isnt-it-just-so-pretty-to-think

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Tony and teen Morgan jogging 💕🏃‍♂️

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petition to bring him back ♡

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I wonder how long Nebula’s lifespan is? will she live to see tony’s grandchildren? his great grandchildren?

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Love you 3000

[isnt-it-just-so-pretty-to-think]

just read through your entire ao3 account and you are a gift to humankind.

Thank you! What a compliment 😁❤️

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hello!! just wanted to say that i discovered your ao3 fics last night and your stories are all so amazing!!!! like they legit made my month, i was laughing so hard through some of them i was crying. i absolutely love how you write out peter's dialogue and your characterization of everyone, but particularly tony & peter is so perfect!!!! also the way everyone kept assuming peter was tony's kid had me dyinggg

Thank you so, so much! This made my day 🥰 I’m so glad the fics brought you joy and made you laugh!!!

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I just want to say that your Chaotic Peter is a gift to Humanity and I can't thank you enough for it.

Thank you so much! ❤️🌺 I just logged into this tumblr for the first time in like three weeks and saw this, and it made my day. Thank you!

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“Family member’s handwriting?” 

“Something like that.” 

The tattoo artist looked at Peter over the top of his iPad. The back of his stylus was tucked into the corner of his mouth. He was a tall, rugged looking fellow, with tattoos that stretched up his arms and onto his back. A tapestry of art. It made Peter self-conscious. Maybe he should get something bigger, too. Something more painful. 

“I’ll get the stencil made up,” the artist said. “It’ll take a few minutes and then I can take you right back.” 

“Great,” Peter said with a thin-lipped smile. “Thanks.” 

The artist disappeared into the back room. Peter was left alone with his thoughts. Beyond a partition, he could hear the buzz of a tattoo gun and quiet murmuring. A conversation. 

He distracted himself by looking at the tattoo designs lining the walls. There were the basics— naked women, badass animals, daggers with hearts. His eyes scanned over them without much interest. There were a few cool ones: a picture frame full of Star Wars designs, a cat’s cradle between two hands, a twisting ouroboros. 

He clicked the pen he’d used to sign the consent form. He was sat right in front of the window, and the August sun was beaming right on the back of his neck. 

He cleared his throat, then cracked his back. He bounced his knee, and picked at his nails, and then he went back to looking at the designs. 

A flash of green is what caught his eye. It was just below the counter of the front desk, and he had to slouch to look at it. It was The Hulk, sneering and flexing, a car half-crushed between his fists. 

Peter’s lips parted, and he chuckled. Quickly, he snapped a picture and sent it to Bruce with the caption, “this you?” 

Above it was Cap’s shield. Beside that was Thor’s hammer. The red hourglass of Black Widow. Peter’s tongue peeked between his teeth as he eyed the designs up. He scanned over the Iron Man designs: helmets, and full-body action poses, and arc reactors. 

He looked, instead, at the emblematic spider above it. Beside that, a face, red and webbed, with sharp ovals for eyes. 

“Interested in one of those while you’re here?” The artist asked from behind him. Peter looked over his shoulder.

“Nah,” he said, the tip of his finger fondly tracing the web spun on the paper. “Not my style.” He stood up straight. “A lot of people get Spider-Man?” 

The artist shrugged. “A handful a month. You said your arm?” 

Peter nodded. “Yeah, right here.” He drew a straight line parallel to the juncture of his elbow with his finger. The artist took his wrist in hand and held his arm out straight. 

“You want it facing out or facing you?” 

“Me,” Peter said. 

“People usually want Iron Man,” the artist explained as he pressed the stencil to Peter’s skin. “And Captain America’s popularity’s gone down since the whole time travel stunt.” 

Peter kept his eyes on the artist’s fingertips against his arm. He didn’t want to think about people walking around with Tony’s face on their body. He didn’t want to think about memorials. 

He pulled the paper away. The tattoo stared up at Peter. 

“Look in the mirror,” he said. “Check placement, size. Make sure it’s what you want, because you can’t change it later.” 

Peter stared at his reflection in the mirror. He turned his arm over one way, then the other, noticed the way the light caught parts of the tattoo.  He bent his arm, and instead of collapsing it bulged. It refused to fold in on itself.

“It’s perfect,” Peter said, and the words caught in his throat like they were sticking to honey. He swallowed it down. 

“Great. You can go sit over there, then.” He motioned with his head toward an empty chair.

It reminded Peter of the chairs they have you give blood in. The arms were long and broad, the back reclined. The comparison spiked when the artist asked, “You have a tendency to pass out?” As he sat in the stool beside Peter.

Peter’s phone buzzed. He snuck a peek while the artist messed with the gun. A text from Bruce, You better not be getting that.

Peter shook his head. “Nope.”

“This your first tattoo?” He asked with a chuckle. He looked up to find Peter staring at him, nose scrunched. “It’s obvious. You’re nervous. It’s not gonna hurt too bad, I promise. It’s just line work.” 

—

May stared, open mouthed, eyebrows frozen halfway up her forehead. “… Oh,” she said carefully. “When you said you were going out to celebrate being a legal adult, this isn’t what I expected?” 

“What do you think?” Peter asked nervously.

“It’s small,” she said, relieved. 

