Fringe / Avengers Crossover: Olivia Dunham and Tony Stark
Tony Stark looked Olivia Dunham up and down: smart black suit, long blonde hair, a no-nonsense expression, and a Glock 19 pistol held confidently with both hands. With a shrug, he turned away from her.
“Eh, I’ve seen worse,” he remarked casually. “How much harm can you actually do?”
The lights in the workroom flickered briefly, and Tony could have sworn a few of his inanimate tools jittered for a moment. As soon as he turned his head to look at them, they stopped moving.
Agent Dunham holstered her gun, her expression hard.
There is no such thing as a Christian who doesn’t believe God is not sovereign over all aspects of, not just their lives but, the entire universe.
The good, the bad, all happens as He wills it (Cf. Isaiah 45:7; Lamentations 3:37-38). We may not like certain events in our life and the world around us, but He is in control, always. There is absolutely nothing in the entire universe outside of His control.
I’ll finish this with the words of R.C. Sproul: “If you don’t believe that God ordains everything that comes to pass, bottom line, you don’t believe in God… If God is not sovereign, God is not God. If there is one maverick molecule in the universe, one molecule running loose outside the scope of God’s sovereign ordination, then ladies and gentleman, there is not the slightest confidence that you can have that any promise that God has ever made about the future will come to pass.”
I re-blogged this (the first time) in 2014. Today, I tried half a dozen times to re-blog it, and it wouldn’t work. So, I saved the images and re-posted it. I hope it helps make life a little easier. :-)
The original post is by iraffiruse.
1. Ampio orizzonte by Ettore Tito, 1910
2. Mariana (Millais) by John Everett Millais, 1851
3. Bathing Girls by Paul Gustave Fischer, 1860-1934
4 If a woman reads a book in the forest but no one is there to see it... by Jenna Gribon, 2020
5. The Reader Wreathed with Flowers / Virgil's Muse by Camille Corot, 1845
6. In the Garden by Helena Janecic
7. A girl with her bike looking over the water by Alexander Akopov
8. Girl with a Straw Hat by Francine Van Hove
9. After the Ball by Ramon Casas, 1895
10. Untitled by Francine Van Hove
For your "which Inkling are you" quiz (which was fabulous, by the way), the quotes from the Christian poems all really got to me - do you have recommendations for collections of Christian poetry?
What a lovely question to receive! It would be my joy to recommend some poets and places to find their work.
Okay, since you liked the tastes I gave of the Inklings on my quiz, I would definitely suggest starting there.
C.S. Lewis’s first poetry collection, Spirits in Bondage, is available for free here through Project Gutenberg. If you find that you enjoy it, you can invest in a copy of his collected poems, which is just called Poems by C.S. Lewis. Perhaps my favorite Lewis poem from the complete collection is “As the Ruin Falls,” which can be read here.
Charles Williams’s Poems of Conformity has some wonderful gems. It’s available to view or download for free at archive.org. My favorite poem from that collection is “City of Man,” so that might be a good place to start.
A good selection of Owen Barfield’s poetry is available through his estate here. When it comes to published collections, your guess is as good as mine.
Dorothy Sayers is something of an honorary Inkling, but her poetry reads like Inkling poetry in many ways and is very beautiful. Her collection Catholic Tales and Christian Songs is also available at archive.org for free viewing and download. I would recommend starting with “Desdichado,” which opens the collection, and then going from there.
Others poets, no particular order:
G.K. Chesterton wrote some excellent Christian poetry, but I’ve only read a little of it. Poke around his Poetry Foundation Page for a taste, maybe, and if you enjoy what’s available there seek out a more complete collection.
I mean, John Donne, c’mon. A PDF of his complete Holy Sonnets, plus a number of other sacred poems, is available for download here. V, X, XIV, and XV are my favorites, I think, though honestly they’re all just gorgeous. Please don’t let the old-timey spelling throw you if you’re not used to it; once you’ve read the first few, it won’t be as much of a struggle, and these are not poems you want to miss out on. They’re rich, dense with theology and the tangle of the human heart.
Mary Karr is a delight, particularly her “Descending Theology” sequence (beginning with “Christ Human”). It and others are available on her Poetry Foundation page.
Franz Wright has written some lovely, more sparse Christian poetry. “The Raising of Lazarus” is especially fantastic, but again, poke around his Poetry Foundation page. If, after checking some of these out, you want a collection, I would recommend Walking to Martha’s Vineyard.
Gerard Manley Hopkins. Anything by him. “Pied Beauty” is easily his most famous poem, but for my money I like “God’s Grandeur” and “Carrion Comfort” just as much.
Christina Rosetti has some wonderful sacred poetry, in spite of the fact that some of her work is rather too erotic for my tastes. Famously, she wrote the text of “In the Bleak Midwinter,” but her poem “Good Friday” is also well worth a read.
Anne Bradstreet. “Contemplations” will give you a good idea of whether you’ll enjoy her work.
Anna Akhmatova is a famous Russian poet and an all-time favorite poet of mine. Her poems “Rachel” and “Lot’s Wife” aren’t devotionally Christian, but they’re thought provoking and beautiful and they deal with some hard parts of Genesis. 10/10 would recommend if you’re feeling adventurous. (Sorry about linking to some random blogs instead of something more standard. I wanted to provide my preferred translations--more literal, without the enforced English rhyme scheme-- which was harder than I anticipated.)
That’s what I’ve got off the top of my head. Anyone else with recommendations, feel free to chime in!
Thank you for such a thorough response, and especially for choosing some good poems to specifically start with! I actually just ordered that C.S. Lewis collection recently (and have consequently been in full "Pakige??!!?" mode for days), since I've been on a years-long C.S. Lewis kick. Some of the others you recommended I am vaguely familiar with, while others are entirely new to me. I'm excited to do some more reading!
I re-blogged this (the first time) in 2014. Today, I tried half a dozen times to re-blog it, and it wouldn’t work. So, I saved the images and re-posted it. I hope it helps make life a little easier. :-)
The original post is by iraffiruse.
