards behind him, a scrawny figure halts and squints at Tony from underneath a frayed baseball cap. Sunken eyes. Dressed in a black undershirt and cargo pants.
    Can’t be older than eighteen.
    “What are you doing here?”
    Clint jerks his head at the boy behind him. “SHIELD mission. Extracting a hostage.”
    Tony glances back at the teenager, whose face has now morphed into something entirely impassive. “He seems thrilled about his rescue.”

    Tony is roped into a mission to transport a teenager to safety. But when things go south, it soon becomes more and more puzzling who the teenager is and what ‘safety’ means for him.

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    02 Jun 2026

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    Look.
    Losing someone close to you is rough. Grief is a strange thing, it affects appetite, sleep patterns, mood. May had reassured Peter many times that he was not crazy for feeling crazy. That he simply needed to give himself time.
    He also read about the process of grief in a pamphlet Happy gave him.
    So, when he gets back from the funeral at the lake house and walks into his bedroom to find Mr. Stark lying on the rug, ankles crossed, twirling his thumbs, and generally looking extremely alive…
    …well…
    …clearly this is what the pamphlet meant with ‘denial’ being the first stage of grief.

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    02 Jun 2026

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    I’m freaking out and I need someone to talk me down.”
    “Are you sure? I’m the opposite of the person you should be calling for something like that.”
    “Well, I have no social life, so you’re my only friend,” May says. “After you, my closest relationship is with the woman who delivers my sushi.”
    -
    Tony Stark: official secret-keeper for the Parker family, for some unfathomable reason. And sure, it’s nice that they both trust him. But why can’t they ever just talk to each other. This family needs a new M.O.

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    02 Jun 2026

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    “Kid. You’re not just here for some mission. Is that what Steve told you when he plucked you out of that jail cell?”
    Peter snorts and pushes off the doorframe. “Steve didn’t tell me shit,” he says. “And even if he did, I do what I want. So if I wanted to sit around with all you people and play Settlers of Catan while eating homemade pretzels, I would. But I don’t, so I don’t. You are a roof over my head and food on my plate. Other than that, you can all leave me the hell alone.” He turns and the bedroom door slams.
    “Is that right,” Tony tells the closed door, setting his hands on his hips. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”
    Mission. Freaking. Acquired.
    Also, homemade pretzels sounds like a great idea.

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    02 Jun 2026

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    “So here’s the deal,” Tony says. “Here’s what’s rumbling in the back of my mind. That bookstore we just came from, I knew the previous owner. Her name was Mary. I got her knocked up, and then waved all my parental rights while the bun was still firmly in the oven. Didn’t even take a peek in the oven. Never saw her again, never saw the kid. Don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

    “Say all that again,” Harley says, “but slowly, and using way more words.”

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    02 Jun 2026

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