“It’s Tony’s handwriting,” Peter said, and her mouth parted a little more. She let out a breath, a small oh. 

The shock on her face mitigated. She nodded minutely. 

“It looks great, Peter,” she admitted quietly. “I think he’d like it.” 

—

Pepper held his arm at the elbow, wordlessly tracing the sentence with her index finger. She was frowning, her eyebrows pushed together. She sniffed.

“Pepper?” Peter asked, snaking his neck to try and get a good look at her face. 

She snapped to attention, let go of his arm. She ran  the knuckle of her thumb under her eyes, and sniffed again. 

“Sorry,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I was thinking about all the jokes he’d be making.”

Peter’s exhale came out as a chuckle. 

“Do you like it?” He asked cautiously. Her eyes were still trained on her husband’s handwriting. 

Pepper swallowed. She covered her mouth with her hand, fingers splayed. She exhaled, loudly. “Of course I do,” she said. “I just… They did a great job. With the handwriting.” 

“Yeah… They did.” 

—

The city was oddly quiet. It was the kind of night that should have been lively— a Friday in October— but a storm had blown through in the afternoon and the city had spent the evening in a sleepy daze. It glinted in the moonlight, lights from apartments a reflection of the stars on the slick pavement.

The roof was damp when Peter sat down. He crossed his legs and rested his elbow on his knee. He stared up at the mural and tried to ignore the cramp that formed in his heart when he noticed the cracks in the paint. Already, it was wearing away. 

“How did you do it?” Peter asked the larger-than-life ode to Tony. 

He thought, for a brief moment, that this was a rude start. He hadn’t been here since the first time he found the mural, when the sight of it had stolen the breath from his lungs.

“The glasses are a lot of power,” He said. “Like, a lot, and I know my whole thing is great responsibility, but I’m so worried I’ll…”

He blinked, and he saw a drone chasing their bus through the Alps. He saw himself handing them over to Beck. 

Without him asking, the nanotech parted, just below his elbow. Peter stared down at the words.

I trust you.

He cleared his throat.

“You’ll never guess who my roommate is,” he changed the subject. “You know Oscorp? They bought Stark Towers during The Blip. Norman Osborn is the founder and the CEO and all that jazz— his son. Harry. He’s pretty cool. We’ve got a few classes together, and we study and grab dinner. Pepper keeps making jokes about corporate espionage, though, so I think I gotta keep an eye on her…” 

Peter talked, and the city stirred just a little. His suit righted itself. Somewhere in New Jersey, there was a fireworks display. Peter talked, and he felt better. He felt at home. 

Tony Stark trusted him.

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Has this been done yet lol idc

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at dawn

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cuties having a good time 💖

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Awwww

Cred: Ironkrispies on Insta

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(credit to @soposiii on IG)

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AHAHAHAHAH THE RECENT CHAPTER OF 'INSTANT KILL MODE' HAD ME LAUGHING OMG KNSGBLKNFNG

Thank you so much! ❤️ I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

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Lol your Peter's a riot

💞 Thank you so much! ☺️

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Instant Kill Mode (Chapter 3 Update)

Excerpt:

“I’m well aware that my razzle-berry pink-squeezy lemonade is still sold overseas,” Peter says, his voice testy. “But they’re not allowed to sell it in America because it killed a bunch of rats during a safety trial. The rodents who survived were so desperate to get more that they ate their dead friends. Thanks for reminding me, Mr. Falcon.”

There’s a pause. No one seems to know what to say. Not even Tony can conjure up a response.

Steve’s brow furrows. “And you…you want more of the rat poison?”

“Mr. Captain America, clearly you don’t know me at all,”  Peter tells Steve, his voice cheerful. “I drank nail polish remover to impress a girl, and my unofficial wife is a homicidal AI with a vendetta against birds. Do I seem like the type of person who’s too cool to drink rat poison? Think before you speak.”

Link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242095/chapters/66548479#workskin

#spiderman #irondad #morgan #ironman #iron man #spider man #avengers #steve rogers #avengers endgame #avengers infinity war #rdj #tom holland #the amazing spider man #marvel #fic #ficlet #ficlit #tony stark #peter parker #spidreman homecoming #far from home #farfromhome #thanos #angst #crackfic #crack fic

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Public Communications

Excerpt:

“All right, I’m adding two things to Peter’s no-no list,’” Tony says, tapping his fingers against the table. “No homemade flamethrowers, and no torching off parts of your body. You’d think at least one of those would go without saying.”

“What if he’s using the homemade flamethrower to melt skittles?” Clint says through a mouthful of pasta. “Because that’s what he was doing when he burnt off his eyebrows.”

“What the hell, Clint?” Peter says. “You said you wouldn’t snitch.”

“Hey, here’s a thought,” Tony says. “Maybe instead of threading your eyebrows with fire, you could use your aunt’s tweezers. You know, the ones you used to dig a bullet out of your abdomen?”

“Excuse me?” May says, slowly lowering her fork. “He used what to do what?”

- Public Communications (Chapter 4 update) posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26880160/chapters/65587072

#spiderman #iron dad #identity reveal #aunt may #avengers #avengers endgame #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #tom holand #robertdowneyjr #rdj #fanfiction #ao3 #ficrec #peter parker #tonystark #disaster #peter is adorable #irondad