The bookselling behemoth is making life harder for writers, but so is the public perception that art doesn’t need to be paid for
“People have always felt a sort of ownership over art, and that’s actually good. It’s why you keep a book on your shelf and return to it, it’s why you hang a picture on your wall that speaks to you. But when this gets out of hand and you mistake access or a personal connection with your rights, as happens so often in our Internet age, it leads to a dangerous sense of entitlement. That’s why readers feel empowered to complain, directly to the creator, that a book or show doesn’t have absolutely everything they want: the romantic pairing they’d hoped for, the language they find most friendly, the ending they desired. And it’s also why, for instance, the last Harry Potter book leaked on the internet before it was officially published: fans saw the book as something they were owed, not the product of labor that deserved compensation. Not that J.K. Rowling needs more money—but she, and all authors, deserve to have their work recognized as work.
“Consumers hold a pernicious power, so this trend towards free content won’t reverse itself unless we want it to. This is a sad thing, and we will all be much worse off if we can only hear stories from people who can afford to write.”
Please please please do NOT pirate books if you want to keep having books to read. The median income for full-time authors in 2017 is reported at $20,857. That means half of all authors reporting income made LESS.
And of the authors that reported that they were, in fact, full-time authors, only 63% had ANY earnings to report. The average of those who did earn something was $43,247. Which means, looking at the difference between the median and average, the average is heavily weighted by the superstars.
MOST of your favorite authors are either working a second (or third, or more) job, have a partner who earns more money, or is living hand-to-mouth, or some combination of the three.
Libraries are your friends. Most have ebook collections now. I know readers gotta eat, but writers do too.
Signed,
Someone whose book isn’t out for another 4 months, and is ALREADY being pirated :(
Oh gosh :( this really hit me: “This is a sad thing, and we will all be much worse off if we can only hear stories from people who can afford to write.”
A post from Maggie Stiefvater’s deactivated Tumblr about pirating killing the Raven Cycle boxset
Another post about how piracy meant that her publisher cut the print run on the last book because the previous book wasn’t selling as well and how she teamed up with her brother to prove that online piracy was responsible for the lower sales
If you cannot afford to buy books, please go through your public library! When you get a library card, you’ll also be able to sign up to rent audiobooks; a librarian can help you if you’re not sure how. Libraries are an important part of the book ecosystem, and when you get a book for free from the library, you’re still supporting the author.
just throwing this post out there bc i break down how an author gets paid, for anyone who’s confused about how pirating books can tank an author’s career
Swamps get a bad rap. People think of ‘swamps’ as the most ugly, mucky, gross place to be (heck, Shrek lives in one), but the word ‘swamp’ merely means a forested wetland. What are two of the most popular destinations for nature walks? Forests and wetlands, baby! Swamps are gorgeous and super vital to the ecosystem!
This beautiful destination is the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia:
Ever heard of the “Great Dismal Swamp” in Virginia? Do you imagine the most depressing, gross, scary place you’ve ever seen? It might look a bit haunting, but look how gorgeous the Great Dismal Swamp can be:
Oh yeah, did I mention that swamps are unbelievably rich in wildlife and rare plant species? For example, the Great Dismal Swamp has over 200 species of birds, over 70 species of reptiles and amphibians, and booming mammal populations (you’re very likely to see black bears and otters, for example). That doesn’t sound so dismal to me.
Speaking of wildlife, the Pantanal swamps in Brazil, Paraguay, and Bolivia are home to some rare and gorgeous animals like jaguars, hyacinth macaws, capybaras, caiman, giant otters, maned wolves, and more.
It’s easy to understand why swamps might get a bad reputation. They’re hard to travel on foot (many swamps now have boardwalk trails and canoe tours), and the stagnant water can smell bad and give a home to many bugs, which spread diseases. Cool animals like crocodiles and jaguars are bad news if you’re lost in the swamp and come face to face with one. But swamps are super important to the planet and are often way more beautiful than what you may be picturing!
One cool thing swamps do is absorb excess water like sponges so the surrounding areas don’t get badly flooded. In addition to the many animals that live in swamps, swamp plants often have medicinal value or other practical purposes. And despite their reputation for being dirty, swamps actually purify water because their thick plant growth and soil absorb impurities in the water!
Hey Emily! I have a line of dialogue in my head that I figured I just send to you to see what you would do with it! The line is: "Do you know what's it's like to be afraid of everything disappearing?" Do with that what you will lol. You absolutely don't have to write it if you don't want to though :D
You guys...I cannot even remember the last time I was so excited about a fic!!! Thank you so much Lis for this promp!! <3 <3 <3
From the moment he heard the knock on his apartment door, Peter knew that it was Tony Stark. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t been expecting him. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want to see him. Not really. But he’d only seen Mr. Stark once since he’d returned...on that battlefield. And, of course, directly after. And Peter...Peter just felt too much. Too much pain and too much disappointment and too much sadness to want to see him again. But the man was at his door. So what was he supposed to do?
Every time Peter shut his eyes, he saw the man disappear. Even after five years. He remembered watching Thanos run that blade from the Iron Man suit into his hero’s side. Remembered reaching down and pulling the man to his feet, a hand on his back, and Mr. Stark’s grimace of pain. He remembered Star Lord and the woman with the antenna and the man with the tattoos all disappearing. And then...the worst part. He remembered turning to Mr. Stark and knowing...watching his fingers start to crumble and he remembered shaking his head, sobs crawling up his throat.
“No...Mr. Stark...please..”
“Pete…” The wide brown eyes, helpless and so sad.
“Please...no, sir, don’t leave me...please don’t leave me!” He’d stumbled forward, reaching out, and Mr. Stark had met him halfway, part of his hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Please!”
