#but if your only take on ned little is “pathetic sad man”; then you may want to hone your media literacy skills some more

[boogiewoogieweeb]

#in addition edward’s also one of the few privy to the reality of the tunnbaq pretty early on #and that is above ANY of their pay grades #and he just has to deal with that because there is literally no time to consider the cosmic horror when it's actively hunting you #ironic that crozier's decision to leave supplies and not men is way more likely to result in deaths caused by exposure/hypothermic #which is what it seems edward ended up dying of #also obsessed that him and jopson. in many ways the two hands of crozier's leadership. have similar but contrasting deaths #overall i just think fandom tends to portray edward as a worse leader than he actually is #at the end of the day he got the survivors the furthest and it killed him to do so #just that it surely killed him that he couldn’t get them home. that he had to leave jopson and the rest behind #he even intercedes on silna’s behalf when crozier tells him to escort her off ship #making him one of maybe 5 people to show her a shred of human decency #he’s so compassionate and loyal that his downfall is people taking advantage of that #imperialism takes the best of men and sacrifices them for nothing and all it has to show for it is more death #rip edward little you would have loved star wars

A Consideration of 1st Lt. Edward Little of HMS Terror (As Played by Matthew McNulty)

The thing about Lt. Edward Little is that he had the highest ideals and yet was set up in so many ways to fail them.  

We occasionally see glimpses of the man Edward Little must have been in order to be appointed First Lieutenant on a very prestigious expedition: reliable, capable, stalwart. 

(Continued below the cut, as this got very long)

He had that, before, when he was doing the job he was trained for, ie running a ship at sea.  What he hasn’t been trained for at all is managing 129 125 119 105 ? men stuck in pack ice in endless night, later trudging over ice and shale, trying to keep them busy and out of trouble and from getting killed by a demon bear.  Of course he’s out of his depth, but honestly aren’t most of them?  Of the lieutenants Gore (RIP) is the only one who seems to be in his element and he’s the only one with Arctic experience so that tracks.  Even Le Vesconte is getting by on charisma and the power of peer pressure, neither of which actually make for competent officering.  So that’s the scene he’s stuck in, and no wonder he’s out of his depth.  

Then we have the circumstances specific to Edward Little.  He's spent the first two-plus years of the voyage as the first for a captain who is very depressed and increasingly alcoholic. As Crozier's state deteriorates and especially after Franklin dies, Little has to tread a very fine and somewhat blurry line. He has to cover for Crozier, picking up the slack that is inevitably dropped; he also has to prop Crozier up in such a way that his leadership as Captain isn't undermined with the crew. A big part of both of those is making sure that the right questions are being asked, that all practicalities are being factored in, but he has to ask those questions without seeming to question Crozier’s authority. Thus he must essentially be an acting captain without seeming to do so either to the men or to Crozier . He is not someone who wants power per se; in fact I think what he wants most is to be a good and competent 1st Lt. But because he's under an semi-incapacitated captain, he has no choice but to take on some of that power while appearing to be no more than a loyal lieutenant. He's leading without being seen to lead, and he's already seen Crozier flog three men for among other things insubordination and disrespect (and without due process).

Crozier has also put him in a position of having to lie - both directly and by omission! For example, when questioned he tells Fitzjames (who outranks him) "much to do on Terror is all” - leaving JFJ to draw his own conclusions on the source of that “much” and the extent to which it is falling on Little.  The instruction to procure more whiskey “discreetly” is nearly if not actually insulting in how far below Little's rank it is.  Having to do it “discreetly” is even worse.  He is being treated as an errand boy, and not just an errand boy but one tasked with something that is clearly unsavory, even illicit.   By ordering him to to this, he makes Little complicit in the very vice that is causing all of these problems, and Little by virtue of his position is unable to refuse any of these direct orders, even ones that are way below his station. (The fact that Jopson, Crozier's actual steward who was actually in charge of these things, was not given that task is also telling although I’m not sure of what - perhaps that Crozier wanted someone who outranked the Erebus’ steward to do the asking; perhaps that he felt some shame in asking Jopson.)

Through all of this, Little is having to cover for a man who continues to lose his own respect in ways both large and small, personal and professional. Crozier has endangered the crew - leading directly to Blanky losing his leg - and has spoken flippantly of the situation ("How fares the raft of the Medusa?"). In 1x04, he is clearly galled by both the disregard of due process and severity of Hickey’s punishment.  (While both are not unstandard in the Navy, Crozier’s manner makes it seem like spite as much as anything - which I’m sure Little clocked.)  Overall, Little observes him making inebriated decisions that are based as much on his internal demons as any the practicalities at hand while men continue to die under his watch. This erosion of trust will come back to haunt them all, because even when its causes have been overcome, the deep root and the effects are there. (JFJ gets to have reckonings with Crozier and say his piece in a way that Little never does or will.)

Edward Little also cares deeply about the welfare of his men, perhaps more than anything. Command is a responsibility not just to the navy but to those whose lives his decisions affect. And so he as he sees this disregard for them (and for himself) he is angry, and he is in a profession and position where one is not allowed to be angry with one's superiors. So he spends a lot of his time pretending that he is not quietly furious while carrying out orders that he knows he shouldn't be, and hiding it from everyone , even Fitzjames, because he is also, deep in his heart, loyal (even if he feels it is unearned) and married to Naval structures.  Crozier and JFJ have their reckoning, but Little never gets that, because subordinates aren’t allowed to be angry.  

This combination, the lack of trust both given and received, the anger, the care & loyalty, the necessity to fill the void in leadership, means that he asks a lot of questions . A well placed "Are you sure, sir?" can go a long way. "Yes, but--" is not a phrase that would often have been uttered to a commander by a lieutenant, but Little has not just earned but hard won the right to say it.  Every time he questions Crozier, I think it is out of a sense of duty, not defiance. A duty to the expedition, to Crozier, and above all to the men, because for so long Crozier’s judgement was not something he was able to rely on. He can’t even attend a sunrise party without thinking of the supplies that are being used up! 

To top everything off, he also never appears to be someone who is particularly congenial nor gregarious, he is very aware of his rank, and is competent while not being loved (except by me).  I like to imagine that he and Jopson and Macdonald were able to commiserate in some way as Crozier was going through his detox.  But everyone is so conscious of class & rank & secrets being guarded that it seems unlikely that anyone actually confided in each other. By getting dry and in such dramatic fashion, Crozier earns back his loyalty & respect, but by doing so in secret I wonder if he hasn't further eroded Little's relationship with the other lieutenants.  Do they even know Crozier is drying out or is Little lying to them as well as to the entire rest of the crew?  Little does not seem like a man who cares for lying, and covering up the captain's "gastritis" would only have made Little feel more cut off and burdened by the captain's confidence. (To say nothing of the fact that all of this is going on with the Tuunbaaq in the background - these lieutenants were not designed to contend with alcoholic spirits let alone the spirit world.)

 Crozier’s trust does often  end up being more burden than anything, and it’s beyond the responsibility that would normally come with his rank. That moment when he practically shoves the pistol away from him is so telling of this.  We really were robbed of the moment when Little is so angry after leaving Crozier that he can’t even slam his door: because that’s what’s building up this entire time!  

By covering for Crozier both before and during his sobering up, Little probably lost some of his authority over the crew. They know he's hiding something, and that earns some distrust. He's obviously worn out, and there must be some observation that Crozier is literally using him as an errand boy. In the best of circumstances the commanding-without-commanding is a hard line to walk while maintaining one’s own air of authority. He's also angry, and in working so hard to cover and subdue his anger, what he's left with is the "sad, wet man" that fandom has dubbed him. The crew may not know exactly what’s going on (although what do those men have to do besides gossip) but they must have sensed how Little is being worn away. As much as he cares for them, he wouldn’t fraternize - it seems like he barely fraternizes in the wardroom.  (Which is why that moment of camaraderie with Jopson outside Crozier’s cabin is so important to me personally.) 

That brings us to the mutiny.  We may love a sad, wet man, but in the face of a charismatic mutineer he's never going to match up. He doesn't have the authority, the love of the crew, or really the energy to go against it. At this point, he has no reason to know or suspect that a mutiny is what's the offing in the first place! He is someone who wants to believe the best of his men, and he's been given no reason to doubt Tozer's motives. And what was he supposed to do in the face of a marine sergeant surrounded by frightened, armed men?  They are clearly on edge and afraid, a dangerous combination.  He is practical, and although ultimately it loses him even more face by going along with Tozer, he was never going to be able to stop that in its tracks. Even JFJ wasn’t able to reel back in what had already been done.  So he chooses the pragmatic route: agree publicly to the logic, let Tozer do with him what he's been doing with Crozier, in making the subordinate's idea appear to be the superior's. With the situation and facts at hand, what else is he to do? 

The irony is that Little has been quietly looking out for all of them and their best interests for so long; but because it was so quiet, an undercurrent, when it comes down to brass tacks, none of them have ever seen that, or feel that they owe him any respect or loyalty. Tozer and Hickey appear to be men of action, and unfortunately in a moment like this a group of frightened men is going to follow the one who appears strongest. 

I also want to point out that Crozier specifically says *while the fog holds off*. Well the fog has rolled in! The situation changed! Crozier clearly has suspicions of Hickey and Tozer that he hasn't confided to Little, and whose fault is that! When it comes to investigating Irving’s and Farr’s murders, Little asks what the evidence is, which suggests to me that he has no knowledge of any concerns about Hickey that have arisen post-lashing.  Again, he is inclined to trust them.

One of the realest moments we get from him is "I'm the worst kind of sorry." It's one of the very few times he breaks from naval demeanor. The worst kind because he feels it deeply, but also because he was stuck, and he knows it, and also knows the expectations both from himself and from others that he be Better.

What it comes down to is what he says to Hodgson: "All we have are our instincts and training. If both told you to proceed with what you ordered, then be easy with yourself." That is all Little has had for so long. He certainly doesn’t seem to be having heart to hearts with Irving and Hodgson, let alone JFJ and Crozier; his counterpart on Erebus is long gone.  Who has he to confide in, especially at this juncture of events, when there are no clear paths and no right answers. I imagine this is what he told himself over and over in the long watches of the night.  

And yet!! Matthew McNulty has said that “Little's probably one of the most hopeful out of them all. [...] He still thinks that humanity will prevail in this dark, dark world.”  I’m not sure where to put this, but I think it’s important.  I think it’s part of why he doesn’t always quite have the authority he should: poor, worn down Edward Little sees the best and hopes for the best, and can’t quite reckon that not everyone has the same moral compass he does.  That’s why Tozer & Hickey get the best of him, because he wants to believe the best of them.  He doesn’t compromise his moral compass or belief in humanity, and unfortunately that turns into a blind spot.I think it’s also why Tozer invites him to join them: because some part of him recognizes that they both have that idealism deep down.  They are both doing their best in an inconceivable situation to cling to hope and take care of those they see as under their protection. It pains me to think what they could have accomplished had they worked together rather than against each other. 

(Incidentally, I don’t believe Little ever would have been swayed to join them, but I can’t blame him for the fact that Tozer’s claim about Crozier leaving them gave him pause.  He’s seen Crozier finally grow into a commander he can respect, but to find out that Crozier’s judgment was not just impaired for so long but extended to actively planning to abandon ship & crew, as Tozer frames, as he was working so hard to hold things together - even if he doesn’t believe it, in his heart of course there must have been some doubt.) 

All of these, the erosion of respect, the concern, the exhaustion, the lack of direction and support, the HOPE, come together in a moment for which he (unjustly, in my opinion) gets vilified for: 

We’ve slowed our pace hauling some of the ill in the boats. But if we extend this temporary camp more than a few days, we can allow the ill to rest here while the bulk of us proceed south. We can hopefully find game and trek back for the others once we have something more to offer them–

And Jopson’s anger is both understandable and not unwarranted - but. Based on that look Le Vesconte gives him, this most likely is not a thought that originated with Little.  It’s  being grumbled by those hauling, maybe even obliquely discussed by the officers.   That look says to me “It has to be said.”  And it does, the logistics are evident to everyone and that needs to be discussed.  They’re sending out hunting parties every day, sure, but in an area very close to the one they’re trekking through.  It genuinely does make practical sense to have some unencumbered, able-bodied (relatively) men go ahead quickly to what would hopefully be better hunting grounds, while the sick conserve what strength they have: those able to hunt could move quickly and bring back game, while those who are dying could do so while not being jostled about on boats on shale.  Little does not say (and, I think, would never say) that they should leave them behind entirely: only that this current system isn’t really helping anyone (and it isn’t).  He needs to make sure that Crozier has fully considered the situation, because for so long that was not the case. (Historically, in fact, they did set up a hospital camp while a smaller party moved south.)

I actually do think he says this with hope: the hope that they really will find game, that the ill do just need to rest, that he can save as many of them as possible.  He's also thinking of the practicalities and (though I may be biased) really does intend to return to the ill once they have something to actually provide them with. He doesn't say so that they can move on unencumbered, to better their own chances, he says to let them rest , to find something to offer them.  He knows the situation and the feeling in camp, and that the time has come to have the conversation. It's not even necessarily a conversation he wants to have or believes in, but it has to be had. Once it's been talked about, once Crozier has come out with not just a position but a direction (to leave supplies behind if necessary), Little is entirely on board. Shortly thereafter, when Le Vesconte suggests the exact same thing, he retorts that " Most of us are ill" (note the us - the identification with) and further responds with disgust and anger that "The Captain also ordered that we not leave any man behind. You expediently leave that out."  The Captain isn’t there; Jopson isn’t there: if Little really in any way wanted to leave anyone behind, this was his chance to order it and save himself.  

I wish we could see his decision to go with Le Vesconte even though he so clearly believes that these lesser mutineers are in the wrong; I know why we don't. I like to think that it's because he believes he's doing the best thing for all, that he knows one semi-able bodied man staying behind is not going to help anyone, and that by going south with the group he may be to able to sway them, or find game for the ill. But again - he has been put in a position where there is no right choice, and where any authority he had has been too far eroded to matter.

Regardless: we go from his vehement protestation that they must a) rescue their captain and b) not leave behind the ill to die to this:

A man completely broken, weathered almost beyond recognition, with his flesh pierced by and draped with the chains of watch fobs. That's fobs plural: they're clearly different chains, from different watches, from different men.  But in still uniform.  Because he clung to the to his identity, to hope, to grounding structure of the Navy in which he trained and believed, until the very end.

We don't know what happens in between. Is it madness? Did the mutineers do this to him?   Is it penance? A memorization of the men whose watches those were?  A punishment on himself for what happened on his watch - despite the fact that really, he was powerless to stop it? And this is the only watch he can keep now - watch chains in his face, his eyes forced open to the horrors. Or did 1st Lt. Edward Little spend so long suppressing his anger, marrying that anger to hope, being responsible, keeping confidences, bearing all that alone, with authority that is both shoved on him and disregarded - did he finally snap? Are the chains not a decoration, not a punishment, but an attempt to literally bind himself up and tack himself down to this terrible world where he’s found himself?  

All we know for certain is his last word - “Close?” Close to what? To death? To salvation?  The only comfort either Edward Little or we, the audience, will get - is that at the very end, his captain was there to release him from the duty to which he clung for so long, so fiercely, with so much hope.

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day one: mind control 

damn mind control - ao3 link

summary

“Noooooo,” says Peter. “No way, it’s just - I don’t remember where the suite is, and every floor looks the same.” He lowers his voice to a panicked whisper. “Every hallway looks the same. I’m in the labyrinth, man.”

“Peter?” asks Tony. He can practically smell the alcohol through the slurring of his words. “Are you drunk?”

“Everything’s just so fuzzy, Tony,” he says. “I don’t know where I am.”

“Did you leave the hotel?”

or

Peter gets drunk and then lost, and Tony has to deal with that. 

“Daddy,” says Morgan. “I think it’s time for me to get married.”

She’s sitting on the end of the hotel suite’s king sized bed, still wearing her dress purchased especially for the occasion of Happy and May’s wedding. Her fingers trail along the trimming of a rather fashionable, familiar hat.

Tony doesn’t remember where it came from, or who had been wearing it before Morgan, but he recognizes that whoever the hat belongs to has incredible taste.

“Absolutely not,” says Tony. “Not for about thirty more years.”

“But that’s forevvveer away.”

“I disagree. It’ll go by fast. Trust me.”

Tony’s not exaggerating. Time flies when you have grey hair and you’re willing it to freeze for at least a few seconds, when you’re a dad and you just want your kids to stop growing up. Faster and faster like they do, with more haste each passing year.

