#this was in addition to her actual; real life child which is a toddler girl

[fingertipsmp3]

Last night I had a dream that me and my best friend were living together and it was super not going well lol

[svnflowervol666]

Pinky Promise (dad!Harry)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Harry introduces a certain special someone to the newest addition of his family.

Author’s Note: Surprise! Here’s some boy dad!Harry on this fine week night. I feel like Harry is almost always written as as girl dad (guilty as charged tho), so I wanted to show the boys some love. I didn’t really call this one an ‘x reader,’ because this one’s mostly about Harry and his bub, but the missus is still there, don’t worry! I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback of any kind, likes and especially reblogs are super helpful to keep me motivated to post more. Take care and TPWK.

     The Styles household was always filled with noise. Whether it was contagious laughter echoing off of the walls in the kitchen, the pitter patter of pudgy feet bursting through the back door from the garden, or the low humming of the secondhand record player coming from the living room. The sounds were comforting, reassuring to those that lived there. While the ruckus caused by something like which Joni Mitchell song Harry should play on the guitar before bedtime or what color everyone’s nails should be painted each week might seem chaotic to some, it represented a kind of tranquility that at one point did not seem possible to grasp.

    But today, in the modest, ivy-covered cottage with a pastel-yellow door, it was quiet. The sun poured in from the two open windows of the living area, filling the room with a still brightness that only London could emote. Dust particles danced in the light, drifting along through their own invisible current. The beginnings of the city could be seen in the distance, visible in a foggy haze with promises of sweet treats and adventue-packed days. But no sound, as the newest member of the Styles family had commanded the attention and affection of everyone within its walls.

    “She’s so little,” the youngest spoke up. Although he was now technically the oldest. He outstretched his hand out to caress the petite foot that stuck out from beneath the periwinkle-colored muslin blanket.

    “I know,” Harry replied, watching the swaddled newborn’s toes curl in reaction to being tickled by her brother, “I remember when you were this tiny, too.”

    “I was?” he asked, scratching at his chocolate brown curls that never laid flat.

    Harry nodded in affirmation, recalling the early morning when his son had been born prematurely. He’d spent nearly ten days resting in an uncomfortable vinyl recliner beside his girlfriend’s, who was now his wife, hospital bed counting down the minutes until the nurse would give them the “ok” to go visit their bub in the NICU. Harry stared in awe at his newborn through the glass of the incubator, using the open portal on the side to reach in and stroke his cheek with the faintest of touches. He was covered in wires and tubes, surrounded by monitors and beeping machines, all tasked with keeping his underdeveloped organs afloat. It was the most pitiful thing he had ever seen, and Harry still has those nights where he’s plagued with memories from the hospital. While the day he became a father was most certainly the best day of his life, it was one of the most traumatic experiences he’s ever been through.

    “Mhmm. You were actually even smaller when you were born,” Harry prodded, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at him.

    “No I wasn’t! the toddler jabbed back, crinkling his nose up at his parents, his aquamarine colored eyes turning into tiny slits on either side.

    “Umm, yes you were,” Harry’s wife replied with a chuckle from where she sat beside the rest of her family on the couch, “We bought the tiniest size clothes we could find and they still didn’t fit your teeny little bum.”

    The boy sat confused, trying to comprehend how a person could be smaller than his sister, let alone be so tiny that clothes didn’t even fit them.

    “Well, I’m big now. Right?”

    “Much bigger,” Harry reassured him, “But now that you’re bigger, you have t’ take care of your sister. You have to teach her how to be kind and share your toys with her. Think yeh can do tha’?”

    “Yes! C-can she swim with me in the pool?” he stumbled over his words, overjoyed by the idea of someone always being around to play his sacred water games with him in his nana’s pool.

    “Not yet, bubba,” Harry laughed, tickled by his son’s enthusiasm, “We have t’ wait until she’s a little bit older. But I’m sure she’d love to swim with you at Nana’s when she knows how.”

    “Okayyy,” the boy replied, slightly defeated.

    “Do you want t’ hold her?” Harry asked, gesturing to the sleeping bundle in his lap, her puffy eyelids closed peacefully as tiny, sporadic grunts left her little belly.

    “Yeah, but I don’t know how,” he professed, his plush, pink toddler lips turning down into a frown.

    “’S alright, I’ll show you,” Harry then carefully shuffled from his position on the couch, turning so that he was facing his son.

    “So, first, you have to make sure you hold her head because she can’t keep it up on her own,” Harry started, reaching over to place the baby girl into his son’s arms.

    Unlike the last time, Harry’s hands didn’t shake. He wasn’t afraid like he was before, when his arms trembled as he took his newborn son into his arms for the first time, petrified that he was going to accidentally smother him or drop him and that the worst thing he could imagine would come true. No. This time, his hands were sturdy, protective over his new daughter as he was preparing to introduce her to his firstborn for the very first time.

     Harry’s wife looked on lovingly as his son took the baby from him excitingly, his left hand cupping her head gently. Her tired eyes were filled with love when he wrapped his arm protectively around her little tufts of peach fuzz in the best way that a five-year-old with mediocre hand-eye coordination could.

    “You also have t’ hold her bum so she doesn’t squirm out of your arms.”

    Harry took his son’s hand into his, guiding him to place his tiny forearm along the baby’s back with his palm resting on her diaper-clad bottom. When he was confident of his son’s grip on the infant, he pulled back. He made sure to hover over him with his brawny, tanned arms just ghosting over his son’s. Just in case.

    The boy was elated. His sister was warm and soft, and she looked like one of the stuffed animals that he slept with every night. He couldn’t believe that the person he talked to in his mother’s belly every night for nine months and gave kisses to each morning before nursery school was here and real and now she gets to live with him forever.

    “She’s so cute,” he spoke in gentle whisper this time, remembering what his mum had told him about being quiet around the baby so that she doesn’t wake up cranky.

    He was absolutely smitten over her. Everything about her was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his brief time on Earth: her button nose that sat perfectly above her lips, her miniature fingers wound tightly her fist as if she was ready to fight, her little tongue that barely poked through her mouth each time she yawned. He could stare at her forever if he could.

    Instinctively, he pulled her into his bony chest for a hug, squeezing a little too harder than he should have. The baby girl tensed in his grasp at the motion, the beginnings of a shrill whine escaping her pruney lips.

    “Whoa, bub. You have t’ be careful,” Harry intervened, loosening his son’s arms so that the baby rested peacefully in the boy’s lap again.

    “She’s fragile. You can’t squeeze her like that,” the boy’s mum reminded him.

    “Sorry, Baby,” said the boy as he reached down to press his tiny lips to her eyebrow.

    Her forehead wrinkled up at the contact, similar to one of auntie Gemma’s baby puppies, thought the boy to himself. He also thought that she kind of looked like one of the puppies too, but he kept that to himself.

    Harry and his wife watched their children interacted, how his son was brushing his thumb along her skull, how her face relaxed at the steady motion. They were already in sync with each other, already comforting each other just by their presence. They were both besotted with their daughter, but Harry thinks he might be just a bit more in love with her than his wife. Harry had gotten used to raising his son, while he taught him to be a kindhearted and gentle creature, there had always been a degree of roughness to which he interracted with him. His daughter, however, was made of glass, Harry had convinced himself. He vowed to do whatever it took to make sure she never shed a single tear because of him or anything else he had control over.

    Now, Harry had two babies. One boy and one girl, just like his family before this one. The similarities slightly terrified him. His son was soft and gentle and loving, just like Harry had been as a child. He was sensitive, always yearning to be held and touched in the way that Harry had when he was his age. His daughter, even though she was only a few days old, was already a stubborn little fighter like his sister. She cried her lungs out within her first few hours of being born, kicking and screaming until it looked like her face was turning blue. She hated the harsh lights that the doctors shone in her eyes and their cold hands that poked and prodded at her belly like she was a science experiment. It wasn’t until she was in the arms of her family that her wailing subsided.

    It was thoughts like these that felt surreal to Harry. He never saw himself as someone that could be in the position he is now. He’d always thought he’d be an eternal bachelor, someone who only ever stayed with someone for a certain period of time before everything inevitably blew up in his face and he’d be back at square one. He never thought that he’d be the type of person with a wife and a white picket fence and a slew of babies; he never thought that he could be the type of person who could be this happy.

    “Bubby, can I ask you to promise me something?” Harry asked as he scooped the boy into his lap, making sure the baby was secure so that the three of them laid in one pile on the couch.

     He pulled his wife closer as well, making sure they were shoulder to shoulder and he felt surrounded on all sides by the ones he loved the most.

    “What?” his son asked, peering up at his papa with huge eyes that resembled saucers, his long, dark eyelashes brushing his brow bones.

    “I want you to promise me,” Harry began, wrapping his arms tighter around his two babies, resting his chin in the crook of his son’s neck, “tha’ whatever happens t’ the two of you, no matter how many times you get into fights. No matter how mad you might make each other. That you’ll love her. No matter what. That you’ll always be her big brother.”

    Harry hadn’t realized, but his voice trailed off near the end. His voice was just above a whisper, so quiet that only his son could hear. He pressed his lips to side of his bub’s forehead, an attempt to soothe both his son and himself.

    “Can yeh do that f’ me?”

    The boy in Harry’s lap pondered his father’s words. His finger went absentmindedly to stroke his sister’s hand, astonished when her fingers unfurled from the tight fist they’d been bound in all day. He slipped his pinky into her palm just as her muscles relaxed so that she was now clutching tightly to his digit.

    He had no idea of the weight that Harry’s words carried. He had no idea of the thoughts of uncertainty that haunted Harry about never getting to this point in his life. He doesn’t understand the cruelty that exists outside the walls of his home besides the pesky little boy in his class that borrows his crayons and doesn’t give them back. He doesn’t know that other children don’t grow up in homes with parents that love each other like his do.

    He didn’t know any of these things, but he sensed that it meant a great deal to Harry, and he wanted to make sure that his father knew he could count on him for anything because he loved him with all of his heart and Harry proved that to him every single day.

    “Pinky promise, papa,” the boy responds, loosening his hand that was wrapped around his sister to offer it to Harry.

[afni-fics]

Red Robin: In Hindsight - Chapter 1 (In the Present... Memento)

In Hindsight: Chapter 1 (In the Present... Memento) (3266 words) by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence

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Story Summary:

What if bleeding out in a Middle Eastern hotel room was not the first time Timothy Drake-Wayne and Tamara Fox met? What if they were actually childhood best friends, but life and circumstance forced them apart for years to the point of forgetting each other?

Concept/Prompt: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: It's another rough night in Gotham City. The Scarecrow is on the loose and the Bats are out in force trying to recapture him. Unfortunately, Red Robin got hit with large dose of fear toxin and had to retreat to a safe place to administer the antidote and wait for it to kick in. The closest safe place just happens to be Tam Fox's apartment.

(A/N: All "In the Present..." events take place post-Red Robin #26)

---

"--ed Robin? Can you hea--"

Tim groaned softly as he slowly clawed his way back into some semblance of consciousness. Almost by reflex, he began going down a silent mental checklist to determine his current situation:

"Uniform, cowl, belts in place... Still Red Robin... Not disarmed... Not disabled... Okay...

"No sounds of combat... City noises muffled... Carpet beneath me... Indoors... Apartment?... So far so good...

"Groggy... Vision blurry... Hearing ok... Movements sluggish... Drugged maybe?... I can work with this..."

"Tim? Are you... alright?"

"And that was my real name... Well shit."

Gingerly, Tim tried to push himself up off the floor. A glance around himself revealed he had been lying amidst what appeared to be the remains of a wooden bookshelf along with its contents and a disturbingly large amount of shattered glass in some unlucky civilian's living room. Then his head turned to the source of the voice that had pulled him back to awareness. A lump rose uncomfortably into his throat.

"Tam?"

Kneeling a yard or so away from him was Tamara Fox, with a nervous wide-eyed expression, clutching an empty auto-injector pen with an orange label that Tim recognized from his own utility belt stash as fear toxin antidote. 

Tim felt a spike of panic as he looked into Tam's face. "Oh God!" he exclaimed as he tried get to his feet as quickly as he could. "Are you alright?! Did I hurt you?!" Unfortunately, as soon as he got to his feet, the world pitched sideways and he nearly felt fell back to the floor, were it not for Tam rising to her own feet to help steady him.