“Kid, I…”
And then he’d been gone. Dust. And Peter had dropped to his knees, a guttural scream tearing out of his throat. No. No. It couldn’t be. Mr. Stark couldn’t be gone. He was Iron Man! Iron Man! Iron Man couldn’t be dead! The man who was the closest thing Peter had to a father couldn’t be dead! First his father, then Ben, now Mr. Stark...and Peter had dropped his head to the ground, waiting for it to take him. Practically praying that it would take him too. Because he didn’t want to do this anymore. With a sudden fierceness, he wished that it hadn’t been him. That he hadn’t been the one to wander away from his class on that field trip. That he hadn’t been the one to become a vigilante. Because this...this was too much.
He didn’t know how long he’d laid there, crumpled on the ground, forehead pressed against the red dirt, before the blue woman whose name he hadn’t caught had approached, kneeling at his side and speaking in a voice softer than he’d expected of her. “Are you injured?” she had asked softly, and Peter had shaken his head, too exhausted to stop the tears. But in reality, he hadn’t known if he was injured. His whole body had ached and his head had been pounding, throat sore from the tears he hadn’t been able to stop. And for a long time, he hadn’t even tried.
The woman had stayed at his side for a long time, but finally she’d stood. “You have to get up now.”
“I...I can’t.”
“I’m getting off of this planet. You can die here, or you can come with me.”
Peter had wanted to die there. And for a moment, he’d actually considered it. But when it came down to it, something in him had refused to give up. Had refused to let himself die with Mr. Stark, as much as he’d wanted to. Had refused to let himself lay down in the dirt and die. So, pressing his hands into the ground, he’d forced himself to his feet, the wind practically freezing the tears on his cheek. Some part of him registered the cold, and the tears that kept falling...the way the dirt of the dead planet crunched under his boots and the pain in his ribs and in one of his knees.
He’d ignored all of it, trudging forward and trying not to think about the silence and what it meant. Tried not to think about the people whose names he didn’t know who were dead now. Tried not to think about Mr. Stark or his wide, frightened eyes, or the way he’d reached out for Peter, looking so sorry and so sad. No. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. All he wanted to do was force one foot in front of the other, following the blue woman to the spaceship sitting on the ground and hoping she knew where Earth was.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t thought about May much, or Ned or MJ or Happy or any of the Avengers. That time on the ship had felt like time spent in a strange fog. Every moment, from the time he’d devoted to trying to help Nebula fix the ship to the hours spent tinkering with the cables and the engine….anything to get it running again after it quit on them, all of that time, it felt like he was someone else. Someone that worked nonstop and who told Nebula about his life and who listened to her talk about hers. Someone who played paper football, a game he’d learned from Mr. Stark during long days in the lab, until Nebula was almost smiling.
“It’s what we did before we had all this high tech shit you kids play with now.”
“Didn’t your dad make a flying car, Mr. Stark?”
“Shut up and flick the paper, Parker.”
In the end, he had become someone who lay in the cockpit, the hunger and exhaustion and lightheadedness finally overcame him. That was the day he gave up. The day he closed his eyes, blocking out the stars, head resting on the seat behind him, waiting. He remembered apologizing with the last bit of breath in his lungs.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry May. I’m sorry I let you down.” Too dehydrated to cry, he’d just laid there, waiting. Waiting for his last breath. Wondering if he’d see Mr. Stark again. Wondering if the man would tell him that it was okay. That he’d done his best. That he was still proud of him.
And then there had been a light.
At first, he’d assumed it was a light at the end of a tunnel moment...his brain’s take on his own death. But then the light had gotten brighter, hurting his eyes, and a woman had been there. Floating. Smiling.
“You must be Spider-Man.”
Nebula had helped him out of the ship, practically carrying him down the steps and onto the grass where the glowing woman had been standing, along with Sam Wilson, who he’d only met once at the airport, a man he was pretty sure was Bucky Barnes, and Thor. The men had just stared at him for a moment, all wide-eyed and apparently speechless, until a woman he had recognized as Scarlet Witch had stepped forward.
“Spider-Man?” she’d asked, looking at Nebula and the glowing woman in confusion.
“Mr. Stark...Tony…”. Peter hadn’t recognized his own voice at first. It had come out as a croak that had scrapes against his dry throat, and Sam had stepped forward, hands on his arms. “He disappeared. He...he’s gone...and...and all the others. Star Lord…”
Peter had been pretty sure that he’d been hallucinating because a raccoon had spoken then. “Star Lord? What about Drax? Mantis? What about Gamora?”
He’d shaken his head, turning to Sam Wilson and feeling his legs start to buckle. That had snapped the man into action. “Hey, stay with me, Spider-Man. Let’s get him inside.”
There had been more talking. The glowing woman had introduced herself as Carol and then he’d been sitting down, an IV in his arm as screens had shown the missing people. King T’Challa, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton. Tony Stark. When his mentor’s name had come up, Peter had looked away, trying to ignore the soft arguing between Carol and Sam and catching sight of Pepper Potts on another screen.
At least they were together, he’d thought.
A young woman he hadn’t recognized had spoken up then, pushing her long braids behind her back before taking his wrist. And he’d wanted to explain. He’d wanted to tell her that he hadn’t thought he’d make it back. That he’d already given up and that he didn’t know how to reverse that decision. Instead, he’d tried to tune into her soft voice.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked patiently, although he was sure she’d repeated herself.
“Peter. Peter Parker.”
“They fought him in space!” Sam had cried then, and Peter shook his head.
“No…”. He choked out, catching all of their attention. “No, the wizard...he gave up the stone and...and they all…”
“Alright, I think you need…” the woman who, if he looked closer, didn’t seem much older than him, started to say, but he shook his head again, feeling almost desperate. Had they fought him too? Did they know?
“He’s too strong. We…”
“Parker?” Happy’s soft, stunned voice had come from the doorway, and Peter had started to stand up.
He hadn’t felt himself hit the floor. Hadn’t felt the hands that had lifted him, or heard the voices discussing him or what they should do next. The next thing he’d known had been beeping, and a bed, and a hand holding his. Soft voices whispering.
“He was alone…”
“He has the blue lady…Nebula.”
