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crackheadgeminibby · 3 years

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you can't change the past

pairing: steve rogers x wilson!reader, bucky barnes x wilson!reader

warnings: angst, language, TW mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts and abortion

word count: 5.1k

a/n: i rewatched endgame and remembered how much steve leaving annoyed the shit out of me so there. also i 100% took that ripple quote from x-men so yeah, enjoy:)

i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape or form or reposted on any other platform

not my picture

You’re leaning on a tree next to your brother as you wait for Banner to finish calibrating the time machine. In the distance, you see Steve hugging Bucky before making his way towards you. You stand up as Steve gets to your level. He smiles softly before looking towards Sam,

“Hey, can you give us a second, please?”

Sam nods before walking towards Bucky and striking up a conversation with him. You smile up at Steve before stroking his cheek and asking,

“What’s up?”

Steve’s eyes flutter close as he leans into your palm before saying, barely above a whisper,

“I’m not coming back, sweetheart.”

Your hand falls from Steve’s face as a frown etches itself onto your face.

“What?”

Steve slowly opens his eyes, looking into yours, before replying,

“When Tony and I went to 1970 for the Tesseract and the Pym particles, I saw Peggy… I thought I had moved on but… We’re meant to be together.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you take a step back from Steve, hurt clear on your face.

“I thought we were?”, you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“So did I… But when I saw her again, it just felt like the universe was giving me a second chance and I can’t not take it.”

As tears start to fall down your face, the air around suddenly feels freezing as a shiver shakes your body. You look towards the ground, trying to find something, anything to say. You’re not sure how long you stay there but you’re pulled back to reality when Banner tells Steve that the machine is ready.

“Y/N… Please, say something.”

Your eyes stay fixated on the ground beneath your feet, “What does Bucky think about this?”

You hear Steve’s breath stop shortly before he exhales slowly, “I didn’t tell him.”

You scoff before shaking your head slowly and kicking a pebble.

“You know, Steve, there’s a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable. It’s like a river: you can throw a pebble in and create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do the river just keeps flowing in the same direction.”

You look up at Steve, before finishing, “You can’t change the past, Steve. But thank you for making your feelings about me crystal clear.”

You turn around, practically running back to your car, driving back to the tower.

Through your tears and sobs, you don’t hear that someone has followed you back and has entered your room. A hand softly touches your back, startling you, as you turn around rapidly, whispering, hopeful, “Steve?”

“Sorry, doll. It’s just me…”, you hear Bucky’s soft voice answer.

You feel your sobs wracking through your body even harder than before as Bucky climbs into your bed, taking you into his arms. You cry into his chest, listening to his heartbeat until you eventually hear his breathing become ragged.

Through your teary vision, you look up at Bucky, now also crying, as he looks down at you,

“He left me too, you know.”

You wrap your arms around Bucky, trying to comfort him while also letting yourself cry.

As soon as Steve had returned all of the stones to their respective times and places, he had made a beeline for Peggy’s house. He had made sure to look up all the information he needed beforehand, so he didn’t have to wait a second before making his way to her.

Walking up to her front door, a bouquet of flowers in hand, he could feel the slightly chilly fall Washington air nipping at his cheeks with the sun setting in the distance.

Knocking on the door, Steve adjusts his tie, feeling the anticipation rise in his throat. After what seems like forever, the door to the Carter residence opens, Peggy herself standing on the threshold.

She is visibly shaken as her eyes widen immeasurably before she whispers, “Steve?”

Steve smiles back at her, replying, “Hey Peggy… I’m back.”

Peggy glances over her shoulder before pushing Steve farther away from the house, closing the door behind her. She crosses her arms over her chest before looking up at Steve,

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s smile falters before stutters, “What do you mean? I came back… For you.”

Peggy shakes her head softly before answering, “Steve… I’m married. To a man I love. And I’m pregnant.”

Steve looks down at her and for the first time, he notices her inflated belly. She was not very far from giving birth.

“But, what about us?”

Peggy frowns, “Steve, we missed our chance… Gabe and I are happy.”

Steve lets his arms fall to his side, the bouquet of flowers now upside down, petals flying away in the wind. He opens and closes his mouth once, twice, three times, unable to find anything to say.

He looks at his feet before mumbling, “Can I just stay the night? I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”

Peggy sighs deeply before reluctantly nodding her head and opening the door, letting Steve into the house.

As Steve falls asleep that night, he only sees your face from the last time he saw you. Hurt and anger, maybe even disgust on your face. He thinks about the ways in which he will try to win you back, despite the amount of time he had been away. He wasn’t sure how long his one day spent in the past will have been in your life. But he hopes that not enough time has passed for you to have forgotten about him.

As it turns out, five years had passed since he had left. He was confused at first when he came back. The machine Banner had left in the woods behind the Avengers facility had been left there but it was full of dust. The facility, which had been destroyed when he left, was now completely rebuilt and vibrant with life. He had been discreet, walking through the woods to get back to the city without being seen.

From there, he had been able to find a disguise to do research on where you were now. He had learned that you had moved back to Louisiana with Sam and were currently residing there.

As soon as he found out, he rented a car and made his way to you. The road was long but no place on this Earth was too far for him to travel so he could see you again.

When he got to Louisiana, he only had to ask one person to be pointed in your direction. Apparently, the Wilson family was like royalty in these parts. So, he was surprised when he arrived at the house that was indicated to him to find the door widely open, seemingly no one in sight.

Steve walks up the steps leading to the house, hearing someone running towards the door. He is taken aback when he sees a small girl stop suddenly in front of the door. She stares at Steve with wide eyes; she couldn’t be more than 6 years old, with short curly hair secured into pigtails and soft amber eyes.

Still staring at him, the child opens her mouth, “Mommy, there’s a man at the door!”

He hears feet padding their way to the door before he hears, “Lizzie, baby, how many times have I told you not to go to the door a-”

You stop abruptly in your tracks as you see before you the man you thought you would never see again. Your breath hitches as a lump grows in your throat.

“Steve?”

Steve smiles softly, “Hey sweetheart.”

You feel the air thickening as your eyes start to sting. You hold your hand out towards your child, setting it on her shoulder, before saying, “Elizabeth, go see Uncle Sam on the dock, okay?”

Completely unbothered, the child responds, “Okay, mommy.”, turning around and running towards what seems to be the kitchen.

You stay rooted to your spot, unable to move or say a single word and staring at Steve like he’s going to vanish before your eyes.

He takes slow steps towards you as if he’s afraid that if he moves too quickly, you’ll run away like a wild animal. He stops when he’s in arms reach of you.

He smiles a little before saying, jokingly, “No welcome home hug for me?”

Before you can even register what happened, your hand has already hit Steve across the face. You feel the heat of the slap warming up your hand as you clench it into a fist at your side.

Steve looks at you again, understanding that this was clearly the wrong thing to say to you. He softly strokes his cheek.

“Guess I deserved that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes before asking, “What the fuck are you doing here, Steve? I thought you were going back to Peggy?”

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly before saying, “That didn’t really work out…”

You scoff again, “So, what? Peggy rejects you and now you come back to get your second choice, is that it?” You shake your head, “You know, I almost didn’t mind being second-best to her all those years ago. But now? You can go to hell, Steve.”

He stares at you, almost like he’s not even listening to you, before asking, “Is she mine?” He bites his bottom lip, looking next to you where pictures of the child and you through the years adorn the walls.

“She seems about the right age, you know?”

You clench your fists, even tighter than before, which you didn’t know was possible. You can feel the blood gradually leaving your hands as you clench your jaw and look at Steve straight in the eyes, “No. She’s not. Not that it’s any of your business?”

Steve frowns in confusion, “Well then, who-”

He’s cut off as loud footsteps resonate through the walls of the house.

“Hey doll. Lizzie just came running down to the boat talking about how there’s a man in the house.”

Bucky’s voice, despite him being far enough away for you not to see him, travels perfectly to the spot in which you are still motionless. Bucky finally stops when he sees Steve standing on the porch.

He doesn’t hesitate for a single second before clenching his jaw and saying lowly, “Get out.”

Steve puts his hands up in surrender about to say something before Bucky screams, making you jump slightly, “Get out of my house! NOW!”

Steve looks between you and him, waiting for you to advocate on his behalf, but you had stopped doing that a long time ago. You stare back at Steve, almost challenging him to defy Bucky.

As Steve doesn’t move, Bucky walks heavily to the door, making you think that he is about to start a fight with Steve, you say, “Bucky, don’t.”

Bucky stops in front of Steve and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before slamming the door in Steve’s face. When Bucky turns back to you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in.

Your vision starts to get blurry, and your ears feel clogged as you faintly hear Bucky still next to the door, cursing Steve out. Your lungs burn as if air seems to be unable to find its air through your body as your legs tremble. Your head starts to spin and before you can understand what’s happening, your legs give out making you crumple on the floor.

You distantly hear Bucky call your name, but your brain seems unable to focus on his voice trying to pull yourself out of your current state. You feel a pair of strong arms holding you to a hard chest followed by a pair of soft hands stroking your hair and face.

After what seems like forever trying to fight against your own body, you let go and everything turns black.

When your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on your bed and the room is pitch black. Multiple hours have visibly passed but the room is completely silent. You push yourself up to the headboard, looking around you before getting up. Your legs are still shaky, so you lean on your bed to help guide you to the door.

As you walk through the halls of the house, you start hearing hushed voices in the living room. Stopping on the threshold, you look at Sam, Sarah and Bucky sitting around the dining table.

“Hey. What happened?”, you croak out.

All their heads snap in your direction and Bucky almost immediately walks towards you, enveloping you in a hug.

“Oh doll, I didn’t know you were awake. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

You tear yourself out of Bucky’s arms before looking at Sam and Sarah confusedly. They were looking at you like you just came back from the dead or something. Bucky stands next to you, also analyzing your face.

You frown, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh my God, what is it, guys? Stop looking at me like that!”

Sam gets up from his chair before gently stroking your arms.

“Do you remember anything from today?”

You frown again before slowly shaking your head. “Should I have something special to remember?”

Sam nods apprehensively before replying, “Steve was here today. Apparently, you guys talked for a while then Bucky got here, and you passed out.”

You rack your brain, trying to remember what he was talking about before you realize. Your body tenses up and you feel your breathing become ragged.

Bucky feels that and guides you to the dining table, making you sit down where he was before. He kneels in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“Doll, I want you to breathe with me, okay?”

You can feel your head start to spin and your vision becomes blurred, but you focus on Bucky’s voice.

“Deep breath in…”

He inhales deeply, making sure you’re following along.

“And out…”

He exhales deeply, looking into your eyes. You can feel your vision start to clarify.

“Again. In…” Inhale.

“Out…” Exhale. Your head stops spinning.

“One last time, in…” You inhale deeply through your nose.

“And, out…” You exhale through your mouth.

Bucky looks deeply into your eyes before stroking your cheeks. You shiver slightly from the difference in temperature of his hands that are both on your face. He gets up and sees your eyes sending him a panicked look.

“It’s okay… I’m just going to sit down here, okay?”

He sits down on the chair next to you before taking your hand in his. You look at Sarah and Sam, visibly trying to find something, anything to say.

After you all stay seated in silence for about 5 minutes, you look up at them.

“I want to see him.”

Sarah frowns, reaching for your hand that’s resting on the table.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Y/N? You didn’t… fare so well last time, you know?”, she says softly.

You nod, swallowing thickly.

“I know but he caught me by surprise. This time, I’ll know that I’ll see him so I can prepare myself.”

You can feel Bucky tensing up next to you. Sam clears his throat.

“Why do you want to see him? He knocked you up, broke your heart and left you for some 100-year-old woman he kissed once.”

“Sam!”, Sarah chastises.

“Can always count on you for the honesty.”, you say sourly, side-eyeing Sam.

“First of all, he didn’t know I was pregnant. Hell, I didn’t know I was pregnant until… the accident...”, you say silently.

You had been battling depression since your early teens, but it had never been that bad. Sam and Sarah had started to recognize the signs of your mental withdrawal almost immediately after Steve had left. About three weeks after Steve left, you had tried to take your own life by crashing your car in the lake behind the house. Bucky had found you just in time and brought you to the hospital.

The doctors had insisted on doing a complete medical check-up and had found that you were 2 months pregnant. You were ready to tell the doctor that you wanted to abort but Sam and Sarah had convinced you otherwise. They had told you that keeping the baby could be like a piece of Steve in your life and it could help you heal.

At first, you didn’t believe them, but they ended up being right. The baby saved you, giving your life purpose, something you thought you would never find again.

Bucky, Sam and Sarah had all pitched in to help but Bucky had realized that his desire to be there for you was more than guilt for his best friend leaving you. He had fallen in love with you. So, when he had asked you out, you had said yes. When he had proposed, you had also said yes.

Bucky was making you the happiest you had ever been in a long time. And you were now pregnant with your second child. You had learned about two weeks ago and you had announced it last weekend.

But you knew that, if you didn’t get closure from your time with Steve, you would never be able to be completely happy with Bucky.

You shake your head slightly, making yourself come back to your current situation.

“And second of all, I need to do it. For myself. But also, for my two children. I can’t be the mom they deserve if I don’t get some kind of closure from this whole… situation.”