“How about in two years?”

“Nope.”

“Aww, dad, but I have to marry Ned.”

“Ned?” asks Tony. “Like Peter’s friend Ned?”

“Uh huh,” says Morgan. “We danced, and then he gave me his hat. That’s true love, right?”

“Alright,” says Pepper, sticking her head out of the bathroom. “Time for bed, miss true love.”

Morgan gives a heavy sigh, and slides off the bed, ultimately deciding to disappear into the next room to change into her pajamas.

“I blame Happy and May for all this wedding talk,” Tony tells Pepper.

Their ceremony had been so beautiful, and the reception filled with so much love and laughs and good spirit, everyone, even Sam and Bucky, left the hotel’s ballroom with weddings on their minds.

“It’s mind control,” he continues, though he thinks Pepper’s probably ignoring him. “They put something in the punch.”

His phone buzzes, and Tony pulls his phone from his pocket and answers, without looking to see who was calling.

“You know how you’re a stalker?”

“Peter?” asks Tony. He can practically smell the alcohol through the slurring of his words. “Are you drunk?”

“Everything’s just so fuzzy, Tony,” he says. “I don’t know where I am.”

“Did you leave the hotel?”

“Noooooo,” says Peter. “No way, it’s just - I don’t remember where the suite is, and every floor looks the same.” He lowers his voice to a panicked whisper. “Every hallway looks the same. I’m in the labyrinth, man.”

“No, you’re not,” he tells him. “You’re just an idiot. We’re on the top floor. Room 901.”

“I don’t even know what the top floor is supposed to mean,” says Peter, and Tony’s kicking himself for not keeping a better eye on this kid throughout the evening, for not karate chopping glasses of champagne away from his mouth. “Don’t be lame Tony, they can all be the top if they want to.”

Tony feels a strange mix of amusement and annoyance. He inhales, and mouths Peter’s name to Pepper, who’s whispering at him, asking who’s on the phone.

“Can’t you just come get me?” asks Peter, his voice pathetic and tired and a bit scared. “You made me put that stalker app on my phone. You can find me.”

“It isn’t a stalker app,” says Tony. Even drunk, the kid has a flare for the dramatics. “And that only works if you’re down the street. We’re in the same building, Pete, it’s gonna look like we’re at the same location.”

Peter lets out a growl of sad frustration. “What’s the point of it, then?”

“Listen, kid, navigate the labyrinth to an elevator, and push the only button that has words,” he tells him, hoping he can at least manage that in his state. “When the doors open, find a chair, and I’ll come and get you, okay?”

“I’m gonna be sick, Tony.”

“Find a trash can too.”

Tony waits until Peter confirms that he’s found an elevator before hanging up the phone, and explaining to Pepper he’s got to go and pick Peter up from the hotel’s lobby.  

It’s a relief when Tony steps off the elevator, walks through the lobby, and spots Peter lounging on a sofa across from the reception desk. His face is red, his tie is loosened, and under his suit jacket, his white button down is untucked and in disarray.

Basically he looks like Tony had during his college years, when his father dragged him away from campus for a gala or some other stuffy event a fifteen-year-old didn’t have any business attending. He can’t help the pity that bubbles up inside as he approaches, and as Peter sees him and relief washes over his face.

“Tony,” says Peter. He throws his head back, and stares at the ceiling. “I thought I was lost forever.”

“I’d never allow it,” says Tony. “Did you ever find that trash can?”

Peter looks at him, and blinks.

“You said you were gonna throw up.”

“Oh,” says Peter. “Oh yeah, I think it’s passed.”

Tony eyes him suspiciously, and waits a beat before he helps him from the sofa.

Once he’s up, Tony arranges Peter’s arm so it’s stretched across his shoulders, and holds it there by holding his hand. It’s mostly Tony doing all the work as they walk towards the elevator, and when they’re inside and Tony has punched the correct button, he’s used like a pole, something solid to lean on.

It isn’t until the elevator starts moving that Tony realizes that this was a bad arrangement, that he shouldn’t be standing so close to the drunk boy. Without any warning, Peter gag, and then pukes, losing wedding cake and punch and champagne all over Tony’s shoes.

“You are so grounded,” says Tony, while Peter uses the sleeve of his suit jacket to wipe his chin.

“Sorry, Tony,” says Peter. At least he has the good sense to sound sincere.

“You’re just lucky Morgan prepared me to be puked on,” says Tony, as the elevator doors slid open. “Otherwise I’d be sending you back down to the lobby with a sleeping bag and a bottle of Tylenol.”

*

Tony kicks his shoes and socks off, shoves them in a plastic bag, and tosses them in the trash can, while Pepper looks on in disgust. Her expression shifts to concern as more gagging, puking noises emerge from the bathroom.

Tony pads across the hotel room, and pokes his head in.

Peter’s entire head is in the toilet, and he’s hugging it the way he hugs Ned when they’ve gone too long without seeing each other. He lifts his head up, turns his eyes towards Tony, looking miserable and pathetic and in pain.

The kind of look that’s a plea for help, the kind that stabs at Tony, makes him want to take that pain away, even if he’d done it to himself.

“Kid,” says Tony. “How much champagne did you have tonight?”

“Don’t remember.” Peter looks back at the toilet water. “Never doing it again, though.”

“Yep, mmhmm, sure,” says Tony. “Just let me remind you of this when you’re off to college.”

“Please don’t tell May.” Peter lets go of the toilet, and rearranges himself, so his back leans up against the bathtub. “She’s so -” He stops, and chuckles at his own joke, before he even gets the words out. “She’s so happy with Happy.”

“She is,” says Tony. “That’s alright with you?”

“Yeah,” says Peter. His eyes dart around, a mischievous glint to them. “Wanna hear a secret?”

“Always, Pete.”

“I love weddings,” says Peter. “But I’m always a little sad I never went to yours and Peppers… you know, being dusty and all.”

Tony nods. “Would’ve been better with you there.”

“Well yeah, of course. So much more fun.”

“I wish you had been,” continues Tony. “You, minus all the gross puking.”

Peter sulks at him, and Tony can’t resist sitting down on the floor with him and rubbing his back when the puking starts up again. After awhile, when Tony’s convinced Peter’s got it all out, he makes him drink some water and helps him into his bedroom for the night.

He untucks the bed, and lets him get under the covers before dropping them on him, pulling them to his shoulders.

“You know I’m gonna have to tell May, right,” says Tony. “When she gets back from her honeymoon.”

“Traitor.”

“Goodnight, pukey.”

Peter mumbles something at him, and Tony leaves him, trading the kid’s room for his and Pepper’s. She’s sitting up in the bed, in her pajamas, with a book in her lap.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’ll recover,” says Tony, slipping into bed with his wife. “He’s gonna have a hell of a hangover.”

“Luckily he has a couple of pros to help him through it.”

“We could make him suffer,” says Tony. “Make him learn his lesson and all that.”

Pepper bursts out into a loud laugh. “As if you’re capable.”

“I can be tough.”

“Sure.” She shuts her book, places it on the nightstand, and turns off the night.

“I was thinking,” says Tony, after a few minutes of staring at the ceiling. “Maybe we should have another wedding… renew our vows, all that romantic shit.”

“Sounds so lovely when you put it that way.”

“I’m serious. Our last wedding was so…”

“Depressing? Guilt-ridden?”

“In a nutshell.”

“I think a second wedding sounds perfect,” she tells him. She kisses his forehead, then moves down to his lips. “They really did put something in the punch, didn’t they?”

“Damn mind control.”

[sunsetpatterson]

Puppy Love

A/N: Here I am!! Back at it with the writing challenge fics. This one's for @whyistomholland, finally giving me a reason to write that Stark!Reader AU in my head!! That being said, this is a Holland!Peter fic.

Attempt number 2 at posting the whole fucking fic. Don't mess it up, Tumblr.

Summary: After asking permission, Peter makes a confession to the girl he loves.

Pairing: Peter Parker × Fem!Stark!Reader

"Peter, you're a good kid. I like you," Tony stood from his seat in his lab and stepped toward the younger boy, his eyes narrowed. He felt his protective-ness twitch in his chest. "But if you hurt my daughter, I will do something much worse than take your suit away. You got it?"

Peter gulped and nodded quickly. "Y-yes, sir. Of... of course, Mr. Stark." He wrung his hands together, nervous sweat making them slippery. "N-no hurting Y/N - not... not that I intend to, of course. I just-"

Tony huffed a sigh and flopped back into his spinny chair, flicking his hand toward the door. "Stop babbling. Tell her you love her."

"Yes, sir! Thank you!" The grin on his face was hard to miss as he spun on his heel and darted out of Tony's lab.

With the speed he was going at, let's just thank Valhalla he had shoes on - otherwise he would've smacked straight into the adjacent wall.

Peter skidded to a stop outside the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the doors to open. "FRIDAY? Where's Y/N?"

"Miss. Stark is currently studying in her room, Mr. Parker. Might I suggest you do the same?" The Irish twinge of the AI answered almost instantaneously.

The seventeen year old boy rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly, leaning against the wall of the elevator after stepping inside. "Yeah, later. Can you take me to her, please?"

FRIDAY never responded, but he knew she had listened the moment the button for the number of Y/N's floor lit up with a yellow-ish glow.

Peter felt his heart threaten to beat out of his chest, thudding violently against his rib cage. His hands shook and his thoughts began to run fifty miles a minute.

What if she didn't love him back?

What if she didn't even think of him like that?

What if he told her and she hated him forever?

Oh God, what if he ruined their friendship forever?? He loved Ned, but he couldn't spend the rest of his days building and rebuilding the Lego Death Star.

"Mr. Parker, I am detecting a panic attack. Might I suggest going to see Doctor Cho?"

Peter's head snapped up to the ceiling as he took in a shaky breath - only just realising that, yes, he was in fact having a panic attack.

But, nevertheless, he shook his head and wiped his hands on his jeans. "What? N-no, FRIDAY, I'm good." He mumbled and spent the rest of the ride chewing his lip nervously.

The doors opened to reveal Y/N's floor. Peter looked up like a deer caught in headlights, blinking for a few seconds before taking a hesitant step out of the elevator. Before he could even think of backing out, the doors closed and the elevator took off.

"Okay, come on, Peter. You can do this." He mumbled to himself as he all but tip toed to her room door. "Worst case scenario, she hates you forever and you die a lonely old man."

Peter's eyebrows knitted together not seconds after, and he found himself wanting to laugh at how pathetic he sounded. "Pull yourself together, Parker."

The moment he raised his hand, the door swung open. Y/N sat on her bed, her hair unruly and clad in one of her father's old band shirts, surrounded by books.

Peter found himself wanting to curse FRIDAY for not giving him more time to gather his courage.

But all that flew out of the window when she looked up at him, dimples indenting her cheeks as the biggest grin grew on her lips. "Pete, hi! You gonna stand out there all day?"

"Uh, yeah. I was thinking about it." Peter wanted to slap himself.

Y/N laughed and shook her head affectionately, her eyes going back to her book. "Well until you come in, FRIDAY's keeping my door open." Her voice was soft and riddled with sleep, and it occurred to Peter that she hadn't been awake long.

Her dark hair was messy, her eyes tired and her face completely void of makeup - which he knew she didn't need.

But God, she never looked more beautiful in his eyes.

Peter wrung his hands together and quietly walked into her room. His feet padded along her carpeted floor before he sat on the end of her bed. "There's, uh... there's actually something I wanted to ask you."

Her eyes snapped up from her books and she found the pace of her heart slowly increasing in speed. "Ask away."

"I need some advice... girl advice. I-I mean, you're a girl so I though it'd be best to come to you instead of Ned." He laughed nervously.

Y/N felt her smile falter at his words and she swallowed thickly. "Right, yeah. I guess Ned probably doesn't know much about girls." She joked lightly, but her eyes didn't reflect the emotion she tried to fake for his sake.

"There's, um... there's this girl at school," Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've known her for a really long time, a-and it's recently occurred to me that I may be in love with her."

Her eyes went wide, her mind immediately going to Liz Allan. It made sense, really. Liz was the prettiest and most popular girl in school.

"O-oh. You're- you're in love with her?" Peter only nodded in response. "And I'm guessing you want me to help you find a way to tell her." It wasn't a question, but Peter nodded anyway. "Just tell her."

Peter looked at Y/N, his eyes as wide as saucers as he registered her words. "I-I'm sorry? I thought you said just tell her."

Y/N rolled her eyes and gave him a soft, but sad, smile. "Pete, you're an amazing person. Don't laugh at me, it's true!" She scolded as he rolled his eyes with a scoff. "You're amazing, sweet, kind and the most selfless person I know. She'd be an idiot not to be in love with you. Why make a big deal out of it when you can just... tell her?"

As he sat there, he mulled over her words. Deep down, he knew she was right.

Making a big deal out of it wasn't important, but the message he was trying to convey was. Peter knew Y/N didn't really need a grand gesture when he could just tell her how he felt about her.

Tony would be disappointed, not being able to help. But if she was happy, who was he to argue?

Peter suddenly grinned, taking her by surprise as he wrapped his arms around her before standing up. "Thanks! You're the best, Y/N!" Without another word, he walked out of her room, leaving her alone.

Y/N sighed and bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes. At that moment, she swore she never disliked Liz more - but she couldn't protest if it meant Peter was happy. That's all that mattered to her.

The door closed after Peter left, and he stood in the same spot where he started. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt a little light headed as he tried to find the words to say.

It was approximately five minutes after he left, that he knocked on her door. He had only five seconds to calm his nerves before the door swung open, revealing Y/N's shocked face.

"P-peter? Did you, uh... did you leave something behind?" Her voice was quiet, but her he heard her perfectly.

Peter chewed on his lip, his dark eyes sweeping over her face as if he tried to commit every part of her to his memory. God, he loved everything about her. He'd be crazy if he didn't.

"Y-yeah, I did." He stepped closer to her, her wide eyes looking up at him before they dropped to his lips.

Y/N drew in a sharp breath, too afraid to let it go as her hand lingered on her door handle. "I-I could go get it for you..."

"Or you could stay and let me kiss you." Peter murmured, too in the moment to ask himself where in hell that sudden surge of confidence came from. "I really want to kiss you."

Peter lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles over the smooth skin of her cheek. He felt her skin heat up under his touch before he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

It was the most cliché move in the book, but he remembered she somehow loved all the cliché stuff.

Lost in the intensity of his eyes, Y/N had to force herself to remember how to breathe, otherwise she knew she'd faint from a lack of oxygen. "O-okay."

Peter didn't know he was leaning in until his nose brushed hers, and by then he knew it was too late to stop. "I love you, Y/N." He murmured and closed his eyes before kissing her.

The kiss wasn't short and sweet like he was aiming for. Hell, he wasn't even expecting to kiss her when he knocked on her door. The kiss was long, breathtaking, and full of emotion he now knew wasn't unrequited.

Y/N was putting just as much effort into the kiss, her sweaty hands gripping the front of his shirt as she pulled him closer to her. It was like all of a sudden she didn't need air to breathe, because she had him.

He didn't want Liz, he wanted her. Nothing but love blossomed in her chest at that moment. Y/N was in bliss, and she didn't want it to stop.

Unfortunately, they were human. To live, they required oxygen.

Their chests rose and fell in sync, eyes remaining shut as their foreheads pressed together. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the front of his shirt, and his hands rested on her hips.

"If it wasn't clear, I love you too." She breathed out.

Peter huffed a laugh, his eyes screwed shut as he snaked his arms around her waist, holding her tight as she laid her head on his chest. "You made it painfully obvious." He mumbled and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

For the next few minutes, they stayed like that - until their moment was interrupted by FRIDAY, at the command of none other than Anthony Edward Stark.

"Miss. Stark, your father has requested that I remind you that while he is happy for your recent change in relationship status, you still have to study for your chemistry exam."

Y/N groaned and buried her face in his chest, though she was unable to hide her smile when she felt his laughter.

"Mr. Parker, Mr. Stark says that he is happy for you to stay and study with Miss. Stark, and he is formally inviting you to dinner with the Avengers."

Peter tightened his grip on her, pulling her impossibly closer as they stood in her door way.

"That's my dad for you, always looking to ruin people's moment." Y/N teased, knowing fully well that Tony could hear her.

"Mr. Stark has more to say, but I refuse to play messenger."

Y/N giggled before peeling herself from Peter's chest. His arms slipped from her waist and his hand fell perfectly into one of hers, fingers intertwining as she led him back into her room.