“He’s malnourished and dehydrated. He...he was dying up there!” Peter had known that voice. Had known it better than his own. May.
“He’s okay now.” That had been Happy. Peter had tried to open his mouth, to try and tell her how much he’d missed her, but all that had escaped was a groan.
“Baby?”
“May?” he’d half sobbed, managing to open his eyes and see the two of them on either side of his bed.
“Peter…”. Her eyes had been red-rimmed and Peter had felt a sob burst out of him as though it were happening to someone else.
“May...I’m so sorry!”
“Baby, why…”
“I gave up!” he cried, refusing to meet Happy’s eyes. “I gave up, May. I was going to die and I couldn’t…”
Her hands had tugged him gently upright, arms wrapping around him and rocking him back and forth while Happy’s hand had landed on his back.
“He disappeared, and I wanted to die too!”
“Shhh, baby...it’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” There had been a rush of something warm. Something moving through his veins, and he’d felt himself start to drift again. “You sleep for a little while, honey. You’re okay. We’ll both be right here.”
“Happy?” he’d muttered, trying to find the man and failing when his eyes refused to open. “‘M sorry...I couldn’t...couldn’t save him.”
“It’s not your fault, Pete. Get some rest.” Happy had sounded upset, but Peter hadn’t been able to answer before he’d been unconscious once more.
And then life had continued in a strange way. May had taken him home. He’d barely spoken to any of the exhausted, defeated looking Avengers who had remained at the compound. He’d left his suit, both of them. The thought of putting it back on had made his throat clog as if with dust...the dust of Mr. Stark as he’d disintegrated. The dust of so many people. More than half of the Avengers and half of the universe. Gone.
He’d lived in a fog for weeks. There hadn’t been any school so he’d stayed in his room, Happy coming out and taking up residence in his living room while May worked, as if they had been worried that he’d go out as Spider-Man. As if he hadn’t left the suit at the compound.
As if he hadn’t left himself on Titan.
It took him a month and a half to leave his room and sit beside a startled Happy on the sofa. Hands clasped. Eyes trained on the TV which was paused on Downton Abbey. “Kid?” Happy’s confusion hadn’t surprised him. He’d barely spoken to either him or May in so long.
But it had hit him that day, a gradual knowing culminating in a ball of cold determination in his stomach. He had to fix this. This couldn’t be it...the world couldn’t just keep spinning when so many were gone. He had to figure out a way to reverse it. The thoughts had been stewing in the back of his brain for so long. He had to do something.
So, with Happy watching him in silent confusion, Peter had spoken. “Can you take me to the compound?”
“The...the compound?”
Peter had nodded, looking Happy in the eye, and the man must have seen something in his face. Something that said he would not take no for an answer. That he would find his own way to the compound if he had to. Because Happy had agreed. “Okay. We can go to the compound.”
Peter still remembered how it had felt that first time after everything, pulling up to the building on a fittingly rainy day. It had seemed like every day should be rainy. Like their loss should be felt in the weather every single day until this was fixed. Because it would be fixed. It had to be. Peter had led the way, stepping into the lobby, then heading for the elevator. They hadn’t run into anybody, but once Peter had stepped into the elevator, Happy had hung back. “I’m gonna go find Sam, see how they’re holding up.”
Peter had nodded. And then he’d looked up at the ceiling. “Friday, take me to Tony’s lab.”
The lab had been the same as ever, Mr. Stark’s projects left untouched in his absence. And for what must have been an hour, Peter had dropped into the closest stool and cried. He had cried and prayed and wished with everything he had that Mr. Stark would just step into the room. That the man would see him crying and frown in that confused, concerned way he had and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter had almost been able to hear the words Mr. Stark would surely say.
“Woah...hey, what’s going on Spiderling?”
And Peter had answered aloud, despite the fact that he had been alone. “You’re gone. Mr. Stark...you’re gone and I...I can’t do this! It should have been me! You could fix this! I can’t...I don’t know what to do!”
When he had finally been able to stop the tears, he’d tried to find that cold determination...that sureness that he could do this. That he had to. Because he did. The whole world had been counting on him.
“Friday?” he’d asked, voice still shaking from the tears.
“Yes, Peter?” she’d answered, soft and soothing. Familiar. He’d missed Friday. He missed Karen.
“I need you to bring up every bit of research Tony ever did on time travel.”
And as he’d forced himself back to his feet, eyes raking over the screens that appeared in mid-air, he’d known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this would be his life now. This lab. This mission. He would devote every bit of himself to it until the world was fixed.
And then he got to work. When Happy came to get him hours later, he refused to go. Shook his head, biting back the stubborn tears when Happy tried to remind him that May was waiting.
“I can’t leave.”
“Pete…”
“I have to fix this.”
“Peter, kiddo…” Happy had shaken his head, reaching out and resting a hand on his shoulder. And Peter had felt bad. Truly, he had. But he had seen the looks between Happy and May, growing more and more frequent despite his inability to focus. He’d seen the way Happy had comforted her. May had someone now. She had a budding relationship with one of the best men Peter had ever known, and despite how desperately Peter had wanted to go home, despite the nagging thought in the back of his brain that he wasn’t smart enough, that he had no chance of fixing something that Tony himself hadn’t been able to figure out, he’d stuck his heels in.
“I have a room here. No one’s using this lab.” Tony had given him the room. Tony. Not Mr. Stark. Peter couldn’t think about Mr. Stark anymore because he missed Mr. Stark. He missed him with every fiber of his being. But Tony could be anyone. Tony could be a stranger. Tony would have to be if he was going to get through this surrounded by Tony’s research and Tony’s suits and Tony’s bots.
Mr. Stark had been his mentor. Practically a father figure. But Tony was just a man. Just a scientist.
“You can’t just move to the compound.”
“I can.”
“What about May?”
“She has you.” Happy had gone strangely quiet at that, eyes widening, and Peter had spared him a soft smile. “I’m glad she has you, Happy.”