"Woah there!" Tam said as she tried to help the unbalanced vigilante stay upright. "I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm ok." Then she glanced around the apartment with a weary sigh. "My living room, on the other hand, not so much."

Tim grimaced as he followed her gaze around the room. Near as he could figure, he could visualize how he must have crashed through the glass balcony door while trying to grapple between buildings, based on the gaping hole letting all the cold Gotham air in from her balcony. Following the shard pattern of the broken glass on the floor, he could see how he must have been flying with some speed and hadn't even been able to slow his descent before crashing, if the evidence of the demolished bookshelf that had been leaning against the wall opposite the balcony and the prominent new aches in his own body was any indication.

"I heard on the news that the Scarecrow was on the loose," Tam said as she tried to ease him to the sofa so he could sit down. "I guess you got hit with fear toxin?"

Tim nodded as he sat down, then pushed back his cowl to reveal his face, savoring the cool air as it hit his skin. "Last thing I remember is trying to get somewhere safe to take the antidote and ride things out," he murmured as he scrubbed his face with his hands. "I thought I was trying to get to a safehouse we have in the area."

Tam sat down on the arm of the sofa, her back to the recovering vigilante, and looked at the empty antidote pen in her hand. "And yet you ended up here..." she mused.

"I'm really, really sorry Tam," Tim apologized as he raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "I don't know what happened or what I was thinking with the fear toxin took hold." He dared to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? I really didn't hurt you?"

Tam shrugged, then glanced back at him out of the corner of her own eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Whatever that Scarecrow put in that toxin didn't make you go crazy violent or anything." She looked back at the remains of her bookshelf where she'd found him curled up in a fetal position, disturbingly still and silent. "You... you'd gone completely catatonic." She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "Nothing I said or did reached you, and for a bit the antidote didn't seem to be working. I thought..." Tam shook her head and got to her feet. "It doesn't matter what I thought. The antidote kicked in finally and you'll be ok now, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be ok." Tim watched sadly as Tam immediately knelt down to gather up some of the books that had been scattered by the destruction of their shelves. As she worked, he made a few mental notes about the effects of the Scarecrow's new fear toxin. The old toxin was known for triggering horrific visions and violent reactions in its victims. This new version, triggering catatonia instead of violence, could potentially be a greater threat against anyone in Gotham's vigilante family seeking to subdue the villain.

Tim ought to have been reaching out to Batman and the rest of his family to warn them about this new variant.

However, he couldn't get his mind off the fact that somewhere in the back of his brain, while Scarecrow's fear toxin was trying to take root, the closest safe place he instinctively tried to go to was Tamara Fox's home... no matter how broken their friendship was right now.

"Here. Let me help," Tim offered as he cautiously got to his feet and tested his balance, which was better than it was earlier. 

Tam tried to wave him away, though, as she set a stack of books on the sofa and out of the way. "Don't worry about it," she said in a tense voice as she reached for what looked like an old leather bound book. "It's fine. I'm fine. Shouldn't you be getting ba--"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off abruptly when, upon trying to lift up the book by its spine, about thirty pages full of photographs spilled out all over the floor. Tam could only stare at the mess of her beloved childhood memories scattered at her feet, until she felt hot tears begin to fill her eyes.

"Goddamnit," she snapped softly in frustration, her voice breaking slightly as she closed her eyes tightly. "Well isn't this just a perfect metaphor for my life right now?"

Tim looked and felt absolutely gutted the moment he saw and heard all those photo album pages spill onto the floor. For a moment, he was as frozen in place as Tam, unable to do anything except stare at those pictures, at Tam's precious memories scattered haphazardly around her

However, as Tam sank to the floor with another frustrated sob, clutching the remains of her album tight to her chest. he finally jolted into movement. 

"I am so... so sorry Tam," he apologized with deep, sincere regret as he knelt beside her and began to carefully gather up the photo pages. The childhood photographer he once was chided him mercilessly in the back of his mind for being the cause of this damage. 

Tam sniffled a little and used her free hand to try and scrub the tears from her eyes. "I know... I know..." she murmured as she recomposed herself, set aside the remains of the album cover, and started collecting some of of the photo pages herself. Between the two of them, it should've taken no time at all to pick up all the pictures.

At least, that's how it should have been.

Though the light in the living room wasn't the greatest, only a single nearby floor lamp close to the sofa provided any illumination, Tim kept pausing every now and then to take closer looks at the images, slowing his progress.

These were all clearly pictures of Tam and her family back when she was a child in and around her childhood home when she was maybe nine or ten years old. Everyone looked happy, or at the very least content. He also recognized a younger Lucius Fox interspersed among the pages as well as who he assumed was Tam's mom, her older sister Tiffany, and her younger brother Luke when he was still a toddler.

They were nice photos full of what looked like warm, happy memories.

So why were they giving him such a strange nagging feeling of deja vu?

Tim noticed the corner of a photo that had been dislodged from its album page. Unlike the other photos in the album which were all standard 4"x6" glossy prints, this one appeared to be more squarish in shape with an obvious white border that was thicker at one end.  "A Polaroid?" Tim thought to himself curiously as he tugged the photo out from under the other pages. "I haven't seen one of those in years..."

Then, as Tim got a good look at the photo, his breath caught in his throat.

In the photo a young boy and girl were sitting close together on a wooden porch swing, both smiling brightly on a warm summer day. The girl was hugging the boy, who looked a few years younger, as he appeared to have both arms outstretched in front of him just off the image, as if he had been holding the Polaroid camera to take the picture. On the white section of the photograph right beneath the image are words written in black marker by a childish hand.

"Timber & Tami - July 19, 20XX"

About that moment, Tam noticed the photo in Tim's hand. Her gaze softened. "That's my favorite picture," she said fondly as she reached out to tilt the image slightly her way, though she didn't try to take it from Tim. 

"Who... was he?"

Tam couldn't help the sad, nostalgic smile that formed on her lips. "He was my best friend." She sighed softly as she continued reminiscing. "He lived next door to me and was raised by his grandma. We practically grew up together because Nana was always babysitting me while my parents were at work."

She glanced at the photos in her hands, and the ones still on the floor. "He was such a geek about cameras and photography," she chuckled warmly. "I remember, Nana gave him this vintage Polaroid camera for his eighth birthday. He was so excited, you'd think he'd won the lotto. I think... this was the first picture he ever took with it." She glanced at the photos in her hands and still on the floor. "He took most of these other ones too, and he gave me the album for my birthday before--"

"Before?"

Tam sighed. "Before his Nana got sick, and he had to move away."

It took a long minute, but finally Tam noticed Tim was strangely quiet. When she turned her attention from the photos to him, she was startled to see him staring at her with an intense wide-eyed expression she'd never seen in those blue eyes before. For the first time in the year since she'd met him, he looked like he was close to tears.

He looked at her like he was staring at a ghost.

Tam felt a tendril of unease coil in her chest. "Tim? What's wro--"

"Tami?" he whispered to her in a small, vulnerable tone. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion and completely unguarded. "Is it really you?"

At first Tam was confused. She glanced between the Polaroid photo held in Tim's now trembling hand before her gaze drifted back up to his face and looked into eyes that were suddenly more familiar than they'd ever been before.

Suddenly, her world shifted.

Tam's own brown eyes went wide with shock as she tried to stifle a gasp with her hands. Then, slowly, she lowered her fingers from her lips.

"Timber?" 

The tears that had been threatening to escape Tim's startled blue eyes finally coursed down his cheeks with Tam's word. There was so much emotion warring on his face, and while his mouth opened and closed, nothing seemed able to come out. 

Tim reached out for Tam, who was still frozen in her own silent shock.

But before he could reach her, Tim's communicator began to ping, cutting through the silence between them and making both of them jump. Tim's hand retracted away sharply, as if he'd been burned. After taking a second to compose himself, he reached up to press a button on the communicator in his ear.

"Red here," he said, his voice all business, all Red Robin, but stretched tight to near the point of breaking.

"Thank goodness," Oracle's synthesized voice on the comm crackled to life. "Batman and Robin need backup. Batgirl and Nightwing both got hit with fear toxin, but their trackers haven't moved in several minutes."

Tim rose grimly to his feet and turned toward the doorless balcony. "Crane's got a new variant. Triggers catatonia instead of fight or flight. The current antidote works, but takes longer to kick in." He checked his belts to see how many more doses of antidote he had. "If they're immobile either they took the antidote and we're just waiting for it to take effect, or they went catatonic before they could administer in the first place." He sighed as he pulled out his grapple gun to insert a new cartridge. "Who's closest to my location?"

"Nightwing. Sending you coordinates for both."

"I'll be there soon. Make sure to warn B and Robin about the variant. Red out."

Once the comm was disconnected, Tim bowed his head. When he spoke, his Red Robin tone was nowhere to be heard. "I'm sorry Tam..." he whispered, voice full of regret and longing and... something else neither of them could identify. "I have to go--"

But as he turned to glance back timidly at her, Tim's eyes went wide when he suddenly found himself tightly wrapped up in a pair of soft warm arms. His breath hitched in his chest as he felt, more than heard, Tam sob into his shoulder, "It's you."

Without even thinking, Tim wrapped his arms around Tam, pulling her closer and tucking his own face into the crook of her neck. He held her tighter than he ever had before in this past year. All his emotions felt raw and exposed, but in this moment that was ok.

This was his Tami...

His big sister...

His best friend...

His first-- 

With a deep, shuddering sigh, Tim pulled back slightly, just enough to speak clearly. "I need to go."

Tam pulled back slowly too, until just their hands were interlaced. Finally, she raised her gaze to meet his. "Be careful," she whispered. The weight of so many other things they wished to say to one another hangs in the space between them, and they both know it.

Tim nodded wordlessly. Then, with painful reluctance, he slipped his fingers from her grasp, pulled his cowl back on launched a grappling line out of Tam's apartment. He spares just one final backward glance, his expression masked almost completely by his cowl, before launching himself into back into the night.

Once Tam can no longer see his silhouette against Gotham's skyline, she shivers as a cold wind cuts through her apartment. As she kneels down again to gather her photos, she pulls out her phone with a free hand.

"Hello?"

"Daddy?"

"Tami? What's wrong?"

At the sound of naked concern in her father's voice, Tam's couldn't hold back the tears as they stream down her face or the way her voice trembled and made her feel ten-years-old and broken-hearted in a way she never thought she'd ever feel again.

"Nothing..? Everything..? I don't know..? Can you pick me up please? Can I come home?"

"Of course. Where are you?"

"The apartment." 

"Stay right there, baby. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"I will."

Once the call was ended, Tam's eyes fell on that precious old Polaroid photo. With another sob, she gathered it up and held it close as she cried softly until her father arrived.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Maybe a story about Norman being a good parent?

Summary: Mindless beast or not, the Projectionist was a Polk, and the Polks did not hurt their young, or whatever they perceived as such.

You all knew it was coming inevitably...

---

[[MORE]]

     Norman's and Margarite's marriage had come as a surprise to the entire Polk family. A simple signature on a piece of paper, and a pair of battered rings that had belonged to Nanna and Poppop Polk (gifted to him by the former who always knew he'd be a better fit for them). No fanciful ceremony with pretty dresses or suits, expensive cakes and extensive guest list.

A disappointing waste, his mama had proclaimed over the letter she'd sent as a reply to his own that detailed his status as a married man in a far off city. She'd wanted to witness the event, shed her motherly tears as one of her little ducklings became a real man ready to start a family.

But, to Norman and Maggie, the marriage wasn't a motive of celebration like his mama thought. It was insurance against further discrimination towards them. They were, after all, the black couple that lived in a quaint apartment in New York city.

Already that was a challenge of its own, as said apartment was populated primarily by white hot-blooded tenants, with only one more laying vacant for a (hopefully) friendlier family.

Their downstairs neighbor clearly hated them from sight alone, and the others were unsure how the new additions fit into their "perfect" lives in the Big Apple. If any of them were to discover that they both enjoyed the full spectrum of the gender binary, well... Accidents happened in the big city. Accidents that targeted specific minorities for some "unfathomable" reason.

So yes, as shameful as it may be, their wedding was strictly business. Rings for show, public displays of affection to dispell the gossip, and overall just the usual married life arguments in the grocery store to sell the deal (neither of them could care less about which type of sugar made the best apple pie crust, or what brand of soap was better, but it sure made the couples they passed by smile knowingly at the common domestic disputes). There was just one thing left to do to really make a statement on their relationship status.