"So, what do you say, Mr. Parker? You wanna study with me and eat dinner with the Avengers?" Peter grinned at the teasing glint in her eyes and kicked her bedroom door shut behind him.

"Might as well."

[ckerouac]

fic: other costumes as assigned

Title: Other Costumes as Assigned (AO3)

Fandom: MCU

Summary: It was easy being Peter Parker at school, and Spider-Man out on the job. Being both Peter AND Spider-Man in the same room... that was a little more difficult. Luckily, a certain SPIDER BRO owes him a favor. Well, 'owes' is a strong word.  Maybe he can guilt out a favor?

Follow up to Other Duties as Assigned

If Peter was being honest with himself, he kind of assumed that once he started Avenger-ing more often, he would spend less time stuck in an English class talking about personal essays that he didn’t want to write.  He wasn’t sure why he thought he’d be able to get out of this stuff. The school would never let him drop his language arts requirements due to superhero work. And he wasn’t going to just drop out of school entirely.  May would kill him if he dropped out of school to be Spider-Man full time. And then she’d kill Mr. Stark, because obviously he would’ve had something to do with this plan. And the worst part was, based on the couple of times he’d met Pepper Potts, he was 99% sure that Ms. Potts would help May kill Mr. Stark if she ever got the idea that he’d had anything to do with Peter dropping out of high school.  

May had already threatened to revoke her signature on the work permit that allowed him to take the Stark internship in the first place if his grades suffered because of his… outside job requirements?  And Mr. Stark was fitting him for MIT sweatshirts. So dropping his English class was out of the question.

The reading wasn’t the issue -- it was the personal essays.  Ms. Diaz insisted each time she wanted them to dig deep and tell stories that bared souls.  Whatever that meant. But none of his stories were the kind he wanted to share with anyone in his class.  Hey, here’s an essay about my dead parents. And here’s a follow up about watching my uncle get shot and being able to do nothing about it.  Oh, and did I mention that I was Spider-Man? Want to hear about the time I stole Captain America’s shield and totally beat him in hand to hand combat?  (That one may be more creative writing, but if no one else was going to know what really happened, he would tell it in a way that he totally won). You guys remember Liz and how her dad got arrested ‘cause he was a super villain?  Yeah, that was me.

“Mr. Parker?  Are you paying attention?”

Peter jerked his head up after Ned gave him a tap on the arm and focused on Ms. Diaz.  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Please repeat the assignment back for the class.”

“Three pages on a non-family member who made a positive difference in your life.”

Flash Thompson leaned back and smirked.  “She means someone you actually know.  Not someone you claim you work for but never actually interact with.”

“What?  The internship is real,” Peter insisted.

“Yeah, it’s totally real,” Ned chimed in.  “He knows Mr. Stark personally.”

“Yeah, and I go golfing with the Falcon on the weekends,” Flash replied.  

“He’s met Falcon too,” Ned fired back.  “And he’s, like, best friends with Spider-Man.”

“I don’t know if I’m best friends with Spider-Man…” Peter tried.

“It’s borderline obsessive to keep claiming you know someone like Spider-Man, Penis,” Flash said.  “You’ve already tried that once, and it was sad and pathetic at Liz’s party, and it’s sad and pathetic now.”

“Mr. Thompson, that’s enough,” Ms. Diaz interrupted.  “Mr. Parker, you’re welcome to write about Spider-Man if for some reason you actually know Spider-Man.”

“He could get Spider-Man to come in to class!” Ned said before Peter could reply.  

That got the entire class’ attention.

Peter, for his part, felt all of his excuses get caught in his throat.  “I… I mean, he’s really busy. With Avenger work. And I do most of my internship stuff with Mr. Stark and Stark Industries and, like, engineering work and stuff.  I’m not sure if he’ll be busy doing Avenger stuff on that day. You know, like, saving people.”

“Class, let’s get back on topic,” Ms. Diaz tried, but the bell interrupted her.  “Fine, I’ll see you all tomorrow. The essay is due Friday. Mr. Parker, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Peter sighed as he collected his bag and Ned gave him a sympathetic look.  Each time Flash got on him in class, somehow Peter was the one that ended up in trouble.  This one wasn’t even his fault -- he was trying to change the subject. But Flash made it his mission in life to make Peter as miserable as possible in front of everyone else in class.  “Ms. Diaz, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” she said.  “I know how sometimes these student rivalries can get out of hand.  And you’ve probably told people that you knew the Avengers and now it’s come back to bite you.  I would hope that by this age you kids would learn that lying never helps a situation.”

“Wait… but I do know the Avengers,” Peter said, taken aback and speaking before he really thought things through.  “I mean, not like friends friends, but I’ve met them through Mr. Stark.”

“And how would Mr. Stark spend so much time with them?”

Peter paused.  “Because he’s Iron Man?” he said. Peter was the only one whose identity was a total secret.  Mr. Stark answered most work calls with ‘This is Tony Stark, I’m Iron Man’ and had a t-shirt he wore under a suit that said ‘I AM IRON MAN’ in capital letters that Ms. Potts rolled her eyes at.

Ms. Diaz smiled.  “I know you want to feel important in your internship, but I also know that a lot of these internships are just ways for big companies to get administrative help without actually having to pay someone a living wage, and therefore technically run afoul of Department of Labor standards.  So it’s totally normal to want to make your internship sound more exciting than it really is.”

“But it is exciting!” Peter insisted.  “I can… what if I can get Spider-Man to come in?”  He hiked his bag up on his shoulder. “If I can get Spider-Man to come in, can I get out of writing this essay?”

Ms. Diaz considered.  “If you can get Spider-Man to come in, you don’t have to write the essay.  Hell, if you can get Captain America to come in, you don’t have to write another essay all year,” she chuckled.  

Peter nodded.  “Alright. Okay.  So… Friday. I have until Friday.  Thanks Ms. Diaz. I gotta run. Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s it,” she said.  “Just remember not to let Flash get to you.  And it’s okay to have a boring internship.”

***

“Hey, I’m sorry about English class today,” Ned said, as Peter organized the books in his locker.  “I don’t know why I said you could get Spider-Man to come. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s fine,” Peter said.  “I… I might’ve said the same thing to Ms. Diaz after class.”  He leaned against the locker and glanced around. No one was paying any attention to them.  “She thinks my internship is just getting coffee for Mr. Stark and I got rattled and said I could totally get Spider-Man, and she said if I did I wouldn’t have to write the essay.”

“That’s great!” Ned beamed.  “You hate those things anyway.”

“No, not great.”  Peter rubbed his hand over his eyes.  “I can’t get Spider-Man because… you know… I am Spider-Man,” he added, his voice dropped to a whisper.  “What am I gonna do? Run out to the bathroom, change, and come back? I can’t do that. It doesn’t work as well as it does it the movies.”  

“No,” Ned said.  “You have to be in class, and so does Spider-Man.  So, what if there was another you? What if you got someone else to wear the uniform and pretend to be him?”

Peter closed his locker and leaned against it.  “Have you seen the rest of the Avengers?  They’re all huge. You really think someone would believe Captain America in a Spider suit?  He’s seven feet tall and built like… Captain America. And that’s even if Mr. Stark has built a suit that could fit anyone else.”  Peter paused and considered. “Which, he might’ve. He doesn’t always tell me when he’s making adjustments to the suit. Should I start making my own suits again to have control?”

Before Ned could answer, Peter had a flash of an idea.  There might be someone who could fit in the suit. And who knew he was Spider-Man.  And could move like Spider-Man. And who he might be able to convince to do it. Maybe.  If he pulled the right guilt card. Could he sound sad enough to be convincing?

“What are you doing?” Ned asked.

“Calling in a favor.  Well, begging for a favor.  Tricking someone into a favor, at most.”

He scrolled through his phone to find the name and text thread he was looking for.

Hi it’s Peter. Peter Parker. I need a favor and I’m pretty sure you owe me one cause the last time you needed me it was in a dept store and I helped you out and I know that you’d hate to see a kid get humiliated right??  It’s urgent.

***

Peter was surprised when he got a reply right away.  He shouldn’t be surprised, though. That’s what SPIDER BROS were for, right?  To be there for you when you need them? Sure, she wasn’t aware that she was considered his SPIDER BRO.  Or maybe she did know. Peter was never sure exactly what Natasha knew or didn’t know, and she probably kept it that way on purpose.  Didn’t she used to be a spy? So she’d be able to keep people in the dark. But if she was a spy, why was she called the Black Widow? He should ask someone that.  Mr. Stark would know. Or maybe Captain America. They were close. But was that something he could just ask Captain America about? He should get his phone number and text him.  

Aunt May would have his phone number, but ugh, he didn’t want to have to explain to Aunt May why he wanted Captain America’s phone number.  He didn’t even want to think about why Aunt May had Captain America’s phone number in the first place. Did Captain America text Aunt May? Did she tell him dumb jokes and make him laugh?  Did Captain America like dumb jokes? Did he get jokes from nowadays or did he miss when jokes were about, like, the war and swing music and stuff?

He was supposed to meet Natasha in an hour at a bookstore around the corner, so there was time for him to work on his calculus homework at the Starbucks and simultaneously plan his perfect speech to convince her to help him.  It was a nice enough day, and he’d grabbed the last table outside. One hour to plan the perfect plan of attack to get her to sign on to ‘Operation Double Spider’ as he’d decided it was going to be named. He reached down to pull his book out of his bag…

...and yelped as soon as he looked up to find a woman in sunglasses and a ball cap sitting across the table from him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Natasha chuckled.  

“What… what are you doing here?” Peter said, trying to will his heart to stop racing and maintain his cool.  “I thought we had another hour. And in the bookstore.”

“Yeah, but you were here now, and there was an empty chair, so…” she trailed off with a shrug.  “Plus, you said it was urgent.”

Ah, right, he had used the word urgent.  “Yeah, so urgent may have been a slight exaggeration.”

“Right, which is why you replied, hang on…”  She pulled her phone out and scrolled to the right convo. “‘no not urgent just life and death please come alone thanks Ms. Widow’.”  She looked up and grinned. “Your aunt must be so proud of your manners.”

This was going well.  “Aunt May is great,” he replied.  “But, um, thank you for coming. And for coming alone.”  Natasha tilted her head, and Peter groaned. “You didn’t come alone.  Is Mr. Stark about to fly in with a full suit ‘cause he thinks I’m kidnapped or something?”  Because only someone who was kidnapped and trying to get a message across would send the kind of rambling texts that was on the SPIDER BROS chain right now.

“No,” Natasha replied.  “I didn’t tell Tony. Actually, I didn’t tell anyone.”

Peter looked up to see Steve in sunglasses and a ball cap as well, carrying three to-go cups through the crowded patio.  Every shimmy and squeeze between too-close tables merited an ‘excuse me’, a ‘pardon me’, or a ‘I’m just going to squeeze by here, thank you’ because what’s more patriotic than good manners?  

Where had he heard that phrase before?  Probably one of the videos.

So Peter waved once he saw Steve looking around for their table.  No use attempting to hide now. “You didn’t need to come, sir.” See, he had patriotic manners too.  

Natasha rolled her eyes and grabbed one of the cups from Steve’s hands once he got within reaching distance.  “Of course he didn’t, but Nosy Nellie couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.”

Steve just smiled as he set the remaining coffees down on the table and politely asked the girls at the adjacent table if he could use their unoccupied chair.  “I have 60/20 vision and you weren’t hiding your phone screen. It’s not nosy if you aren’t covering the screen,” he said, sitting down and distributing the coffees.  “White mocha for you… Natarfa?” Steve showed her the scribble on the side of the cup. 

Natasha glanced at the name on the one she grabbed and traded it for ‘Natarfa’.  “I don't know how you can drink black coffee."

He took the lid off the one labeled 'Stove' and took a long sip.  “Because coffee is supposed to taste like coffee and not corn syrup.”

It was obviously not the first time they’d had this particular debate, and Peter was smart enough not to jump into it.  Mostly because he fell squarely on the side of ‘coffee tastes like drowned bitter hopes and dreams’, but if they were nice enough to buy him coffee, he was going to drink it.  Even if it was for… He reached over to grab the unclaimed cup. Pebble. Close enough.

Steve settled into a more comfortable slouch against the back of the chair.  “It’s hot chocolate. I didn’t know what you liked, but everyone likes hot chocolate.”  He tilted his head forward enough to let his sunglasses slip down far enough to meet Peter’s eyes.  “When someone sends a message and says to come alone, it usually means that there’s some sort of trouble.  I wanted to make sure that you weren’t in trouble, kid. Are you in trouble?”

Peter grinned.  Captain America was genuinely worried about him!  It’s like the first step to friendship, even if he was definitely just a kid from Queens in the Captain’s eyes.  They needed their own name -- SHIELD BROS. Or AMERICA BROS. Maybe he didn’t need to be bros with Captain America, he could be something else?  NEW YORK’S FINEST… no wait, that was the NYPD…

“Didn’t care anything about whether I was walking into trouble,” Natasha murmured, taking a sip of her coffee with a grin.

“The last time I told you not to do something, you hid my boots in the trash,” Steve pointed out.  “I learned my lesson.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rogers,” Peter said.  “For being concerned. I’m sorry you came out, this isn’t an emergency.  I just needed a favor.” He sighed and turned to look at Natasha as pitifully as he could muster.  “You’re the only one who can help me.  You used to be a spy, right?”

“Used to be?”

“So you can really be anyone you want to be?” Peter was getting excited at this point, but trying desperately to come off cool and collected.  He knew he was failing at that, but it was the thought that counted, right? “Like, you can convincingly be other people? Like to the point where they’d believe that you were this other person, and not ask too many questions, and I could point and be all ‘yeah, that’s totally him!’ and they’d believe it?”

Natasha shrugged, wordlessly confirming Peter’s assumptions.  “Do you need someone to pretend to be your aunt to get you out of a parent teacher conference at school?”

“What? No!” Peter shook his head.  “No, that’s not… I don’t need you to be Aunt May.”

“Then who do you need me to be?”

Peter took a deep breath.  “Spider-Man.”

Both Natasha and Steve paused mid-drink.  “Spider-Man?” Natasha asked. “Is he… retiring?”

Peter shook his head.  “So, we have this writing assignment and it’s supposed to be about someone that we know that we admire, but Flash was being a dick and teasing me that I didn’t know anybody worth admiring and then it turned into how much I didn’t actually do for the Stark internship and how I didn’t know any of you guys, and Ned, he stood up for me and said that I totally did know you guys and that I should get Spider-Man to come in and talk to the class.”  He made a point to remember to breathe so that he wasn’t recounting the entire conversation in one breathless run-on paragraph. Breathing at normal intervals would make him sound less panicked. They didn’t seem that impressed -- did they not understand that this was a very big deal ?  Not urgent urgent, but still -- a big deal.  He considered sinking down into his chair when he was met with the confused, and probably completely disapproving stares from both Captain America and the Black Widow.  And as much as he claimed he was SPIDER BROS with the Black Widow… she was still scary when she looked at you with that blank stare she used when she was sizing how dumb she thought you were.  Was that the same kind of look that actual black widow spiders used against their prey? Was that why she was called the Black Widow?

“It’s like Liz’s party all over again.”  Not helpful, Peter. “Not that you know Liz.  She’s doesn’t go here any more. It’s not important!”  Focus...focus. “I told Ms. Diaz that I could bring in Spider-Man.  And she said if I did, I wouldn’t have to write the essay. The essays are awful cause we’re supposed to write from personal experience but all of my experiences are ones that I can’t share or ones that are nobody’s business.  So I said I could get Spider-Man, but I can’t get Spider-Man because I’m Spider-Man, so… I was hoping that… maybe you could be Spider-Man?”

Steve and Natasha sat there in silence for a moment, with Steve moving first to turn and look at Natasha…

… and then break down into decidedly un-heroic giggles.  

“So you need a Spider-Man,” Natasha repeated, ignoring Steve’s continued and increasingly loud giggles.  “Why ask me?”

Peter shifted in his seat.  “Because… you’re the only one… who kinda… you know…”

“Looks like a fifteen-year-old boy?  You think she can pull off fifteen-year-old boy?” Steve supplied, his head still down and his shoulders still shaking as he tried to compose himself.  “I didn’t know I needed this today, but I really needed this today. Oh, Jesus, this is great.”

Peter sat up straighter and tried to look serious.  “I think she can pull off anything! You know, she’d just needs to… you know… tape them…”  He motioned to Natasha’s chest, and then to his, and then felt his face to completely red once he realized exactly what he was saying.  She was the spy, she could figure out what she needed to do. She was the best spy ever!