Happy had smiled then, squeezing with the hand he’d left on Peter’s shoulder. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I mean...it’s only been a couple of dates. And with everything going on…”
“You’re great for her. Really. And now she doesn’t need me.”
“Peter, she’ll always need you!” Happy had scolded, but Peter had shaken his head.
“It’s good that she doesn’t need me.”
“So what? You’re going to lock yourself in this lab? Work yourself to death trying to solve a problem that can’t be solved?”
“It can be solved.”
“But what if it can’t?”
Peter had slammed his hand down on the counter, turning and glaring at Happy, eyes hot. “Then I’ll die trying to solve it,” he’d whispered, feeling as unhinged as he’d sounded. And never before had he seen Happy look so sad. “I watched him die, Happy. I...I watched it. I fought Thanos and lost and...and I watched all of them die. And I have to fix it.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to fix it.”
“Peter…”
“May can come visit. You too.”
“What about school?”
“I don’t give two shits about school.”
Happy had given a long, almost angry sigh. “No. Look, I’ll bring you by every week, but you can’t stay here. Now come on. It’s time to go.”
Peter had turned fully away from the screens then, feeling that coldness seep through his stomach and into every finger and toe, consuming him. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here until I solve this.”
“You have to come home, Peter!”
“No, I don’t. And you can’t make me.”
Happy had left in the end, jaw tight, muttering angrily about how Peter would have to explain himself to his aunt, but Peter had just gone back to his work. To reading and research and looking through all of Tony’s notes until there had been footsteps, and Peter had turned to find Thor standing in the doorway, looking exhausted and sad and worn down, just like Peter felt. For a moment, he’d gripped the desk as though the man were there to drag him away. If anyone could do it, it would have been the god of thunder. But Thor had only given a sad smile.
“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Thor.”
“Peter,” he’d practically croaked, throat dry from dehydration and disuse, and he’d wondered how long he’d been in the lab. Then, he’d blurted, “I have a room here.”
“I know. Sam told me. He said that you were a good friend of Tony’s.”
“Yeah.”
“He also said that you had been working down here for nearly six hours.”
Peter had blinked at that, turning to look at the clock on the wall, always seven minutes fast no matter how much Tony had messed with it. He’d arrived at the compound around eleven, and Happy had tried to convince him to leave around three. Now it was a quarter past nine, and he couldn’t remember the last thing he’d eaten that hadn’t been a protein bar. “Oh.”
“Why don’t you take a break? Come get something to eat?”
“I...I’m staying here. I have a room…”
“Yes, of course. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. But you have to eat in the meantime.” Peter had swallowed hard, glancing back at the work he’d started. The new file labeled ‘time travel.’ “Once you eat, you can get right back to work.”
When Peter had finally agreed, joining Thor in the elevator, the Asgardian had asked Friday to take them to the kitchen before turning to Peter. “You remind me of him. Of Tony. He was always getting caught up in his work.”
Peter hadn’t answered. Hadn’t been able to.
That night, he’d properly met Sam and Bucky and Wanda, all of whom had been working to help the world move on. To help the people dislocated and the children left without families. The people that had been hurt when their driver or pilot had disappeared. None of them had tried to talk him out of staying. None of them had attempted to get him to go back to his old life. Maybe because they’d known how impossible that would be. And after he’d eaten, Peter had gone to bed in his room that had been next to Vision’s. But Vision had been gone.
And in the morning, he’d gotten back to work.
So the years had passed. May had come to visit every week, at first angry, then sad, then resigned. He took a day off for their wedding, and another for the birth of the little girl May called his little sister, even if she was technically his cousin and biologically his nothing. But he loved her. He truly did. Little Morgan. He gave his blessing for May to convert his bedroom into her nursery.
He wasn’t using it anyway.
He went on the occasional mission with Sam and Bucky. He made an occasional appearance with Wanda as she organized charities to take care of the orphaned children. He visited Princess Shuri in Wakanda, taking Ned and MJ along who he so rarely saw anymore, and asked for her help. She agreed to look over his notes, but she also had a country to run in her brother’s absence. He took Morgan to the park and taught her about Iron Man in the stories he told about the world’s greatest hero.
But mostly, he worked.
For five long years that seemed to pass like the blink of an eye, he worked. He researched. He experimented. And then, one day, the Bucky, Sam, and Thor came down to Tony’s lab that had become his lap, interrupting him and introducing him to a man named Scott that he vaguely remembered from a battle in an airport in Germany from so many years ago, and the man had suggested time travel.
And Peter had laughed.
“Time travel?” he’d asked, feeling older than his twenty-three years. “Time travel? Wow...that...that’s a great idea! Why the hell didn’t I ever think of that?” He’d gestured, feeling unhinged just like that day when Happy had tried to make him leave. “What do you think I’ve been doing for five fucking years? What do you think I’ve been working on down here?”
That night, he’d done something he hadn’t done since moving to the compound. He’d gone into Tony’s room. Not his bedroom...the little room off the side of the lab with a sofa and a TV and a shelf full of pictures. Pictures of Tony with Rhody and Tony with Pepper...faces he had almost forgotten. And then, on the end, a picture of Tony with him.
A picture of Mr. Stark with him. Arms around each other. Bunny ears above heads. An upside down certificate.
Peter had stared at it for a long time, feeling his eyes sting and his back ache and his head throb with the tension headache he’d had for almost a week now. “Time travel,” he’d whispered, a tear running down his cheek. “Mr. Stark...what do I do?”
And then, like a lightning bolt, it had hit him.
Upside down. The certificate was upside down.
He’d raced into the lab. Then, when Friday had shown him the model, he’d raced upstairs, practically screaming it in Sam’s face. “I got it! I figured it out! Time travel! I know how to do it!”
And less than three days later, he’d been standing on the battle field, wearing a suit he’d put together himself only a few hours ago, and the battle had raged around him as he’d fought for his life. But, as he’d fought beside Sam and Bucky and Wanda and Rocket and Sam, feeling like this might be the end, he’d known that he didn’t regret it. None of it. He’d figured out time travel. He’d saved half of the universe.