Bucky huffs before getting up and walking quickly to your shared bedroom. You sigh, rubbing your forehead.

“Sam, can you try to track him down, please? I need to get this done soon.”

Sam looks at you for a couple of seconds before sighing and nodding his head.

“Thanks. Good night, guys.”

You walk to your bedroom, opening the door. When you walk in, you see that Bucky is laying down under the covers, his back to you. You walk slowly to the bed before kneeling down on it.

“Bucky.”

Nothing.

“Buck.”

He exhales loudly but doesn’t budge. You sigh deeply, stroking his back with one hand while the other turns him around.

“Bucky, baby, please, just listen to me.”

He rolls on his back but stares at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. You sigh again before sitting down next to him, folding your hands in your lap.

“Look, Bucky, I understand that you’re upset. He hurt me but he also hurt you. He left us both and you’re allowed to be angry with him and deal with his return in whatever way you want but you can’t be mad at me for wanting to deal with it in the way that I want.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, still staring at the ceiling. You exhale slowly, putting a hand on Bucky’s cheek.

“Bucky, come on. Say something.”

You sigh deeply, “Bucky, I-”

“I’m scared, okay?”, he says loudly, turning his head to look at you. You jump slightly, unprepared for a response from him, much less such a loud response.

You frown, tilting your head, “Scared of what?”

He turns his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Bucky, you need to tell me.”

He puts his hands over his face, slightly muffling his answer, “I’m scared that you’re gonna see him and talk to him and fall back in love with him. And then, you’re gonna leave with Lizzie and then I’m gonna be left alone all over again…”,

You feel tears pooling in your eyes as you reach over to put your hands on his shoulders. You tug at him softly, indicating that you want him to get up. Bucky sits up, staring at your lap before you reach over and put a hand on his chin, lifting his head to look at you.

You stare into his eyes, also full of unshed tears, before saying,

“Bucky, I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

He nods at you before whispering “okay.”

“First of all, Steve doesn’t know that Lizzie is his, okay? When he asked, I said no. And we’re going to keep it that way because you are her dad, Bucky, no one else. Second of all, it’s not like I’m going on a date with the man. I just want to talk to him so I can get closure. And third of all, in case you forgot, I’m wearing your ring on my finger, not his. And that’s how it’s gonna stay, okay?”

Bucky looks at you as tears start to fall down his face. He leans towards you, leaving a short but passionate kiss on your lips.

He lays back down on the bed before taking you in his arms as you listen to his steady heartbeat.

You look up at him, whispering, “I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky hums appreciatively before kissing the top of your head and answering, “I love you more.”

That night, you fall asleep with Bucky’s arm around your waist and his fingers intertwined with yours.

When you wake up the next morning, Bucky has already left the bed. You know that he’s either on a run or working on the boat with Sam.

You get up, brushing your teeth and getting ready before heading out to the dock. As you thought, you see Bucky and Sam working on the boat. They’re silent and you know it’s because you’re supposed to see Steve today.

“Hey Sam!”, you call out.

Sam turns towards you before meeting you halfway into the boat.

“Did you find him?”

He looks at you, raising an eyebrow before scoffing.

“Please. It took me less than 10 minutes. I told him to come at 11:30 so he should be here any minute.”

“Okay, thanks.” You look down at Bucky, still hard at work on the boat’s engine.

“Buck, can I talk to you for a second, please?” He drops the tool that was in his hand before walking up the stairs of the boat and stopping to sit down on the dock, not looking at you once.

You sit down next to him, before taking your hand in his.

“I’m just gonna talk to him, okay?” Bucky continues staring at his shoes but nods softly.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

He finally looks up at you and nods, murmuring, “I love you too.”

You smile at him, kissing his cheek.

“I-”

“Y/N, he’s here.”, you hear Sarah’s voice call out.

Bucky instantly tenses up and looks at you with panic in his eyes. You give a warm smile and whisper, “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. As soon as we’re done, I’m gonna come find you and then we can go do something fun together all day, okay?”

Bucky nods, sniffling softly, before heading back inside the boat.

You get up and follow Sarah to the backyard where Steve is sitting on a bench. As soon as he sees you, he gets up and adjusts his shirt. You feel the warm Louisiana air brushing against your skin as you take deep breaths, approaching him.

When you get to the bench, Sarah stops a couple of feet behind you. You look at her and nod, silently saying that you’re fine. Steve walks towards you and pulls out a bouquet of flowers, handing it to you.

You reluctantly take it and sit down at one end of the bench. Steve follows your actions and sits down on the other end.

“You look beautiful.”

Your breath hitches as you put the flowers on the bench between you.

“Look, Steve, I didn’t-”

You stop and frown as you see a purple bruise under his left eye. You instinctively reach up to touch it and he hisses as your warm hand touches his face.

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say that Sam was less than happy to see me.”

You chuckle softly. You should have known that he would have done something like that.

You put your hand back in your lap, trying to find the right words to express your feelings.

“I wanted to see you because I need closure for my family. That’s all.”

Steve looks at you longingly, “You always were one of the strongest women I knew. And beautiful, loving, caring, compass-”

“Look, Steve, I didn’t ask Sam to call you here so we could reminisce about old times. Why did you come back?”

Steve looks at the ground before clearing his throat, “When Peggy rejected me, it made me realize that I left the woman that I truly loved. And I thought that I could come back, and we could talk and-”

“I’m engaged”, you blurt out. You slap a hand over your mouth, shocked at yourself.

Steve looks at you and finally notices the diamond ring on your left hand.

“Oh… I, umm… Who is it?”

“Umm Bucky.”

Steve frowns, “You’re engaged to my best friend?”

You snort and mutter, “I don’t think he would call himself that anymore but sure.”

“But how?”

You scoff, “Well, when you get abandoned by the same person, you kinda find some things to bond about.”

“And it is… you know, serious?”, Steve asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You leave me, abandon me- us, for some girl and then you ask if it’s serious?” You get up, now completely furious and screaming,

“You can’t just waltz in here after five fucking years, after destroying me so bad I almost killed our child and then ask me if I’m serious about the love of my life!”

Steve seems shocked as his mouth stays open, “Wait, I thought you said she wasn’t mine?”

You stare at him before groaning loudly, “Oh, fuck me!”

Steve gets up, a determined look on his face.

“I want to meet her.”

You exhale deeply, calming yourself down before looking at the lake and crossing your arms.

“No.”

Steve stares you down, “I deserve to meet her.”

Your head snaps towards him, “You don’t deserve jack shit, Steve.”

Your vision becomes blurry with tears as you start hitting his chest aimlessly, “You left! You abandoned me! You deserve nothing!”

You feel strong arms pulling you back as you thrash around. Bucky’s soft voice rings in your ears,

“It’s okay, doll, it’s me. Calm down.”

Bucky’s hands cup your face, and he wipes your tears away with his thumbs as you calm down. When you stop crying, he pulls you into a hug and you feel his chest vibrate as he speaks lowly, “It’s time for you to go, Steve.”

You hear Steve’s equally deep voice from behind you, “I’m not going anywhere until I meet my child.”

Bucky chuckles humorlessly as you let go of Bucky and turn towards Steve, “She is not your child. She is Y/N and I’s little girl, and she will not be anywhere near you.”

As if on cue, Lizzie comes running out of the house.

“Mommy!”

You pick up your little girl and wrap your arms around her. She tries, but fails, to whisper in your ear, “Mommy, why is the man from yesterday here again?”

You chuckle at her lack of discretion. You stroke her back as you reply,

“He’s one of Mommy and Daddy’s old friend. But he was just about to leave.” Lizzie detaches her arms from around you before sliding down to the ground and walking to Steve. He kneels down to be eye-level with her and she holds her hand out to him.

“Hi. My name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lizzie.” Steve shakes her little hand and responds, “Hi Lizzie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Steve.”

Lizzie frowns at Steve before saying, “Are the bad man Steve that hurt my mommy?”

A look of shock draws itself on Steve’s face as he stares at Lizzie.

Lizzie turns towards you and runs back before saying, “I want him to go!”

Bucky laughs under his breath before saying, “Okay, Lizzie, come on. Daddy’s gonna make you some lunch.”

Lizzie walks over to Bucky taking his large metal hand in her smaller one before walking rapidly towards the house.

Steve stands up, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Why did she say that?”

You scoff as you cross your arms and look at him, “Because she caught me crying my eyes out one day and she asked what was wrong with me. So, Sarah told her the story about the bad man Steve that hurt me and made me sad sometimes.”

Steve detaches his eyes from yours, guilt written all over his face.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers.

“I didn’t know how bad I hurt you when I left and I shouldn’t have come back here like everything was going to be like it was when I left.”

Steve looks back at you, tears in his eyes. “I’ll leave and never come back. And congratulations on the engagement. I’m sure that Bucky and you are going to be great together.”

Steve starts to walk back towards the front yard as you stay standing in front of the bench. You hear the motorcycle start and before you can stop yourself, your legs are running towards him to stop him from leaving.

He turns off the motorcycle when he sees you in front of him.

You take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple of times before you say, “I forgive you. And I’m sorry I lied about Lizzie not being yours, I just… I don’t know.”

Steve nods slightly and starts his motorcycle again before riding off towards the road. You let you a breath and walk to the house.

When you see Bucky and Lizzie in the kitchen, playfully preparing some lunch, you smile bigger than you have in what felt like forever.

Your mind and your heart were finally at peace.

hi @saiyanprincessswanie i would love it if you could check this out for your reading list, hope you enjoy🤍

#bucky barnes x black!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes x black reader #steve rogers x black reader #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction

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vake-hunter · 4 years

Note

It will take very long time for me to reach new content so... May I ask why Discordance is cool now?

i forgot i never posted anything about this. oops.

SPOILERS FOR RAILROAD AHEAD.

Summary is you follow Fires and find its kidnapped Furnace. Direct quotes follow with bold being my favorite parts

"An exchange," it is saying. "We – the Masters and the Bazaar – owe certain debts to a power in the West. It is possible that these debts will never come due, and they are very old. But if you will accept responsibility for them, in the name of yourself and the Tracklayers' Union, then I will let you go. More than that: I will leave you and the Union to yourselves. As long as you do not bring your workers back to London or encourage my own factories to unionise."

Furnace looks gravely at Fires. "I will need to review the contract carefully," she says.

Furnace and Fires are still speaking. "And you'll keep your word?" she is asking.

"By the law of the Bazaar and by the Cedar of the Crossroads," says Fires. "And by my own personal word, of course."

"We can guess what that is worth," she retorts.

"Every person and power in this room is your witness," Fires purrs. "Let them all hold me to account, if I go back on my sworn word."

In your pocket, the boxed seed grows heavier; under your feet, the floor of the Tower continues to shiver. As if everything in the room were holding its breath for Furnace to sign this document, or refuse it.

Furnace draws the contract towards her and solemnly reads its pages. She might be sitting in the boardroom of the GHR, not imprisoned in a tower at the height of the Neath, for all the sign she gives.

Then, she pauses and looks up at you. Mr Fires is not looking at either of you. She stares into your eyes as though that would let her control your body through sheer force of will.

Then she mouths the words: Take cover. Now.

Furnace Ancona dips her pen in ink and painstakingly draws a sigil on the contract sheet. You can't see it from here – in fact, she is shading it with her hand as she writes. She does not mean you to read it. But that can't be her signature, surely?

When she's done, she blows on the sheet to dry the ink. Then she rather pedantically lowers her visor helmet. Only then, she pushes the contract across the desk towards Mr Fires.

Fires picks up the contract and lifts it to read: the text is not English. The phrase sounds like a shattering manacle, like a breaking chain.

The moment Fires has pronounced it, there is a loud crack, like the branch breaking off a frozen tree. All the fires in the room go out. Your whole body feels cold and heavy. Something is wrong with your thoughts.

A law is enacted:

The king forgets the hostage of war

The hunting dog does not know the scent of its quarry

The assassin cannot recognise the face of her prey

The opposing pieces are moved to separate boards

Hillchanger Tower is silent, and the faint throb of the stone has stilled.

Mr Fires lies face down, huddled in its robe.

Furnace is on her back, equally motionless, and her helmet is rimed in ice. You could not open the visor now even if you wished to.

I helped Fires to learn more about Creditor but if you help Furnace, she is badly injured and you have to help her heal.

"Discordance," hisses Mr Fires. "The cold language, the language of stars that have died and laws that have passed away." And it goes on like that, about dead light and corrupted law and the space between the stars polluted.

The fact that Fires calls it the language of dead stars is so fucking interesting. In skies its worded more like it the Discordance is picked up willingly.

"Some stars abandon the immutable light of their brethren for a more nuanced philosophy. The old language no longer suffices; heretical concepts exist for which it cannot provide signifiers." As the symbol takes shape, water turns to frost with a crackle. "These traitor-stars adopt another language. Or perhaps another dialect? The Discordance." She hisses and withdraws her finger from the completed symbol; the tip is blackened with frostbite.

I always thought of the Halved dead in a way and this confirms that yes, it is dead or dying. As suns do in real life when they die, they start to eat themselves. This also makes more sense given how much pain the Halved is in, and how hard it was for it to talk in the Correspondence during the Truth Ambition. And also that it doesn't have logoi.