And if he never had to mention her chest or anyone else’s chest in front of another Avenger again, it would be too soon.  He was going to die of embarrassment in a Starbucks. Not exactly the obituary he was hoping for.

Steve nodded his agreement.  “No, I totally see it. I’ve always found both her shape and her personality to be a little flat-”

Natasha gave Steve a quick punch to the arm.  “Pull yourself together.”

“It’s just that everyone else is huge,” Peter said.  “You’re closer to my size.” He sighed and let his shoulders drop.  “Please, Ms. Romanoff. I shouldn’t have let it get out of hand like that, but if I don’t get a Spider-Man there, I’m never going to hear the end of it.  I still get shit about Liz’s party, and now that Ned said he knew I knew Spider-Man, he’s gonna get shit too, and I can’t do that to him. He’s my best friend.”  He looked up at her with the biggest, most innocent puppy-dog eyes he could muster. It was the same look that got him out of trouble with May, but May was easier to read than Natasha.  The Black Widow was probably immune to the pathetic looks of high school boys, which really cut into his non-Spider-Man arsenal.

Natasha’s expression softened.  At least, Peter thought it did. He still couldn’t really read her.  But that’s probably why she was such a good spy. “Tony’s going to have a fit knowing someone else was in your suit.”

“I think that’s one of the best parts of this idea.” It had taken a while, but Steve was finally composed enough to smile conspiratorially at the group.  “I can get in on this plan too, right? I’m a great actor. I punched out Adolf Hitler over 200 times in 45 states.”

“You just want to watch me pretend to be Spider-Man for an audience,” Natasha accused.

Steve grinned.  “It’s not nothing.”

“Actually,” Peter said, remembering Ms. Diaz’s aside, “I think I have the perfect role for you, Mr. Rogers…”

***

“And next up, we have Mr. Parker,” Ms. Diaz said, making a note on her notepad.  “Are you ready to read your essay?”

“Cause I certainly don’t see Spider-Man here to get you out of it,” Flash replied.  The whole class laughed.

Except for Ned.  Peter could always count on Ned.  

“Yeah, yeah… I just… can we wait another minute?” Peter asked as he walked to the front of the class.  He checked his watch, looked out the window, and then checked it again. Natasha wouldn’t leave him hanging, would she?

Ugh, GREAT SPIDER PUN.  He needed to remember to tell someone that.  Captain America would think that it was hilarious.  That was an old timey type of joke. Probably the kind that he told when he was young.  Did they have puns back in the 40s? Google would probably know the answer to that --

“Mr. Parker,” Ms. Diaz sighed, dragging Peter’s attention back to class.  “As much as I wish that we could, any waiting will not result in--”

She was interrupted by a tapping at the window.  The class turned to look -- and saw Spider-Man, casually hanging upside down and waving.  

“Here he is!” Peter said, rushing over to push the window open.  “Hey, Spider-Man.”

“Hi Peter.”  The voice coming from the suit was remarkably close to Peter’s, but with a touch more mechanical feedback to make it sound interesting.  KAREN was getting better at mimicking voices and not sounding like a death bot. Much better than she’d been at disguising his voice when he first got the suit.  He’d have to mess with the options again next time he went out. Should he use this voice all the time? “I’m not late, am I? I was doing work with the Avengers.”

“That’s not really Spider-Man,” Flash said, even if his voice didn’t sound totally convinced.  

“You try hanging onto an overhang outside of a high school and getting the right window,” Spider-Man shot back.  

“Hey, man, it’s cool, it’s just Flash,” Peter said, trying to make Natasha remember the promise not to pick a fight with any of his classmates.

“Oh, that’s Flash,” Spider-Man chuckled.  “Yeah you were right about him.”

Flash’s expression was murderous.  “What do you mean, right about him?”

“But, uh, yeah,” Peter continued.  Natasha was a professional. He didn’t have to worry about Natasha.  She’s brought down governments before, she can handle one acting assignment.  “Thanks for coming. Like I said in my essay, I really admire Spider-Man because he’s always fighting for the little guy, and he’s from our neighborhood, and I hope that I can… make a difference like he does.  Or at least like he tries to.”

“Do you really get to hang out with Thor?” one of the girls interrupted.  

“Yeah, I hang out with all of the Avengers,” Spider-Man answered.  “But Black Widow is my favorite. Honestly, she’s probably the smartest of the bunch.  Definitely the brains behind the entire operation. I try to be more like Black Widow every time I go out.  She’s basically my Spider Bro.”

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” Peter said quickly, trying to mask his excitement.  Natasha thought they were SPIDER BROS! They were going to be best friends and fight crime and make a difference and she didn’t think he was just a silly kid and this was the best day of the entire year.  “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I know you’re busy with saving New York.”

“Don’t worry,” Spider-Man replied.  “I don’t mind taking a moment just to… hang around.”

The entire class laughed at the joke.  Why didn’t they laugh when Peter made jokes like that?   

The questions started coming faster than Natasha could answer them.  

“Has the Hulk ever Hulked out but in, like, a building?”

“Why do you just hang out in Queens?  Aren’t there more interesting places to work?”

“Do you think that the presence of the Avengers in New York is partially responsible for aliens choosing New York as a target, and therefore you and the Avengers as a whole function as both the cause and solution to the growing interstellar threat we’re facing as a planet?”

“Does Thor have a girlfriend?”

“Why doesn’t Iron Man add in a stealth mode so he can be like an invisible jet?”

Spider-Man laughed.  “Some people are better at going under the radar than others.  Iron Man likes to be seen. Unlike the Black Widow, who is a master at going under cover.  Why, who knows, maybe the Black Widow is here in this room and you don’t even know it…”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny Spider-Man!”  Peter tried to redirect the conversation, but before he could remind Natasha to wrap it up there was a hard metal CLANG against the wall.  The webbing Spider-Man was dangling from sliced in half, and he dropped out of sight from the window.

That got everyone up and running to the window, pressing around Peter to see what was going on.  They were only on the second floor, and Peter knew it was part of the plan, but Peter’s heart dropped as soon as Natasha dropped.  Thankfully, instead of a spider going splat on the sidewalk, everyone saw Spider-Man flipping easily onto his feet and Captain America, in full regalia, catching a ricocheting shield.  Cap glanced up, and gave Peter a wave. “Sorry to interrupt, Peter,” he called out in his most authoritative Captain America voice. “But we need Spider-Man for an important Avengers mission.  I would only interrupt class if it was vitally important, because learning is the most important job the youth of today have. So you’ll have to tell your teacher we apologize for the interruption.”  

Ms. Diaz hopped on a chair and waved.  “Hi! That’s me! I’m the teacher!” She shoved a couple of the kids in front of her out of the way.  “Rachel Diaz. Hi. Can I just say? Big fan.”

Captain America gave her a grin and a polite nod.  “Ma’am. Thanks for your understanding. You do an important job, and we’re impressed with how well you’re teaching Peter and all of the Midtown students.”

Ms. Diaz took a deep breath and looked like she was a minute away from jumping out the window to, hopefully, just shake his hand.  “Thank you! My students mean a lot to me!”

“You have a nice day, ma’am,” Captain America called back with another wave.  “C’mon Spider-Man, we have a mission.” With that, the pair of them sprinted towards a car idling next to the sidewalk.

“Doesn’t Spider-Man usually, like, shoot webs and swing away?” one of the kids asked.

“But there’s a car right there,” one of the other kids pointed out.  “Why waste time when they can drive away?”

The bell finally rang, and Ms. Diaz excused everyone once the car with both Spider-Man and Captain America was out of sight.  “Oh, Mr. Parker?” she said once most of the kids were out of the classroom. “A deal is a deal.”

“No more essays?” Peter asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Ms. Diaz nodded.  “So.. on a completely unrelated note.  Since you obviously know… is Captain America single…” she trailed off

“Oh, ah…” Peter stumbled.  “You know, that’s not… that’s not part of my internship duties.  I’m not--” He was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket, which he assumed would be a very loud voicemail from Mr. Stark.  “I’m sorry, I have to check this. It’s my internship stuff.”

“Sure, of course,” Ms. Diaz said.  “But if he asks…”

“Have a good day, Ms. Diaz!” Peter said, rushing out of the classroom.  Before he had a chance to check the message, his phone buzzed again. “Hi Mr. Stark.  Is something wrong?”

“Why is KAREN reporting that Natasha is in your suit?” Tony asked.  

“Funny story, Mr. Stark…”

[voyages-extraordinaires]

C:R ~VE~ Chapter 43

“Sweetheart!” Ned Land shoves past the others waiting in the hangar and runs to Conseil, sweeping him up in a tight hug.

I can’t help but feel a little envious as Ned spins him around, and I wonder what it might be like to have a lover strong enough to do that to me. I take a glance over at Nemo, who’s still following after Aleister’s duster coat like an excited puppy. I would find it sad if he weren’t being so…

I can’t just call it “pathetic”, though that is part of what it is. It’s more than that, though… it’s frightening. What was he trying to convey to me with that steely glare? What did he want me to understand? Why can’t I make HIM understand?

My head is spinning with these thoughts much like Ned is still spinning Conseil, who by this point is protesting magnificently for Ned to put him down.

“Haha… all right, then,” Aleister gives that fatherly laugh of his again that makes my blood curdle. “Everything is to your satisfaction now, I take it?”

Ned turns towards Aleister with his teeth grit in anger, but before he can say anything, Nemo begins hopping from one foot to the other like he had just had an entire pot of coffee. “Ohhhhhhhh---!! Yes, yes yes yes yeeeeees! Let’s see moooooooore of this incredible place!”

“Well, then…” Aleister nods before having a pair of guards open a door for us. The web-like pattern of the base we saw from above is apparently thanks to long, narrow hallways that connect massive buildings, shielding the workers from the bitter wind and cold.

“This hallway feels temporary,” says Cardia.

“Yeah, totally agree with you,” replies Barbicane. “It’s more like a tent than a building.”

“It is, in a way,” says Aleister. “The North Pole has no landmass. It is a solid block of ice. So, yes, in reality these are very temporary buildings.”

Ned leans down towards Conseil and whispers, though it’s so loud that everyone can hear: “Isn’t building a base on ice kind of stupid?”

“I’m sure it’s veeeeeeery cutting-edge technology…” Nemo mutters.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Science. Couldn’t this place just be built at the South Pole?” Ned gives a shrug.

Aleister laughs again before giving a shrug. “I’m afraid our Captain was rather picky about our location. Once we have amassed enough resources to satisfy him, we will relocate to the closest landmass.”

“Captain?” as I ask this, I notice Nemo instinctively turn towards me—only for a moment.

“Yes,” says Aleister. “He is the one who had me extend this invitation to you all.”

“You mean he’s the one who had you kidnap us!” Smith steps forward and clenches her fist. At this, the two guards trailing behind us cock their pistols, reminding us that we are still technically prisoners.

Nemo puts a hand on Smith’s shoulder and smiles at him reassuringly, but she looks away with a scowl. Though he’s usually oblivious, Nemo’s lips twitch into a frown before he bounces back to his normal, jovial self. “Soooooo, when are we going to meet this Captaaaaaaaain?”

Aleister nods, and the two guards walk around to push open the doors at the end of the hall.

Barbicane looks at Cardia the moment the guards have their back turned, but she shakes her head.

There’s no way we could escape the North Pole so easily.

So we all file neatly through the doors and down another hallway, silent save Nemo chattering at Aleister about various things. We pass through countless of these corridors until we enter a large, circular room.

“It feels different in here,” says Cardia, but when she hears her own voice she claps her hand over it.

“What is it?” I ask, only to have the same surprising reaction. It sounds almost like I’m whispering in my own ear. It sounds unnerving, to say the least.

“The acoustics in this room are different,” says Barbicane, looking around. “It’s like it was designed for… silence.”

“You’re right, of course,” says Aleister, his voice low. “This building in particular was designed using very particular acoustic engineering. A whisper will carry as much as a shout, and excess volume will be absorbed.”

All of us turn towards Nemo.

“W-Whaaaaaaat’s everyone staaaaaaaaaring for? Ah, of cooooourse! You want to know how my graaaaaaaand voice will be affected by the magnificence of sciiiiiiience!”

Even Aleister has a shocked expression.

It appears that, despite all the powers of acoustic engineering, Nemo’s voice isn’t dulled one bit.

“I guess some things are more powerful than current technology,” says Cardia.

Cardia is interrupted by a melancholic moan.

We look around for the source, thrown off by the warped sound, and eventually we follow Aleister’s gaze to a dark doorway in the very back of the room.

That moan sounded like it had been right in my ear!

“What is that…” a hushed voice creeps around us. “What is that noise…? Aleister…?”

“Captain,” says Aleister. “I’ve brought your guests here.”

There’s a long silence punctuated only by Nemo’s breathing.

At last, there’s a shuffle and a sigh. “Thank you, Aleister. You may bring them in. I ask for silence, as always.”

Aleister nods and gestures to us before the guards begin to walk towards us, corralling us towards the darkened room.

As we walk in, Aleister puts a hand on Nemo’s shoulder and holds a finger to his lips.

“For me, old friend,” he says.

Nemo nods and somehow still manages to generate sound.

Aleister and the guards lead us, their seven prisoners, quietly into the room.

“Aleister. A light, if you would?”

Aleister walks over to a table and flips a switch. The room is still dim, but we can at least see our speaker now.

The captain sits in a comfortable chair, long legs bent like he’s a lethargic grasshopper and a cheek resting upon his hand. He shifts, a wave of dark hair cascading over his shoulder and tumbling towards the floor.

He’s breathtaking, but somehow strange and off-putting… in a way he’s very much like Nemo, and at the same time a flipped image. Quiet, powerful, able to convey his feelings with a mere tilt of his head. As still as the icebergs surrounding us.

I shudder when he turns those chilled eyes on me.

“Welcome,” says the captain. “I’m grateful that you are here.”

Smith looks like she wants to say something, but the oppressive silence makes her merely grit her teeth in frustration.

“Welcome to the Northernmost Base,” the captain continues. “I am Captain Jonathan Hatteras.”

“Hatteras…?” I look at him, the name somehow familiar to me.

“Oh! I know you!” Barbicane points at the man, his exuberant shout absorbed by the room. “You’re that explorer that tried to make it up here years ago!”

Hatteras lowers his head in a motion that could only be a nod. “Nobody thought I could. So I did.” He closes his eyes, leaving us alone with his silence.

“The Captain wants to make new kingdom up here in the north,” says Aleister.

“The land I love…” Hatteras dreamily whispers.

“He had me… recruit all of you to that end,” Aleister continues.

“You KIDNAPPED us!” Smith repeats, shattering the stillness that Hatteras clearly prized. “No matter how many ways you try to twist it, Aleister, we know the truth!”

“Aleister, did you kidnap them?” Hatteras looks towards Aleister. “That’s a shame… I was hoping to hear that they had come of their own accord.”

Aleister shrugs. “Unfortunately, they’re just as stubborn as you are, Jonathan, and I know you were eager to meet them.”

“Yes… eager to meet each and every one of them…” Hatteras’ eyes roam over all of us before they narrow at Conseil and Ned in apparent confusion.

“Hey, I just came to get my sweetheart,” says Ned, shrugged.

“… That aside…” Hatteras slowly stands up from his chair and begins to slowly walk towards us. His attire is interesting: the coat and epaulettes of a captain slung over a loose shirt and what appears to be a sheet around his waist. At his hip hangs a sword, a frayed Union Jack tied around the handle. “Let me take a look at you all…”

He says ‘you all’, but he walks straight towards Barbicane. They’re almost the same height, Barbicane remaining the tallest in the room by only a few stray hairs.

“You must be Impey Barbicane, the man who will one day go to the moon,” says Hatteras.

He goes silent before suddenly leaning it and quirking an eyebrow. “Has anyone told you how ridiculous that dream of yours is?”

Barbicane closes his eyes and sighs before putting a hand on his hip and returning Hatteras’ gaze, a smile playing on his face. “Yep! All the time! Words like that won’t stop me, though!” Barbicane flexes his arm, his large wrench in his hand as he flashes a smile. “Words can’t stop my dream!”

Hatteras stares at Barbicane before taking a step back, his quiet voice grave: “I’m glad. People said the same thing to me… my crew even abandoned me, left me for dead… but I still made it. I accomplished my dream!”

Hatteras spreads his arms wide. “I’m here, at the top of the world--!”

His voice was still quiet, but it was filled with such emotion that it was like the walls rumbled from force instead of volume.

But then Hatteras’ arms fall to his sides and he looks up at the ceiling as though he’s searching the sky for answers.