That’s when the portals had opened.
Mr. Stark had stepped out of the portal beside Doctor Strange and everything had seemed to stop. Immediately, the man’s eyes had scanned the battlefield, coming to a stop when he’d seen Peter in his suit, and Peter had wanted to go to him. Had wanted to stop time so that he could run over and throw his arms around the man he’d been trying to save for the last five years. Instead, feeling like he was once more in the same fog he’d been in on the spaceship with Nebula, Peter had fought. He’d fought until Mr. Stark had been thrown to the ground and he’d raced over, shooting a web and yanking the monster back before grabbing Mr. Stark’s arm and pulling him to his feet.
“Kid?” Mr. Stark had asked, voice wavering, and Peter had nodded, feeling his throat close up. The man had shaken his head, looking into the lenses of his mask and then reaching up, resting a metal-covered hand on his shoulder. “Peter...can...you gotta let me see you, kiddo.” The man had given a shaky laugh and with a gesture, Peter had made the mask retract.
Mr. Stark had flinched a little, jaw dropping before he’d taken a shaky breath. “So...so Strange wasn’t screwing with me, huh? It...it’s been…”
“Five years,” Peter had finished for him, nodding and clenching his teeth together so tightly that it felt like they might break.
“Five years,” Mr. Stark had repeated. And despite the fact that Mr. Stark was there...that it had all worked, the relief that Peter had been hoping for hadn’t been there. Because he’d still been afraid. Because he still saw it almost every time he blinked, Mr. Stark fading away to dust. “You’re...geez, kid, you’re taller,” the man had whispered with a strange smile.
Peter had just nodded, and then, before Mr. Stark had been able to say anything else, and before Peter had been able to throw his arms around the man, he’d been forced back to the battle. Forced back to fighting for his life, but this time, Mr. Stark had been at his side, fighting right alongside him.
When it had all been over and Carol had snapped her fingers and everyone had made their slow way back to the tower, Peter had slipped away, assuring Sam that he wasn’t hurt when the man had confronted him. But Mr. Stark had been reuniting with Pepper and the Avengers had been reuniting with each other and Peter had taken the opportunity to get a ride with Happy who had thrown his arms around him, patting him on the back and warning him to never, ever do that again. And then he’d taken him back to the apartment which was where he’d been for the last three days.
Peter stood up from the sofa where he’d been sleeping for the last few nights, sighing when Morgan shot past him to the door. He was on babysitting duty while Happy was at the compound and May was at work, and the little girl froze right before grabbing the doorknob, turning to him with her wide brown eyes. “Can I?”
“Go ahead,” he offered with a smile that felt forced, shutting the TV off. Hopping up and down on her toes, she yanked the door open and gasped at the man who seemed equally surprised to see her.
“You’re Iron Man!” Peter’s sister cried, freezing in place.
The man recovered quickly, eyebrows still raised in surprise when he answered. “I...yeah. Yes, I am. And...and you’re…”
“I’m Morgan.” The four-year-old held out a hand and Tony leaned down to take it, glancing past her to Peter. “Peter is my big brother! He helped save the whole world, just like you!”
“That he did,” Tony murmured with a smile. “Do you think I can talk to your brother for a little while?”
Morgan was going to argue. Peter could already tell. So he decided to butt in. “Mo. Give us an hour to talk and you can have a juice pop before dinner.”
Morgan crossed her arms, giving him a once over and setting her jaw. “Three juice pops.”
He held up two fingers, lips twitching despite the pit of dread in his stomach. “Two juice pops and you can stay up late to watch one movie.”
“Any movie?”
“Any movie I won’t get in trouble for letting you watch.”
Morgan nodded solemnly. “Deal.”
He grinned outright then, ruffling her hair as she walked by, then, when he could no longer put it off, he turned back to Mr. Stark who still stood in the open doorway, an odd expression on his face. “Hey, Mr. Stark. Come on in.” It took everything in him to look the man in the eye. To make his voice casual. To see the man in front of him and not the scene on Titan from five years ago.
The man stepped into the apartment, looking as shell shocked as Peter felt. “You...you have a little sister?”
“Happy didn’t tell you?” Peter asked, forcing a lightness into his voice to match Mr. Stark’s. The man chuckled a little.
“He did...I just...I guess I had to see it to believe it.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty great. Right now she’s really into spiders, so watch out.”
“That’s not all Happy told me.”
“You want anything to drink?” Peter asked, practically cutting him off and heading for the kitchen, no longer able to make eye contact. “I think we still have some milk or water...and I was saving the last Dr. Pepper but you can have it.”
“Pete…”
“I’m gonna make Morgan spaghetti for dinner...I’m using your mom’s recipe. It’s her favorite. So if you want to stay for dinner...”
“Kiddo...can’t you talk to me?” Mr. Stark’s voice was so soft and sad that it froze Peter in his tracks.
“I am talking to you.”
“No, you’re aggressively offering me refreshments.” There was a tiny smile in Mr. Stark’s voice as he moved closer.
Dust. All there had been was dust. And Peter’s forehead has rested in it for so long as he’d waited for death to claim him too.
“Do you know what it's like to be afraid of everything disappearing?” he asked in a choked whisper, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I thought...I thought that if I could just get you back, that would go away.” Peter refused to turn around. Refused to face him. If it happened again, Peter couldn’t watch. Couldn’t bear to. Not again. He wouldn’t survive it again.
When Mr. Stark spoke again, his voice was soft. Sad. Haunted. “I watched Friday’s videos. Of the lab. Of you. She...she made me a compilation.” He gave another humorless laugh.
Peter closed his eyes for a moment, focusing only on his breathing. He knew what Mr. Stark would have seen in that footage. Knew that he would have watched Peter crying that first day. That he would have seen Peter grow from a seventeen-year-old boy to a twenty-three-year old man in the five years and handful of months that Peter had lived without him. He would have seen Peter working manically to figure out time travel, and the failure after failure he’d faced. He would have seen the Avengers taking turns coming down to the lab to pull him away from work for long enough to eat and sleep during that first year, only to have to do it again a day or two later. But they’d done it. Patiently. Kindly. Every day.