  "Three of my coworkers are getting maternity leave. It's been a few months, I think it's time."

Children were a sensitive topic. Both Norman and Maggie wanted kids, had a vague idea of how many they planned to raise, and were quite certain they'd make beautiful and healthy younglings with one another. The question was: Was it fair to bring in chidren into a farce of a matrimony? What if one day they found their actual ideal partner?

  "Yous better be sure it's the right time darlin'..." He'd urged her to think more on the subject. "Don't want to rush things like that now, do we?"

  "I'm ready." She'd stared him in the eye with a certainty and confidence he couldn't begin to imagine. He knew she was, but was he? Was he truly ready to bare such a responsibility?

That night he relented to her wishes and they had finally consummated their marriage. Nine months later, little Nancy was born a small but relatively healthy baby. Upon seeing his firstborn for the first time ever, and then holding her gently in hands that dwarfed her little head greatly, Norman immediately understood he was ready to be a parent. And a loving one at that.

-

     In total, Norman and Maggie had five children. Three boys and two girls. Nancy was their eldest child and the more levelheaded of the bunch. The apple of her mother's eye, and her father's baby girl, she was the perfect balance of their greatest qualities and teachings. A clever and determined young girl with big aspirations for her future. She wanted to be a doctor.

Aaron was the second eldest child and the one most like his father. Clever and with an eye for detail, enough so that he had taken up an interest that fits his perceptive nature: Photography. The walls of the Polk household were filled with his works, at first done with Norman's own old and battered camera, until he'd bought the young lad his very own fancy new model.

Louise was the middle child, and the troublemaker of the bunch. She was a bit of a tomboy, and liked to scrap with the boys in her class, to the point where it wasn't uncommon to see her with several bruises and band-aids, and haphazardly taped wireframed glasses. She kept both Norman and Maggie on their toes.

Albert was the second youngest and the quietest. A little bookworm that appreciated the art of literature over anything else. He wanted to be a novelist, even at a very young age, and often shared ideas for stories at the dinner table. There was no doubt in Norman's heart that his little boy would write a best-seller one day. Maggie fretted for his social life, however, as he was the least sociable of their children. Far too shy.

Finally the youngest child was Willard. An outspoken young toddler that was definitely as confident as his mama. A little tot with a very big personality indeed, that Norman couldn't wait to see grow up into yet another fine young boy. If any of their children was to ever get what he wanted in life, it'd definitely be Will.

Truly there was nothing in this world that Norman loved more than his offsprings, and indulging in their interests was always an adventure. One to be shared with three other members of the family.

The vacant apartment had been occupied by Norman's younger brother, Alfred, and his own two children. By then almost all their neighbors (minus the one that hated them from day one) had warmed up to them. So another set of friendly faces was a good addition to their home life.

Norman absolutely loved watching over his nephew and niece, especially because his children were delighted to have other kids around their age to play with.

It reminded him of being back home in Louisiana, his own brothers and sisters sparring with him and playing whatever games they could come up with on the spot. Watching Louise and Nelson tumbling about fighting as equally dirty as the other, really stirred up some good memories he had of his older sisters.

"Bite her Nelson! Bite her!" Lydia cheered as her older brother pinned their cousin to the ground.

"Louise tug on his ears! Pummel him!" Aaron called out to his little sister, encouraging her to fend off her opponent.

"Lydia and Aaron! What I tell y'all 'bout encouragin' yous's siblings t'fight all nasty?!"

"Not to...?"

"Exactly."

Granted some play-fighting needed to be monitored when most of the audience were enablers, and neither his middle child nor his nephew had any qualms sending each other to the hospital. They were still learning about consequences after all.

Still, there wasn't anything else in the world that built better character than teaching the children that they were equals to one another in all their shared activities. Respect was an important lesson to be learned. One Norman wished every parent taught their child.

The world would be a better place otherwise...

-

Sometimes the Projectionist would inevitably be unable to fend off sleep. The exhaustion would wear it down and give way to the nightmares of a life it could barely remember. Then it would wake up and scream, trying to rid itself of heinous visions of itself ripping its offsprings apart.

Norman Polk would reawaken inside its brutish body and lash out, hoping to either physically fight away his own broken psyche or perhaps cripple the Projectionist so that it could never fulfil these dreamt up acts of violence.

A Polk was all about family, and the thought of becoming the sort to bring harm upon his own children... Well, Norman had heard the stories. Knew why Poppop was such a taboo topic. He did not want to be the man besides his Nanna in the portrait above the fireplace... One he'd resembled if his eye wasn't wrong and he'd grown out his beard...

The Projectionist didn't have the mental faculties to understand this distress however, but it seemed to recognize that what it saw in dreams was bad. That what it did to the vermin, it should never do to those innocent little youngsters that looked at it with love instead of fear and hatred. So... Why did it do it in dreams? Why did it kill when it wanted to be docile? The children were not a threat, so why...?

It made no sense... But it didn't much care for elaborate existential crisis like that. Norman's consciousness would freak it out, but ultimately loosened its grip and go back to being dormant. The lumbering beast resuming its tiring trek through the endless maze. A cycle that would repeat itself the next time it fell asleep.

It was in the aftermath of yet another nightmare that the Projectionist came across something completely new to it. Something small and living, and very much intruding on its space. Something that very vaguely looked like it...

A living being with a body similar to the ones the horrible botched critters that ran around in packs had, yet with no visible imperfections to it. Its head though... It was kind of like a projector, but not. Square in shape, with a lens, a tube, dial and something very round that kind of looked like a big ear. A camera, like the one Aaron had gotten for his birthday.

It seemed to have gloves, shoes and a belt that sort of looked like the speaker lodged in the Projectionist's torso, but it was hard to tell since the strange being was on the ground flailing about like a dying fish.

The towering amalgam stared at the tiny new thing in dumbfounded silence, unsure how to react to such a strange discovery, until it realized why the thing was flailing about to begin with.

One of its legs was pinned under a crate that appeared to have fallen from a nearby stack, and the Projectionist could tell the limb was broken. Nearby lay a series of Ink Hearts that had been resting on the fallen crate.

On any other occasion it would have simply walked over, raised one heavy foot, and crushed the intruder's skull for daring to try to steal from it. This time however, was completely different... Something primal was urging the Projectionist to do something completely alien to its usually aggressive nature. Something instinctive.

The poor creature grew agitated upon finally noticing the Projectionist's presence as it approached, but its broken limb ensured it stayed put even after the crate was picked up and tossed aside. It shook fearfully once the Projectionist knelt down to pick it up by the torso. It stopped shaking once it was brought to rest against the much larger beast's chest, cradled gently like an infant. The Projectionist rumbling softly so as to reassure it that no harm would befall it.

The little creature, with a head that was not a projector but a distant relative of a sort, stared up with its own dark lens before reaching out to gently pat the Projectionist's "face". It seemed to understand its intention to help it, rather than exterminate it.

The lumbering beast carried on in its path, now carrying a most precious cargo. It would find something to help treat the injury and then it would begin teaching this newly adopted offspring to survive in the studio.

Mindless beast or not, the Projectionist was still a Polk, and the Polks cared for their younglings. This tiny sentient camera was its child now, and the beast would protect it from the horrors of this horrid studio.

[inawickedlittletown]

Walking The Wire - Bonus Chapter

Summary: 

“I knew your mother,” Tony said, figuring it was the right way to start. “You know this. She used to work for me and I liked her a lot. We were friends and she sort of reached a part of me that very few people could in those days. I think it was partly because she was brilliant and because she didn’t bore me like most people did. I didn’t love her – not like that, but I cherished her friendship.”

“Mr. Stark why are you telling me–”

“She left when she found out she was pregnant,” Tony said and had to glance up, “and didn’t even bother to tell me about it.”

-

It was a one night stand and Tony had a lot of them, but this one changed everything. Tony always knew Peter Parker existed. He had no idea that Peter would become Spider-Man, but he kept tabs on his son, even when he couldn’t meet him. Peter Parker grew up unaware of his superhero father, admiring Iron Man from afar and unaware that one day he would too become a super-hero - an Avenger. Spanning the entirety of the MCU , this fic covers a canonical view of what it would be like if Peter was Tony’s biological son dwelving heavily into the canon. AU post-Infinity War with an AU version of Endgame. Stony endgame.

As of 8/12/19 this fic is complete. 

-

Bonus Chapter: A look forward at life after Morgana joins the family. 

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past), Peter/MJ

Notes: This is a bonus chapter. One of hopefully a few more that I plan to write. (don’t know when) I’ve been wanting to revisit this verse for a long time and so here we are. This is a bunch of snapshots of what happens after the adoption goes through and this was completely self-indulgent but also meant for every single person that still thinks about this fic and that loved it the whole way through or that just read it recently because I do appreciate all of you and your kind words. 

I do want to remind everyone that the Morgana of this verse is not quite Morgan from canon as Morgana is not Tony and Pepper’s daughter so I do want that slight distinction although of course it is up to the reader how they view it. 

I hope you guys enjoy this new addition to Walking The Wire. 

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony. 

Masterpost

On Ao3

-

Bonus Chapter - Morgana 

-

Her hair was dark, not quite black but a deep brown and it fell right past her shoulders, messy and clearly tangled. She was on the floor, her small hands putting blocks together and ignoring anything around her to keep working. She didn’t even seem to notice that she was being watched. 

“That’s her,” Steve said from next to Tony. He sounded awed. 

The social worker nodded. “Yes. Morgana.”

Morgana stood up once her tower was complete. She walked over to a chest of toys and Tony noted that everything looked just a little worn down and well used. Then again, it was a children’s visiting room. 

“Do you want to meet her?” 

“Yes,” Tony said at once. Steve nodded next to him and gave Tony’s hand a squeeze. If all went well, they’d be meeting their daughter. 

The social worker laughed. “I figured as much. Come on.” 

Nerves hit him, then, and he had to stop. 

“Tony?” Steve asked. 

Tony took a breath and then he nodded and he followed after his husband and the social worker and then they were walking into the room. Morgana looked up when they entered, frowning a little, which just made her look even more adorable.

“Hi,” Tony said. 

“Morgana, this is Tony and Steve,” the social worker said. 

“Hi,” Morgana said, her voice low and shy. She looked at them, but then her eyes were focused on her toys again. 

Tony stepped forward and Steve was close behind, bending down to her level. 

“Do you mind if we play with you?” Steve asked. “We can help you build something.”

Morgan took a moment to think about it and then she nodded. It was easy after that. She let them sit with her and she instructed them on block placement and Tony knew that she belonged with them. It didn’t take long for her to warm up to them and for her to move closer . Morgana spoke a little often too low for Tony to catch what she was saying, but he wouldn’t change anything about her. 

“I love her already,” Tony told Steve later when they were leaving. 

When Steve smiled at him, eyes a bit watery, Tony knew that Steve agreed. 

—

It was entirely possible that they had all gone a little crazy when setting up Morgana’s room. Peter would forever remember the way that Bucky had taken one look inside and just broken down into laughter. It was worse because it wasn’t even going to be her room for long considering the move although Peter figured Morgana would need a room at the tower as well as at the farm. The social worker hadn’t said much when she saw it. 

He didn’t go with his dad and Steve to pick Morgana up in part because he didn’t want to deal with his dad and Steve acting so nervous — he’d already dealt with all that in the hours before they left to pick her up — but because Peter also had a small welcome home party to get together while they were gone. It included banners and balloons and K-9 getting in Peter’s way due to all the excitement. 

Bucky and Sam were instrumental in getting a lot of the party planned without Tony and Steve knowing about it. Pepper too for that matter. Peter had also invited Aunt May, MJ, and Ned along with any Avenger that was around. Their family. Morgana’s new family. 

Friday warned them when his dad and Steve were back, so they were all ready and waiting when the elevator doors opened and they stepped out. 

Steve was holding his little sister. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked around and her brown eyes seemed to take everything in before a curtain of her dark hair fell over her face. 

“Who — we didn’t need this,” Tony said at once. 

Peter stepped forward. “Morgana needs a welcome party,” he said with a shrug.

Morgana looked at him, then, and smiled. 

“Hi,” Peter said. 

She didn’t respond. 

“She’s a bit shy,” his dad said with a grin and then ran a hand down her arm. “Hey, Morgana, we have someone we want you to meet. This is Peter.”