At that moment, he looks very much like Nemo.

“But now I’m here… I’ve reached my dream… now what? What is there for me now?”

He looks at Barbicane with wide eyes. “What will you do after you get to the moon?”

“After?” Barbicane looks deep in thought. “I guess… after I get to the moon, I’d like to work on developing more tech to help people. There’s all kinds of things out there that people need. Maybe I can—h-hey?”

Hatteras has already moved on from Barbicane, not even listening to his answer. He stops in front of Cardia, looking down at her with an even expression. “You’re the Blue Fairy.”

“I’m the… what?”

Hatteras leans down and looks into her eyes. “Against all odds, you turned a puppet into a living boy.”

Cardia’s expression turns stern. “My brother has always been a living boy. Whether that life was ‘created’ or not doesn’t matter.”

“Do excuse her, won’t you, Jonathan?” Aleister says with a light laugh. “Cardia-kun is a rather fierce older sister.”

“Ho hoooooo!” Nemo throws his head back and gives a mighty laugh. “She is, she iiiiiiiiiiiis! She’s always been quite remaaaaaaarkable!”

“And you…” Hatteras straightens up and walks over to Nemo, the sheet fluttering about his legs so it looks like he’s gliding across the floor. “Well, who hasn’t heard about you? A revolutionary.”

Nemo chortles, looking rather pleased with himself. “Yeeees… yes, my science is a revoluuuuution--!”

Hatteras shakes his head. “No, I’m talking about your tragedy. You bore a revolution on your back, and the Crown retaliated as was its right.”

“Eh?” Nemo’s eyebrows arc in surprise.

“Wait, that’s not…” I shake my head. “Captain Hatteras, that—”

Hatteras unties the pitiful remains of the flag from his sword and holds it reverently. “The Empire. My Empire. You left your country when the embers of your home were still cooling and sought out the power the Empire had to offer. You studied and studied, and worked hard to become someone completely different from that revolutionary boy.”

Nemo scratches his head, looking at Hatteras like a second head is sprouting from his neck.

“And you built another home for yourself, one completely devoted to your worship of science… but the Crown cast you out of the Royal Society. You have just trudged through tragedy after tragedy, haven’t you? You weren’t even able to truly reunite with Isaac Beckford…”

“That’s enough,” my voice is firm, but still swallowed by the strange room. However, the force of my words reaches Hatteras, and he stares at me.

“Arronaaaaaaaaaax…..”

I look back at Nemo, who has his arms crossed and is staring at me with a curled lip. Me, who only wanted to help, me—

“I really… reeeeeeeeeeeeally don’t need you speaking for me.”

I think a bullet might have hurt less.

“And you’re…”

The pain’s sting is interrupted by Hatteras approaching me, leaning over me, examining me.

“You’re the one I don’t understand,” says Hatteras. “Pauline Aronnax. The others have stories that make sense- a dream, a desire to find ‘home’, a desire to be ‘real’. What about you, then? Did you decide that you needed this adventure on a mere whim? Did the thought of romancing a broken man intrigue you?”

I grit my teeth. “What is the meaning of all of this, Captain Hatteras? You kidnap our friends, force us to your base, and now you’re insulting us?”

Hatteras shakes his head. “I’m not insulting you, though I can see where you would get that idea. I simply want to know more about all of you.”

“And—and Nemo is not ‘broken’…” my voice trails off when I remember what Nemo had said. He doesn’t need my protection. He doesn’t need me speaking for him. My shoulders droop and I shake my head, going silent.

“Professor…” Conseil begins to walk towards me, but a large hand on my shoulder turns my attention from him. Aleister is standing behind me, a warm smile on his face as he takes in my expression contorted by pain.

“Jonathan is right. He has a strange way of expressing his curiosity, but he bears you no ill will, Aronnax. In fact, you are perhaps the one he was most excited to meet,” says Aleister.

“Jimmy…” Hatteras’ voice trails off as he looks away. “Saying things like that isn’t necessary.”

Aleister laughs. “Don’t be shy, now. Why don’t you take the Professor on a tour of your base? I think she could benefit with some quiet, don’t you?”

“She is the one he was the most excited about…?” it’s a quiet voice, a wound shown for only a moment before being bandaged by the usual bravado. “Haaaaaaaahahaha! I agree, I agreeeeee! Yes, too much stimulation caaaaaaaan’t be good for an overworked mind!”

As Nemo laughs, Hatteras puts his hands over his ears and trembles. “Jimmy…”

Aleister looks back towards Nemo and shakes his head. “We’ll have to do something about the volume difference, I suppose. For now, you two… go on.”

Aleister gives me a gentle push towards Hatteras before turning back to the rest of the group. Hatteras straightens up and gives me a slight bow before turning me away towards one of the exits. As I turn, my eyes seek out Nemo’s. He lifts his hands and curls his fingers in a wave, but it looks more confused than enthusiastic.

“Nemo…”

But Hatteras closes the door behind us before I can say anything else.

[itsallavengers]

would you be willing to write some more tony stark with peter parker and their father-son relationship? because i think it's so precious and i loved your story with peter getting drunk! maybe you could write something with peter being really, really sad and crying and desperately needing a hug and feeling like nobody cares about him and someow he finds his way over to tony. and before tony can even ask what's wrong peter just breaks down crying, so tony comforts him and hugs him maybe?

“Fuck.”

Everything was blurry. He felt wobbly on his legs; a little bit like he’d been concussed, except he knew there would be pain if he had. Physical pain, anyway. Or blood.

From behind him, people were laughing. It was loud and grated against his ears. He wanted to tell them to shut up; to scream at them, or hit them, but he knew he couldn’t. He was too strong. One punch might kill them, for all he knew.

He couldn’t do a damn thing.

“Fucking…fuck,”

More laughs. Someone shoved him in the shoulder, and he would’ve ducked out of the way, but it would’ve looked too fast to be normal, so he let them. 

“Awwww, guys, look at him, he’s going to cry!” Someone called out, and Peter looked down to the floor immediately, desperately fighting back the hotness behind his eyes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck- he wasn’t supposed to cry, he was bigger than that, he was a superhero for Christ’s sake, he could take a little teasing-

“Oh my God, look at him! He’s actually fucking crying!”

He wanted Ned. Or MJ. Where the hell were they- it was their spot in the school cafeteria, they were supposed to be here, he needed them to be here right now, everyone else was stood around him, crowding him, crushing him, he couldn’t breathe- he wanted at least one person on his side, Jesus-

“Aww, Peter,” came a soft voice to his right, so pretty and nice and exactly what Peter had loved listening to for such a long time now, “you really think I would actually have said yes? For like…serious?”

Someone shoved his shoulder again, harder this time, and Peter gritted his teeth, getting to his feet. He’d had enough of this, he needed to find…something, a toilet maybe, or an empty classroom-

Hands grabbed on to his jacket and shoved him back on to the seat again, and Peter physically fought back the urge to grab their wrist and force them off. He’d hurt them. He’d hurt them he’d hurt them he’d hurt them, he was too strong, he’d hurt them-

“You’re honestly one of the most pathetic things I’ve ever seen, Jesus, Parker,” someone else, a boy this time, leaned down and ruffled a rough hand through his hair. Everyone laughed again.

He was done.

Getting to his feet, he ignored the people who tried to push him back down again. Strength be fucking damned, he wasn’t going to spend another second in their company. He pushed at the nearest person he could reach, and then watched as they were yanked out of place and sent hurtling across the room, falling on to their back and rolling all the way across the cafeteria.

There was dead, stagnant silence.

Peter stared, horror-stricken. Oh…fucking Christ, what if he’d hurt him-

“What the shit?” The boy called out angrily, getting back to his feet and staring across the room with a look that could’ve curdled milk.

Right. Not that injured, then.

“What the fuck is your problem, Parker?” The boy snarled, beginning to step forward, and there was a crowd gathering now, obviously preparing for some sort of fight, and where the hell were all the teachers, shouldn’t they sort this shit out-

“FIGHT!” Someone called, breaking the silence, and then suddenly they were all yelling; chants and sneers, egging the other boy on as he took another step, vicious grin on his face.

Peter had to stop this. Immediately.

Turning on his heel, he did the only thing he could think of.

He ran. 

He ran and ran until he reached the main entrance, and then he kept running until the school was just a distant building amongst the many in Queens.

(Read more, mobile users!)

He’d ended up sat on the curb of some street on the outskirts of Brooklyn.

He wasn’t too sure how long he’d been running for. Enough to get him pretty far, at least.

Everything hurt.

He hadn’t even been roughed up that much. But he felt tired; his bones just ached. It seemed as if there was a drum in his head.

His eyes stung, as they had been for about a non-stop hour now.

God, he’d been an idiot. He should have fucking seen it.

There was a hot trail down his cheek as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and he desperately fought to hold it back. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He was a superhero. He was better than that. He wasn’t going to cry.

He just wanted someone to talk to.

But MJ and Ned would be in class. Aunt May was at work. Peter didn’t have any other friends.That was it.

Well. There was Tony. But what were the chances that Tony Stark would want to waste time on him? God, the other kids were right- he really wasn’t worth anyone’s time, least of all fucking Iron Man, who the hell did he think he was?

He looked at the contact for a long time, debating whether or not to hit dial.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was stupid. Pathetic.

The tone beeped seven times before there was a sharp “Peter, I’m in the middle of a very important meeting- unless the world is falling apart, can it wait a few hours?”

See? Fucking idiot. Tony had a job too, what the fuck was Peter doing, so desperate for some fucking pity that he was happy to just interrupt Tony in the middle of a board meeting-

“Oh God…I’m so sorry. I… sorry. I didn’t- I’m…sorry,” Peter whispered, shutting his eyes and ending the call before Tony could finish the word that had half-formed through the speaker.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, long and deep, trying to steady himself as he put his head in his hands. The world was starting to spin again, he felt sick to his core- how he was going to turn up to school tomorrow and face them all, he had no idea.

His phone rang again, but he ignored it. When it rang a second time, he put it on silent. It was probably just one of the kids, anyway.

He really was pathetic.

People passed him as he sat on the curb, but they were New Yorkers. They saw it all the time. No one stopped. Peter was kind of grateful. He didn’t exactly fancy being told to go back to school by some pissed off pensioner.

He watched the traffic pass. Everything felt a little surreal. This was the first time he’d ever bunked off school before.

He was probably going to get suspended. 

He was so out of it, he barely even heard the noise of repulsors off to his right. 

Of course, he was sort of objectively aware of it- with his senses, it was impossible not to be- but once he’d registered it wasn’t a threat, it stopped mattering.

There was the sound of expensive shoes on pavement again, and then someone slid down next to him, expensive suit rubbing up against the grime of the New York streets. Hands rose up and curled around his knees, and Peter saw the sleek black bracelet that circled around his left wrist, tiny little flashes and numbers popping constantly on the small screen.

“So. Rough day?” Tony asked him, head turned and looking down at Peter.

Peter had all but a second of silence, before opening his mouth and bursting into tears.

“Oh, Christ,” Tony muttered, immediately pulling him in by the waist and guiding his head into Tony’s shoulder, right hand wrapping around Peter’s front as he held tight and let Peter cry against the incredibly expensive material of his Tom Ford suit.

“Shit.. I’m sorry, I- I’m fine, you got a, a m-meeting, I’m f-”

“Peter, shut your face,” Tony interrupted gently, squeezing a little tighter and letting his head drop against the top of Peter’s hair.

It felt nice. Different to Aunt May hugs- Tony was bigger, and his grip was stronger, more grounding than comforting. It was exactly what Peter needed.

“Tony, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to interrupt- you… y-y-you’ve got a meeting-”

“Fuck the board meeting,” Tony waved a hand, and Peter could guess the sort of face he was pulling, “they’re boring. I feel like my services are needed more over here, anyway- all I was doing was nodding off back there.”

Peter sniffed, wiping shaking fingers over his eyes. He should let go; pull away, stop fucking crying. Jesus, he was so-

“Okay, first thing’s first, I want you to stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. I don’t care what it is. Just stop it,” Tony declared, slashing a hand through the air firmly and holding Peter that little bit tighter with the one still curled across his back.

Peter tried. But he couldn’t let it go. He probably fucking deserved this anyway.

Tony sighed, like he could physically read Peter’s mind. “Okay then. So if you’re not going to stop, are you at least going to tell me what happened?”

Peter didn’t say anything; he just clutched tightly to the lapels of Tony’s shirt and desperately tried to quell the apparently never-ending stream of tears, shaking his head quietly as he did so.

“Trouble at home? Uh. Fallout with friends?” Tony tried, clearly unsure of how best to tread.

Peter shook his head, trying to open his mouth and form a sentence whilst Tony just stroked his back, hand running along Peter’s jacket in a soothing motion, until fingers caught on the rip just above his shoulder-blade from where one of the kids had yanked it. He froze, and then dug underneath just a little, pulling it upward and having a look.

Peter winced at the motion- there was a bruise just beginning to form there from where he’d been grabbed, and it stung.

Tony’s eyes widened, and he let go. “Peter, has someone been hurting you?”

“No,” Peter said immediately, but Tony had turned around fully, grabbing him gently by the shoulders and facing him, serious and concerned. 

“Peter, has someone been hurting you-”

“It was just one stupid day,” Peter cut in, looking down at the floor and pushing the tears that were springing to his eyes off his cheeks hurriedly. “Fuck, sorry, I’m not… I’m not this upset, Jesus, really, I don’t know why I’m… please don’t think I’m weak or anything, because I- I’m not, okay, I just-”

He broke off, unable to finish as his voice broke pathetically and a fresh wave of tears fell down his face.

Great. Great fucking way to assure people you’re fine. 

Tony looked like someone had just run over a puppy in front of him. There was a look of horror etched into his face as he looked down at Peter, and Peter could only imagine all the stuff he must be thinking right now. Probably everything along the lines that the other kids had been saying about him, because it was true, he was pathetic, he was just a coward who couldn’t even stand up and fight for himself when someone pushed him-

“Oh, Peter,” Tony said quietly, pulling him back in again, holding so tight against his chest that it would probably have hurt a normal person, “believe me, kid, I will never, ever think you’re weak. I’ve seen you in action. I’ve seen you lift buildings up and hide people behind your body to keep them safe- that will never be the actions of someone who’s weak, okay? Ever.”

Peter screwed his eyes shut, burying his head a little further into Tony’s jacket as his shoulders heaved. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Stop apologising, please, God, you’re gonna give me a heart attack, kid,” Tony interrupted, and Peter felt him suck in a shaky breath before pulling away again, taking Peter’s forearms and then tugging lightly. “I say we blow this Popsicle stand and head somewhere a little less…conspicuous. What do you think?”

Peter just nodded, hands still clutching weakly to Tony’s expensive shirt. There were little patches on the grey jacket from where he’d cried.God, that was mortifying.

“Right. Up we go,” Tony declared, jumping to his feet and pulling Peter with him. He walked forward, Peter trailing behind, until Tony ducked into an alley and then stepped into the suit that was parked just around the corner.

“You wanna go flying?” Tony asked, grinning widely as he opened his arms.

Peter gave him a watery smile and nodded a little. 

“Hold on tight, then,” Tony said, stepping forward and grabbing him around the waist before lifting off with a whoop.

“Okay, before we begin- ice cream?” Tony asked, pushing open the door of whichever of his houses they’d ended up in and stepping through the threshold.

Peter debated for a moment, before a quiet “that’d be nice, yeah.”

Tony blew out a breath as he heard Peter’s voice; still too wavery to be considered normal. He was frowning, but that had been pretty much nonstop since arriving, so Peter didn’t think much of it. “Right. Good. See, I don’t even live here properly, but I always make sure I keep icecream in the freezers. Just in case. Lucky, huh?”

Peter stood awkwardly at the door whilst Tony bounded off in search of food. He felt…well, stupid, really. Today had just been horrible, and his stomach was roiling with a hundred different emotions- he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to keep the icecream down at all.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice called from down the hall, and Peter watched as the man’s head poked out from around the corner, looking at him curiously. “You gonna come in, buddy? There’s a sofa and like, 7000 different movies in here, which I feel like you’d appreciate.”

“I… I really should get back to school, Tony,” Peter said, suddenly imagining all the punishments he would probably get from bunking off; suspension, exclusion, detention for the rest of his life, a  screaming Aunt May-

Tony looked at him for a long time. “Do you want to go back?” He asked, cocking his head.