He would have seen that night a year and a half in, right after May’s wedding and a few months before Morgan’s birth, when Peter had carried almost the entirety of Tony’s bar in a crate down to the lab and proceeded to drink every last bottle of whiskey and bourbon and other bottles whose labels he hadn’t read. He would have seen Bucky dropping to his knees at Peter’s side, shaking him from where he’d laid passed out on the floor until Peter had started throwing up.
He hadn't been able to stop for almost an hour and Bucky had stayed the whole time, holding him up so that he didn’t faceplant unto his own vomit until his heaving breaths had turned to sobs.
“I want him back! Please...I want him back!”
Mr. Stark would have heard that. Would have watched Bucky pull him in close, hands firm on his back as he’d rocked them on the floor.
“I should have died too. I wish…” Even then, nearly blackout drunk, Peter hadn’t been able to say those words. But he’d said enough. And Mr. Stark would have heard it. Would have watched Bucky Barnes scoop him up and carry him up to his own bedroom, tucking him in and sitting with him until any danger of him vomiting and choking himself in his sleep had passed.
“You can’t ever do that again, Peter,” Bucky had murmured the next morning, looking haunted.
Peter had nearly laughed, feeling hollow. “I know. There isn’t enough alcohol left.”
Mr. Stark also would have seen Sam come down to the lab the next day, looking solemn as he’d crossed his arms. “From now on, you eat dinner with us. Every night. I mean it.”
Peter has snorted, feeling the anger and the hollow pain mix up inside of him. “Or what? You gonna make me?”
“Or I get Thor down here to drag your ass home!” Sam had snapped. “I’m not gonna sit back and watch you kill yourself! It’s not what Tony would want, Peter.”
That had made him pause for just a second. Thor had been staying at the compound along with the others, and Peter had wondered if it was because he wanted to keep an eye on him. If anyone was strong enough to physically make him leave, it was Thor.
“How the hell do you know what Tony would want?” Peter had finally asked.
“I know that Tony cared enough about you that he left you basically everything. That you’re the only one of us that could get into this lab. And I know that it would kill him to watch you drink yourself to death like you almost did last night. So from now on, you check in, and you eat with us. Every night. Or so help me, kid…”.
Sam had broken off then just as Peter’s face had crumbled, and then he’d grabbed Peter by the back of the neck, squeezing gently, moving in closer. Comfortingly. “Every one of us here, we get it, Peter. We all get it. We all miss them. But we have to look out for each other now. Tony...he loved you. Happy said so, and there’s no one that knew Tony like he did. You were practically his kid. I can’t let his kid work himself to death, or drink himself to death...not while I just sit back and watch. Okay?”
Peter had nodded, and Sam had pulled him into a rough, quick hug, seeming to sense that Peter just wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone.
Tony would have seen all that.
“Sorry about your bar.”
Mr. Stark gave a humorless short. “I owe Barnes. Big time. Sam too.” The man reached out, a hand landing on Peter’s shoulder. “Come sit down..”
“I can get you a drink or…”
“I don’t want a drink, Peter. I want to sit down and talk to you. Hey...look at me.”
Peter was shaking, falling apart like he had so many times alone in that lab. But this time, Mr. Stark was there, pulling gently until Peter was facing him, and the man lifted a hand and placed it on his cheek. “Sam was right. It just about killed me, watching you drink every bottle of alcohol I had, and not just because that bar was worth at least $140,000.” Peter gave a weak laugh. He’d missed his jokes. And the teasing. The laughing. All of it. He’d missed it so much that it hurt. “And he was right about something else.” Peter sniffed and Tony moved his hand to the back of Peter’s neck, mirroring the gentle grip of Sam from years ago. “So was Happy. I love you, Pete. So much. Like my own kid. That’s what you were. What you are. My kid. And...and leaving you on that god-forsaken planet...I...God, Pete I’m so sorry.”
Peter shook his head, voice breaking. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t yours either.”
Mr. Stark led him over to the sofa but Peter kept talking, blurting out the words he hadn’t meant to say. “I’m so sorry...it took me five years. I...I’m not like you. I wasn’t smart enough. I’m sorry…”
“Peter…”. Mr. Stark shook his head, giving him an incredulous smile. “You saved the world, kiddo. You invented time travel! You’re better than me, Pete! So much better. You...you gave up everything to save me...to save everyone.”
Peter closed his eyes and leaned his head forward, letting himself rest his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder for only a second before the man’s arms were around him. Holding him, just like Peter had dreamed of for years. For five whole years. And with that contact, he felt himself shatter.
Mr. Stark held him even tighter when he started to sob, as if he was the only thing holding Peter together.
He was.
“Oh buddy...I’m so proud of you. You...you were amazing. And I’m sorry that you had to do that. I’m so sorry, Pete. But it’s over. We won, buddy. We won. You won.” The words washed over him but Peter couldn’t stop crying as he clutched desperately at Mr. Stark’s clothes.
“I thought I was going to die...on that spaceship...I wanted to die. I wanted to!”
“You can rest now. You did it. I’m so proud of you. So proud. I love you, Peter. I love you. I’m so proud of you.” Over and over Mr. Stark whispered those words and Peter soaked them in, crying until it felt like he couldn’t anymore.
The two of them sat on the couch for a long time before Mr. Stark spoke again, voice gentle and light. “So...you share a room with your little sister now? How’s that?”
Peter shook his head, feeling as though something heavy, something he’d been carrying for the last five years, was finally gone. And he could breathe again. “I sleep on the couch. I...I was living at the compound.” Of course, Tony knew that. He’d watched the footage from the lab.”
“So what are you doing here?” Peter shrugged. “Why don’t you come to the tower? I bought it back and I’m having it renovated. You can have your own room. Hell, your own floor if you want. The other Avengers are dying to meet the man that brought them back.”