Her lips moved but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t say much to anyone and it made Peter wonder if maybe the party was a tad overwhelming for her. He didn’t have to worry long, though, because as soon as Morgana had gotten a bit more used to the new environment, she was more interested in meeting everyone. 

“She’ll fit right in,” Pepper said to him. 

“I think so,” Peter said. 

—-

Peter realized fairly quickly that it wasn’t all fun and games, having a sister. She was cute. And when he first saw her he’d known right away that he was going to love her, but none of that had prepared him for what it meant to have a toddler in the tower. Or what it would do to Steve and his dad. At first it had been a bit funny and he and Bucky had gotten a kick out of it. 

It was just that Morgana had started off quiet and shy, but as soon as she had gotten used to them — which had happened only after a few days — she had shown her energetic and mischievous side. She was curious and brave and willing to get into anything and everything. The baby proofing did it’s job at keeping her safe, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t get into trouble in other ways like how she’d managed to somehow detach K-9’s ear or how she’d snuck into Peter’s room and gotten into his webbing and gotten stuck to the foot of his desk. 

Worse than keeping up with her and someone needing to watch her all the time was that she was a difficult eater and even worse to get into a bath or into her bed — even when tired. It was just a little bit funny to see his dad and Steve so defeated by a little girl. 

Still, she brought with her a joy that made their family whole. Peter loved the moments when he could sit with her and play with her legos or when he could get her to sit still long enough to watch a Disney movie. Morgana loved The Little Mermaid best followed closely by Mulan. 

Sometimes, Peter caught Steve looking at Morgana like he was shocked to see her there. It was a happy shock, the surprise that nothing had truly troubled them since Thanos.

His dad was full of warmth when it came to Morgana. He was just so much lighter and so much happier and at peace even if sometimes it did seem like all the nights when he’d spent not sleeping had done nothing to prepare him for how wearing it could be to take care of a child. 

“You’ll be happier when we’re not in your hair, won’t you, kid?” Tony said one day while they were down in the workshop. 

Peter was working on figuring out how to get marker off of K-9. K-9 had been programmed to give Morgana free reign which meant that Morgana did whatever she liked with the robot dog. Peter was glad the dog wasn’t a real dog that could actually get hurt although he doubted that Morgana would have hurt an actual living animal. She thought of K-9 like a toy. 

“Who even gave her markers?” Peter asked. 

“Steve was giving her an art lesson,” his dad said. “But that’s what I’m talking about. You’re ready to go off to college and not have me and Steve around, aren’t you?” 

In truth, he was probably going to miss all of them. 

“And, well, your sister is a handful,” Tony added. 

“Clearly meant to be your daughter,” Peter said. 

Morgana even kind of looked like Tony a little and Peter supposed that meant that she also sort of looked like him since he took after Tony in some respects. 

“Yeah, well,” Tony said. 

“I’m always going to need you,” Peter said eventually after trying acetone on the scribbles that Morgana had proclaimed to be flowers earlier. “And this is not coming off. I think she used permanent marker.”

“So give him a new paint job,” his dad said. “Well, I expect a lot of visits. At least once a week.”

“Might be pushing it with school and Spider-Man.” 

“Well as often as you can come, then? Steve will get lonely if you don’t come around.” 

Peter laughed. “Sure he will.” 

—

On the day of the big move, Peter and Steve did the bulk of moving things into a Quinjet while Tony watched Morgana. There wasn’t actually a lot moving over since his dad had elected to just furnish the farmhouse with brand new everything. The lab in the tower was staying at it was and the one in the barn had already been outfitted. Mostly, the things moving were Steve’s art things, their clothing, some of Morgana’s toys and a few other odds and ends for which a replacement or double wouldn’t suffice. His dad was taking a singular suit over seeing as he really had stuck to his retirement — other than that whole incident with the field trip and Beck — but it was still always a good precaution to keep a suit around. 

His dad seemed pretty confident that he’d be returning to the tower from time to time despite his wish for the quiet farm life. Part of it, Peter knew, would be because of SI and because of Peter.

Peter flew with them in the Quinjet and between him and Steve they unloaded everything but didn’t bother to get any of the unpacking done. 

Morgana was excited about being outside near grass. She ran around squealing and pointing out things like butterflies and had even somehow gotten ahold of a ladybug that she ran up to Peter to show off before it flew away. 

“She loves it here already,” Steve said, a hand landing on Peter’s shoulder. 

They watched her together as Tony picked her up and spun her in the air to a new round of giggling. Sometimes, watching his dad with Morgan gave him a bitter taste in his mouth that made him wish that he had gotten to be raised by him. As if sensing what he was thinking, Steve’s hand squeezed his shoulder. 

“It took everything in him. In both of us to not steal you as a baby. Not that it actually would have changed anything for you with the way time travel works.”

“I know,” Peter said and he let Steve pull him into a side-hug. 

“We love you, kid.” 

Peter chuckled. It wasn’t something he didn’t already know. “I love you too, Steve.” 

—

Tony didn’t know how people had more than just one kid. He really had no idea how they handled it because just the single one was a handful — more than that, she required two hands at all times. Morgana had endless energy. It seemed, even, that she could tire Steve out. Nonetheless, Tony didn’t regret for even a minute adopting her. She made the change from superhero to civilian life worth it. Tony was also finding himself understanding Clint a hell of a whole lot more. 

“She’s out,” Steve said. “She likes hearing about her big brother.” 

“Better Spider-Man than either of us,” Tony said with a grin. 

Steve rolled his eyes and dropped into the bed with a tired sigh. “It’s not even nine,” he said. “How am I so tired?”

“I told you not to go on a run this morning.” 

Steve just groaned and Tony couldn’t help but laugh, but he still moved to sit next to his husband and he reached for Steve’s hand. “Mrs. Hawkeye says they’re energetic at this age.” 

“Mrs. Hawkeye,” Steve repeated. “Since when do you have conversations with Clint’s wife?” 

“Since she’s the only person I could think of to call when Morgana had that fever a few weeks ago.” 

Tony had been freaking out that day. Steve had been off at the Avengers Compound meeting with Carol, T’Challa, and Rocket about something Tony didn’t even want to know much about so it had been Tony on his own at the farm with their daughter. Thinking about Morgana as his daughter, it always warmed his heart. On that particularly day, though, with Morgana spiking a fever and Friday offering him help that Tony couldn’t help but feel just wasn’t enough, he’d called May but she wasn’t picking up and so he’d called Bruce who told him everything Friday had already told him to do. Somehow, Tony had ended up calling Laura. Mrs. Hawkeye. 

She was the only one that got it, how it felt to have a sick child and the not knowing what would happen next. Since then, they’d started texting and she started giving him parenting advice or just talking about the whole experience of raising a young child. It was nice in a weird way. In the way that he could have a whole hour long video call with Shuri about any of their projects and then a few minutes after it was over get a call from Laura Barton and have a whole completely different kind of talk. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for that,” Steve said. 

By the time that Steve had gotten back to the farm, Morgana had been mostly better, if less rambunctious. She’d gone back to normal a few days later. 

“You didn’t miss much,” Tony said. “Anyway, I’m gonna let you rest, old man. I have a few more things to get done in the lab. The new suit for Peter is coming along and I’m hoping to finish it before this weekend.” 

Steve sat up and pulled him into a quick kiss first. 

“Don’t stay up too late. The little miss will want you up early for breakfast.” 

“The rooster will hopefully be up after her,” Tony said. 

Steve let out a tired sigh. “Remember when I didn’t want chickens?” 

—

No one knew for sure how or when Morgana decided to start calling Tony dad, but Steve was pretty sure that it was somehow related to Peter. Morgana looked up to him, loved him in a different way. It was a sibling thing, but it was also because Peter came and went but was still very much a part of their family. Peter also tended to just have endless energy and time for Morgana when he came to visit. 

It still came as a surprise to him and Tony when on a Monday after Peter had gone back to the city for school, when they were sitting down for breakfast, Morgana just said:

“Dad, can I have more juice?” 

They must have stared at her for a long moment before her face twisted with confusion. 

“You are my dad aren’t you? Like you’re Peter’s dad?” Morgana had asked then, looking at Tony. 

“Yeah,” Tony said then, his voice gruffer than usual and full of emotion. “Of course I am.” 

“Can I have more juice?” Morgana asked again. She didn’t realize the effect she had on them. 

Steve got up to get it and refill the cup for her. When he sat back down, Tony shared a smile with him and then looked at Morgana as she took a few sips of her juice. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, “do you know that Steve is your dad too?”

Morgana scrunched up her face in confusion and Tony just grinned. 

“But...I can’t call him dad too,” Morgana said. “Can I?” 

They had never actually discussed the whole thing. With Peter, Steve had always just been Steve and Steve had never minded even though Peter may as well have been his son. He loved him that way. They were family. 

It didn’t surprise Steve when a few days later, Morgana was calling him, “papa” although it did make him choke up a little. That did surprise him. 

“Why didn’t you tell me if would feel like that?” Steve asked Tony later that night. 

“What?” 

“Her calling me papa,” Steve said. “Felt like it wasn’t just us that chose her, but that she was deciding that it’s true. Deciding she’s ours.” 

Tony kissed him. 

—

The weekends when Peter managed to go to the farm were some of the best ones. A few times, MJ had gone with him and other times Ned just to get out of the city for a while. It was nice to retreat and to go to a place where things were just different. It wasn’t exactly peaceful at the farm. His dad had gone ahead with the plan of getting chickens and a few cows. Steve had called him in a panic at one point when he saw that Tony was looking at alpacas. So far no alpacas had appeared at the farm, but it was likely that they would soon. 

“Peter, be the voice of reason,” Steve had said over the phone. “We can’t house more animals here.” 

“Technically, you have plenty of space,” Peter reminded him. He still wanted to get a real dog for the farm.

It always seemed like there was something going on there, but then Tony Stark needed to be entertained and kept busy and having a toddler wasn’t enough to do that. His dad still worked on a lot of the tech for The Avengers and he helped in any way that he could as long as it didn’t mean leaving the farm. Peter suspected that his dad was convinced that if he went over to the tower or to the compound that he would get pulled into whatever the team was dealing with hands on. He wasn’t opposed to any of The Avengers visiting. He would even happily take visits from The Guardians. 

Steve was still more involved and Peter wasn’t too surprised the couple of times that he’d actually run into him when he joined The Avengers when something was going wrong in the city. Peter didn’t do a whole lot of work with The Avengers unless he really needed to. Being a college student, he hardly had the time but Peter was unwilling to give up being Spider-Man. 

He didn’t get to visit his dad and Steve every single weekend, but he did go as often as he could. Sometimes, his dad would just show up at the tower because it’d been too long between visits and Peter loved getting those surprises. Sometimes it was just his dad, but most of the time it was Steve and Morgana too which was always fun. 

So, it was a nice surprise for his dad when Peter managed to do two weekends in a row. He’d managed to finish up all his papers early and other than some reading, Peter didn’t have any school work for once and he hadn’t planned to go to the farm, but then it turned out that MJ was too busy to see him. He had considered going to see Aunt May but she was scheduled to be at work all weekend. So, Peter had made the choice to go back to the farm. 

Morgana had been the first to see him arrive because she was outside playing in the playhouse that he and Tony had built her before the semester started. At first the plan had been for a tree house until Steve pointed out that Morgana might fall if she decided to go up there without anyone watching her. Which, knowing Morgana, was likely. 

“Peter!” Morgana yelled when she spotted him and threw herself at his legs. He let her crash into him, but then grabbed her under the armpits and swung her up into the air, before he brought her down into a hug. 

She laughed and squirmed in his arms. “Dad’s working,” she told him. “But Papa is making lunch.” 

He raised an eyebrow at hearing her call them dad and papa. It felt new and right at all once. It did make him wonder what had finally made her decide to call them that. Peter had done a bit of research about adoption and the kinds of things that adopted kids went through. Morgana, so far, didn’t seem to be struggling with it. 

“Well, come on, then, we’ll sneak into the workshop first.” 

She grinned at him. 

Later that night, Morgana insisted that Peter read her a bedtime story. He read to her from one of the many children books that she had accumulated on a bookshelf and it was after he’d finished one story that she grabbed his wrist. 

“Peter, why do you call papa, Steve?” 

“Uh...that’s his name,” Peter said. 

“But he’s your papa too,” Morgana said and then yawned. 