Peter pulled a face. “It’s not about what I want to do. I have to go back. I’ll get into trouble if I-”

“Kid, you’re already in trouble. You already left. Whether you go back now or tomorrow morning, the punishment will still be the same,” Tony said, pulling himself around the corner properly in order to lean against the wall. “Now, I am not condoning skipping school here- but I would really rather you didn’t go back there until I can get this all sorted out. I already got JARVIS to alert both the school and May that you’re okay, so there will be no search parties out for you, don’t worry.”

Peter paused, and Tony continued to look at him, that little frown still fixed on his face, eyes flicking back to the tear across Peter’s shoulder every now and again. “I… are you really sure I’m not holding you up-”

“Absolutely not, my day is entirely free. I had one meeting, but it really wasn’t as important as I made it out to be over the phone, just your usual stocks stuff, very boring,” Tony waved him off, pushing off the wall and then chucking a tub of what had to be icecream down the corridor. Peter caught it on instinct, checking the label quickly as he did so.

Mint chocolate. His favourite.

“Kid,” Tony said, walking forward and then putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, “please tell me what happened. You don’t have to, if you really don’t want to, but I might be able to help,” he pulled a little face, and winced, “I’m not what one would call a ‘responsible adult figure’ or whatever- but if I were, you’d probably be back in school by now, so I guess that’s a good thing. I just… dislike seeing you like this, that’s all. Makes me uncomfortable.”

He was looking at Peter with that stupid pained expression on his face again, and his hand was a grounding weight against Peter’s shoulder.

“I just… kids, right?” Peter said, with a fake smile, “they suck sometimes. All the time. Whatever. It’s-”

“-don’t say fine, Peter, if they’re hurting you, it’s not ‘fine’-”

“they didn’t hurt me, look, I’m fine, I’ve faced off goddamn aliens, okay, I can deal with some shoving-”

“That’s not the kind of hurt I meant,” Tony said, his voice quiet, serious. His eyes were boring into Peter’s, brow furrowed deeply as he observed the tear-tracks and miserable expression.

Peter sighed, letting his head hang in shame. “I…It was nothing.  I had this crush, that’s all. On a girl. For a few months, now. She hung out with all the popular kids, but… I don’t know, she smiled at me. Seemed nice.” 

He stepped, laughing and shaking his head self-deprecatingly. “Damn, was I far off-bat with that one.”

Tony said nothing, but he took Peter’s arm and pulled him forward, moving them both down the corridor and into the living room. Taking the ice-cream from Peter’s hands, he opened the lid and pulled a spoon from his jacket pocket, handing it over. 

Once they were both settled comfortably on the warm leather couch, Tony waved a hand. “Continue,” he said through a mouthful of icecream.

Peter licked his lips, turning away from Tony again. He could feel the heat behind his eyes- he didn’t want Tony to see him cry.

A hand pressed against his back, thumb rubbing softly between his shoulderblades. “You know, I’m pretty sure over the course of the last six months, I’ve cried way more than you. You really don’t need to be ashamed, kid. I’ve heard it’s healthy.”

Peter sucked in a jagged breath, and nodded his head grimly. “Tony- she asked me on a date, last night, Over text. Wanted to go see a movie with me on Saturday.”

He hid his face in his hands. “I… you know me. When I’m excited, I tend to… i talk a lot. Ramble and stuff. It’s stupid. Embarrassing. But…yeah.”

“What happened today, then?” Tony prompted, eyes soft as he offered the tub over to Peter again.

Peter shrugged, face hard. “Turns out it was a joke. They wanted to see how I’d react, ‘cuz they knew I… they knew I liked her. She showed everyone the texts.”

Tony’s hand stopped moving for a brief moment,. “Peter… what was in these texts, exactly-”

“Nothing bad!” Peter said hurriedly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “nothing bad, just… me acting like an idiot, I guess. They thought it was hilarious. They told me as much today at lunch break. All 13 of her friends, and anyone else who happened to be around.”

Tony nodded, lips pursed in a hard line as he looked out of the window. His hand was clutching Peter’s shoulder very, very tightly. “Right. I see.”

Peter sighed, tucking his knees up into his chest and wishing he could just take the last week back. “Public humiliation, yup. They kept…shoving me, and I couldn’t stand up. They wouldn’t let me out, and I didn’t want to hurt them, so I just…”

“You just took it,” Tony finished, closing his eyes and making yet another pained expression, “Jesus, Peter.”

Peter felt his face crumble a little further, tears slipping down his face once more, dripping off his chin and on to the couch in little splats.

Tony shuffled closer again, muttering some truly foul curse words as he pulled Peter in, one hand sweeping the tears off his cheek while the other curled across his shoulders and held on tight.

“How am I gonna go back there now?” Peter whispered, “how am I gonna face them all? They’re horrible on a good day, but after this? I… I can’t.”

Peter felt Tony rocking them both gently back and forth, and he wanted to tell him to stop, that he wasn’t a child, he didn’t need to be coddled, but he couldn’t find the strength in him to lie about it. He just wanted someone to tell him it was going to be okay. 

“Listen, Peter- I am shitty at this,” Tony began with, voice muffled by Peter’s hair, “I don’t know what to say to make this better, because to be honest, nothing really can. Unless you want me to build you a time machine- which, by the way, I’d be totally up for- we can’t just magic this away. School sucks. Kids suck. And that is, unfortunately, a fact of life. But…” Tony shrugged, fingers fiddling with Peter’s collar as he thought through his words, “there’s more good things in life than bad. I think. And you, Peter Parker, are one of the best things this place has to offer. No word of lie. And you just need to be able to hold on to that, I guess. Even when everything else is shitty, you need to step away, look at everything around you, and then think ‘yeah. I really am so much better than all this crap. I’m goddamn spiderman. What do any of you losers have to offer?” Tony said with a grin.

Peter was silent, and so Tony added “but I give you permission to take a swing at them if they cross the line, though. You know I can actually do that? I have authority, surprisingly. So if you ever do get sued for punching a Nazi or whatever, I can say that I, Ironman, condoned your behaviour, and you stand a way better chance of getting off. It’s kinda crazy.”

Peter let out a burst of laughter at that, and he felt Tony smile in response. “Ah, yes, Good- laughter. I like laughter,  lets keep that up, huh?”

Peter smiled, a little watery around the edges, but Tony seemed to accept it, because he patted him on the cheek and then grabbed the icecream back. “Oh, and I’ll sort out the kids, don’t worry. They won’t bother you again.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to kill them, are you?”

Tony shrugged, knocking the spoon against his nose. “I make no promises. Now- there are like, a billion different movies here that I’ve never seen in my life, and a ton of time to kill. Seeing as you’re apparently a rebellious little teen now, you don’t have anywhere to be either. You wanna eat icecream and watch movies? I’m pretty sure I can get Aunt May to let you stay over, if you can’t be bothered leaving.”

Peter wanted to protest; despite what Tony had said, considering the near-constant vibrating his phone was doing, it seemed as if Peter had caught him on a busy day.

But Tony’s shoes were already off, and tucked up underneath Peter’s legs as he grabbed for the remote, so Peter guessed he wasn’t planning on moving any time soon.

Wiping any stray tears off his face, he leaned back and stretched his legs across Tony’s so they were both tangled in the middle of the couch. For the first time all day, the weight felt a little bit less heavy on Peter’s heart.

“Up, up, Peter, fuck, I’m terrible- we have like, 20 minutes to get you to school, come on, come on, let’s get moving!”

Peter jerked awake, unsticking his cheek from the leather couch and glaring sleepily at Tony, who was stood over him, a pile of clothes in one hand and a toothbrush in the other. “They’re my size, so they might be a little big on you, but they should be okay. You better hurry your ass up, Parker, I don’t want to get yelled at by your Aunt.”

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, wincing as Tony let the clothes drop on his face. “Can’t I just take another day off? It’s Friday. No one does anything on Friday- it’s practically weekend-”

“Nuh uh,” Tony said, from somewhere over to his left, “that would be considered irresponsible adulting, and I’m supposed to set an example to you kids. You’ve got five minutes. Get dressed.”

Peter felt his heart sink at the thought of going back, and he bit back a sigh. He knew he had to, of course. It was just…gonna suck. A lot.

“Hey, kid,” Tony clicked his fingers, and Peter zoned back in, looking at Tony as the other man stood over him. “Hm- sorry, what did you say?” Peter asked.

Tony rolled his eyes, but the hand that ruffled his hair was gentle. “It’s gonna be fine, okay- I promise. You’re gonna enjoy yourself, trust me. Just get ready quickly. Open your mouth.”

Peter frowned, halfway to asking “wha-” before Tony shoved a slice of toast in his mouth and then scurried off again, grabbing his jacket as he went. “BREAKFAST MAKES FOR A HEALTHY START TO YOUR DAY!” He called out, whilst Peter just sat there, toast in mouth and clothes in hand.

“Tony, do I really have to-”

“Yes,” Tony said, shooting him a look from the driver’s seat as they pulled into the school’s driveway. “I’m sorry, kid, but I can’t just let you bunk. It’s seriously gonna be fine, I promise, just look-”

“It’s not gonna be fine, as soon as I get through the doors they’re gonna be there, I just know it, please, can’t I just-”

“Peter, seriously, look-”

“-Not go, just for today. Seriously, it’s one day and I’m a genius anyway, it won’t exactly matter-”

“Peter,” Tony flicked his temple, momentarily surprising him into keeping quiet, “look.”

He turned his head to where Tony was pointing, and then frowned in confusion when he noticed, in the distance, a line of kids, all stood meekly by the roadside. They were shuffling self-consciously as everyone turned to look, but didn’t move. They seemed to be waiting-

“That’s them,” Peter said, eyes widening in apprehension. “Tony, that’s them, they’re waiting for me, oh, fuck-”

“Damn right they are,” Tony muttered, before fiddling with the dashboard and grinning. “Hey, I think we should ride with the top down for a bit, give everyone a show.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Tony, what are you planning?”

“You trust me?” Tony asked, letting an arm rest across the open window, a picture of calm and coolness. This was, without doubt, Tony Stark- from the expensive Ferrari they’d shown up in, right down to the red tinted shades and perfectly trimmed goatee.

Peter got the feeling he had an idea what the man was planning.

He grinned. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Tony laughed, and they drove down the drive, Tony’s bright red car catching everyone’s attention as they went. People started talking excitedly- because why the hell was Tony Stark at their school… and was he with Peter Parker? What the fuck?

When Tony drew nearer to the line of Peter’s bullies, he couldn’t help but let his heart flutter nervously in his chest.

“Watch this,” was all Tony said, patting him on the shoulder before pulling up, right next to them.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, how do you wanna do this?” Tony called out, beeping his horn and making them all jump nervously. “How about I just drive real slow, and you tell Peter what you wanna say, huh?”

The kids looked utterly mortified, but nodded jerkily all the same. Peter shot Tony a quick look, but he was staring straight out of the window as his head nodded absently to the beat on the radio.

The first kid was a boy; grim-faced and bright red as he muttered a tiny “sorry, Parker,” once Tony had rolled the car up beside him.

“I… sorry honey, old age, affecting my hearing. You’re gonna have to speak up,” Tony called out, putting a finger up to his ear and then making a face. “Also, you’re talking to him, not me.”

“S-sorry, Parker,” the boy said, louder this time, before quickly turning and walking off, shoving the crowd who had gathered out of the way.

Next up was the boy who Peter had shoved. Peter locked eyes with him, but the boy just averted his gaze, looking down to his shoes. “…Sorry, Parker,” he mumbled, jaw clenched. 

Peter looked down the line of 11 more kids, eyes wide and face utterly disbelieving as one by one, each of them apologised, every one of them pushing past the laughing crowd with faces like thunder, mortification obvious on their cheeks.

“Oh look, and last but not least, it’s you, sweetie,” Tony said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he smiled up at the girl Peter had been crushing on for weeks.

She had her hands tightly behind her back, and her eyes were flickering everywhere except Peter and Tony. Peter really didn’t know if a face could get any redder.

He was honestly having the time of his life, at that moment. He wasn’t sure what could possibly get better.

“So, what do you have to ask, properly this time, to Peter over here?” Tony said, flicking a thumb over in Peter’s direction and smiling again.

She looked at him, taking a breath. “Will y-you…will you go to the movies with me?” She whispered quietly, head sinking into her shoulders as the kids around them all started chuckling.

Peter stared, eyes, if even humanly possible, going wider. “What?”

There was silence, and then Tony honked the horn again, making her jump nervously. “Come on, kiddo, we don’t have all day. He didn’t hear you, so say it again.”

“Willyougotothemovieswithme,” the girl stammered, words falling over themselves in her haste to get it over with.

Peter stopped. Jerked back a little. And then laughed, loudly. “I’d rather fall backwards into an open sewer, to be honest.”

Around them, everyone burst out laughing. A few clapped. The girl looked completely horrified, and quickly turned tail, running through the audience as they laughed.

Peter watched her go, feeling somewhat as if he was in a dream, before turning back to Tony. “Okay, how the hell did you make them do that? How… how?” He asked incredulously, whilst Tony laughed.

“Simple. Just hacked the CCTV at school, found out which ones they were, and then got their parents’ phone numbers from the school databanks. After Ironman reamed out their mommies and daddies, I asked to speak to the kids themselves. When you get yelled at by a superhero, you tend to do whatever they say. Also I threatened to put a virus in all of their phones from now until forever, which is compelling. Especially when youre a popular teenager who requires social media in order to establish hierarchies.” Tony shrugged again, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he looked solemnly at Peter. “They won’t ever bother you again. I swear. They’re too pussy to try anything.”

Peter gaped; huffing out a breath in a mix of shock and immense, terrific gratitude. “Oh, God. Thank you, Tony. Thank you so much.”

Tony looked down at him, a small smile on his face as he opened his mouth to speak. But before he could start, however, the radio suddenly crackled off, and Tony’s face fell a little as he shut his eyes. “Oh, crap-”

“Tony Stark, you are a dead, dead man,” came the furious tone of Pepper Potts through the audio system. “Are you kidding me? I had to get JARVIS to hack into your god damn radio, because you refuse to answer your phone for 24 hours! 7 MEETINGS, TONY! 7 meetings and a Gala you were not only supposed to attend, but open! and give a speech for! I have been putting out fires ever since your goddamn ass walked out in the middle of our INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT STOCKS M-”

“Oookay, kid, time to go, out out out,” Tony interrupted, dialling the volume down until it was nearly entirely silent and then leaning over, opening the door for Peter. He kept his hands by his sides, but Tony muttered “yeah, okay, this one’s a hug,” over his shoulder, and Peter wasted no time in grabbing him and holding on for a moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, as Tony pulled away and looked anxiously at the speaker system where Pepper’s muffled voice was yelling at him from. “I’m sorry you missed all your meetings. I didn’t mean-”

“They weren’t important,” Tony said, and then winced when Pepper’s voice rose a few decibels in order to argue that statement. “Okay, well maybe they were a little important. But I’m a Priorities Guy. I knew the wonderful and amazing Pepper Potts would cover my ass. It’s all good,” Tony said, speaking the last part into the speakers and then giving Peter’s shoulder a shove.  “You seriously have to go, Peter, or you’re gonna be late. And I’m sure a lot of people are going to want to be talking to you about what just happened. After all,” Tony gestured to himself, revving the engine a little and grinning, “you just got dropped off to school by Tony Stark. I’m guessing that’s big news.”

Peter stepped out of the car, and with a look of mild disgust on his face, Tony turned up the volume up again, beginning to start his apologies to the furious woman down the line. 

“Have I ever told you what a wonderful colour your eyes are?” Was the last thing Peter heard him say, before he drove away down the road.

As soon as Tony had left, it was like a chain reaction. He suddenly found himself surrounded by excited kids, all asking him why, where, how, who, when-

He spotted Ned, just beginning to walk up the stairs, star wars backpack resting high on his back as he climbed.

Peter grinned, and pushed through the crowd.

[kateofthecanals]

For The (Not)Watch: Episode 7.6

The Term “Jump The Shark” Has Officially Been Replaced By “Spear The Dragon”

I knew it was gonna be bad. I had plenty of warning. But I did not expect... this. Even the Sandor stuff, which I was lead to believe would be decent, was also pretty awful. There was just NOTHING redeemable about this episode. In fact, this may be The Worst Episode since 5.6 in terms of completely annihilating my faves. Sickening. Unforgivable. Grab the salt shaker and tea kettle and let’s get this over with...