#lore #fallen london spoilers #Anonymous

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preservationandruin · 4 years

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Rhythm of War Liveblog, Part One Part 2 (Chapters 3-8)

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[to the tune of Things I Bought At Sheetz] Now It’s time for Notes I Took At Work. This is going to be a weird experiment, because I read these chapters while at my job and took extensive notes on my reactions, which I’m now going to try to condense into something coherent.

Navani revels in a successful invention, Shallan encounters a very bad cult, I quote--of all things--Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, A Certain Fucker reappears, Leshwi becomes a character I like, Shallan finds a journal, I digress on Renarin’s abilities, and everyone is rightfully worried about Kaladin. Content warning; discussion of suicide and suicidal tendencies

Alright, we open Chapter Three with Navani’s AIRSHIP, which is a kickass sentence. She’s leaning over the side of the ship, to the distress of one of her fellow scholars who attempts to appeal to Dalinar to get her to stop.

“It’s Navani’s ship, Velat,” Dalinar said from behind, his voice as steady as steel, as immutable as mathematics. She loved his voice. “I think she’d have me thrown off if I tried to prevent her from enjoying this moment.”

This is great both because Dalinar and Navani are great, but also as a contrast to Gavilar saying that Navani doesn’t accomplish anything herself, she just pretends to be an inventor and stays behind other, smarter people. Dalinar says no, this is Navani’s ship, this is her victory. The ship’s base design is one of the chasm bridges; it’s operated on the same principles as spanreeds, a kind of sympathetic link where you link two fabrials and whatever happens to one, happens to the other. Just augmented with aluminum and a LOT of pulleys and hard work.

My notes also say “Eat Shit Gavilar” which i think is just, a general note.

Anyway she also wishes that Elhokar was there because he loved being up high and also watching her draw...so now I’m feeling emotions, and if that wasn’t enough, I get hit in the feelings again because the name of the ship is the Fourth Bridge, after Bridge Four because of the time they saved Dalinar and Adolin at the tower, and it not only has the Bridge Four glyph inlaid but the original bridge inlaid.

We see Dalinar and Lirin interact (my notes call this a “Dad convention”) --Lirin, of course because he’s Kaladin’s father, doesn’t really defer to Dalinar at all but does see the potential of this platform as a movable hospital; he’s discomfited by the reminder that Edgedancers are usually used for that now. Lirin really is a practical man who doesn’t believe in heroes or hero stories, which is unfortunate because they’re coming to life all around him. Also Dalinar calls him Lirin Stormblessed which is pretty funny because Lirin is Not Having It.

Also, we get this great line from Navani about Lirin and Kaladin:

However, as she stepped up beside Dalinar, she caught Lirin’s eyes--and the familial connection became more obvious. That same quiet intensity, that same faintly judgmental gaze that seemed to know too much about you. In that moment she saw two men with the same soul, for all their physical differences.

This is really interesting in light of how Kaladin and Lirin are at the moment arguing; they both are at their core very driven, caring people who want the best for their community, but they are at odds for the best way to achieve that in part because they’ve had such different experiences; Kaladin’s life hasn’t let him be the surgeon Lirin is.

For more changes in the year since we last met these characters, Dalinar has learned how to recharge stormlight and open perpendicularities at will, which essentially makes him a portable battery for the Radiants. That’s super useful. Navani likes observing the process, hoping that somewhere in it is a key to how Urithiru functions; she knows that it used to be powered by the Sibling, the third god-spren of Roshar, but after the Recreance the Sibling either died or fell so asleep the spren treat it as having died.

That’s interesting; the Sibling has been something I’ve been wondering about a lot, and confirmation that it was tied to Urithiru seems to preclude it being a godspren of Odium like I’d thought for a bit (and in any case, Odium has the Unmade and doesn’t seem the time to fragment himself into a godspren). Another spren of Honor or Cultivation? Or perhaps a spren of both? More importantly, if it really is dead, is there still a way to revive Urithiru? Last book talked about possibly recruiting Sja-anat; if we do, could she serve as an alternate power source for the tower?

We also get the Mink, the Herdazian general, slipping up on Dalinar and Navani without them noticing and also calling Dalinar the fuck out for the many atrocities that his armies and nation had unleashed on the Herdazians, which Dalinar can’t really refute. I like this guy, honestly; I’m not sure what’s up with him, if he’s just really good at sneaking around or if he has something Up With Him, but I like him.

Back with the Three (Shallan/Radiant/Veil), they wake up to find themselves in the chasms with an EXTREMELY melodramatic cult. They’re looking for proof Ialai is now running the Hypocrites Association--sorry, the Sons of Honor; Radiant refuses to move against Ialai without proof, even though Shallan and Veil both kinda wish Adolin had killed her at the same time as Sadeas and saved everyone some trouble. Anyway, the Hypocrites association wear deep, fancy hoods that leads to a great Shallan thought:

Shallan had a fleeting thought, wondering at the seamstress they’d hired to do all this work. What had they told her? “Yes, we want twenty identical, mysterious robes, sewn with ancient arcane symbols. They’re for...parties.”

They claim both to have guided the return of the Radiants and to be overthrowing Dalinar, which is hilarious because Dalinar is a Radiant so the only real extrapolation here is that, in the fantasy where they’re right about any of this, they brought the radiants back and lost control of the situation immediately and now are recruiting random strangers to try to help rein it back in. Which is still not a good look.

Oh and also they claim to be “something greater” than the Radiants, and I really doubt they’re the Heralds, so everything they say is horseshit, as is proven a second later when they test if Shallan is wearing an illusion with a device she herself sold them at an exorbitant price. And then claiming that Radiants can’t tell untrue oaths, right in front of Shallan, who is bonded to a liespren.

They’re just a very bad cult.

Also they say Ialai is the true queen, which raises many questions to me about the line of succession that gives them THAT math, especially with Gavinor alive and there. Like, somehow Sadeas’s widow gets priority over the last king’s living child? I know they’re just a stupid cult but guys, that’s not how lines of succession work in monarchies.

Anyway, Shallan hears them say that they have a mole in Dalinar’s inner circle--bad--and goes off-script, taking control to say she’s not who they think she is, and we cut back to Kaladin for the next chapter, which is called Broken Spears which prompted my note of “I don’t trust like that.” And then instantly I started laughing because of this quote:

[The windrunners] hung in the air like no skyeel ever could: motionless, equidistant.

This is not a particularly funny line unless you, like me, have never been able to forget a line from Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy:

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.”

So there’s that.

Kaladin has apparently fought with Leshwi before at this point (she is, iirc, the Fused who was one of the main points of contact for Moash during his arc in Oathbringer); last time, Rock’s daughter Cord managed to shoot her down. The Windrunners, like the Edgedancers, have grown in number; there are about 50 knights, now, and five times that in squires; the problem is that there aren’t enough willing honorspren to bond. Kaladin mentions that “almost all” of Bridge Four had bonded honorspren and that he knew one honorspren who was willing but unbonded, all of which leads me to believe that Rock hasn’t sworn the Oaths yet.

Meanwhile, these Fused--the Heavenly Ones--prefer one on one battles, as Kaladin noted in earlier chapters, so the Windrunners do the same; as long as they do this, the Heavenly Ones will keep to the ideals of honorable combat and will not gang up on the Windrunners. Again, it shows that they are both the orders that deal with Honorspren, even if the Heavenly Ones deal with...void-honorspren, I guess.

Also, it’s another nod to the idea of if there can be such a thing as honorable combat in a war. Both the Heavenly Ones and the Windrunners are trying for it, clearly, but is that sustainable?

Leshwi is in fact there, with a very cool aluminum-edged sword that can absorb stormlight into a gem at the hilt. She, along with the rest of the Fused and apparently the Heralds (Shalash and Taln are both in Urithiru), are stunned by the Fourth Bridge; fuck yeah, Navani and her team. She’s so cool, guys, I love Navani. Also, everyone is worried about Kaladin.

Shallan, meanwhile, is ad-libbing having even more information, which leads to a hilarious moment of her being accused of treason by a member of the cult who are trying to overthrow the current queen, so...there’s a reason I’m calling them the Hypocrites Association, alright? Anyway, Adolin decides it’s time to attack, and Radiant and Shallan manage to bluff their way into being taken along to the hideout as the Hypocrites Association retreats.

With Kaladin again, we get that the Fused see him as a particular challenge they enjoy fighting, although Leshwi always has first dibs; he fights another Fused and manages to disarm him, but decides not to kill him because killing him is pointless. Also, the teleporting fucker comes back, and yes, that is what I’m calling him until further notice.

Something happened in Aimia that led to Cord getting a set of shardplate. Is this the Dawnshard novel? Is that what happened in Aimia? I’m going to read it next regardless but now I’m curious about what happened on the Radiant expedition to Aimia.

So it turns out that the Hypocrites Association has a secret passage into and out of the chasms with a hidden door, which was probably a bolthole for escape that Sadeas put in early during the war at the Shattered Plains. His keep is also noted by Veil to be fortresslike; she notes that he was a cunning man, not just the blowhard that Shallan had taken him for. Ialai is now the sole remaining leader of the dissident Alethi army; while Radiant wants evidence against her that can have her be taken in, Veil is here just to assassinate her and have done with it.

And honestly there is a nice symmetry in Adolin killing Sadeas and Shallan/the Three killing Ialai.

Anyway, we go back to Kaladin as Leshwi fights Sigzil now; she manages to spear him through the chest, and I swear to god if any of the original Bridgemen actually die, I’m going to kick Brandon Sanderson’s ass. Those are my BOYS. In any case, Leshwi doesn’t kill Sigzil, because Kaladin spared one of the Fused earlier--honor in combat, again. There’s definitely a whole essay I could discuss about this opening few chapters and the idea of if continuing a fight is the right thing to do and if that fight can be continued in a way that is moral, but I don’t have the time for that, I’m trying to do NaNoWriMo and read this book.

I’ll shelve it along with the Oathbringer and the idea of personal responsibility essay.

We go back to Navani and get another real sense of how well she knows her team; she knows the personal tics and oddities of all the ardents and scholars who are helping her on the Fourth Bridge, which is nice to see. We also get that Renarin is here, distracting crying children by having Glys form a ball of light, and Navani has this observation:

Renarin claimed the spren [Glys] was trustworthy, but something was odd about his powers. They had managed to recruit several standard Truthwatchers--and they could create illusions like Shallan. Renarin couldn’t do that. He could only summon lights, and they did strange, unnatural things sometimes...

Really excited to see how Renarin’s powers develop similarly to or different from standard Truthwatchers; I agree that Glys is probably trustworthy because Renarin is the best judge of that at the moment and also because “the corrupted spren turns out to be evil” isn’t a very interesting plot development compared to “there can be good corrupted spren”

And then I got yanked forcibly off-topic because guess who fucking showed up. Moash decided to show his backstabbing, treacherous little face again, wearing--of all things--a uniform cut exactly like Bridge Four’s but in black rather than blue, which is just a stupendous dick move. Navani is the one who sees him, too, and we get a sharp reminder that he murdered her son.

Kaladin doesn’t hear the alarm that Navani raises, though, because he’s busy fighting Leshwi, something he seems to genuinely enjoy as a test of his skills. He pushes his home-field advantage here, managing to distract Leshwi to the point that they both seriously injure the other; Kaladin is grinning throughout, which is actually somewhat disturbing. To me it reads like Kaladin’s stopped caring about his own life in favor of trying to help others at any cost, but I’m not sure if that’ll play through as an accurate read.

In any case, someone set Roshone’s house on fire, and the teleporting fucker is there and actively attacking civilians. Leshwi is pissed off to see this and gestures for Kaladin to go and deal with that rather than continuing their fight; at this point, I really started loving Leshwi as a character. I’m a sucker for a good principled antagonist lady, they’re just a good trope.

Anyway, we get to Chapter Seven. Navani’s epigraph notes that zinc makes the spren in fabrials more active, while brass quiets them. So...you could say...that brass soothes them...while zinc...makes them riot....

Anyway, back to Ialai, Shallan notes that she seems extremely worn and tired, and she claims to support Gavinor to the throne--with herself as regent, of course. She and Shallan proceed to have an entire conversation in wine metaphors, talking about who they are working with or for, and Ialai assumes that the Ghostbloods sent the Three to kill her, claiming they want the Sons of Honor out of the way and will send her after Restares next. Veil instantly switches her vote to not killing Ialai bc she doesn’t like to be manipulated, and Adolin kicks down the door.

Ialai tells Shallan to search her rooms for “the rarest vintage” before the Ghostbloods can, and then--before she can even leave the building--she dies of poisoning, implying there’s a mole somewhere in Adolin and Shallan’s people. That’s not great, and the Ghostbloods aren’t fucking around in the slightest with her.

Meanwhile, with Kaladin, the teleporting fucker took Godeke--the one named Edgedancer here other than Lift--hostage to lure Kaladin inside, where he uses a strange, void-fabrial to drain Surgebinder powers in the room. And then makes a critical error in thinking that that will be enough:

The Fused laughed and spoke in Alethi. “Radiants! You rely too much on your powers. Without them, what are you? A peasant child with no real training in the art of warfare or--” Kaladin slammed himself against the soldier to the right.