Peter decided to ignore the question. “So one more story, you said?” 

She nodded and settled into her bed again. 

Peter read to her, but his mind was elsewhere. The thing about it was that Steve was his other dad. There was no denying that and they all knew it. It was just that there had never needed to be any label put on that. Peter did remember the one single time when he’d come close to calling Steve “dad”, back right after the field trip when it had been him and Steve and hot chocolate and Steve had been there for him through the whole mess. He’d come close to saying it then, but it just hadn’t happened and Peter didn’t think he ever needed to call him that. 

He thought it over, over the next few days especially since Morgana tended to glare at him every time that he called Steve, Steve. 

“It’s nice seeing you around here more often,” Tony said on Sunday when Peter was preparing to head out. 

“Yeah...I don’t know if I’ll be back before Spring Break, now,” Peter admitted. 

“We’ll visit,” Steve said. “I’ve been craving some apple crostini so there’s lots of reasons to go.” 

Peter laughed and Steve nudged his shoulder. “So, Morgana stopped calling you guys by your names.” 

Steve smiled in such a pleased way that Peter almost felt like he should be congratulating him. 

“We think it’s a good sign that she really sees us as her family,” his dad said. “Oh...and before I forget. I have some web fluid for you.”

Morgana appeared then to say goodbye to Peter before she returned to chasing the chickens out of their coop. 

“You know, he got those chickens and I never see him out there collecting eggs or cleaning out that coop,” Steve said. 

“I think he’s trying to get U or Butterfingers to do it,” Peter said. “Or maybe he’ll build a whole new robot just to take care of the chickens.” 

At that Steve laughed, but they both knew it would be a real possibility. 

“Papa! Look...there’s an egg!” Morgana yelled to them and sure enough she was holding a brown egg in her hand. 

Steve took it from her before she dropped it. 

“Missed one,” Peter said. “But it’s nice to know she’s settling in with you. And I guess. Well maybe it’s a sign I call you something other than Steve,” Peter said. “She kinda mentioned it to me...that you’re my dad too.” 

Steve sort of froze. “Peter, you don’t—”

Peter just smiled at him. “She’s right. Kind of. As right as a four year old can be.” 

“Morgana is never wrong,” his dad said when he returned carrying a bag with the bottles of web fluid. 

Peter grinned at them both. “Well, I should get going.” 

He hugged his dad and then Steve and as he was walking away he turned and called out to them, “I’ll miss you, Dad. Pops.” 

Steve chuckled and Peter turned away from them. 

—

Morgana’s birthday was a big affair. It was her first birthday with them and what Tony had originally intended to be a small party became something much bigger when word got out to Natasha that there was going to be a party. She managed to invite everyone. 

Morgana didn’t have any friends her age because she didn’t go to school yet or go to any childcare places, but she was fond enough of all the adults in her life as well as Clint’s kids that she didn’t seem too bothered by it. Tony thought that maybe they did need to socialize her more. A kid couldn’t spend all their time with chickens. Then again, she would be starting school soon. Most kids made friends there. 

It was nice to have everyone around for something happy, too. Rhodey had elected to be the one in charge of the grill with Bucky helping him out so at least Tony didn’t have to deal with that. Instead, Tony got to sit and catch up with his friends. They didn’t talk about Avengers business much but Tony got caught up on a few of the things that had happened recently. Nothing as bad as Thanos. Still, the universe was ever throwing things their way. 

Natasha filled him in on their newer recruits and how they were considering having a second Avengers team situated on the West Coast and Tony figured it was probably a good idea. 

Tony also got to catch up with Laura in person for once. Morgana was enjoying her time with Laura’s kids even if they did keep going to disturb the chickens. 

Tony spotted Peter around with MJ and Ned at his side. Somehow, his kid was still starstruck by Thor. He did see MJ making fun of him with the help of Shuri while Ned tried to defend him. Peter was grown up. It was weird to think about him that way, but it was true. He was in college and thriving and he was Spider-Man and that was working out well for him. Tony was proud if maybe less willing to just let him go. It would be the same with Morgana one day, he knew. It just meant he would need to cherish all his time with her. 

By the time that it was time for the big birthday cake that Happy had gone to pick up and that Pepper had ordered, Tony had managed to have a few minutes with everyone that had come and he’d realized that the last time he saw everyone was the wedding. 

“Nice to have them around,” Steve said. 

“It is. Although, Thor already broke the chicken coop. And...I think there was a minor fire in the living room.” 

Someone laughed loudly and when Steve nudged him, Tony was aware that he really didn’t mind. 

The cake was brought out with a few candles adorning the top of it. Morgana clapped her hands while they sang to her and she leaned forward and blew out her candles, getting cake on her hair in the process.

“Remember, you have to wish for something,” Peter told her. 

Later, Tony saw Peter asking her what she wished for, but she wouldn’t answer him. “It won’t come true if I tell.” 

“Is it a dog? Because I want a dog and I know you probably want a dog.”

Morgana refused to answer and Peter kept pestering until she ran away from him. So, Tony went to sit next to him. 

-

Notes: I really loved going back into this world and into these characters. It’s strange because having been removed from this fic for so long, I don’t quite remember all the details. But I did want to explore a bit more of this world even if there is no concrete plot. I hope anyone reading this enjoyed it. 

Also...look, I managed to do this about 11 months after the epilogue was posted which is insane because I wanted to have something up maybe a month or two after the epilogue was posted. But less than a year still so there’s that. lol. 

And I do still have plans to write at least one more bonus chapter focusing on a version of Far From Home. (I hope it won’t take me 11 months to do so). I have a lot of it written, actually, but it needs a lot of plot related polishing. So do expected it eventually. 

Thanks again to anyone reading and I’d love you hear your thoughts on this bonus chapter. :)

Tagging: @findmeinthestarss

[alicedoessurveys]

Doctor Who Tag

yes im a nerd...

CHILDHOOD

1. Did you like DW as a child?

I was 10 when it came back on telly with Eccleston and the first episode with the autons scared me so much my mom wouldn't let me watch it again until a couple years later, but yeah my teens I was obsessed with DW... still am at age 25

2. Your age at the time of the revival?

10

3. First DW episode you ever saw?

‘Rose’

4. Did you have any of the toys?

I still have the eleventh doctor’s screwdriver... I used to have some of the figures but there in storage now somewhere

5. Which DW character did you play on the playground?

didn't play it on the playground

6. Monster(s) that scared you most as a child?

all of them! the ones that still scare me now are the Cybermen and the Autons... genuinely cant walk past a shop mannequin without being suspicious 

7. Joke/story you didn’t get as a kid?

as a kid, any of the innuendo type jokes

8. DW opinion that has changed since you were a kid?

idk I think I still have the same opinions

9. Who introduced you to DW?

parents

10. Did you like Sarah Jane Adventures as a child?

I LOVED SJA!! I miss that show, and Elizabeth Slade :(

DOCTOR

11. Who is your Doctor?

Ten was the doctor that made me fall in love with Doctor Who 

12. Your favourite Doctor?

omg why not just ask me who my favourite child is... (I don't have kids but you know what I mean) if I had to chose my top three are ten, eleven and thirteen

13. Least favourite Doctor?

purely just because he doesn't have enough episodes... nine...

14. Best regeneration?

none of them I hate regenerations :( they make me sad, im too emotionally invested in every single one

15. Do you like “Doctor-Lite” episodes?

they're not my faves

16. Who is the most human Doctor?

I think nine maybe? or twelve?

17. Best multi-Doctor story?

the 50th anniversary special 

18. Best Doctor monologue?

“Hello Stonehenge! who takes the pandorica, takes the universe. but bad news everyone, cause guess who? HA! You lot you're all whizzing about- its really very distracting. Could you all just stay still a minute because I AM TALKING. Question of the hour is, who's got the pandorica? Answer, I do. Next question, who's coming to take it from me? Come on, look at me! No plan. No backup. No weapons worth a damn. oh and something else, I don't have anything to lose. So, if you're sitting up there in your silly little spaceship with all your silly little guns and you've got any plans on taking the pandorica tonight... just remember who's standing in your way. remember ever black day I ever stopped you and then- AND THEN- do the smart thing... let somebody else try first.”

not copied and pasted, remember that from the top of my head... its always there waiting in my mind incase I ever need an epic monologue :’)

19, What do you think TenToo/MetaCrisis Doctor is doing now?

hopefully living his best life with Rose

20. Best Doctor/companion pairing?

ten and donna 

COMPANIONS

21. Favourite companion?

Donna, Clara, Amy

22. Favourite secondary companion?

is Mickey classed as secondary? idk

23. Least favourite companion?

Ryan

24. Best TARDIS Team?

Doctor, Amy and Rory

25. Most underrated companion?

Graham, but that may just be cause I love Bradders

26. Most overrated companion?

Rose... I like her but idk, I think she gets more hype than she deserves.. don't @ me

27. Favourite companion’s family?

Rose’s mom

28. Who should have been a companion but wasn’t?

idk I cant think of anyone

29. Favourite (canon or non-canon) DW universe relationship?

Amy and Rory

30. Who did you not used to like, but really like now?

wasn't keen on Bill at first but by the end I really liked her, same with Rory

EPISODES

31. Favourite episode ever?

girl in the fireplace

32. Least favourite episode?

most of Chibnall’s episodes tbh sorry not sorry 

33. Which episodes do you skip?

the regeneration episodes

34. Best two-parter?

Human Nature - Family of Blood

35. Historical, present day or futuristic episodes?

I like them all in there own way but I think present is fave, then historical, then future

36. Episode that will always make you smile?

all of them

37. Episode that will always make you cry?

Rory and Amy’s last episode :’(

38. Best run of episodes?

ugh I cant answer this theres too many 

39. Best cliffhanger?

the end of Spyfall part one when the Master reveals who he is... I was SHOOK

40. Favourite Christmas special?

Voyage of the Damned

SERIES

41. Classic Who or New Who?

new who

42. Favourite series?

four or five

43. Least favourite series?

eleven, I just cant with the writing

44. Which series do you skip?

none

45. Favourite series opening?

eleventh hour

46. Favourite series finale?

Doomsday

47. Best series arc?

Bad Wolf

48. Thoughts on series 11/12?

I adore Jodie Whittaker and her doctor, and although I think 3 companions is too many I do love Yaz and Graham (Ryan is hit & miss). I just think theyve been massively let down by the stories/writing... they’ve tried to hard to tick certain boxes and completely missed what Doctor Who is about for a lot of people.. an escape from the real world into these outrageous unbelievable but lovable fun alien adventures 

49. How much of Classic Who have you seen?

not a lot

50. Who should have had another series?

NINE NINE NINE NINE NINE 

MONSTERS

51. Favourite monster/villain?

the master 

52. Most creative monster?

Weeping Angels, whoever came up with monsters that look like statues and only move when you're not looking at them is genius 

53. Monster(s) that scares you most?

Autons, Cybermen, the creepy dolls from Night Terrors, the ones from Waters of Mars, Weeping Angels

54. Monster you think is too easy to defeat?

idk

55. Least favourite monster/villain?

absorbaloff

56. Monster you want to return?

The Master, I really hope that isn't the last we see of Dhawan

57. In your opinion, what makes a monster good?

being genuinely scary, 

58. Daleks, Cybermen or Weeping Angels?

Weeping Angels

59. Best Dalek story?

Daleks in Manhatten

60. Best one time villain/monster?

my brain has gone blank I cant think of an answer right now 

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

61. Torchwood or Sarah Jane Adventures?

SJA

62. Favourite Torchwood Team member?

I haven't watched it all so I couldn't say 

63. Which Torchwood death made you saddest?

again, not watched it all 

64. Do you rewatch COE or MD?

huh

65. Favourite SJA Team member?

Sarah Jane

66. Mr Smith or K-9?

K-9

67. Maria or Rani?

Rani

68. Do you read the comics/novels or listen to Big Finish?

Nope

69. If you do, your favourite additional stories?

n/a

70. Do you like DW analysis (video essays, fan theories, etc)?

yes

DESIGN/PRODUCTION

71. Favourite piece of alien tech?

the sonic, I love how it is so multipurpose except for when it comes to wood 

72. Favourite piece of Murray Gold music?

I am the Doctor - gets me pumped every time 

73. Favourite TARDIS design?

Ten’s Tardis 

74. Has the 2005 era CGI aged well?

actually yeah, I was rewatching the ‘are you my mummy’ episodes the other day and my God when the gas masks emerged from the faces... ooooooof I was like omg how 

75. Favourite Doctor outfit?

eleven or thirteen

76. Monster with the best design?

not really a design more of a costume.. I live Dhawan master’s costume. that shade of purple, oof he so stylish 

77. Best show runner?

idk

78. Best writer?

Gatiss

79. Best opening titles?

eleven’s titles where the Tardis is flying and being zapped is cool but thirteens music hits different 

80. Will DW age well/stay popular in the future?

I hope so, I feel like its lasted this long surely it can last forever.. if the writers don't fuck it up... 