The Avengers. They were all back together again...minus Wanda and Vision. Vision hadn’t come back. Wanda had made the real sacrifice to get that stupid rock.
Peter hoped they were together now.
“It wasn’t just me…”
“I talked to Sam. Scott. Thor. I watched the videos that Friday saved for me. It was you, Pete.”
“I started with your research.”
The man snorted. “There barely was any. Still. It was you. And you’ve got a place to stay that isn’t your aunt’s sofa.”
Peter hesitated, then nodded his head against Mr. Stark’s shoulder and the man’s arms tightened around him. “Most of my stuff was at the compound.”
“We’ll get you new stuff. I think we can afford it.”
Before Peter could answer, tiny footsteps approached and he looked up to find Morgan standing in front of him, looking scared. “You were crying,” she whispered, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Yeah. But I’m okay, Mo.” He smiled, opening his arms and sitting up, then pulling her onto his lap where she sat, head against his chest.
“Peter told me stories about you,” she told Mr. Stark matter-of-factly. “He said you were the best superhero in the whole world before the bad guy did a big magic trick and made you disappear. But then he saved you.”
Mr. Stark nodded, keeping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “That’s right. He did. Now Spider-Man is the best superhero in the whole world.”
She thought about that for a moment, then nodded as though that made perfect sense. “Yeah. He is. And he’s making me spaghetti for dinner.”
Peter chuckled, taking the hint. “That I am. Pick a movie to watch and get your juice pops, and I’ll get dinner started. Deal?”
Morgan nodded, running into the kitchen, and Tony stood alongside Peter. “Mr. Stark, you don’t have to…”
The man smiled. “I missed five years of your life, Pete. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a little while. Besides, I want to make sure you’re staying faithful to the recipe.”
Peter snorted. “Yeah, okay. But if you’re going to watch, you’re going to help. House rules. Right, Mo?”
“Right!” the girl called, running into the living room with what looked like three juice pops.
Tony put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed, and Peter tried to remember the last time he’d been so happy and failed. “I think I can handle that, Underoos.”
These dudes are fucking legit. They don’t just show up one day in court, either, they actually make friends with the kids and let them know they have a support system and that there are people in the world who care about them and will always have their back. And less important, but also cool, is that the few times a couple of them have come into my cafe, they’ve been super friendly and polite and when I told one of the guys that I noticed his Bikers Against Child Abuse patch and wanted him to know how awesome I thought he was because of it, he got kind of shy and blushed and said, “The kids are the awesome ones, we just let them know they’re allowed to be brave.”
The source is long, but so, so good. These men and women are available in 36 states, 24 hours a day to stand guard at home, in court, at school, even if the child has a nightmare. Many of them are survivors of childhood abuse as well, and know what it’s like to feel scared and alone.
In court that day, the judge asked the boy, “Are you afraid?” No, the boy said.
Pipes says the judge seemed surprised, and asked, “Why not?”
The boy glanced at Pipes and the other bikers sitting in the front row, two more standing on each side of the courtroom door, and told the judge, “Because my friends are scarier than he is.”
Bikers Against Child Abuse was founded in 1995 by a Native American child psychologist whose ride name is Chief, when he came across a young boy who had been subjected to extreme abuse and was too afraid to leave his house. He called the boy to reach out to him, but the only thing that seemed to interest the child was Chief’s bike. Soon, some 20 bikers went to the boy’s neighborhood and were able to draw him out of his house for the first time in weeks.
Chief’s thesis was that a child who has been abused by an adult can benefit psychologically from the presence of even more intimidating adults that they know are on their side. “When we tell a child they don’t have to be afraid, they believe us,” Arizona biker Pipes told azcentral.com. “When we tell them we will be there for them, they believe us.”
( Article)
My parents are a part of this organization and they are metal af
They go on runs to protect the child if they feel even the slightest threatened no matter where. If the child needs them to go on vacation with them, they do. Bikers come from across the nation to watch over and take shifts for these kids. And the best part is once you’re adopted into this family as a BACA kid, you’re always one. Even when you’re 40 and the perp gets released from jail, they’ll come meet with you and find your best options for avoiding the person and maintaining the life you’ve built for yourself. Once a BACA child, always a BACA child. In Florida, there’s 100% rate for identifying the perp based on the child’s testimony. Why? Because BACA stands with the child and supports the child so they feel comfortable enough to point out their attacker.
What’s better than a badass biker gang being on your side???
NATIVE AMERICAN CHILD PSYCHOLOGIST WHO IS A BIKER AND NAMED HIMSELF CHIEF HELL YES I’M HERE FOR THAT AND BIKERS BEING BAD ASS TO PROTECT KIDS. HELL YEAH.
“If you don’t get the vaccine then you’re a selfish conservative who hates science!”
“If you get the vaccine then you are a bootlicking sheep who hates freedom!”
Shut UP. Just SHUT! UP!
Whether or not you get the vaccine is a PERSONAL MEDICAL DECISION. No medical intervention is risk free, and each choice carries different risk factors and benefits for differing groups in the population.
The best you can do is inform yourself with research and statements from trusted health professionals, and go from there. A pregnant mother may decline the vaccine until her child is born, or weans from breastfeeding. An elderly man will get the vaccine ASAP to protect his immunocompromised grandchild. Some will avoid the vaccine until more research better explains possible benefits vs side effects, while others feel safer in taking the vaccine and work with their care provider to stay safe.
Maybe declining the vaccine means you are unable to attend certain events, due to the safety of vulnerable people there; or, if you take the vaccine, some friends may steer clear for a while because they haven’t made a decision on the safety of shedding from mRNA vaccines — these are normal social consequences. They should not be made out of malice or mean that people hate you. They are not a reflection of your moral achievements or lack thereof. It’s just MEDICAL DECISION MAKING!!!
The only benefit from making this political is to give the tyrants in DC more power over a divided populace. Your neighbor is not an enemy, but the system is harder to dismantle and keep in check when you act like they are. You don’t have to like each other or be friends but damn, can y’all cool down with the hate already?
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