Oh you poor idiots, Kaladin was a prodigy with the spear LONG before he was a Windrunner, went most of his army career without bonding Syl, and--crucially--one of you is carrying a physical spear. Checkmate, assholes. Kaladin quickly beats most of the ones there, including killing the teleporting fucker before he can teleport again, and lets the last one go--of course--before helping Lift get Godeke out and telling her to get the void fabrial to Navani.

Meanwhile, he’s going to go make sure Roshone is alright, where I have the very prescient note of “I bet actual money Moash is killing him as we speak.”

Ialai’s probable method of death was blackbane poison in her bloodstream; one of Shallans’ people examines the body for it, while Shallan goes to search ialai’s rooms.

Another epigraph note, this time about bronze and heliodor being used to make warning fabrials. Scadrial really was just a primer on the uses of various metals with investiture, huh?

Meanwhile, Kaladin finds the prisoners below the manor killed with a shardblade, and spins around to find Moash slitting Roshone’s throat before making what I called, in a late-night worktime daze, “just a series of rat bastard moves. Hate that guy. Just honestly hate that guy.”

Specifically, he surrenders so that Kal cannot keep attacking him--because Kal’s a good person--just after taunting him for wanting to rescue someone.

Back with Shallan, Veil is pushing her again to continue remembering their past, but she still resists; she finds a rare Shin wine in Ialai’s store, before using that to find a pattern on the floor of old, shadowyears-era glyphs with maps of the ten Epoch Kingdoms, under one of which is a notebook of Ialai’s; she tucks it in her safepouch, and we go back to Kaladin.

I really think the arc for Kaladin in this book is going to be accepting that he can’t save everyone, particularly from themselves, because he pauses and remembers how Moash had been a friend, but even more than that, he had been Bridge Four--someone that Kaladin had sworn to protect, and he’d failed:

Kaladin had failed Moash. As soundly as he’d failed Dunny, Mart, and Jaks. And of them all, losing Moash hurt the most. Because in those callous eyes, Kaladin saw himself.

Kaladin can’t keep blaming himself for Moash’s choices, because Moash chose to do this, and was given ways out, and didn’t take them. It’s not Kaladin’s fault, and believing that it is is going to get Kaladin killed.

And then, Moash winds up and delivers a grade-A Odium-powered Breaking Speech:

"They're going to die, you know," Moash said softly. "Everyone you love, everyone you think you can protect. They're all going to die anyway. There's nothing you can do about it." [...] "Do you remember the chasm, Kal?" Moash whispered. "In the rain that night? Standing there, looking down into the darkness, knowing it was your sole release? You knew it hen. You try to pretend you've forgotten. But you know. As sure as the storms will come. As sure as every lighteyes will lie. There is only one answer. One path. One result. [...] I've found the better way," Moash said. "I feel no guilt. I've given it away, and in so doing became the person I always could have become--if I hadn't been restrained. I can take away the pain, Kal. Isn't that what you want? An end to your suffering?”

Odium’s deal all over again--he will take away your pain and your responsibility for your actions, but the price for that is your integrity and your honor. It’s so insidious, especially because Moash is exploiting the fact that Kaladin was suicidal to play into the idea of life being hopeless--he’s implying that Kaladin’s suicidal impulses were right and then offering another way out. It’s so, so so so awful, and Kaladin can’t even bring himself to fight it, because it’s coming from an unarmed man and it’s targeted so directly at him.

“The answer is to stop existing, Kal. You’ve always known it, haven’t you?” Kaladin blinked away tears, and the deepest part of him--the little boy who hated the rain and the darkness--withdrew into his soul and curled up. Because...he did want to stop hurting.

He wanted it so badly.

Ugh, Moash’s whole thing here is just seeding that suicidality back into Kaladin--because frankly, most of the time? When someone is suicidal, in my (admittedly limited and personal) experience? What they genuinely want isn’t to die--they just want not to hurt anymore, and they see that as the only way.

Light exploded into the room. Clean and white, like the light of the brightest diamond. The light of the sun. A brilliant, concentrated purity. Moash growled, spinning around, shading his eyes against the source of the light--which came from the doorway. The figure behind it wasn’t visible as anything more than a shadow. Moash shied away from the light--but a version of him, transparent and filmy, broke off and stepped toward the light instead. Like an afterimage. In it, Kaladin saw the same Moash--but somehow standing taller, wearing a brilliant blue uniform. This one raised a hand, confident, and although Kaladin couldn’t see them, he knew people gathered behind this Moash. Protected. Safe. The image of Moash burst alight as a Shardspear formed in his hands.

FUCK YEAH, RENARIN.

I’m gonna end this section by just discussing what happened here, because there’s a lot to unpack there. We’ve seen Shallan use her illusions to create versions of people who they could be, but this isn’t doing that--if you look at the cause and effect, it’s not that Renarin created this illusory Moash, but more that the light Renarin created called forth that Moash from this one.

More than anything, it reminds me of the effects of Gold Allomancy--creating a past version of the self, splitting the self into who you are and who you were, or who you are and who you could have been. This is not a version of Moash that could exist. He’s burned too many bridges and killed too many people in front of their infant children for that to happen.

But it could have been Moash. It’s not calling forth the truth, really, it’s showing an alternate path. It’s strange and I can’t wait to see it explored more, and it shakes Moash to his core--because of course it does. Moash’s entire speech was saying “there are only two ways out, dying and giving in to Odium,” and Renarin’s light showed that that was a stark fucking lie. There’s the third choice of deciding to stand up and protect people anyway, and it was a choice Moash could have taken, and that kills him. It eats him up inside; it’s the pain that Odium can’t fully take away.

As Kaladin said to Amaram: if what Odium says is true, if what you claim is true, than why do you still hurt?

#fuck yeah bridge four #rowliveblog #row spoilers #navani kholin protection squad #kaladin has a saving people thing #fuck moash #renarin kholin kicks ass #leshwi is unfortunately VERY cool

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shinymoonbird · 3 years

Video

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2021-07-26a Kensington Gardens: Michael James discusses

Śrī Aruṇācala Navamaṇimālai - The Necklace of Nine Gems for Arunachala, Verse 1

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This video begins with Sadhu Om singing verse 1 of ஸ்ரீ அருணாசல நவமணிமாலை (Śrī Aruṇācala Navamaṇimālai), ‘The Necklace of Nine Gems for Arunachala’, and then Michael James explains and discusses the meaning and implications of it:

அசலனே யாயினு மச்சவை தன்னி லசலையா மம்மையெதி ராடு — மசல வுருவிலச் சத்தி யொடுங்கிட வோங்கு மருணா சலமென் றறி.

acalaṉē yāyiṉu maccavai taṉṉi lacalaiyā mammaiyedi rāḍu — macala vuruvilac catti yoḍuṅgiḍa vōṅgu maruṇā calameṉ ḏṟaṟi.

பதச்சேதம்: அசலனே ஆயினும், அச் சவை தன்னில் அசலை ஆம் அம்மை எதிர் ஆடும். அசல உருவில் அச் சத்தி ஒடுங்கிட, ஓங்கும் அருணாசலம் என்று அறி.

Padacchēdam (word-separation): acalaṉē āyiṉum, a-c-savai taṉṉil acalai ām ammai edir āḍum. acala uruvil a-c-satti oḍuṅgiḍa, ōṅgum aruṇācalam eṉḏṟu aṟi.

அன்வயம்: அசலனே ஆயினும், அச் சவை தன்னில் அசலை ஆம் அம்மை எதிர் ஆடும். அசல உருவில் அச் சத்தி ஒடுங்கிட, அருணாசலம் ஓங்கும் என்று அறி.

Anvayam (words rearranged in natural prose order): acalaṉē āyiṉum, a-c-savai taṉṉil acalai ām ammai edir āḍum. acala uruvil a-c-satti oḍuṅgiḍa, aruṇācalam ōṅgum eṉḏṟu aṟi.

English translation:

Though actually one who is motionless, in that assembly hall he dances opposite mother, who is acalā. Know that when that śakti subsides back in the motionless form, Aruṇācalam is exalted.

Explanatory paraphrase:

Though [Lord Siva is] actually acalaṉ [one who is motionless, being the one immutable ground from which and in which everything else appears], in that assembly hall [of Cidambaram] he dances [in the form of Nataraja] opposite [the divine] mother, who is acalā [the consort of acalaṉ]. Know that when that śakti [the divine mother] subsides back in the motionless form [the fundamental form of Lord Siva], Aruṇācalam is exalted [that is, in the motionless form of Aruṇācalam, which rises high above all his other forms, Lord Siva shines exalted in his natural state].

An MP3 audio copy of this video can be listened to or downloaded from Sri Ramana Teachings podcast (https://ramanahou.podbean.com ): https://ramanahou.podbean.com/e/sri-aru%e1%b9%87acala-navama%e1%b9%87imalai-verse-1

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Sri Ramanasramam - The Matrubhuteswara Temple - Lord Siva dances in the form of Nataraja in front of the Mother, Sakti Devi

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shakespeareanqueer · 4 years

Text

The Oracle - Chapter 3 [Navi Meets the Team]

Series Summary: Navi walks out of the shower one day and right into Avengers: Age of Ultron. What!? Suddenly immersed in the MCU with the forbidden knowledge of future movies, they make it their mission to change the future

Chapter Summary: Navi meets the team, and a certain Steve Rogers is already not their biggest fan

Contents: Cursing, verbal spat 🔮Word count: 2,003 words

A/N: I need to start saving gifs and crediting them in the reblog instead of choosing gifs off of the search thingy so there aren’t links in the first post. I’ll deal with that by the next chapter, hopefully. Anywho, enjoy this one!

Navi ran the sink again to make it seem like they had been just using the bathroom, being extra careful and washing their hands one more time. When they stepped back into the bedroom only to find the motionless tableau, they realized they forgot to restart time.

So they re-entered the bathroom, shut the door, restarted time, washed their hands again and then finally departed into the bedroom.

This time, there was motion, as well as speech, but it all stopped short the moment the crowd noticed Navi’s presence. The air was thick in the room, the tension palpable as everyone stared at Navi, who casually sat at the edge of the bed.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, a frown etched across his face, but Tony beat him to it. Tony had a more gentle demeanor, concerned and caring. “What’s your name, kid?”

A beat. Then, “Navi,” they replied simply.

Pietro nodded knowingly. “Prophet, in Hebrew.”

“Are you some kind of prophet?” Steve asked bitingly. “How the hell did you know about the ‘language’ thing?”

Navi chuckled. “I suppose I am. I think I prefer the title ‘Oracle,’ though. Prophet feels so… immutable. I’ve seen bits of your past, and bits of your... Well, one potential future.”

By this point, there was an entire crowd in the small bedroom, spilling through the doorway into the hall. All the Avengers were present, excepting, of course, Bruce.

“His past specifically?” Maria Hill asked from her place where she was leaning against the doorframe. As in, Steve’s past. And the answer, of course, was yes, because of the Captain America movies.

“His past specifically. Also his past specifically,” Navi said, pointing at Tony. They added, “also his past specifically,” while pointing at Thor. “Plus some group history. So I’ve seen a bit of all of you.”

Hill nodded slowly, like she was processing something.

The facade was fun, but Navi tired of it quickly and decided to just tell the truth.

“Honestly, I’m not really a prophet or an oracle. I’m just from a universe where all of y’all are fake. Movie characters, based on comic book characters. Also it’s the future. There’s something like 23 films in a collection, and that Sokovia fiasco was maybe the tenth? I don’t know; I’d have to make a list. Avengers: Age of Ultron, that one was called.”

“That is exactly what you made it sound like, that it was movies,” said Hill. Everyone looked at her bewildered. “What? Am I the only one that picked up on that?”

“So what actor plays me?” Tony asked cheekily. “Is he real famous?”

Navi giggled and replied, “Yeah. Robert Downey Jr. Very famous actor. Academy award nominated.”

“How about me?” Pietro asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Navi shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know much about Aaron Taylor Johnson. I don’t watch many movies, and I don’t think I've seen anything else he's in. But something he was in recently had a nude scene so his dong was circulating around the internet a few weeks ago.”

“All right, this is hardly important,” Steve butted in while Pietro flushed furiously and Wanda laughed at him. “If this was only the tenth film out of twenty-three, then you know the future.”

“I know one possible future,” Navi countered. “It’s clearly able to be altered, since I saved Pietro’s life.”

Immediately, Wanda’s face dropped from her teasing laughter to a look of horror. “Pietro was supposed to die?” she asked, horrified.

“I don’t like the word ‘supposed to.’ It’s just what fake-happened in one of many universes. In this one it didn’t, so clearly it wasn’t ‘supposed to,’ or shit would be falling apart, right? But yeah, his death is something I’ve… ‘seen.’” Navi could not bring themself to make eye contact with either Maximoff sibling. “On Sokovia by Ultron bots. While saving Clint,” they elaborated.

Navi watched tears gather in Wanda’s eyes while she gripped her brother’s hand tightly in her own, and a firm resolve settled into Navi’s chest. A fierce sense of purpose.

“So I can manipulate time with fancy powers now, so that’s cool. But I also plan to manipulate the timeline. I can’t tell you much, because I don’t know how it’ll affect things and I don’t want to fuck anything up, but just know, that I’ve seen some shit, and I’m going to stop it.”