IF YOU WERE IN THE SHOW

81. Time period you’d want to go with the Doctor?

whatever time means Id get to wear the most beautiful costumes

82. Planet/place you’d want to go with the Doctor?

Galifrey, pre-desctruction

83. Doctor you’d most like to travel with?

any of them, please and thank you

84. Companion you’d most like to travel with?

donna, sceso a good laugh but also I feel like she’d look after me 

85. Monster you’d like to defeat/fight?

The Master 

86. If you could go back on your own history (like Father’s Day), where would you go?

back to when I was a toddler, I wanna see what I was like 

87. If you could ask the Doctor anything, what would you ask?

theres too many to ask 

88. Historical figure you’d like to meet?

Shakespeare

89. How do you think you’d meet the Doctor?

id probably be rescued from doing something stupid and then the doc would be like you know what the bitch clearly needs supervision she's coming with me 

90. Would you travel forwards or backwards in time first?

backwards

IF YOU MADE THE SHOW

91. Historical event would you like to see in DW?

Hamilton

92. Issue you’d like to see addressed in DW?

idk 

93. Who would you completely erase from the DW universe?

Ruth

94. One unanswered DW question you’d love to know the answer to?

where is Clara now?

95. Actor/actress you’d like to see play the Doctor?

Phoebe Waller Bridge (or Lin Manuel Miranda)

96. Actor/actress you’d like to see play a companion?

Andrew Scott (yes I did just basically recast fleabag and hot priest)

97. Is DW “too political”?

series 11 got a bit like that 

98. Which characters fate would you changed?

Danny Pink

99. What about DW could be improved?

I think ive made my options about Chibnall pretty clear... 

100. If you could write an episode of DW, any ideas for what you’d do

bring back Jenny, the Doctor / Daughter adventures they would have. I’m actually writing a fic about it if you wanna read.... here

[literary-masochism]

Midnight Sun: Chapter One - My Descent Into Madness

(reposted from my blog)

I kind of want to be dramatic and say I have a long, sordid history with Twilight, but I’m not sure that’s accurate. I do have a history, but it is one of pain, tears, and frustration.

I’m a firm believer in reading a ‘bad’ book to form your own opinion on it instead of just believing what you’re told...

The criticisms against Twilight were more than justified.

It took me multiple attempts to get through the first book – The first time I didn’t even finish the first chapter. I loathed Bella Swan from the moment we met her. She whined nonstop, she bitched nonstop, and was instantly so shallow and two-faced to everyone she met that I wanted to punch her in her (at the time) nondescript face.

But I tried again and again and finally finished the series. I remember crying during the Breaking Dawn because nothing was fucking happening and there was so much left in the book and I just wanted it to END.

Then my brain, trying to save me, made me forget everything about what I read. When I realized what had happened, I checked my Goodreads to make sure I did, in fact, read those books and they weren’t just a fever dream sent by the forces of evil to torment me.

As much as I appreciated the attempt, I earned those scars... at least audiobooks are easier to get through, even though I had to pause them to rage, again, at the idiocy.

And now... Now we have Midnight Sun. I believe I skimmed the leaked book but never gave it any real attention... so, of course, the full book gets released the day after my 34th birthday.

Joy.

But it gives me an excuse to try something I always wanted to do: Snarking bad books... because if I have to suffer, you might as well too!

So... without further delay... here is the first chapter, as seen by me, of Midnight Sun.

Chapter 1: First Sight

We open up with Edward being a melodramatic prick about having to go to school and how boring it is.

THIS WAS THE TIME OF DAY WHEN I MOST WISHED I WERE ABLE TO SLEEP.

High school.

Or was purgatory the right word? If there were any way to atone for my sins, this ought to count toward the tally in some measure. The tedium was not something I grew used to; every day seemed more impossibly monotonous than the last.

Followed quickly by how much humans, especially teenagers, suck absolute ass.

When it came to the human mind, I’d heard it all before and then some. Today, all thoughts were consumed with the trivial drama of a new addition to the small student body. It took so little to work them up. I’d seen the new face repeated in thought after thought from every angle. Just an ordinary human girl. The excitement over her arrival was tiresomely predictable—it was the same reaction as one would get from flashing a shiny object at a group of toddlers. Half the sheep-like males were already imagining themselves infatuated with her, just because she was something new to look at. I tried harder to tune them out.

Don’t you just love him already?

This is only the first page... It’s not even a full page... Edward tells us how he tries not to listen to his siblings then tells us exactly what his siblings are thinking.

He shames Rosalie for thinking about how hot she is, but since that’s her only personality trait we ever got in the entire saga (besides bitch), I’m not that worked up over it. She’s hot and she knows it.

Emmett is just thinking about kicking Jasper’s ass which, I feel, is a goal everyone should aspire to because Jasper’s thoughts...

And Jasper was… suffering.

GOOD

Alice mentally calls his name and Edward is kind enough to let us know that it’s just the same as if someone said it out loud... you know, because we’re too dumb to work that out ourselves.

Also, he is so thankful that the name EDWARD has ‘fallen out of style’ in the last few decades.

Alice is worried about Jasper slaughtering everybody within a ten-mile radius because he’s become a literal statue (because Meyerpires are made of stone and this is in no way a ripoff of Anne Rice) and, stupidly, she asks Edward how he’s doing...

I guess Alice forgot she could, you know, SEE INTO THE FUTURE. Because checking to see if your boyfriend is about to go on a murder spree is a telepathy situation.

She relaxed. Let me know if it gets too bad.

I moved only my eyes, up to the ceiling above, and back down.

Thanks for doing this.

YOU CAN SEE THE GOD DAMN FUTURE!

Was it really necessary to experiment this way? Wouldn’t the safer path be to just admit that he might never be able to handle his thirst as well as the rest of us could, and not push his limits? Why flirt with disaster?

YES! WHY?!

For a group of vampires that don’t want to kill humans, so we’re told, they certainly don’t give a fuck if they kill humans.

It had been two weeks since our last hunting trip. That was not an immensely difficult time span for the rest of us. A little uncomfortable occasionally—if a human walked too close, if the wind blew the wrong way. But humans rarely walked too close. Their instincts told them what their conscious minds would never understand: We were a danger that must be avoided.

So... which is it?

Edward thinks about how oblivious the humans around them are and how they avoid the ‘odd-looking’ group.

Okay, if I had to guess, the avoidance has more to do with how fucking weird you are. A group of five incredibly attractive (And yet odd-looking? Sure Meyer) teenagers sitting by themselves with full trays of food that they don’t eat, all while wearing designer clothing. They don’t talk to each other, they barely even look at each other...

That’s fucking weird. THEY’RE WEIRD.

Meyer: They’re either so attractive as to lure their prey in for the kill or they’re so inhuman looking that no one wants to go near them. It can’t be both.

Anyway, a girl walks by and Edward starts frothing at the mouth while he and Jasper get a vampire erection over Jasper imagining MURDERING AN INNOCENT GIRL.

Also, calling her a ‘little girl’ is very creepy in an entirely different way. Just sayin’.

Edward snaps Jasper out of it and Alice lies and says he wasn’t going to slaughter an innocent human being in the middle of the cafeteria.

We had to stick together, Alice and I. It wasn’t easy, being the freaks among those who were already freaks.

Shut the ever-loving-fuck up.

And Alice, ever-so-helpfully, reminds Jasper to think of humans as people... because, you know, they aren’t really. Not compared to vampires anyway.

Someone mentally says the name ‘Edward’ so Edward turns to them as though they had actually called his name. Only it was in his head, not in real life. In case you didn’t catch that. That Edward is telepathic... so he hears thoughts as though they were being spoken to him. That’s why he looked over when someone thought his name.

In case you didn’t understand what was going on.

This is the first time Edward sees Bella and... he gives no fucks. But wait! Turns out it was Jessica Stanley thinking about him, not Bella!

In fact, Jessica thinks Bella is already crushing on all the Cullens.

Good for you, Jessica, not assuming Bella is only after the undead D. Rosalie/Bella shippers thank you.

Edward is relieved Jessica got over her fixation on him (because it’s totally normal for teenager girls to crush on weird-looking weirdos). He then goes on to show he has no idea how teenage girls (or adult women for that matter) work:

What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced fixation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams. I’d wished, at the time, that I could explain to her exactly what would have happened if my lips, and the teeth behind them, had gotten anywhere near her. That would have silenced those annoying fantasies.

That is the exact fantasy most TwiHards were having.

Jessica complains that she doesn’t see why all the boys are looking at Bella, thinking she’s ‘not even pretty’. I know this is supposed to make Jessica unlikable but, you know what? That is a very wounded teenage thought process. It’s immature and turning the blame somewhere else but that’s teenagers in a nutshell.

Edward comments on Jessica’s new obsession with Mike Newton – creepily calling him a child.

There is the implication that Jessica’s not a nice person because she’s being outwardly nice to Bella while bad-mouthing her mentally and... that’s such a Christian mentality: the idea that your thoughts matter as much as your actions. Just putting that out there because, clearly, we can see what Meyer’s opinion on that is… as long as it’s one of the Cullens or Bella doing the thinking, it’s fine! In Twilight, Bella was putting down everyone who looked at her until the hideously beautiful Edward was so mean to her.

No, I didn’t forget that shit.

Jessica continues being a teenager girl, hoping that with Bella’s ever-shining light of beauty shining beside her that maybe Senpai Mike will notice her.

And, of course, Edward is an asshole because he’s upset that a teenager girl has teenage thoughts.

He tells Emmett what’s going down with the new girl and tries to listen in on Bella’s thoughts to see what she thinks about all this.

And, because Bella doesn’t actually have thoughts, all Edward hears in the unending howling void.

Edward tells us he has to use his powers to protect his family! He has to listen to everyone’s thoughts in case anyone gets suspicious about the beautiful/weird/attractive/repulsive family in their midst.

I feel like that would be easier if Edward didn’t actively try to ignore everyone.

But sometimes people get it right and the Cullens have to disappear before... I don’t know. Meyerpires are indestructible by humans to the point that they can outrun nuclear bombs. The Vultori might come whine at them for exposing the secret but by that point, the Cullens disappearing would just draw even more attention.

Edward tries to listen to the new girl but gets nothing. He turns to check and all he can see is the brown-void eyes of Bella.

There’s also a bit in there where Edward wonders if Bella is still sitting there because she must be since Jessica is still talking. He turns and sees Bella still sitting there because of course she is, because Jessica is still talking to her. You see, Bella was still there and Edward suspected as much as Jessica was still talking to her because she was still sitting there.

He gets another hard-on as Bella blushes. He comments that she “looked surprised” as she “unknowingly absorbed the signs of subtle differences between her kind and mine.”

Bitch, you don’t know that. You can’t read her fucking thoughts. You’re just assuming this bullshit. This is some of what I remember from skimming the first Midnight Sun. You just make up shit about her personality to suit what you want! Reality is completely optional.

And we get this:

[...] as she listened to Jessica’s tale; and something more… Fascination? It wouldn’t be the first time. We were beautiful to them, our intended prey.

You know, the hyper attractiveness that turns people away because of how odd-looking they are but also draws people to them while also making people avoid them because they’re so inhuman.

And yet, though her thoughts had been so clear in her odd eyes—odd because of the depth to them—I could hear only silence from the place she was sitting. Just… silence.

Yes, because she’s the void personified.

Try and keep up.

Edward decides that he’s just not trying hard enough and stops blocking out all the teenager chatter – you know, the chatter he constantly listens to to ensure the safety of his family? That chatter.

Also, shout out to Ashley Dowling for obviously having a crush on Bella.

Angela Weber is the only one not thinking about Bella. I’m sure Meyer’s just trying to show how ‘unusually kind’ she is but... acting like a completely normal person doesn’t really qualify as being ‘unusually kind’.