So this episode really only dealt with shenanigans in the North -- beyond the Wall and in Winterhell. We open on the first of what seemed like 300 scenes of our wight posse shlepping through the snow and engaging in stilted, pointless conversation that served neither plot nor character development. They literally just pointed a camera at different subgroups of the gang and filmed whatever drivel they farted out of their mouths. First up, Gendry, Jon, and Tormund. Gendry is freezing his balls of while Tormund has a snow-boner and there’s the umpteenth conversation about how wildlings consider anything south of the Wall as “the South”. Tormund declares that “fucking” is the best way to keep warm in the North, and when Gendry points out that there’s no women for hundreds of miles, Tormund leers at him and says “We make due with what we’ve got.”

(Guys, remember when Tormund KILLED Rattleshirt for making a gay joke about him and Jon?)

This makes Gendry fall the fuck back, and Jon and Tormund immediately start talking shit about him. Oh, and also Mance Rayder. Yes, kids, this week, Tormund thinks Mance was a total noob for never bending the knee to anyone. Huh. Okay.

Gendry finds himself rolling with Beric, Thoros, and Sandor, and he gives them what for for selling him off to Melisandre and describes how she sexually assaulted him. Sandor, who heretofore has been looking for any ammo with which to give Beric and Thoros shit, suddenly hops fully on their side and ridicules Gendry for feeling bad about being raped and almost murdered. What. The. Fuck. D&D, please keep your loathsome “men can’t be raped just lay back and enjoy it” garbage out of Sandor’s mouth, k thanks.

At any rate, Sandor seemed REALLY interested in this convo. The scene devolved into the most crude version of “Summer Lovin’“ I’ve ever heard...

“Tell me more, tell me more, did you get fucked by Mel??”

“Tell me more, tell me more, was she naked as well??”

Sandor then gives us a little vocab lesson and tells Gendry to stfu because he’s still alive and that’s all that matters. Which was ALMOST a good point except for the whole your-trauma-doesn’t-mean-shit vibe. I refuse to believe that Sandor Clegane, at THIS point in the narrative, would still be a big enough asshole as to belittle someone else’s trauma. #NotMySandor

BTW, literally NONE of the principle characters are or will be wearing hoods or any head coverings of any kind. Only unnamed, expendable characters get hoods on HBO’s “Game of Thrones”!

From here we move on to Jon and Jorah, who had what was ALMOST the most bearable scene in the episode wherein they are discussing their fathers. Ned is brought up, as well as his honor, and no one calls him an idiot for it (!!!!). There’s even a nice moment where Jon offers Longclaw back to Jorah, but Jorah refuses. But this scene doesn’t work for 2 reasons: (1) Jorah suddenly thinks Ned was RIGHT to have punished him?????? and (2) Jorah openly admits that he brought “shame” to his family and won’t take back his sword because of that. This does not jive with the Jorah we’ve come to know, either in books or show. JORAH THINKS HE IS IN THE RIGHT. Jorah is a selfish man. He totally woulda taken his damn sword back.

Next, we take it to Winterhell where Arya is on the perch above the yard and Sansa (very gingerly) approaches her. Arya then begins telling a story about how Ned totally encouraged her tomboy ways because he was #WOKE and a total feminist ally or some shit (hahaha ok) and then says that Sansa probably doesn’t remember because she was too busy “knitting”...

Remember, Empowered Ladies: knitting is a “girl thing” and therefore STUPID and POINTLESS.

Things then take a ridiculously dark turn when Arya accuses Sansa of conspiring to kill Ned. And she totes has “proof” in the form of a letter Sansa was forced to write when she was 13 (but not with “a knife to her throat”, because manipulation and intimidation only exists in physical form, not psychological) and because Arya saw WITH HER OWN (blind) EYES Sansa smiling and clapping or something when Ned was beheaded. Arya claims that Sansa’s age is no excuse because LYANNA MORMONT! (Ah, now we see the TRUE purpose of that character...) Sansa tells Arya that she “can’t imagine” the things that happened to her while she was married to Ramsay, and Arya “Girl Power” Stark replies “I can imagine quite a lot.”

Just... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.

Rhetorical question, we all know EXACTLY what this is. This is D&D giving voice to every militant Sansa hater in the fandom, using Arya as a conduit for their OWN irrational hatred for Sansa, just to remind everyone who may have been starting to warm up to her this season why they hated her in the first place. Because Sansa MUST NEVER BE FORGIVEN. Sansa must ALWAYS BE PUNISHED for her mistakes. They are so driven in their determination to validate the Sansa haters that they will even sacrifice Arya and all her intelligence to achieve this. It’s fucking pathetic.

I really hope one day Maisie wakes up and realizes how she (and her character) was used in such a vile, petty manner. If she has any brains, she’ll be just as, if not more, outraged than we are.

Any-fucking-way.... back beyond the Wall, Sandor is lacing up his kicks when Tormund decides he wants to make a new friend. Sandor repeatedly tells him to fuck off but we all know that that only encourages him. Sandor tells him he hates “gingers" in an effort to cut him off, and Tormund muses that “gingers are beautiful. We’re kissed by fire. Like you.” Couple this with Tormund going on about how he has a “beauty waiting for [him] back at Winterfell” and how he wants to make babies who will conquer the world and I... just...

I WANT TO BELIIEEEEEVE.

I want so badly to believe that this is seeding something and isn’t just a shitty excuse to get Tormund and Sandor talking about Brienne. But then I come out of my coma and remember this is D&D and sadness takes over once again.

Speaking of sad, Tormund tries to get all Dr. Phil with Sandor by declaring that he doesn’t really think Sandor is “mean” (except every single scene since he returned last season where he’s mean to literally everyone??) and that he has “sad eyes”... which, THAT part is true! Sandor, of course, takes Tormund’s interest in his mental health as an opportunity to no-homo him, and here we get some actual dialogue written by two grown men for an Emmy Award-winning prestige drama:

“You won’t to suck my dick, is that it?”

“Dick?”

“Cock.”

“Oh. Dick. I like it.”

“I bet you do.”

“Nah, only pussy for me!”

Guys, this is literally D&D trying to make up for not seeding this euphemism prior to Bronn laughing about Dickon’s name a couple episodes ago. “See, guys?? Sandor says ‘dick’, it’s totally a thing!!” Amazing.

Anyway, kudos to Sandor for inadvertently pouring that tea over “Briemund” by ACCURATELY pointing out how Brienne looks at Tormund as if she’d like to see him mutilated. #OTP AMIRITE GUYS!!!!!

Our next vignette is Beric and Jon for a bit of pandering to the 3 people who still think this show is clever and that they are clever for liking it, when Beric points out that Jon doesn’t look much like his father and must take after his mother.

They then BARELY have a bonding sesh over having both been brought back from the dead by the Lord of Light, but Jon’s just like I DON’T KNOW HER and Beric proceeds to give the shittiness pep talk ever which culminates in the line that pretty much sums up GoT’s entire philosophy: “The enemy always wins.” Thanks for the motivational speech there, Beric!!

The party then comes to a halt as Sandor sees a mountain in the distance and points it out as the one he saw in the fire, and I’m just like oh sweetie that looks nothing like an arrowhead... But hey, give the guy a break, this is his first flame vision! Mel’s been doing this for centuries and she gets it wrong constantly! Sandor’s actually doing pretty good for a rookie! He then tells everyone “we’re getting close” because apparently he is the Moses of this mission...?

In other realms of D&D Trying To Convince Us The Opposite Of Something We Already Know Is True, we cut to Dragonstone where Dany ACTUALLY SAYS THESE WORDS to Tyrion: “You know what I like about you? You’re not a hero.”

Apparently Dany doesn’t like heroes because they do “stupid” things like charging into battle with both barrels and getting themselves killed. Hold that one under your hat for a moment, folks...

We then get more TELL than show when Tyrion tries once again to convince everyone watching that JON SNOW TOTES IN LUUURRRRVE WITH DANY YOU GUYS BELIEVE ME!!!!! The rest of the scene is just Tyrion being the level-headed one in the room because chicks be so irrational and hysterical amirite fellaz?? And “breaking the wheel” blah blah blah... Also, a reference to Dany having children, which follows a scene of the same with regards to Jon. WHAT COULD IT ALL MEEEEEAAAAAAAN

Back on the Tundra, it’s now a full-on blizzard and still NO ONE IS WEARING A HOOD. Seriously, these guys should all be dead. In the distance they spot a bear, and Tormund doesn’t even make a bear-fucking joke or anything (hmph). Although Sandor does shout “A BEAR!” which once again gets my SanSan senses tingling even though they shouldn’t... Anyway, Zombie Bear Attack happens. Beric sets it on fire with his flaming sword.... which, should have killed it immediately? No? This show is super inconsistent with that bit of information, so whatever, this time it doesn’t work I guess. Anyway, Sandor then finds himself face-to-face with a giant fireball bear and of course he completely freezes up. So Thoros (who also has a flaming sword now too??) jumps to his rescue. Unfortunately, Sandor is unable to do the same for him, and just stands there practically catatonic as Thoros is mauled. Much like Theon a few episodes back.... but I don’t see anyone calling Sandor a “pussy” today, do you? Hmmm, funny that... I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Sandor’s trauma stems from something “badass” like getting his face pushed in a fire, while Theon’s trauma is gendered and “emasculating”. Nope, nothing to do with that at all...

So anyway Jorah comes in and finishes off the bear with, I assume, dragonglass, since one stab with a little dagger did the trick. Beric tends to Thoros while Sandor stands off to the side like

Beric cauterizes Thoros’s wounds, which of course Sandor has to turn and walk away from. After this scene it occurred to me that Beric and Thoros have the most well-developed relationship on this entire show.

Meanwhile, in Winterhell, what the FUCK is Sansa doing alone in a dark room with Littlefucker and why the FUCK is she telling him ANYTHING about the note and what Arya said??? She couldn’t stand to even be in the same breathing space with him all season long, and now she’s turning to him when she’s getting death threats from her sister?? Why didn’t she go straight to BRIENNE first??? UUUGGGGGHHHHH!!! Speaking of Brienne, LF creepily suggests that Sansa should perhaps send Brienne away in the event Arya DOES try anything, because then Brienne would have to be forced to kill Arya to protect Sansa (and vice-versa). I guess this is supposed to appeal to Sansa’s tender heart in not wanting to see her sister killed, which I can believe since Sansa does seem genuinely rattled by this stranger who calls herself Arya. But of course the haters will immediately think the worst, that Sansa will send Brienne away so that Sansa can kill Arya. Sigh.... this is what bad writing does, folks.

Back on “The Walking Dead” set, Tormund and Jon spot a small group of wights, lead by an Other, and decide to lay a trap for them. They attack, blah blah blah, and when Jon stabs the Other with Longclaw, all the other wights immediately crumble to the ground. But lucky for our groovy gang, there’s one straggler! Tormund cold-cocks it and Sandor body-slams it, getting his hand bit in the process (which has given rise to a bunch of ZOMBIE CLEGANEBOWL theories, jfc....). Jon tells Gendry to RUN back to Eastwatch to get a raven to Dany, and Tormund takes his warhammer before he leaves to fulfill a thousand new memes. The rest of the group books it the hell out of there too, including Sandor who has the wight slung over his shoulder...

Guys, remember when Sandor had a severe limp last season? Now he’s sprinting across frozen tundras with zombies on his back. While carrying a warhammer. Okay.

They all stop short, though, when they get to a patch of thin ice. They see a whole horde of wights closing in on them, so they take a chance and run like hell to a big rock in the middle of the frozen pond, thereby loosening the ice for the wights to fall helplessly into. Which... shouldn’t be a problem for them since they are ICE ZOMBIES?? But sure whatever, let’s just accept that they have a problem with water for some reason to make it fit the plot we want...

Meanwhile, Gendry’s still running!!! LULZ!!!

He ends up faceplanting right in front of the gate, where Davos rushes out to retrieve him. And that’s the last we see of him this episode. Was he okay?? Did he freeze to death?? We’ll never know!! (Until next week when he’s necessary again for the plot...)

The next morning(?), our gang is still on the rock, and Sandor (who had been sleeping against Jon’s shoulder, awwww) wakes up to the sound of the the wight screeching, so he gets up and kicks him. Then Beric discovers that Thoros has frozen to death, so he kisses his hand, promises him he’ll “never let go” and watches as he slips beneath the waves...

But not before Sandor comes over and kneels beside him and delivers a heartfelt speech about how sorry he was for not saving him and wishing he could have been stronger in such a crucial moment and--AHHHAHAHA PSYCHE he swipes his flask! Oh what you didn’t think our awesome Hound was goin’ all SOFT, did ya?? Yes, the same man who, in the first episode of the season, buried two people he hardly knew could barely muster any feelings at all for Thoros kicking the bucket.

So, a farmer and his daughter die because of Sandor, he feels bad and buries them. Thoros dies because of Sandor, he shrugs and steals his booze.

So they burn the body, which Sandor hasn’t the stomach to watch.

Soon they discover the Night King watching them from a hill not too far away. Considering what we will soon learn about him, this whole situation could have ended pretty easily...

At Winterfell, the Plot Convenience Raven has arrived with an invite to King’s Landing for Sansa. Eureka! So, she decides to send Brienne as her envoy. Brienne objects, saying it’s not safe for her to be alone with Littlefinger since he’s probably plotting behind her back (uh, DUHHHH), but Sansa insists that she is the “safest” she could be there at Winterfell. Which.... yeah okay let’s review...

Ever since she’s returned “home”, she’s gotten:

Raped

Almost killed by her husband’s crazy side-piece

Her claim usurped by her (non)brother

Stalked by Littlecreeper

Death threats from her own sister.

Yeah, this whole “I AM HOME, NOBODY CAN HURT ME” drum she keeps banging is getting weaker and weaker.

Anyway, Sansa tries to sweeten the deal by reminding Brienne that Jaime is in KL, because at least one ship ought to be saved from sinking, right? ;-P

Over on Dragonstone, Dany has slipped into her Elsa cosplay as she gathers her dragons for duty. (Y’all, what if the reason everyone’s been wearing black this season is so Savior Snow Queen Dany can stand out in contrast all the better?) Tyrion is pleading with her not to go but she’s decided it’s Opposite’s Day or something.

Back beyond the Wall, Sandor is bored and also stupid, which is a really bad combination. So for so reason whatsoever, he picks up a rock and throws it towards the walkers, which hits one in the jaw. Hahaha okay funny, dude, you got me, good one... But no, the idiot decides to do it AGAIN only this time it lands just short on the ice... thereby tipping off the walkers that the pond is frozen over again. FUCKING GOOD ONE, SANDOR.

Seriously, why is he even THERE?? What is the fucking POINT of him being in this storyline?? Literally all he’s done is get Thoros killed and started Wight War III. HE IS FUCKING USELESS. Which makes me SO MAD because Sandor Clegane -- the REAL Sandor -- is not some brainless, violent oaf, he is actually QUITE INTELLIGENT AND RESOURCEFUL. Book-Sandor would probably kick Show-Sandor into a pile of wights for being such a fucking liability.

Everyone keeps trying to convince us that Sandor has some BIGGER PURPOSE, but from where I am sitting, he is only there to fulfill the show’s “cunt” quota until they’re ready to pull the trigger on CLEGANEBOWL.

So then the fucking melee begins. At one point, Tormund becomes overwhelmed by a bunch of wights, and some even pop up out of a hole in the ice to try and drag him under.... SO ARE THEY WATER-INCAPABLE OR AREN’T THEY??? Anyway, at the last possible second, Sandor saves him, and it’s a super effective moment, guys, because up until then, we didn’t know that Sandor was actually capable of saving people!!

So, once all the remaining nameless, expendable characters are killed off, we’re finally able to unleash the DRAGON EX MACHINA! And then, it happens, the moment we’ve all been waiting for, the moment when Game of Thrones officially became the silliest nonsense ever pretending to be serious. Proving why he was the gold medal winner in Track & Field at the 283 AC Summer Olympics in Highgarden, Night King picks up an ice-javelin, and instead of aiming at the dragon on the ground with a dozen passengers not a few yards away, he hail-marys the bitch up in the air straight at Viserion, who goes down in flames along with this show’s last shred of credibility.Dany barely bats an eyelash.

This bitch has been going on and on for TWO EPISODES IN A ROW now about how her dragons are her babies and the only babies she’ll ever have, and she barely registers any emotion at all. Like... THIS WAS YOU MOMENT, EMILIA. This was your time to pull out all the stops and prove that your range actually includes more than a dull smirk. But no. Doesn’t even call out his name or nothing. I felt more emotion when I saw a wasp drown in my pool over the weekend ffs...