Navi took a deep breath. “I don’t know how. But I will.”

Steve seemed unconvinced. “Will you let us in on your plan?”

Navi stared at him a moment, then answered, “I just said I don’t know what my plan is yet, and that once I have it, I can’t tell you much. Space-time continuum or whatever.”

“I do not believe it would work that way,” Vision countered.

“Regular ol’ human psychology then,” Navi corrected. “I only want to prevent the bad stuff, I don’t want to accidentally prevent the good stuff. And there is good.”

Natasha had remained noticeably silent, hovering behind Maria in the hallway. She took a step forward and opened her mouth to speak, but Navi preempted her.

“Bruce will be fine.”

They were clipped, and purposefully vague. They bit their tongue and refrained from saying, ‘No thanks to you,’ so as not to make any more enemies among the group; Steve’s obvious resentment was more than enough. But they never had forgiven Natasha for pushing Bruce into that crater and releasing the Hulk when he clearly was afraid and unwilling, even after they laughed hysterically through the entirety of Thor: Ragnarok.

And even though the entire situation was fictional.

At the time it was anyway.

“But he’s not now.” It was more of a statement than a question out of Steve. He was already fed up with Navi’s vagueness and tiptoeing around the truth.

“The big guy’s doing great. So Bruce is well taken care of underneath. But this time is different. He’s harder to reach.” They cut themself off before they could reveal too much.

“Do you know where he is?” Natasha’s voice was small and hopeful, and somewhat unlike the Black Widow Navi was used to. Perhaps guilt was gnawing at her more than Navi gave her credit for. Perhaps Scarlet Johansson wasn’t great at portraying the full range of emotions Natasha had inside her. Whatever it was, Navi realized in that moment that the fictional representations they’d seen in another universe weren’t fair bases for judgement, and they resolved to ease up.

“Mmm,” Navi hummed, scrunching their face and trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. “Sort of. Not really.”

“What does that even mean?” Steve was clearly exasperated.

“He’s in space. On another planet. Or at least he will be, I don’t know the timeline, or how long it takes him to get there or whatever. That’s one of the things I don’t really want to fuck with though, because he will be fine, if I don’t fuck it up.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” Steve mumbled. For a moment when he started that sentence, Navi thought he was going to tell them not to give themself too much pressure, but then he finished in a manner that was more congruous with his gruff treatment of them up to that point. “And would you please stop using that word?”

“What? ‘Fuck’?” Navi asked in an ironically saccharine tone, purposefully twisting the knife.

“Yes,” Steve answered through gritted teeth.

Navi rolled their eyes. “Please, Captain. Both my grandfathers fought in the Second World War. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard a million times worse in the army.”

“This isn’t the army,” Steve spat.

“Good. That means I don’t have to listen to the captain.” Steve and Navi were staring each other down intensely, and everyone else was either completely riveted or highly uncomfortable.

“All right, all right.” Tony finally cut through the tension and waved his hands in the space between them where the knives shooting out of their eyes were flying through the air. “Does this plan of yours require anything from us?”

Navi tore their eyes away from Steve’s and their face instantly softened. “I still need to work out the plan, but a place to stay would be nice. And to train. The powers are new, and I’d like to get just physically stronger too.”

“Done,” Tony confirmed, extending his hand for a cordial and professional shake. Navi smiled, more than a little relieved that they had a place in the world now.

Steve had his arms crossed across his chest. “I think I should get a say in whether she can join the team or not.”

“They, please. I use they/them pronouns,” Navi corrected.

Tony continued like they hadn’t intervened, but clearly he had heard, as he gendered them correctly. “I didn’t say they were joining the team. That’s a group call. But it’s my building. My money pays for the residence floors, and my money pays for the training facilities downstairs. You certainly don’t have to train them like you agreed to train the twins, since you clearly don’t want to, but someone will.”

“I can,” Maria volunteered.

“I will,” Natasha offered simultaneously.

Navi smiled broadly and squealed in excitement. “This’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Steve conceded begrudgingly. Then he turned his attention back to Navi, sticking a pointer finger in their face. “But if there’s anything we learned from the Ultron situation, it’s that everyone should communicate more, and let the everyone in on what they’re up to if it affects the team.”

“I’m not on the team, remember?” Navi’s voice was dripping with fake sweetness. “And is that really what we learned? So no side-projects, whatsoever, are allowed? None at all, Captain?”

Sam picked up on what Navi was implying, and interceded hastily. “All right, the kid just woke up. They don’t even know what the plan is yet, so we can’t expect them to tell us anything right now. Let’s just back off and give them some space.”

“Thank you, Wilson,” said Navi sincerely.

“Call me Sam,” he offered, along with his hand. Navi shook it and repeated their name in a cheerful and friendly tone.

“I know you know who we all are, but I think proper introductions would be nice,” Maria walked further into the room and extended her own hand. “Call me Maria. I look forward to helping training you.”

“Thank you, Maria,” Navi’s smile was wide. “I have a feeling we’ll get along great.”

One by one, each of the Avengers introduced themselves with a polite shake and, ‘Please call me [name],’ before filtering out. Vision, Wanda, Rhodey, Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Thor.

All except Steve of course, who hovered a bit broodingly, standing by the chair he had been seated in clearly reluctant to leave. When he was the last one in the room, Navi let out a sigh and put a hand on his arm.

“Bucky’s ok too.”

Steve looked down at Navi with wide eyes. Their voice and touch had been so gentle, so kin despite his gruff manner and how rude he’d been since the second they woke up.

“Do you know where he is?” Steve asked softly.

Navi bit their lip and considered how to answer. They settled on, “No… I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I know where he will be, but not for a while. I don’t think he’s ready to be found yet anyway. I’ll—It’ll all work out. But he’s ok.”

Steve nodded with furrowed brows, still frustrated Navi wouldn’t release more information but moderately relieved by their reassurances.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and swiftly departed.

Once alone, Navi sighed and collapsed back against the bed. Of all the people to have dislike them, they were disappointed it was Steve. They had never needed anyone to like them before, always fiercely independent and never relying on exterior validation. But still, it stung to know that Captain America distrusted them.

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therealuniverse · 4 years

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Tycho Brahe (1546 - 1601) Born into a noble family in the Sixteenth century in an area called Scania (now a part of modern-day Sweden), Tycho Brahe (born Tyge Ottesen Brahe) is a well known astronomer, renowned for his accurate planetary observations and recordings.

Brahe lived a colourful life in his castle, often indulging in large banquets with musicians and jesters. He lost both his nose and his life through strange events (more on that later), however more importantly, he was an avid astronomer of his time, and his findings have helped expand modern day astronomy. In the year 1572, Brahe famously witnessed an event that would shake the unchanging Aristotelian view of the universe that prevailed in the sixteenth century. Termed a "nova", meaning new star, we now know of this event as a supernova, an exploding super massive star. Brahe witnessed a bright new object which appeared in the night sky, and lasted for eighteen months before slowly fading away. The remnants of this supernova are visible by telescopes of the modern era, and is known as SN1572 (otherwise known as Tycho's Supernova, Tycho's Nova, or B Cassiopeiae), once a brilliant star in the constellation of Cassiopeia. The observations of Brahe suggested that this 'new' star did not change positions in respect to the other stars- providing evidence that not everything in the heavens was immutable. In the year 1577, Brahe carefully observed a comet, which he was able to determine was further away than the moon, by measuring the parallax of the comet. According to the teachings of Aristotle, the common belief was that comets were simply gases burning in the atmosphere/atmospheric phenomena. The entire night sky was believed to be an unchanging celestial sphere, and Brahe helped to show that this object represented a change in the sphere; an object not attached to the crystal sphere, but instead which moved around in empty space. This lead him to create new means for measuring stellar parallax, of which he found none, leading him to conclude that either the Earth was motionless in the centre of the universe, or that the stars were too far away to measure parallax. However, Brahe did not believe the latter and thus concluded that Earth was indeed, at the centre of the universe. (which we know today is not the case). Brahe studied the stars during a time before the telescope was invented by Galileo Galilei early in the 1600's, and he built his first instrument in 1564, to measure the positions and motions of celestial objects with the greatest accuracy. Following this, he started to design his own instruments and devices, which included large sextants, quadrants and a globe that depicted the position of the stars as seen from Earth. Brahe compiled a catalogue of 1004 stars in great accuracy using his new instruments. He was able to depict that the stars were much further away than the planets, and he accurately measured the position and motion of Mars. Later on, Johannes Kepler used this motion to deduce his three laws of planetary motion, with one stating that all planets move in elliptical orbits around the sun. Furthermore, Brahe proposed a model of the Solar System that was in between the current Ptolemaic and Copernican models, and had Earth at the centre. This model, although incorrect, was widely accepted for some time. Brahe had terrible luck. He lost his nose in a feud over a mathematical formula in his twenties; and lost his life from a bladder infection he got at a banquet in Prague in 1601. During banquets of this time, it was often frowned upon to relieve ones self until after, and so Brahe held it in until the banquet had finished. After eleven days of excruciating pain and problems urinating, he passed away from a bladder infection. Although Brahe was not always correct in his observations, his active studies of the universe lead to the development of modern day astronomy. A great legacy remains to this day for Mr. Brahe. The crater Tycho on the Moon is named after him, as is the crater Tycho Brahe on Mars. There is also a Tycho Brahe Planetarium in Copenhagen. M/F Tycho Brahe is the name of a ferry that transports passengers between Denmark and Sweden. Furthermore, HEAT 1X Tycho Brahe is a rocket and spacecraft project, being built by Copenhagen Suborbitals, a Danish organization that attempted repeatedly to perform the first amateur crewed spaceflight. -EJ Image Source: https://flic.kr/p/7UJ9Qs Information Sources: http://galileo.rice.edu/sci/brahe.html http://scienceworld.wolfram.com/biography/Brahe.html

#tycho brahe #astronomy #science #copernicus #history #copernican #ptolemy #solar system #nose #urinary tract infection #the universe #bladder infection #isuniverse #the real universe #prague

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angstmongertina · 4 years

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Wayhaven Week Day One: Dawn

The lovely people over at @otomefandomevents are running a Wayhaven Week that I am attempting to complete prompts for (no guarantees that I can finish everything) but please feel free to blacklist “Wayhaven Week 2020″ to remove all of my bullshit lol. Under a cut to avoid clogging your dashes.

July 12 (Day 1): Dawn/ Dusk

AO3 Link

The sky is still dark as Adam makes his way through the quiet streets of Wayhaven. This early in the morning, its citizens are still mostly abed and asleep, peaceful and calm while the last tendrils of night slowly fade against the coming sunrise. After the multiple nights spent patrolling, it is not altogether an unfamiliar experience, the serenity of this small village he and his team have been stationed in, that is beginning to feel like a permanent base.

That being said, it is still a strange thing, this feeling of stability. While Unit Bravo has had each other for several decades, for quite some time and even before that, he has been working with the Agency for centuries, he has always been on the move, traveling to wherever his missions have taken him. And though he is now used to even Felix’s immutable energy, they have—he has—never truly fit into the complex, ever-changing world that they help to protect.

Until now.

He runs a hand through his hair, pressing his lips together as he does so. Their assignment to Wayhaven for the foreseeable future has brought with them more than a few changes. A new home, for one, constructed within a few miles of the village but safely out of sight, for he and the rest of Unit Bravo to use as their home base, that Nate has already begun making plans to design. Regular patrols throughout the village as various supernatural creatures find their way to Wayhaven, drawn consciously or subconsciously to the leylines crossing the town… and the beacon that is Surina’s now altered blood.

A flurry of movement catches his eye and he turns on instinct, body tensing in preparation. But when the figure steps out of the shadows, he suddenly finds his body unresponsive.

The first silvery streaks of daybreak dance over her features, softening the sharp line of her jaw as she fights a yawn. Dark tresses pulled out of her face in a messy ponytail and wrapped in her usual thick jacket, she is hardly changed from those strained days of attempting to stop the vampire masquerading as Murphy.

Or, at least, she would be if not for the scar that slashes across her throat, barely visible under the high collar of her coat and the soft fabric of the scarf wrapped securely around her neck.

He swallows once, hard, watching the light play across her face. As always, his patrol route takes him through the shadows, out of sight of any of the citizens who might be awake in the early hours. There is no reason he should be noticed, hidden as he is.

And yet, part of him cannot help but want to shrink from the sharp gaze she casts around her as she makes her way to the sorry excuse of metal and parts that she calls her car. He knows he is far enough away that there is no chance for her to sense him, but even so, he holds his breath as her attention sweeps in his direction, hesitating for just a heartbeat.

Whether he is more anxious or eager at the prospect of being noticed, he can’t even say for himself.

She does not seem to realize. Stifling another yawn, she shakes her head, though whether it is to clear sleep or something else, he cannot be sure. The movement dislodges a strand of dark ebony that falls across her cheek, curling against the soft skin under her chin. Despite his best efforts, his traitorous eyes trace its path, along her cheeks and down before catching once more on the lacerations marring the smoothness, the innocence.

His heart clenches but he also cannot seem to look away.