Then Meyer, again, tries too hard to make Jessica unlikable by having her mentally calling Bella an idiot for asking about Edward Cullen. But since Bella is an idiot...

We get the infamous “He’s gorgeous, obviously.” line even though all of student body finds the Cullens odd-looking and want nothing to do with them.

And Edward gets this strong impulse to protect Bella from Jessica’s nefarious plots to... get mildly more popular for the short time people care that there’s a new student at school. He describes how fragile Bella looks and how translucent her skin is...

Then we get this little gem where Meyer, apparently, forgot Edward can’t read Bella’s mind while describing things he’d only know if he could read her mind.

It was unbelievably frustrating! I could easily see that it was a strain for her to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense her shyness from the way she held her frail-looking shoulders, slightly hunched, as if she was expecting a rebuff at any moment.

This is a one-way street, Meyer. Edward has to stay his ass in his own lane.

Edward informs us that, despite not being able to hear Bella’s thoughts, he’s not going to let himself get too interest in them just because they’re hidden from him... then immediately says he’s going to find out what she thinks no matter what it takes. No matter how petty, trivial, self-absorbed, whiny, and shallow they are! He will find out!

Emmett interrupts Edward’s obliviousness to his own faults and asks if Bella is afraid of them yet.

“They sit by themselves, never talk to anyone, and stare at the wall.” Absolutely terrifying.

Lunch is over and the Cullens to go their classes. Edward is an asshole prepared to be bored because he’s so much smarter than the biology teacher.

He also tells us the reason he has a table to himself is because everyone is avoiding him and they were too stupid to know why. Yes, that is the word he uses.

Such a Prince Charming, isn’t he?

Again, Edward laments his inability to sleep when Angela leads Bella into class! Then Edward remembers he was totally thinking about Bella just now and not wishing he was asleep!

Also, Angela? Shut up.

The Void comes in and Edward still can’t hear her and, in one of the few moments I like, he worries that he’s losing his gift. Don’t worry, nothing comes out of that thought.

Edward notes that the only available seat is beside him so he clears a bit of room for her, feeling sorry that she’s doomed to spend so much time next to his hideousness. BUT THEN!

Bella Swan walked into the flow of heated air that blew toward me from the vent.

Her scent hit me like a battering ram, like an exploding grenade. There was no image violent enough to encompass the force of what happened to me in that moment.

Now comes a page long description of Edward losing his shit. He tells us, multiple times, how much he wants to eat her, how he’ll have to get rid of the witnesses, blah blah blah. It’s basically the same paragraph repeated a few times... But you know what? It’s better than the whiny shit we’ve been getting and it’s nice to actually see the ‘good’ vampires struggle in a not completely idiotic way... so I ain’t that mad at it.

I was actually enjoying it a bit until Meyer stuck her dumb in my chocolate by having Edward rip a bit of wood off the desk. Like no one would have heard that. Or wonder why there’s a pile of sawdust under Edward’s desk.

Edward... I know that you’re far older than anyone in that room but... calling people children is just fucking creepy. Stop.

He calculates the best way to slurp Bella up and kill witnesses in the most efficient way (interrupted occasionally by an eye-roll worthy melodramatic thought about murdering innocents). I would like this if it wasn’t such a stark reminder of how Edward doesn’t actually give two fucks about humans – he just doesn’t want to disappoint his Not-Dad... who, from what we’ve seen in the guide (shudder) doesn’t really seem to care either as long as he’s not the one doing the murdering. They don’t kill people not because they care or want to protect them but because Dad said not to.

Bella sits down beside him (And he’s absolutely sure she’s terrified of him though she’s shown no sign of that and HE CAN’T READ HER THOUGHTS.)

Anyway, he whines that now he has to kill her for existing.

This is another little plothole that bothers me: he doesn’t have to stay in the classroom. He can ask to be excused, say he’s feeling sick or he has to use the bathroom. Yeah, it would draw a few moments of attention but, you know, IT’S BETTER THAN PLOTTING THE MURDER OF THIRTY PEOPLE.

Meyer decides to call me out on that thought and claims:

Every life in this room was in danger while she and I were in it together. I should run. I wanted to run, to get away from the heat of her next to me, and the punishing pain of the burning, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that if I unlocked my muscles to move, even just to stand, I wouldn’t lash out and commit the slaughter I’d already planned.

Fuck you, he only needs to resist for the half-a-dozen seconds it’d take to get out of the room. But no, he’d rather try and resist for an hour instead.

He, again, talks about Bella’s skin and calls it ‘See-through’.

Sexy

Edward’s becomes increasingly paranoid that Bella’s ‘trying to hide her secrets from him’.

Chillax, Eddie. She ain’t that deep.

He changes tactics. He’ll try to get her alone and his plan for this is flawless!

If he asks to walk her to her next class, she has to be polite and say yes! Even though he’s certain she’s terrified of him (because he completely fails at reading human reactions if he can’t read their minds), she’ll have to do the polite thing! Because reasons!

While he doesn’t realize how stupid that is, he does notice that everyone with an interest in ladies is already obsessing over Ms. Swan so people will probably notice him leading her away like the serial killer he is.

So he plots to wait until she gets home to murder her.

And you guys, he just hates her so much! I mean, he hates himself but he hates her for making him hate himself but also her because she exists but also himself but also her but also himself...

And apparently that was his entire thought process for the next hour because class is suddenly over!

Edward runs out of the room – you know, the thing he said he couldn’t do before because even just moving might prompt him to murder everything – and mopes in his car where he realizes that ‘Wait... I don’t have to do the thing’.

He wonders why Alice didn’t break their cover and draw attention to themselves by barging into Edward’s class to help him get rid of either his murder-boner or the bodies caused by his murder-boner. He decides that she’s focusing on making sure Jasper doesn’t get a murder-boner and she’s concentrating ‘vary’ hard on that.

(Is pointing out typos a bit too petty? Maybe but I did it.)

And Edward feels a new burn coursing through his body! The burn of SHAME!

(I'm glad I got to use this Gif so early on!)

I should say that, through out all of this, Edward’s been going on about his little monster (not that one) growling around his head but all I can imagine are the critters from Critters Attack:

He decides to just avoid Bella as much as possible while being in the same building as her and goes to try and change his classes halfway through the semester.

He startles Mrs. Cope by being so vampirey, though humans are too stupid to notice that, because he came in quietly while she wasn’t paying attention. Her panties are immediately soaked at the sight of teenage boy bod (ew) and asks how she could help him. Eddie lays it on thick because... I don’t know. I’m pretty sure she’s not in charge of the classes, so there’s no reason for him to make her flood the office like this...

Even he’s uncomfortable but he still does it. Gross.

Also, statistically, women prefer men close to their own age or slightly older, so...

We get a whole paragraph of Mrs. Cope thinking of how smart and perfect the Cullens are – actually thinking the line ‘Perfect Cullen’.

When she says that he can’t change or drop the class, he tries to stare her into submission, lamenting that his eyes aren’t gold but the terrifying black instead.

Uh... dark dark brown, almost black eyes are pretty common and can be very alluring. Have you forgotten Ben Barnes exists?! Here, I'll remind you:

I’d be more freaked out by the gold.

Bella, of course, interrupts this awkward seduction and sends Edward running with his tail between his legs. He passes by some random guy in the parking lot and, since Edward is so all important, the guy wonders where Edward came from and, instead of deciding he must not have noticed him before (Like a normal person not in a SMeyer book would do) he decides his imagination is getting the better of him.

Edward makes it to the Volvo where the others are waiting. He takes off like a bat out of hell (lawl) and in a moment of stupid where Meyer, once again, forgets how her characters's powers work:

She looked ahead for me now. We both processed what she saw in her head, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

You see... Alice’s visions are based on people’s decisions... Edward didn’t know he was leaving until he saw that Alice saw he was leaving... which makes no sense in the context of what we’ve been given.

And so, after a moment of Edward thinking about killing Bella, he decides to flee the entire country.

And that’s the end of chapter one! It took me way longer than I expected and I used 74 tabs... This is going to be an experience and a half...

Until next time, I'm out!

[lotuscorvus]

Oh my god my basically-a-mom (aka my mom’s BFF) is currently my fucking hero, and also possibly an evil genius.

I’d been stressing about the holidays, since my mom always wants the faaaaaamily to come to her place for thanksgiving and christmas.

Y’all. Last year’s thanksgiving, which she’d set the time/date for in advance? We get there right on time. Mom’s still in the process of microwaving all the side dishes (including mashed potatoes! for the love of god, why), the ham’s still got half an hour to go, she’d managed to clear off exactly half the kitchen table and just enough floor space to allow us to sit at the table (its a hoarder house, but a hoarder house for a short lady so thankfully the piles only go halfway up the walls *eyeroll*). 

And I knew, I just KNEW, that this year she’d want to do it all over again, and have me bring my crawling, teething baby into that mess. And I would have to deal with her sulky, weepy toddler reaction when I refused for health and safety reasons.

And then angels descended from the sky and my phone rang, with mom’s BFF announcing that thanksgiving would be at her house this year. I don’t care how broke I am, I am getting that woman a really good bottle of wine as a thank you.

(readmore for additional motherly shenanigans)

Hilariously, later on that day mom started a groupchat on FB with me and the sibs, inviting us all to Tday at BFF’s, and also trying to set up plans for xmas.

Never mind that all of us kids are gray-rock champions and so then I had the pleasure of watching both my sisters explain that they’ll be moved out of state/in the process of moving to a different apartment and spending xmas with the boyfriend/otherwise completely unavailable for any sort of reasonable timeframe. 

I then took advantage of this opportunity to swoop in and ‘graciously’ offer that mom and her bf could totally come over to my place xmas afternoon, after I’ve gotten to have my own first family xmas (and earlier yule, which is the actual important one to me anyway), so now mom gets to feel like she’s playing santa (probably literally, probably involving an actual garbage bag full of crap for the baby.... gods I hope its in a garbage bag, that’ll make my life easier), and I have again avoided exposing my child to her truly awful house.

This post probably makes me sound a bit awful without the 3 decades of background context involved, but to boil it down real quick - think of like... a stereotypical 14-yr-old girl with a penchant for “oooh shiny!”, and then give her an irrational hatred of doctors, the word ‘no’, and the concept of delayed gratification, and then let her try and raise 3 children.

[thesobouquetme]

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Over the last few years I've been posting more and more of my actual views, which I'm not exactly ashamed of but realise they're not so much unpopular opinions as downright rejected ones. I pretty much know why I have them, I'm aware of my biases and make every effort to restrict them to words, not allowing them to affect my relationships or treatment of others, restricting the hyperbole and rants to this blog and my long suffering partner. Unfortunately I seem to attract the worst kind of women in real life, which is not at all helping. Every time I reveal something I worry about being rejected, told I'm a monster, a failure, a disgrace, an embarrassment, but each and every time I've gotten nothing but acceptance. I am greatly honoured by your support thus far, for tolerating my increasingly frustrated outbursts and hope I won't push you away with this, but it's been all consuming for almost my whole life, and part of “cleaning up my room” is putting all that baggage out there to be scrutinised and hopefully understood, sometimes all that is needed is a willing ear, suppression only breeding resentment and isolation.

All the bullshit feminism has caused, from protesting the male pill and shutting down shared parenting efforts to the Duluth model and erasing men who are raped by women or by counting them under "violence against women" stats to boost the female victim numbers. Mary Koss, the progenitor of the 1 in 5/4/3/-69/ π r2 stat claiming that it's "inappropriate" to consider male victims of forceful envelopment by women as they are merely ambivalent about their own desires. Lobbying for laws that regard mutually drunk sexual encounters as automatically rape by men, underage consensually sexually active couples (even if they're months away from age of consent or the girl is older) as child rape on the part of the boy, guilty until proven innocent, accusation is the evidence, kangaroo courts, sentencing discounts on top of the preexisting bias which causes a 63% disparity and difference in treatment to the point where if you take every step of the justice system into account the crime rate is pretty damned even (with women often using proxy violence so they have plausible deniability, and avoid responsibility/physical risk). Treating women as the definitive victims of prostitution no matter which side of the transaction they're on. Banning men from charity fundraising events, transpeople only allowed if they provide evidence that they are biologically female. Having the NHS class women choosing to have genital piercings as being victims of female genital mutilation, while male genital mutilation performed at birth is not so much as frowned upon let alone illegal by any single country on the entire twatting planet. In fact you can buy some baby foreskins if you want to, or rub them on your face, the target market being protected from the very process that brought them their anti-ageing face cream, complaining that it costs more than men's moisturiser.

