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Summary
Tony Stark has worked hard to make sure everyone sees exactly what he wants them to. After all, they'd all rather see the asshole with the too-bright smile than the terrified person underneath who is desperately trying to conceal that which has caused him so much pain. Trust him, he knows.
(Tony Stark is a mutant, and his father had made sure to note /exactly/ how he felt about that. Now, with the Avengers living with him full-time, it's getting more and more difficult to hide the part of him that almost no one still alive knows about.)
Series
- Part 1 of Shades
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Bookmark Notes:
Sooooo good! ❤️❤️❤️
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Ch19
Tony had been working, honestly, he had. But between soldering the component to the pad for his new circuit board, the data had darted in front of his eyes, flickering and begging for his attention. Blinking past the data in the forefront, the numbers that computed the temperature of the soldering iron, the equations calculated and compared the efficiency of his past board to the projected output for the new one, and the plan that he'd drawn up in his head, the one that floated next to his desk like it belonged there, he beckoned the flickering data closer. It was a picture of his mother, and his mentally comprised file appeared beside it. Name: Maria Stark nee Carbonell, Mother Current Location: Stark Mansion, New York, New York Status: Ally Personality: Warm, caring Known Enemies: Howard Stark (See additional file: Howard Stark) -“My name is Charles Xavier,” said a voice next to him. “And I am a mutant, like you.”The second voice sounded much closer, but the voices were the same. Was he talking...in Tony's head?-So before he went to sleep, he did what any reasonable person would do: he used his mutation to see what they were saying about him. Turns out the name “Tony Stark” brought up a lot of interesting broadcasts. Over the years, news stations and the papers seemed to spend a hell of a lot of time speculating about what he'd been up to. There were several that made him laugh out loud: apparently, since coming to MIT, he'd had sex with two entire sororities and was gunning for completing a third (he was actually still a virgin), had drunk enough alcohol to give himself alcohol poisoning four times over (he had one beer on his sixteenth birthday and hated it), and managed to bring a group of Swedish models to his Technical Drafting course (he'd never even spoken to a model before). There were “eye-witness” accounts of sightings of him in Italy, France, and Germany from several sources (he'd never been out of the country) and he had apparently been in the running for the Nobel Peace Prize twice (um, no). The media, to whom he'd never given a single interview, had him portrayed across the board as an alcoholic playboy who was generally rude and was in need of a severe attitude adjustment. Rolling his eyes, Tony dismissed the information and tried to come to terms with the fact that in public, this would be the person he would need to convince them he was. Well, he certainly had his work cut out for him.-Tony always got a kick out of that: at nineteen, he'd had sex a only handful of times and perfectly fine with that. When he was invited to parties to schmooze up and kiss ass, he drank only sparkling water or the occasional glass of champagne, but he always had a glass in his hand and it was constantly full, leading to the press making assumptions and continuing to declare him an alcoholic. At every party he attended, he chose the most inebriated woman that plastered herself to him, flashing a self-confident smile at the cameras and charming his way into her heart. Inevitably, the most he would have to do would be making out before his partner passed out, upon which he would retreat to his workshop to await the pictures and her inevitable report to the press that he'd certainly been a “beast between the sheets.”-. He found that long periods of time without physical exercise or even a certain amount of movement would cause the energy to build more quickly within him, so he kept to a rigorous physical training schedule that had him running miles, lifting weights, punching bags, and even learning various martial arts from an instructor that came to his house twice a week.-He misses Dummy handing his wrench to Rhodey, and Rhodey slipping it into his pocket before running up the stairs.-No one had ever apologized to Tony. Ever. A wound that had been torn when he was a teenager and been festering since that day on the Helicarrier begun to slowly heal and he'd taken a deep breath before sticking out his hand. “Hey, I'm Tony Stark. And you are?” Steve's eyes looked suspiciously wet as he took the offered hand and shook it firmly. “Steve Rogers. Nice to finally meet you.”-“Do you know that he doesn't even drink?” All eyes snapped to Bruce. “I accidentally drank from a glass he'd poured from one of the decanters on his floor, and it was tea. All the decanters and bottles on our floors and on the communal floors are alcohol, but the ones he drinks from are all tea or other liquids. He never touches alcohol.” It was silent for a moment while everyone took this in.-Tony spun around, water splashing above his bare feet as the metal door blew in, Magneto stepping through. Another deep, primal sound left him as he crouched, electricity arcing out of his body and back into it, his whole being a blaze of blue. Eyes widening, Magneto took a step back, in shock. Tony Stark, a mutant? It wasn’t possible!
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Mutant Tony