Again, she pauses, as if sensing his gaze, and for a moment, her lips purse in a remarkable return to her usual piercing intensity. He can almost hear her mind spinning through theories and facts faster than he can follow before she shakes her head again, a mixture of amusement and exasperation flashing across her face. But still, a faint smile lingers in the corners of her mouth and his breath seems to catch in his throat at the gentleness, a foreign expression that fills him with something that, to his own surprise, resembles regret.

A cool breeze rustles the new leaves above her, toys with her hair, tugging it free to flutter through the morning air. His hand clenches into a fist at his side, his fingers twitching with the strange tingle that runs through his nerves. Surprise makes him pause, looking down at his own hand, but there is nothing there.

The slam of the car door jerks his attention back to the present. She is already sitting in her car, lips pursed, before she twists around, backing out of the parking spot with a skilled touch, eyes squinting against the now rising sun.

He frowns. It is soon approaching morning and his shift is meant to end before the town fully awakens, to avoid inducing more questions of the humans than can be answered. And the rest of the unit, along with Agent Langford, waits for him back at their new base for debriefing before Felix can start on his patrol. He has business waiting for him.

He needs to leave.

So why is his body not listening?

Instead, he finds himself watching the quiet scene unfolding before him, his breath catching in his throat. In the early dawn, she is wreathed in warmth, bright and brilliant in the golden light, and he has never been an artist, never been a man for aesthetics, not like the way Nate is, but in this moment, in this long heartbeat, he understands.

In his entire nine centuries of life, throughout the many kingdoms and countries, the people and landscapes he has witnessed, he has never seen anything as beautiful as this.

It is—she is—breathtaking.

The next moment, with the low roar of the engine, she is gone, leaving him staring, motionless, breathless, at the empty space in her wake.

#Wayhaven Week 2020 #Adam du Mortain/MC #Adam du Mortain/Detective #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays TWC.#commanding agent of my heart #otp: tu omnia #Surina Langford

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spideyfic · 4 years

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I’ll Sign My Name on the Rooftop in the Snow

For @seek-rest, who is a delight and an actual ray of sunshine, and also happens to write wonderful, beautiful stories that either break my heart or make me smile. Merry Christmas, lovely. Thank you for welcoming me into our little corner of fandom with open arms. <3

When swinging home after a late patrol on the first Christmas Eve post-Blip, Peter spots someone suspicious on a rooftop.

Peter hadn’t planned to stay out so late, but as Christmas Eve ticked over into Christmas Day, he found himself crawling up the side of an apartment building, buffeted by an icy wind that carried the promise of snow.

“KAREN, would you please text May and tell her I’ll be back by 1am?” he whispered as he neared the roof.

“Message sent, Peter.” His AI went silent for a moment. “May has replied ‘OK baby see you soon x x x blue heart emoji, red heart emoji, Christmas tree emoji’.”

He set his web shooters to restrain before hopping over the wall and landing silently on the roof, creeping up on the man who’d caught his attention when he was swinging back to the tower.

Short, round and dressed entirely in red with a black leather belt wrapped around his domed belly, the man was trying to cram himself into a chimney without much success. A bulging red velvet sack tied with a thick gold cord sat on the roof within his reach.

He was really committed to his Santa aesthetic, Peter had to give him that. Even if he was a lousy thief breaking into homes on Christmas.

Peter took aim and hit his target, binding the man in a cocoon of webbing, his arms trapped against his sides. He released the webs, circling to stand in front of Bad Santa, who smiled at him from behind the most magnificent white beard Peter had ever seen. His eyes twinkled, circled by gold wire-rimmed glasses, and a bushy white pompom dangled from the end of his red, fur-trimmed hat.

“Dude. Sneaking down the chimney on Christmas Day to steal things? Not cool. And like, I admire your effort, but we both know you’re not gonna fit in there.” His Spidey-sense flared, like something was breathing down his neck, and he swore he heard a snort, but when he turned to look behind him there was nothing to see other than the first few flakes of snow drifting lazily in the air.

“Dear Spider-Man, I can assure you that I am not planning to steal anything,” the man said, his voice gently jovial. “I’m merely delivering.”

“So you’re a reverse-thief? You break into people’s homes and leave stuff? What’s your name – ‘Santa Claus’?” Peter scoffed, crossing his arms.

The man nodded. “Yes, that’s one of my many names. You may call me Nicholas, if you prefer.” He was entirely too composed for someone wrapped in web and stuck in a chimney.

“Like Saint Nicholas, right?” Peter nudged at the sack with his foot. “And I guess this is full of gifts?” The bag topped sideways with a solid sounding thump that was disproportionately loud for its size.

“Correct on both counts, Peter.”

It took a moment for Peter to register that ‘Nicholas’ had said his actual name. “Uh – what did you call me?”

“Your name, Peter. Unless you’d prefer I call you Mr. Parker, but that feels a little formal, given that you have me restrained in a chimney.” Nicholas chuckled, a deep, rich ‘ho ho ho’ that made his belly jiggle beneath the webbing like – well, like a bowl full of jelly.

Peter crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “How do you know my name, Mr. Nicholas?” The snow was falling harder, thick, wet flakes that were perfect for snowballs and snowmen, and he turned on his heater to ward off the chill.

“I’m Santa Claus. I know far more than just your name.”

That sounded a little threatening, but Peter shrugged it off, brushing snow from the top of a maintenance hatch and sitting down. “You’re really expecting me to believe that you’re Santa? I’m sixt – uh, I’m not six. It’s been a long time since I wrote a letter to Santa.” He made a show of nonchalantly writing ‘Spider-Man’ in the snow he hadn’t swept away, the warmth from his heater melting the icy crystals beneath his finger. Even though the man couldn’t see his face, he didn’t look up, worried that he’d lose his composure if he made eye contact.

“Seventeen years, to be precise. For me, at least. For you, it was eleven years ago.”

Peter’s finger stopped, and he looked at the man in shocked disbelief. “Mister, I don’t know how you know that, but I’m pretty sure tampering with the mail is a federal offense.”

Nicholas had lost his twinkle, his face sad. “In 2006, you wrote five letters to me. The first was dated July 23rd.”

“Stop,” Peter whispered. “You can’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

The man pushed on. “The second letter followed on your birthday, August 10th. Another, November 23rd, then again on December 15th.”

Peter was suddenly on his feet, fists clenched and his breathing rapid. “Stop. Stop it. Just – just don’t. Don’t.” His voice broke, and he blinked away the prickle of unexpected tears. “Please. Please don’t say it.”

“You wrote your last letter to me December 26th.” Nicholas’s voice was so kind, so gentle, but Peter wanted him to shut up. “You were five years old, but your intellect meant you were able to write at a standard far above your peers, and you made it very clear that you didn’t believe in me any longer. But you asked me for something I couldn’t possibly deliver, despite how very much I wanted too.”

Peter dragged his mask off. Nicholas knew his name, so the man seeing his face was the least of his worries. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, the pressure making flashes of light dart across the black. “I don’t understand how you know all this,” he rasped, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. “Who are you?”

“Open your eyes, Peter,” Nicholas said, sounding closer, and Peter did as he asked, finding the man standing next to him, free of the webbing and holding out a handkerchief. “You know I’m telling you the truth, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Peter scrubbed at his face with the handkerchief. “You can’t be Santa Claus. He’s not real.”

Nicholas snapped his fingers, and Peter flinched at the sound, momentarily taken back to a battlefield and the sight of Tony on his knees, but that was forgotten as the snow suddenly stopped falling. Not because it had stopped snowing, but because the snow hung motionless in the air, a million bright white flakes suspended in a moment of time. It was beautiful.

“You first asked me to bring your parents home for Christmas the day after they died,” Nicholas said, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and it was oddly comforting, full of love and compassion. “The first four letters were full of hope that I could bring Mary and Richard back to you. The last was full of grief and anger, written the day after your first Christmas without them, when you realized that you weren’t going to get what you wanted.”

Peter vividly remembered that first Christmas without his mom and dad, five years old and suddenly realizing that he was never going to see them again, and that Santa Claus couldn’t be real, because if he was, his parents would have been waiting by the tree for him on Christmas morning. He remembered feeling a crushing sense of betrayal, and it was like losing his parents all over again, for good this time, finally understanding that there was no bringing them back. Years later, most of his early childhood memories - including those of his parents - had faded, but that one was almost crystal clear, kept fresh by his adamant refusal to go visit Santa every Christmas that followed.

He'd never told May or Ben about his letters, written in the small, still hours of the night when he was supposed to be asleep. He’d left them on the windowsill of the spare room that hadn’t felt like his, with its oatmeal-colored walls and a floral comforter on the Queen-sized bed that was too big for him. The letters had disappeared by the time he woke up, and he’d always assumed that his aunt or uncle had found them when checking in on him, but apparently not, if Nicholas was to be believed. And a part of him was beginning to think the man was telling the truth, as crazy as it sounded.

“I just wanted my mom and dad,” Peter said, twisting his mask in his hands. “They weren’t religious, so I didn’t pray or anything like that when they died, but writing to Santa just seemed right.” He shrugged, but didn’t feel self-conscious admitting something so personal to a complete stranger. It felt easy to talk to Nicholas, like he’d known him his entire life.

“Many children see me as someone who can grant impossible wishes, Peter. Those are the letters that stay in my mind, the pleas for something I can’t give, knowing that my seeming indifference will cost a child a portion of their innocence, take away the magic of Christmas.” Nicholas sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and he felt like an old friend, reassuring and familiar. “I wish I could have given you what you wanted, Peter. You, and the millions of children who make similar requests every year. But death is final. Immutable.”

Peter wanted to argue that death wasn’t final - he’d died five years (two months) ago, turning to dust in Tony’s arms on an alien planet, and he’d returned to life, but he knew that hadn’t been a natural death or even an actual death; it had been more like being put on indefinite pause.

“I miss them,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t remember their voices or their hugs or their laughs but I miss them. All I remember is that they loved me.”

“They did love you. They loved you very much, and they would be so incredibly proud of you,” Nicholas said. “They were always on the Nice list, just like you.”

Peter turned to face Nicholas. “You’re serious about this Santa thing, aren’t you?”

“I am. Just listen to that boundlessly loving heart of yours, Peter Parker. It knows.”

He was actually starting to believe Nicholas. He’d seen and accepted weirder things, and that wasn’t even including the stuff he’d experienced as Spider-Man. Aliens and Gods, and time travel and magic – with all of that, who was he to say that Santa wasn’t real?

He laughed, breathless and wonder-struck, giving himself over to just believing. He gestured at the snow, still hanging motionless in the air, reaching out to poke a flake. He was on board with the whole Santa thing, but he was still a scientist, couldn’t resist learning whatever he could. “Can you manipulate the space/time continuum? Do you use quantum tunnels, or are you present in multiple planes of existence simultaneously? I guess you could use magic like Doctor Strange. You must have to visit thousands of homes per second.”

Nicholas clapped him on the shoulder, letting out another of his wonderful chuckles. “Yes.”

“Yes to what? The quantum tunneling? Because quantum physics would totally allow you to be in multiple places at the same time, but it doesn’t explain why you go down chimneys when you could just phase though walls. Unless it’s for the …”

“The aesthetic,” Nicholas finished. “I don’t need to use chimneys, but I like to every so often, because I do so enjoy popular culture’s artistic interpretations. And to answer your question - just yes. Yes to everything you said, and many things you didn’t.” He waved a hand, and the snow began to fall again. “I placed us in a little pocket of time, just a Yoctosecond for the rest of the world, but about thirty minutes for us. It may take me nearly seven months to complete my deliveries, but that’s thirty-one hours in real time.”

Peter felt something breathe down his neck again, but when he turned this time, he saw a reindeer standing behind him. He didn’t even question why a reindeer would be on an apartment rooftop, because that was just how his night was going, and he’d made a decision to surrender himself to the impossible and go with it.

The reindeer huffed at him, and pushed its muzzle against his face, nuzzling his cheek. Peter gently stroked its snout, receiving a lick in return. “Hey, big guy,” he cooed, smitten with the animal, who had absolutely no business being on the rooftop, but whatever. He was stroking an actual reindeer. “He’s beautiful,” he said to Nicholas as he sank his fingers into the reindeer’s mane, scratching gently and making it toss its head in delight.

“He’s a she,” Nicholas corrected. “This is Prancer. She’s an inquisitive one, aren’t you, girl?”

Prancer snorted, bumping her nose into the palm of Peter’s hand. He could feel the damp heat of her breath even through the fabric of his suit. “Where did you come from, buddy?” he said, stroking her ears.

“She’s been here the entire time, Peter. You just couldn’t see her until you believed.”

Peter had obsessively watched The Polar Express as a child, despite his low-grade animosity towards Santa Claus, and he’d thought that the mark of belief was hearing the ringing of a golden sleigh bell, but apparently it was seeing reindeer in Manhattan. “How was I able to see you before I believed? If people could see you all the time there’d be photos of you all over the internet.”

“I wanted you to see me. I have a message for you to pass on to someone who requested something I could fulfil but couldn’t gift-wrap or deliver.” Nicholas stood, brushing snow off his rear. “When you see Morgan Stark in a few hours time, please tell her that her Christmas wish has been granted.”