The innate gynocentrism of humanity has always led to women being their top priority, now even above children, it tries to pander, and acquiesce to their every demand while being told it hates them. The cases like the woman who filmed herself raping her own baby and getting the oh so harsh sentence of community bloody service and house arrest. The "poor, neglected" woman whose husband had become distant from her (wonder why) so she raped her son's friend, whose punishment was being banned from his school, which she considered too harsh as she missed her son's graduation. An audience of hundreds of normal regular women cheering and celebrating a man being drugged by his wife, who then cut off his penis and threw it in the "garbage disposal" permanently destroying it, just for asking for a divorce (can't think why he'd want to leave), despite no further context it was declared "fabulous" to the ecstatic jubilation of the empathetic sex. There's the idea that men commit the vast majority of rapes while calling female teachers "seducing" their students mere trysts, shameful liaisons that do not deserve prison, female prison guards committing the overwhelming majority of rape of male children and youths in juvenile detention (89%), among other women who rape men and boys (my own mother being one of them), this in addition to the rape rate among female prisoners being 3 times that of male ones, not a single damned thing is done about the propagation of the bullshit narrative. Somehow the fact that female rapists tend to target children is irrelevant because male ones target adult women, and "you don't see women going around raping adult men" (even though the stats are still around 50/50 because it's a human problem, unless those women are exhibiting toxic masculinity or something). There's the 10,000 men and boys slaughtered in their schools by Boko Haram while girls were released and allowed to go home, the boys being set on fire, their throats slit, or shot if trying to escape, no one giving the slightest hint of the merest ghost of a toss, until they realised that they weren't getting the attention they craved so they kidnapped girls, causing an international outcry and the media/celebrities changing their motivation from "eradicate western education" to "oppress women and stop them getting an education". There's the refusal by both the left and the right to look beyond the plight of women when it comes to Islam, they not only ignore the laws which oppress men, but declare those men the "real" misogynist patriarchal oppressors and innately sociopathic rapists. There's the refusal to recognise that women are a part of society and have far more influence than anyone wants to admit. There's Muslim men's obligation towards women, the segregation in Saudi where they have many public places from which men are banned unless accompanied by a female family member, where they'll be arrested for accompanying a woman to whom he is not related while the woman is merely sent home, where men face potentially fatal consequences for the same "crimes". Where homeless boys in Pakistan are pretty much guaranteed to be repeatedly raped day after day.

Then in my own life, being 6 or 7 years old, my sister 8 or 9 and told to stay put as our Reliant Robin went up in flames, having to be pulled out by a stranger, a man, because we were more afraid of disobeying than of burning to death, mother not even sparing us a glance as she grieved the loss of her car, later keeping it in the garden like some sort of shrine. Around the same year, at an LRP event (Lorien Trust's The Gathering), being left in the tent alone late at night and going to look for her, finding her on top of an unconscious man, she at least picked up on the fact that I was revelling in her severe hangover the next morning. Sneaking downstairs one night to see the aftermath of one of her "encounters", the man was broken, so started my extreme protectiveness of men and distrust of women, to the point of being called a gender traitor for the first time at around 7 years old by my 60+ year old year 1 teacher (who also wouldn't allow me to use left handed scissors or to write left handed, unwittingly making me ambidextrous. Being left with a violent babysitter who made me sleep under the table, or on the floor beside her bed (despite having 4 bloody beds), who wouldn't let me eat since burning the toast, beat me for asking for a glass of water and wouldn't even allow me to drink out of the tap, she once threw me in a wheely bin and poured dishwater over me, mother was in the garden just a few doors down, yet did nothing. She’d always try and get her boyfriends to beat us but they always just laughed it off (they’d put up with abuse themselves but never lasted long after she started bringing us into it), one in particular was into BDSM and later got mother a job as a dominatrix (she was disappointed by our complete lack of surprise), and even he had to draw the line at demonstrating how sexual intercourse works to his girlfriend’s 6 and 8 year old daughters.

My sister and I as little more than toddlers, mother putting our onesies on backwards so we couldn't take them off, having to go to the loo with them still on. Having the door handles put on upside down so that we couldn't reach up enough to open it to get to the loo so we ended up pissing ourselves. Having a daily diet of four slices of bread and the cheapest of generic vegetable spread as we weren't allowed mother's butter, being starved as punishment or just because she felt like it (having won custody of us only to spite dad), leading to malabsorption and osteoarthritis at the grand old age of twenty bloody six (3 years ago now), once a week we got an actual meal. Being around 8 or 9, visiting my auntie who was in hospital after having a stroke, having already had MS she was left paralysed, just 23 years old, granddad put together a system for her to speak by grouping letters and having her blink once for the stated grouping or letter or twice for basically undo. I gave her my only teddy which I carried everywhere, a stuffed donkey I got from Spain, she kept it. Staying in her house, continuing my habit of accidentally setting fire to the toaster, being left alone most of the night and going to look for mother in the village pub, finding her in one of her drinking competitions, walking in and vagblocking her, much to her frustration and anger. Being treated like a replacement husband, even trying to talk me into having a sex change despite only mild dysphoria, which was later greatly lessened by having an implant which stopped periods, eliminating most of the feeling of wrong (most cases of sex change regret are people who were abused, either treated like shit for their biological sex, treated as if they are opposite sex, or sexual abuse). Hearing about how the only way she'd get any when she was with dad was when he was asleep. Why did he end up dying a slow, agonising death while she gets to carry on regardless? Asking me about who I liked, later discovering exactly why she wanted to know, a man I care about was raped because I didn’t pick up on her ulterior motives. Having mother and her friends try to teach me to manipulate men, get them to pay for me, trying to turn me into a gold digger, only making me hate them even more. Coming of age (16), no longer eligible for child benefit, mother having been visiting friends more and more often until she didn't come back, only finding out that she'd been gradually moving out when we got the eviction order.

I'd been training myself to eventually join the army from the age of 5, once when I was 6 mother had asked me to go to the supermarket to get a bag of potatoes, she usually got a 20kg sack, must have taken me an hour to get it home, a man helping me carry it some of the way. When I finally enlisted I had to stop taking codeine for the malabsorption, it wasn't as much of a problem if I was eating every day (I usually forget as my body had been conditioned by neglect, not even bothering to remind me to eat any more), my hips had always made crunching and cracking sounds when I move, but as my body adjusted to the lack of codiene the pain became unbearable, upon being diagnosed with osteoarthritis I had to give up any hope of ever being a soldier, I've lost my purpose, and have nothing to replace it with, couldn't even work a whole shift when I got a factory job, humiliating, I'd informed the woman of my condition and she'd assured me that it was just a machinist job. It wasn't. It was everything you shouldn't do if you have any sort of hip problems. I'd never felt such agony and I'd fractured my bloody skull (at an LRP event). The woman was such a nasty bitch about it, she went from compassionate and understanding to mocking me for being upset that I was so damned useless now. I offered to forfeit my pay but her colleague, who also had arthritis and could no longer work the floor, was obviously far more genuinely empathetic than the woman, my brief boss was also sympathetic and even paid for a taxi to take me home after I refused an ambulance. The pain didn't subside for days.

I've never had a female friend who hasn't betrayed me, my "best friend" in school found it hilarious to punch me in the back in the middle of class, causing me to yell inadvertently as the air was knocked out of me. In year 8 the other kids stepped up their game and went from throwing stones to a house brick, when I got back to school she asked where the stitches were, just so she could punch me and reopen the wound. I was never allowed to retaliate, it would always be me who would be threatened with expulsion even if I only snapped after years of beatings which everyone knew was happening. Every birthday the other kids would falsely accuse me of something so I'd have to spend break times stood outside the headmaster's office, the equivalent of the stocks. Whether it was asperger's making me so unlikeable or if I genuinely am just a massive thundercunt, I never found out what I did to provoke them. Every time I put my trust in a woman it gets thrown in my face. My neighbour decided she was my best friend for life and would call at all hours of the day and night to get me to pick up her bloody methadone twice a bloody week, go to the chippy at 11 o'bloody clock at night, she's always trying to get me to take the pills she buys off a disabled neighbour. There are three things I refuse to take, hormones, anti-depressants, and sleeping tablets and she's always trying to get me to take them. The last straw was when her husband, who I got on very well with and whom she abused constantly, died, I told her to be careful what she wished for. When I finally called her out on using me she leapt immediately to the "after all I've done for you" bollocks.

Time after bloody time it's the same damned story, even regular everyday normal women will talk about things that would get a man arrested or at least publicly lambasted, that erections equal consent, that MGM is not at all a violation of the right to bodily autonomy, that it's absolutely fine and dandy to hit your male partner only to call the police if he defends himself, that female paedophiles shouldn't be punished because boys always want sex no matter what age they are but girls mature younger, right the way back to "We should have the vote but not have to pay with our lives as men had to in their millions while we shamed men and even underage boys into doing the same". What terrified me as a child was women's ability to completely turn off their empathy, the "woman scorned" is seen as karmic justice, there are people defending even the most brutal crimes:  assault, murder, rape, mutilation, over something as minor as rejection, or an accidental drive by fart, or just the crime of being a man who wanted a divorce. Empathetic sex my absolute arse.

A fellow MRA publicly humiliated Adam on a livestream when we went to the men's day march and conference, we were staying in an air B&B, Adam and Will Styles still riding the high of giving their first speeches, only for the woman to dredge up shit that was no one's bloody business and ruin the whole mood for no bloody reason, she also attacked 6oodfella on one of the hangouts. Another one was giving private information, with a vicious twist, poisoning the community against one of our group, Paul Elam didn't want to get involved and Janice Fiamengo immediately cut ties, treating him like a bloody criminal, what the hell did the woman say to her? I could see the Woolly Bumblebee thing coming a mile off, I worry whenever youtubers I like get girlfriends because they seem to either completely change or disappear, like Spino and Bread and Circuses respectively. I'm suspicious of female MRAs, I don't want to be but often even the sane ones are just tradcons. If it weren't for the Honeybadgers and you lot I'd have no hope at all.

The constant stream of "toxic masculinity", oppression, patriarchy, of women complaining that their air conditioned (which is also bloody sexist somehow), seated jobs at a till are paid less than the men (and women but they're not going to mention that) carrying heavy boxes, driving forklifts, working in a cold warehouse, and risking serious injury or death infinitely more than they ever will. The selfishness, solipsism, and sociopathy is too much. Throughout history women have never cared about men aside from ones they have a bond with, have never appreciated a damned thing men have done yet they demand that men prioritise them. Why should they?

I’ve seen and experienced the worst examples of female nature in action, “toxic femininity” if you will, and the difference in reaction to it, never being believed as a child no matter how many times I begged other family members and even strangers to please let me live with them instead, I’ll sleep in a tent, look I brought it with me. Pathetic, but you’d have thought someone would have cottoned on. I'm not going down the anti-women route as my sister has, given her own treatment of her partners and her own admission, she’s not so much pro male as anti-female, but it’s increasingly difficult not to resent them even if everything has a biological explanation. I still defend women if the facts bear it out, even if I don’t necessarily agree on a personal level, reals over feels, the people I agree with most also being female has definitely helped me not fall over the edge, one of whom feels very much as I do to the point where she doesn’t consider herself to be a woman due to her own observations and experiences. But the longer this goes on, the more laws are changed, media is poisoned, speech is suppressed, how the hell do I stop myself from just giving up entirely? How on earth can I stop myself from becoming an all out misogynist? Because it is women, not just feminists. It’s female nature being allowed to go unchecked, even when the same happens with male nature women are still prioritised. There are exceptions on both sides but it’s not enough to change the overall trend. There’s never been a balance, and because of human nature there never will be, which is where the problem lies. I know there’s no hope, that it’s utterly futile, completely pointless, and it’s driving me more towards extremism. I completely understand why we’ve lost so many MRAs to suicide. But I’m still going, even if the only way to make even the slightest change is to appeal to female self interest I’ll still do it. Everything I’ve been passionate about throughout my life is a pointless endeavour, I can’t stop myself from caring or change my fundamental character, it’s a downward spiral and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.