Peter watched Nicholas take hold of Prancer’s harness and lead her across the rooftop. As they walked, the air shimmered and a sleigh and eight other reindeer appeared, who snorted softly as Prancer took her place back amongst them. “Mr. Nicholas?”

Nicholas turned to look at him, his hands working to secure Prancer’s harness to the reins. “Yes, Peter?”

“What’s Morgan’s wish?”

Nicholas tapped the side of his nose. “That’s top secret. I’d never disclose the nature of any Christmas wishes I receive. She’ll know what you’re talking about, I promise you, and you’re the very best person to deliver the message.” He picked up the sack that had been left next to the chimney and slung it over his shoulder. “Forgive me for rushing you Peter, but I have deliveries to finish, and it’s getting late – your aunt is waiting up for you.”

Impulsively, Peter caught the man up in a hug. “I won’t remember any of this, will I?” He didn’t know how he knew that he’d forget, but he was certain that he would.

Nicholas patted his back fondly. “No. You’ll remember to tell Morgan about her Christmas wish, but you’ll forget our conversation, and what you saw this evening. I do hope you’ll think more fondly of me, however.”

Peter stepped out of the embrace. “I hope so too,” he said quietly. “It was nice to meet you, Mr.Nicholas. I wish I could remember this.”

Nicholas touched a gloved hand to his chest, just to the left of the spider emblem. “You’ll remember right here, when you’re with your loved ones. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas,” Peter echoed, as Nicholas climbed back into the chimney. This time, the brick work expanded to accommodate him, and he slid smoothly in, pausing to smile at Peter.

“Goodbye, Peter. You’re a good boy, and you’re going to be a great man.”

“Bye, Santa.” Peter suddenly felt much younger than sixteen, full of awe and wonder.

Nicholas disappeared completely down the chimney, and with a faint sparkle, the reindeer and sleigh disappeared from view once more, leaving Peter seemingly alone on the rooftop.

He looked around him, wondering what had drawn him there. Nothing caught his eye; it was just a deserted, snow-covered roof, with only his footprints disturbing the otherwise pristine blanket of white.

With a shrug, he tugged his mask back on and jumped up onto the wall, flicking through his web shooter settings and letting out a test burst of web fluid before stepping over the edge, a web catching on the building across the street. As he swung through the falling snow, he happily hummed Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer under his breath, staying close to street level and trading Christmas greetings with people heading home. Spirits were high ten weeks post-Blip, the world still celebrating the return of half its population, and Peter found himself filled with fondness for his fellow New Yorkers.

The tower was bright in the distance, calling him to his temporary home, and he swung faster, wanting to pull on the Christmas Eve pajamas May always bought him and drink a cup of hot chocolate before heading to bed.

His aunt was waiting for him in the cozy little living room of their borrowed apartment, and two mugs of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table. The soft warm glow of the tree lights was the only source of illumination in the room, adding to the coziness. “Hey, baby. Good patrol?”

He flopped next to her on the sofa, pulling his mask off and resting his head on her shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty quiet. Sorry I’m back so late, I thought I saw something, but it turned out to be nothing.”

She pressed a mug into his hands. “It’s only a quarter after twelve, you’re back earlier than I expected. Fifteen minutes is fine if you give me a heads up.”

He felt like he’d stayed out at least an hour past his curfew, but he wasn’t about to argue with his aunt. “Thanks, May. I’m gonna go get changed for bed.”

She sent him off carrying his new pajamas, which matched hers – made of soft, warm, green flannel, with a pattern of tiny candy canes. A hasty shower, and he returned to the living room and the blanket nest May had constructed in his absence, snuggling in beside her. She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him close, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she played with his damp hair.

They sat in contented silence, watching the yule log channel playing on the TV, the gentle crackle and pop of the virtual burning wood filling the room and making him sleepy.

“We should go to bed so Santa can come,” he yawned, his mouth running on autopilot.

May laughed, throwing the blankets off and pulling him to his feet for a hug. “Haven’t heard you say that for a long time, sweetheart. But you’re right, we should call it a night. Morgan will probably wake us up at the ass crack of dawn.”

They each went to their own room, making a valiant effort to pretend that Peter wouldn’t crawl into May’s bed in a couple of hours seeking comfort after a nightmare. He was sixteen – he was Spider-Man – and he hated that a bad dream made him act like a child, but May was the only way he could calm down, banish the memories of disintegrating on a dead, orange planet, a billion miles away from home.

He curled up under the comforter, closing his eyes and listening to the faint rustle of May carrying bags of gifts out of their quarters and over to Pepper’s apartment. He’d offered to help before heading out on patrol, but May was insistent on keeping that part of their Christmas tradition going, even in the unfamiliar luxury of Stark Tower. She liked to set the gifts out after Peter went to bed, then get up before him to turn the tree lights on, keeping the magic going even though he was a teenager.

He was full of quiet, drowsy contentment, and an almost nervy anticipation for the morning, excitement he hadn’t felt for years. He loved Christmas and the way his world slowed down for a while, allowing him to spend time with May eating too much food and watching cheesy holiday movies. Their shared losses meant they doubled down on trying to make it special, keenly aware of the fragility of life and how it could all change in (the stopping of) a heartbeat. But it had been a long time since he’d felt like this – desperate for the morning to come, convinced that he was never going to be able to fall asleep because he was just too excited.

But he did sleep; deep and dreamless for the first time since being Blipped back to life, not even stirring at the soft, delicate peal of bells from the roof of the tower. He only woke when a pair of bony knees pressed against his lower back, and a shrill little voice shouted his name directly into his ear.

“Petey! Petey, wake up!” the voice screeched, as the blankets were pulled down from around his shoulders. “It’s Christmas!”

He opened one eye to look at his phone, groaning when he saw how early it was. “Mo, it’s not even seven yet. You should be in bed.” He turned underneath her, catching her around the waist, and she shrieked as his fingers brushed against the ticklish spot right beneath her ribs, turning into three feet and thirty pounds of wildly squirming four-year-old.

“FRIDAY opened the door for me,” she said, laughing fit over. “Mommy told me to come and get you.” She was wearing pajamas that matched his, and brand-new Tsum Tsum Spider-Man slippers, which he was going to need a Peter-sized pair of immediately, because he was never going to get over the fact that there was actual Spider-Man merch.

He flung a blanket over her, making her giggle again. “Oh she did, did she?”

“And May said you need to get your lazy ass out of bed.” Morgan dragged the blanket off, her hair fluffing out around her head in a cloud of static, and frowned at Peter. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He schooled his face into a look of mock seriousness and swept her up in a bearhug before rolling them out of bed, Morgan clinging to him like a koala, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Sorry, Morgie.”

“Your breath smells,” she informed him, and he threw her back onto the bed with a mock growl.

“That’s because you woke me up and I haven’t cleaned my teeth yet.” He left Morgan bouncing on the mattress and hurriedly used the bathroom, freshening himself up before returning to catch her mid-bounce, swinging her up onto his hip. He huffed a breath out right in her face. “Better?”

“Better,” she nodded. She planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then squished their faces together and began to twiddle one of his curls around her finger. “You smell like candy canes.”

He’d only known Morgan for two months, but he already knew he’d die for her without a second thought. She was a loving, affectionate, scary-smart ball of crazy, and he absolutely adored her, had done from the very first moment he met her, when she’d crawled into his lap, called him Petey, and demanded that he tell her what it was like to swing from a web. Tony had apparently been telling her bedtime stories about both Peter Parker and Spider-Man since she’d been born, and she’d grown up thinking of Peter as her big brother. He was more than happy to fill that role in her life.

He carried her out of his and May’s quarters and across the hall to the rear entrance of the Stark suite. The door opened up into the back of the apartment, and the two of them padded silently along the lushly carpeted hallway, past the bedrooms and then out into the huge living room with its floor to ceiling windows and twelve-foot Christmas tree. May and Pepper were waiting, both wrapped in fluffy dressing gowns and hugging cups of coffee, and the bottom foot of the tree was completely hidden by presents.

He looked down at Morgan, expecting to see a look of wonder on her face, but instead he saw her dark eyes welling up with tears, her bottom lip trembling, and she hid her face in his shoulder as she began to cry. “Morgan?” he said, looking desperately at Pepper for help. Something was sparking in the back of his mind, something he needed to say, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

Pepper swooped in, taking Morgan from Peter and holding her close. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Morgan was sobbing incoherently, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her cries. Pepper sssh’d her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her as she cried for her daddy. They’d known this was going to be a difficult Christmas, but they’d hoped her age would protect her a little, even though Peter knew from his own experience that it likely wouldn’t.

He suddenly knew what he needed to say, the message bursting out of him without any conscious effort on his part. “Morgan, your Christmas wish has been granted.” Even as the words left his mouth, he made a face. “Huh?”

She stopped crying, a look of fierce determination on her features, and she wiggled in Pepper’s arms. “Put me down, Mommy.”

Pepper did as she was asked, and then Morgan was off, heading for the elevator with purpose. “FRIDAY, take me to the med bay, please.”

The three of them gaped at one another, and then moved as one to Morgan’s side as the elevator doors opened and she marched in.

Pepper crouched in front of her daughter, wiping her damp cheeks with the cuff of her dressing gown. “Baby, it’s too early to go to the med bay. They won’t be ready for us.”

“Peter said my Christmas wish has been granted, so I have to go to the med bay,” Morgan said, and Peter hoped his face and shrug conveyed just how very confused he was. He didn’t know why he’d said that – the words had sprung fully-formed with no thought, but they felt right.

Before they could make a move to leave the elevator, the doors closed and the cab began to smoothly descend. “FRIDAY, please take us back up to the residential level,” Pepper said.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Boss, but I do not seem to be able to override Little Boss’s original command,” FRIDAY apologized as the elevator reached the med bay floor, the doors opening automatically.

The med bay was usually quiet and hushed, the silence broken only by soft music and the sporadic bleeping of medical equipment, but this morning, it was quite the opposite.

“My family. I need – where are they? Please. Let me – I need to see them. Let me up.”

The four of them collectively froze in the doorway of the elevator at the sound of the familiar voice. A voice they hadn’t been sure that they’d ever hear again, a voice that had fallen silent on a battlefield as an arc reactor dimmed and died, leaving a badly injured man barely clinging to life.

“Mr. Stark –“

“Don’t Mr. Stark me. I need Pepper. Where is she? And Morgan. Pete. Happy and Rhodey. Please, I have to see them. I need to know they’re OK.”

“Daddy!” Morgan was the first to move, running into the bay and heading straight for the screened off area at the back of the room, Peter and Pepper on her heels as she fought with the curtains. “Daddy, I can’t find you.”

Pepper pulled the curtain back and her hands went to her mouth, her knees momentarily buckling as Peter supported her with an arm around her shoulders. “Tony,” she whispered brokenly as Morgan scrambled up onto the bed, tucking herself against her father’s side.

“Hey Pep,” Tony croaked, and that was all she needed to stumble towards his bed and fall against him, his one remaining arm coming up to cup the back of her head, Morgan squished between them. “You’ve caught me a little unarmed,” he joked, and Pepper made a little sound that was half-cry, half-laugh, grasping at the front of his pajamas.

Green, candy cane bedecked pajamas.

Peter looked at May, who was talking quietly with the two nurses on duty, and tearfully watching the family reunion. She smiled. “What? I couldn’t leave Tony out. I snuck them down here last night and asked Candace to put them on him.”

He moved to stand next to her and she linked their fingers, her other hand coming up to wrap around his arm. “We should go,” he said quietly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, but then Morgan was there, tugging on his free hand.

“Daddy wants to see you,” she said, pulling him towards the bed. “Come ooooon, Petey.”

He stood awkwardly next to Tony and Pepper, Morgan still clinging to his hand. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

“What happened to calling me ‘Tony’, huh?” Tony held out his hand, Pepper moving to sit by his knee. “Bring it in, kid.”

Peter was drawn into an awkward one-armed hug, one knee up on the pressure mattress so he could lean in, ending up half-sprawled against the man’s chest. “You’re awake,” he said, Tony’s chuckle rumbling under his ear.

“Astute as ever.” Tony patted his back, and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Uh – why are we all wearing matching pajamas? Is it Christmas?”

“Astute as ever,” Peter teased, pulling away. “But yeah, Merry Christmas. You can thank May for the PJs.”

“You’re my Christmas wish,” Morgan piped up from her seat at the foot of Tony’s bed. “I asked Santa to wake you up and he did.”

“Is that right, Maguna?” Tony said distractedly, looking over at Pepper. “I’ve been out of it what, ten weeks? Longer? It’s still ’23, right?”

“It’s still ’23,” Pepper confirmed, her fingers stroking the now smooth side of his previously burned face. “We got you back from Wakanda last week. They fixed you up as best they could, and sent you home to finish your recovery. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.” She noticed Tony picking at the adhesive dressing holding his NG tube in place, and pushed his hand down. “Leave that alone,” she scolded.

He instead reached across to touch the empty sleeve hanging from his right shoulder, the excess fabric neatly folded up on itself. “Guess they couldn’t fix everything.” His face betrayed nothing of how he was feeling, but his fingers twisted tightly in the sleeve, and the numbers on his heart monitor began to climb.

Morgan crawled up the bed to snuggle up against his right side, resting her head against the stump of his arm without any hesitation. “You’re like Mrs. Nesbitt,” she said, fiddling with one of his pajama shirt buttons.

Tony’s face went soft, gazing at her with a look of awestruck tenderness. “Yeah baby. Just like Mrs. Nesbitt.” He glared at Peter. “I blame you for this. I showed her Toy Story because I knew you’d insist it was part of her classic movie education or some shit like that.”

“’Shit’ is Mommy’s word,” Morgan chirped, making Peter cackle.

“Yes, and only Mommy gets to say it, remember? And May, May gets to say it, but not you, or me, or Pete.” Tony did a good job of hiding his amusement, but Peter could see it in the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “Pete, don’t suppose you’ve started designing me a new arm yet?”

Pepper shot Peter a fond look. “Started? He’s on, what now Peter, Mark V?”

“VI,” Peter said. “But I have a few ideas for Mark VII that should improve the grip force regulation.” He noticed Tony staring at him, slack jawed, and he blushed. “School hasn’t started up again. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I was joking, kid,” Tony said. “You really designed an arm?”

“He basically taught himself how to build a neuro-prosthesis in a week,” May said proudly. “We could hardly get him to eat or sleep, and then he crashed for two days solid. He’s picked up too many of your bad habits.” She didn’t mention that the week in question was immediately after the battle; Peter had dealt with his grief and trauma by hyper-fixating, and his sole focus had been creating an arm for Tony, unwilling to face the fact that he might never recover enough to use it.

Channeling his inner Elle Woods, Peter brushed the praise off. “What, like it’s hard?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the snark. “Thank you, Pete. When they let me up out of this bed, we’ll have some lab time, give your designs a test drive.” He paused. “Wait, you’re both living here, right? Pepper wouldn’t let me buy you an apartment, so the plan was that you’d live here when you came back until you could find a new place for yourselves.”

“That’s because Pepper knew I’d kick your ass if you bought us an apartment,” May said. “But yes, we’re living here. We should be able to move into our new apartment by the end of January, so we’ll be out of your hair soon.” She stepped forward, and quickly hugged Tony. “Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you and Pepper, we’d have been out on the streets.”

“You might have noticed we’re pushed for space around here, so it was a slight inconvenience,” Tony joked. “Seriously, you’re welcome. You and Peter, you’re part of the family, you know that, right? I wouldn’t let many people get away with dressing me in off-brand flannel pajamas.”

“Walmart’s finest,” May sniffed haughtily. “100% cotton for your delicate rich-person skin, I know polyester gives you hives.”

“You know what else gives me hives? Being in med-bay.” Tony gave Pepper a look that was truly pathetic, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Pep, spring me out of here, wouldya? It’s Christmas.”

“Tony, you’ve been unconscious for over two months. You’re not going anywhere until a doctor has checked you over, and even then you’ll need rehab, PT.” At her husband’s crest-fallen look, she continued. “I’ll make you a deal. You try and sleep for a while, and we’ll move the celebrations down here. Deal?”

“Deal,” Tony agreed. Peter could see that he was starting to tire, his face losing the little color it had, and his eyes heavy. “Morgan, what do you say to having a nap with your dad?”

Morgan answered by burrowing under the covers, her head on Tony’s chest. “Mommy, can you bring Daddy’s presents here?” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and let out a fake snore. “We’re nappin’.”

Pepper tucked the blankets around her husband and daughter, and kissed both of them on the forehead. “We’ll bring all the presents here, baby. Make sure Daddy stays out of trouble, OK?”

“OK,” Morgan echoed. “Daddy, you need to be good.”

Tony was all but asleep, and he murmured his assent, his hand coming up to stroke Morgan’s hair. “Hmm. Be good.”

Once she was certain that Tony was resting, Pepper checked in with the nurses to tell them the plan and ask for Helen Cho to be called in, and the three of them returned to the penthouse to start the mammoth task of moving the gifts down to the med-bay.

They began grouping presents by person, sorting them into the heavy-duty trash bags Pepper had grabbed from the kitchen. Peter glanced up to find Pepper staring at him. “You OK?”

She gave him one of her piercing looks, the kind that Tony had always said he found equal parts scary and attractive. Peter found it 100% terrifying. “How did you know Morgan made a wish? She didn’t write ask to write a letter to Santa, and she wouldn’t tell me what she wanted this year. She said it was a secret and it wouldn’t come true if she told anyone.”

“I – I don’t know. I just knew I needed to tell her that her wish had been granted.” He fiddled with the ribbon on a parcel addressed to May, rubbing the smooth satin between his thumb and forefinger. “But Santa really came though this year, huh?”

“For a kid who stopped believing in Santa at the age of five, you sure have talked about him a lot since last night,” May said, from behind a stack of gifts. “You made a Salvation Army Santa cry once. What’s with the Santa love all of a sudden?”

“I decided he’s not that bad after all. It’s not his fault that he couldn’t bring my mom and dad back to life.” He saw May’s face fall and realized what he’d said. “Uh – that’s what I asked him for when they died. I wrote him like five times that year, and when Mom and Dad weren’t there that first Christmas morning, I wrote to tell him I didn’t believe in him anymore. Which doesn’t make any sense when I think about it, writing to someone I was sure didn’t exist, but I was five.”

“Oh, baby. I didn’t know.” May swiped at her teary eyes and sniffed. “You were so little, just Morgan’s age. I thought you figured it out because of how smart you are.”

“Hey, it’s OK. He was never going to be able to make my wish come true. He’s Santa, not – not Jesus or Bruce Banner. He can’t bring people back to life.”

Pepper was squinting at him again. “You’re talking about Santa like he’s real.”

“He is.” For the second time that morning, Peter was surprised by the words leaving his mouth, but he knew they were true. He felt it in his gut, despite the lack of empirical evidence. “I can’t tell you how I know. I just do. Santa’s real.” He finished packing up the gifts and looped multiple bags along his forearms, the sacks completely surrounding him as they settled alongside one another like knots of dough in monkey bread.

May and Pepper wore matching skeptical expressions as they picked up their own sacks, one in each hand, clearly humoring him as they headed back down to the med bay.

They’d been gone a little less than an hour, and Tony was softly snoring. After two months of seeing him unconscious and completely still, it was reassuring to notice the little shifts and movements of his body in natural sleep.

Morgan was still curled up against him, wide awake and watching a projection of The Polar Express, the sight making Peter momentarily pause, like a thought had slipped in and out of his brain before he could catch it.

There was a small Christmas tree – well, it was six-foot tall, but small compared to the one upstairs – in the corner of the room, and as Morgan carried on watching the movie, they piled up the gifts around the foot of the tree.

Peter had just finished emptying the last sack when one of the nurses walked up to Pepper with a hessian bag in her hand. “Ms. Potts? I found this behind the nursing station. I don’t know how it got there, I don’t remember seeing it earlier.”

Pepper took the bag and looked at the tag. “’To the Stark and Parker families – Merry Christmas. Love from Santa Claus’,” she read out, before smiling. “Peter, was this you?”

At his blank look, Pepper put the sack on the floor and stepped back. “FRIDAY, please scan this for anything suspicious.”

“Scan completed, Mrs. Boss. Nothing suspicious detected,” FRIDAY said. “The sack contains five parcels.”

Pepper undid the red ribbon bow that cinched the neck of the back closed, and slid five beautifully wrapped gifts out onto the floor. “There’s one for each of us,” she said, examining the gift tags.

“They’re from Santa,” Morgan said, sitting up as the movie credits began to play. Tony stirred as she moved, opening his eyes and stifling a yawn.

“Time is it?” he asked, knuckling sleep from the corner of his eye. “Did I miss Christmas?”

May helped him sit up, dropping right back into nurse mode and supporting him with carefully placed pillows. “It’s just after nine. All you’ve missed is Peter showing off and carrying a dozen Hefty bags full of gifts. I took a video for you, he looked ridiculous. He had to do this weird little shuffle because the bags were bouncing around his legs.”

Tony snorted as Pepper placed his mystery gift in his lap. “I’ll add it to the ‘Preposterous Pete Playlist’, we’ll have a screening later.” At Peter’s noise of protest, he grinned widely, before his smile became something softer. “God, I missed you, kid. You’re gonna have to stick close for a couple weeks, until having you back doesn’t feel like something I dreamed up in my coma.” He winked at May. “Missed you too, Aunt Hottie.”

She tutted at him as Pepper passed over her gift. “I was gone five years and you still know how to grind my gears, Stark.” There was no heat in her words, just affection, and Tony gave her his trademark smug grin as he began to pick at the tape sealing his present shut.

Following his lead, they piled on his bed, Morgan and Pepper at his shoulders, Peter and May by his feet, and started tearing into their own gifts.

Tony somehow managed to open his first, holding the edge of the paper and letting the weight of the present unfurl the wrapping, the contents dropping into his blanketed lap. He picked his gift up, a little frown of confusion knitting his brows.

“Is that a 1977 Kenner Star Wars Han Solo figure in its original packaging?” Peter moaned, his own gift sitting forgotten. “And a Leia? What the fuh … uh, heck.” He moved to pick one up, and Tony bundled them protectively against his chest.

“Back off, Underoos. These are mine.”

“But you don’t even like Star Wars,” Peter pouted, trying to get a better look at the packaging.

“Uh, says you. Kid me thought Star Wars was amazing, Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher were my first crushes. I really wanted action figures that Christmas, but my dad said I was too old.” Tony let the blister packs rest back in his lap, and ran his finger across the plastic. “These look brand-new.”

Tony would have been seven the year Star Wars came out, and Peter felt a moment of sadness for the little boy who’d been told he was too old for something he loved. That same little boy was looking out through the eyes of his adult self, childlike wonder on his face.

May had finished unwrapping her gift. She laughed, and held the box up. “A Bionic Woman wrist radio! My mom and dad tried to get me one but it was sold out.” Much like Tony’s gifts, the packaging was in mint condition and looked like new.

Pepper showed off her gift, and Peter had another bout of fanboy envy. More vintage action figures in their original packaging – Egon Spengler and Slimer from The Real Ghostbusters. “Pepper, you liked Ghostbusters?” He couldn’t picture Pepper as a child – she was the most grown-up adult he knew, so composed and polished that it was easy to imagine she just appeared fully-formed one day, wearing a pair of killer heels and a tailored suit, completely skipping childhood and marching into Stark Industries to make Tony sort his shit out.

“I had all the comics and recorded the cartoon every week. I was in love with Egon.” She turned the boxes over, looking at the back cards. “Mom didn’t have much money when I was growing up, so I never asked for anything for Christmas. She always got me a few little things, tried her hardest, but she couldn’t afford things like this.” She choked up, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’ve never told anyone I wanted these.”

Morgan was already hugging her gift – a Spider-Man plushie that matched her slippers. “How did Santa know?” she murmured, wide-eyed. “I only asked him to wake up Daddy for Christmas.”

All eyes shifted to Peter, the only person yet to unwrap his gift. He felt the weight of expectation as he peeled the tape away from the small parcel.

A simple silver photo frame lay nestled in the paper, displaying a picture of Peter as a toddler, sitting on Santa’s lap with his mom and dad standing either side of him, the three of them wearing matching sweaters and cheesy grins. He hadn’t seen the photo before – his parents had lost almost all their possessions in a house fire the year before they died, so the only pictures Peter had of himself before the age of four were limited to the few May and Ben had taken.

He wordlessly held the frame out to May, and she took it, letting out a little gasp. “Oh, Peter. Look how tiny you were.”

Something tinkled inside the discarded paper, and when Peter shook it out, a gold sleigh bell about the size of a tangerine tumbled onto the mattress with a soft chime, followed by a slip of paper. He picked the bell up in one hand and the paper in the other.

The paper had one word on it – ‘believe’.

“Told you,” he said, shaking the bell next to his ear and listening to the sweet, gentle peal.

He knew it in his bones. Santa Claus was real. He had his tangible evidence now, in the form of gifts that were meaningless trinkets for most, but full of sentiment and nostalgia for the recipients, things that represented their childhood longings, left behind but never forgotten.

Tony gave him an odd look as he continued to ring the bell. “Kid, I think it must be broken. Doesn’t matter how hard you ring it, it’s not going to make a noise.” He held his hand out and Peter leaned forward to place the bell in his palm, watching as Tony shook it. “Nope. It’s a dud.” He tossed it back to Peter, his aim pretty accurate given he was using his non-dominant arm.

The bell jingled again as Peter caught it. “How can you not hear it? It’s really loud.”

May gestured for the bell, and it was her turn to shake it. “Nothing.” She passed it on to Pepper, who repeated the motion.

“Sorry Peter. I can’t hear a thing.” Pepper handed the bell back.

Morgan left Tony’s side to deposit herself in Peter’s lap, and she took the bell from him. It was big enough that she needed to hold it with both hands as she made it ring. “It sounds really pretty,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. “It’s OK, they’re grown-ups,” she whispered conspiratorially.

He held her close as she played with the bell, the chime pure and clear, something magical in its tone. Their little shared jumble of a family regarded the two of them with obvious affection, Tony in particular watching with a fierce intensity that Peter could see was a mixture of pride and love.

He didn’t know what had changed, why he suddenly just knew that Santa was real, but he knew one thing for certain.

He believed.

#My fic #christmas fic #spider-man

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