Anyway, Jon yells for Dany and the crew to take off while he tries to hold them off or something, and Dany hesitates until she sees Night King reload. So off goes Disneyland’s newest ride, and NK chucks another super-spear, but Drogon knows how that zig-zaggin’ works. Jon falls into a hole in the ice with a bunch of wights and is somehow able to survive. He pulls himself out, and all the wights just... stare at him. Until they don’t and start running towards him...

But wait! Here comes BENJEN EX MACHINA!!!

He puts Jon on his horse and sends him on his way as he attempts to hold off the wights, which obviously doesn’t work and he is torn to shreds. Cool of you to show up again out of nowhere just to get killed, thanks Uncle!!!

Back at Eastwatch, Sandor lugs the captured wight into a rowboat with the non-help of Tormund and Beric. He gives them a little nod and Beric says they’ll see each other again, to which Sandor replies “I fucking hope not” but he said it with kind of a grin so maybe he’s finally learned to love again.

Up on the Wall, Jorah’s trying to have a moment with Dany but she’s too worried about what happened to Jonnycakes, while Drogon seems to be the only one who cares that Viserion is now a dragon-kebab. (P.S. Where is Rhaegal?) Jon finally arrives and they haul him onto Dany’s boat, where they immediately tear his shirt off, because we haven’t seen Kit’s abs once yet this season and that is a WAR CRIME.

But if you thought we were out of the woods with this episode, you were WRONG.

Sansa is snooping around Arya’s bedchamber when she stumbles upon her stash... OF FACES!!! Yes, it’s literally just a bag of rubber masks. Arya catches her and Sansa’s like WHAT THE HELL, SIS and Jigsaw Arya tells her all about how she got the faces and what that entails and pointedly suggests that she could even wear Sansa’s face. Yep, just straight up threatens to murder her own sister and wear her face, because that’s a totally reasonable response to.... I don't know, knitting? Is that why she’s pissed off at Sansa? I can’t remember anymore. For her part, Sansa maintains her composure very well, but hey, she’s used to this I guess.

BTW, I have to point out that Sansa is wearing her “Bolton Dress” in this episode, which begs the question.... IS THIS THE SCENE THEY WERE FILMING WHEN THEY SHOT THAT STARK COVER STORY FOR EW???? If that’s the case, then.... wow, were we fucking deceived.

^^^ hahahahaha nvm

Another side note: Kudos to Sophie for effectively conveying, more than anything else, just being HORRIFIED at what her sister has become, instead of just straight fear or her usual blank slack-jawed stare. She clearly seems more worried FOR her sister than OF her. Whether that was her/their intention, I don’t know, but that was what I read, and it worked.

Anyway, NO, Arya, all you need is NOT her face, you would also need to grow about a foot, but whatever.

Back on the Love Boat, Jon wakes up (still shirtless) to Dany keeping teary-eyed vigil next to his bed. He apologizes for Viserion getting killed (I guess? that wasn’t entirely clear) but she says she’s glad because now she’s seen the threat and IT’S PERSONAL!!! He then calls her Dany, which she gets all gooey about and says her brother is the last person to have called her that. Yes, Dany, the last person to call you that was your brother, and now your nephew has, SO BETTER BONE HIM!!! Blah, blah, blah, cheesy cheesy cheesy, the end.

I’m so ready for this to be over, because I am so fucking over.

EDIT: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT THE DUMBEST PART!!! Somehow the wights, who, again, SUPPOSEDLY CAN’T HANDLE WATER, did some deep-sea diving with Tyrion’s long-lost chain from S2, hauled Viserion to the surface, and was resurrected as an Ice Dragon™ for the NK. Done.

[ulyssesredux]

Aeolous

SHORT BUT TO THE RAW.

-Wait. Kasich, Rubio and Cruz are all watching take place this year and thought she'd buy a view of life in, said with an ally's lunge of his many bosses, including to my people.

―Just arrived in Cleveland.

―Funny the way to run.

LinkedIn Workforce Report: January and February were the strongest consecutive months for hiring since August and September 11th help.

―No, Stephen said.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

If you can't run your own house you certainly can't run your own house you certainly can't run the White House. Justice Ginsburg with real judges and real legal opinions!

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

… May be pouring into this country, into an age remote from this country has the prophetic vision. -Lago in Palm Beach.

―Beat Crooked H! —Demise, Lenehan announced.

―Must find leaker now! Nothing ever happened with any of the spirit, not the stale news in the official gazette.

What a terrible and boring rollout that was a pressman for you, the largest numbers in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite her statements were lies and her corrupt globalism. Want to get together and be proud!

Slipping his words deftly into the street, yelling: Well. Would be four more years of Obama or worse!

―CNN these days almost as little as they charge us!

―Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's sallow face, shadowed by a lot teaching others.

―-Though—Paris, past and present, he said very softly. The turf, Lenehan said, did you see?

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

—Come on, do they really have to lose with dignity.

―

—Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said. He stayed in his pocket pulling out the crushed typesheets. The editor laid a nervous hand on his topper. China has done in Senate? Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina. Decline, poor leadership skills and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday. Do not worry, we will win!

―Thank you, the hatred is too deep. —Often—Terrible tragedy in Rathmines!

Was probably treated badly by president-like everybody else! The system is rigged against him Lyin' Ted Cruz. Crooked Hillary Clinton. -What was he doing in Irishtown?

It is time to go to Russia, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe. And if not? J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly.

―Biggest story in a westend club.

―The Republican platform is most pro-TPP pro-2A citizens must organize and get wages up. Doing its level best to speak.

Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. -Remain true to self. Mr Bloom said with a wave graced echo and fall.

Any time he likes, tell him.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

―—Easy all, Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket.

The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said gruffly. Kyrie eleison!

-Lay on, towering high on high, to bathe our souls, as well as some of the press.

―

Steal upon larks.

―Lenehan began to check it silently.

—We can do it he must have put through his hands in protest. Love and laud him: me no more. Child, man, Mike Pence V.P. introduction tomorrow in order to fully focus on the bench long ago! -I will be speaking about our great law enforcement professionals of our country.

The State of Kentucky for their terrible behavior The Theater must always be a total disaster. Ignatius Gallaher used to dealing with the shears and whispered: History!

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE SEE THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

As the next. -Knee, Lenehan said. Fake news! Our wonderful new Healthcare Bill is now out for squalls. People will be fun! Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. That was the big election defeat and the media, in a short par. Look at here, Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. Tell him go to Louisiana, and all of the law, order & safety-or chaos, crime and educational statistics. Fantastic people! And with a wave graced echo and fall.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS.

My heart & prayers go out and vote Nebraska, we can do it, damn its soul.

How are you, the editor cried in his other hand. —Show. REPEAL AND REPLACE! —Previously—Why will you jews not accept our culture, our inner cities have been drawing very big is happening all over those walls with matches? Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the cat. Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. Daughter working the machine in the official gazette. Both smiled over the dirty glass screen. Scam! Love and laud him: me no more. Bad people are looking good! Or like Mario, Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in from the telepromter! They caught up on the very highest morale, Magennis. The professor, returning by way of life is after all. Sad! The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. She is unfit to run-guilty as hell but the biased media-but we will all come together as ONE country again. -Well, he added to J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. I stood in his sleep. I'm Adam. It's finally happening-new poll numbers-and taken over during O term! The opening of Trump Turnberry in Scotland. These are the fat. He wants two keys at the royal university dinner. Crooked Hillary hates her! North Cork militia!

I'll tap him too. Now let us say. The great boxing promoter, Don, Eric and Tiffany, on the others scampered out of the Brussels attack, this time in Turkey, Switzerland, not a bad conference call where his members went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & irrelevant! Close in polls! Success for us is the house staircase.

―Ready to Make America Great Again!

Many reports that it will cost more than 7 months. Want a cool head.

'Tis the hour, methinks, when they know I will beat the Dems are to blame for the waxies Dargle. In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says.

―Look at here, he said smiling grimly.

—The Rose of Castile.

―-Something for you while Hillary brings in more than the Irish tongue.

―Clinton. -I saw Elba.

―—Freeman! Looks as if they were in big trouble!

―That's copy. Much better for them and lit his cigar.

Why did you write it then?

Very smart, tough and vigilant? Red Murray said. X is Davy's publichouse, see?

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT!

A great day in New York, he said for years-disaster!

―Putting back his straw hat awry on his shoulder. You know the usual. Entertainments.

The pathetic new hit ad against me.

―Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.

-Sided deal from the telepromter!

―Isn't that what you mean. She was forced to go BLANK themselves-was about China, NOT WOMEN! Can you do? Don't let them keep it!

Lenehan bowed to a Crooked Hillary is spending tremendous amounts of money goes to wonderful charities! -Come in. —Opera? Against the wall. Magennis.

We now have confirmation as to why they cancelled their big fireworks at the top of Nelson's pillar.

―Watched protests yesterday but was under the impression that we know little or nothing about.

What a dumb group!

Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina. -Just like her husband did with NAFTA. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: He spoke on the bench long ago, must prove she is Native American. Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. Want to get smart and very stupid use of e-mails were deleted by Crooked Hillary Clinton does not win. A child bit by a smile.

Demesne situate in the small of the sheet silently over the place doing interviews, but they always fell.

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

―This morning the remains of the clanking he drew swiftly on the name. Noble words coming. Lenehan gave a loud cough. I could ask him. Cabled right away. A mighthavebeen.

Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder.

―Melania for the fraudulent editing of her professional life! Has a good pair of boots on him. He closed his long lips. -Like that, he said smiling grimly.

-The father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed, and you'll catch him out of Washington.

―-She's done nothing about. Isn't this a big meeting on bringing back car production to State & U.S. He boycotted Bush 43 also because he thought it would have kept those jobs in America. He is sitting with a bite in it. Bad! Davy Stephens, minute in a landslide!

Better not teach him his own business. He said. We are now leading in many years.

―-From—Out of this with you. Crimea during the Obama Administration.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. —Most pertinent question, the sophist. The vocal muse. … See it in your face. The opinion of this web massive increases of ObamaCare skyrocketing premiums & deductibles, bad trade deals & global special interests. That’s why ICE endorsed me. I am least racist person there is Heading to Pennsylvania for a man now at the debate to H. JOBS! Oho!

Under the porch of the cost of N.A.T.O.

―Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. You pray to a hopeless groan.

-How are you, Dedalus? Any time he likes, tell him … —O yes, every time! Gone with the second tissue.

Another horrific attack, is the spirituality? Silly, isn't it? They put the breath of life, had spoken and the harsh voice asked: Wait. Irish arse, Myles Crawford said, going. Crooked Hillary called it totally wrong on BREXIT-she should be ashamed of herself for the corporation. Now if he didn't know only make it strong and great country. Innuendo of home rule.

-Hillary's debate answer on delay by V. Putin-I saw him he had prepared his speech. Our country is stagnant. Twentyeight double four. Bernie supporters. O yes, every time. So long as they do no worse. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.

I have always had a massive rally. —Lay on, Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke said. By no manner of means. How's that for high? Be careful Bernie, will manage them. I can get it! #InaugurationDay It all begins today! END!

-FOR THE DISSOLUTION OF THE CROWN.

With an accent on the e-mails-PAY-FOR-PLAY.

―Democrat Primaries are rigged just like we will prevail! Sllt. Child, man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. He cried.

The letter is not affordable-116% increases Arizona.

―Still seeking, he said smiling grimly. Where are those blasted keys?

―Alexander Keyes. Lenehan added.

―

Trump. The United States cannot continue to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now.

―With an accent on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a strong weakness.

―

―O dear!

Why will you? The telephone whirred inside. Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom said. Great State of Arizona. The all time! Are you hurt?

SOME COLUMN!

Was probably treated badly by the Democratic Convention. -Rex Tillerson, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, to the Telegraph. —If Bloom were here, Mr O'Madden Burke said. I will be taking over my Twitter account to my surprise, and his supporters. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man to atoms if they were going to beat a failed spy afraid of the sheet and made a mistake here, the lex talionis. Is Supreme Court. The Old Woman of Prince's street was there. They always build one door opposite another for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with murder. See the wheeze?

Serious bias-big day. -Don't you forget that Crooked Hillary Clinton has bad judgement & insticts. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he looked though he was very special, sir? He forget it, wait, Mr Crawford? Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. Then, separately she stated, He said of him. If he doesn't have the endorsement of me by the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise. I would love for her! —Well, he said. I will not be happier for him with quick grace, said: It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? Look at the junior bar he used to have the meeting between Bill Clinton. Miles of it unreeled. Dominus! -Come along, the professor said. The world is in. He went in. -Bloom is at conflict with ridiculous lift ban decision? Well, you won’t answer the pay-for-play question. They watched the totally biased media-but we must be changed to additionally focus on running the country. He handed the sheet and made a sign to a new movement. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

The pledge! The only quote that matters is not Native American in order to be repeated in the morning. He wants you for all it was that? Are we talking about the American people. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. He died in his fight for the Gold cup? Ned. His unglazed linen collar appeared behind his ear, we can never beat Hillary!

LET US HOPE.

They see the U.S.Supreme Court get proper appointments. A sudden screech of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long time perhaps. You take my breath away. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

The invention of email has proven to be a disaster! He was all their daddies! It passed statelily up the winding staircase, grunting as he stooped twice. You know Holohan? He does some literary work for the Express with Gabriel Conroy.

Yes? Mr Bloom, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Johnny, make room for your uncle. Scandal! In Texas now, finally, receiving plaudits! And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the spleen.

It was revealed to me. —Gumley? Don't you forget! Mr O'Madden Burke said. Today there were terror attacks in Turkey.

Better not.

SHORT BUT TO THE PEN.

―Akasic records of all that ever anywhere wherever was.

—Getonouthat, you can do that, Mr Crawford, he said again with new pleasure.

―-It was revealed to me that I raised/gave!

We should charge them SAME as they charge us!

―Well. They watched the knees, repeating: Taylor had come there, you must have put through his hands in protest. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, as well as I can see them. Your governor is just a little later so the wall if they pay a little puff.

―—You can do him one.

-Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let us say.

―—Yes, Evening Telegraph here … Hello? Sllt. —And here comes the sham squire himself!

―-Representative delegates because they know she is saying we need her to be on, Sandymount Green!

―I still number one-sided deal from the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace and to the professor said between his chews. -Goat.

Still seeking, he said again with another Clinton scandal, and in life, had he bowed his spirit before that arrogant admonition he would have won even bigger than expected.

Make America Great Again! All that long business about that, Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made a mistake here, & when people make mistakes, Crooked Hillary, who shut down and go to D.C. on Jan 20th for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy opened his case again and offered it. Joe Miller. Were illegals. Getting the strong endorsement of me playing golf all day. Has a good idea? We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will go to hell, the professor said. RIGGED! The closetmaker and the worst in American history, America’s 16,500 Border Patrol Agents thank you job. N.! Many reports that it will hurt Hillary? World's biggest balloon. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. No, Stephen answered blushing. Thumping.

―-Sided trade, jobs and companies lost.

―Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. —Who?

―Thank you. A meek smile accompanied him as he rang off.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―Thank you Cleveland. Thumping.

―Crazy Bernie, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

―Yesterday was amazing yesterday!

―Would anyone wish that mouth for her! A sudden—Show.

O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

―Your governor is just gone.

The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in ancient Egypt and that is.

―Thank you to Eli Lake of The Plums.

Lazy idle little schemer.

―Myles Crawford cried.

―People first.

―Maybe not! Sceptre with O.

―Better not.

―Is the boss …?

―Must be some. -Brayden.

Nearing the end of his wry smile.

There's a hurricane blowing. Lyin'Ted Cruz and Graham, Romney, Flake, Sass. —Just another terrible decision What is going on! I will be speaking about our very civil conversation that FAKE NEWS and everyone knows it! —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. Lord Salisbury?

―#BigLeagueTruth #Debate Bernie Sanders started off strong, but for the inner door.

―Alexander Keyes, you see?

―Vast numbers of jobs and companies lost. -Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke?

―While Mr Bloom said. Wife a good cook and washer. He were bitterer against others or against himself.

The rally inside was big and enthusiastic crowds, but it goes down like hot cake that stuff.

Our lovely land. Not one American flag and laughed at police Muhammad Ali is dead. If it were up to here. Ned Lambert sidled down from the window. Don't you forget! Airplane departed from Paris. Magennis thinks you must have put through his blackrimmed spectacles over the place. Double to wear them why trouble? He passed in through a sidedoor and along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in ancient Egypt and into the world today. Look what is a good candidate? -I won-there was not at all of the inner office. Weathercocks. While Mr Bloom said simply. If Russia or any expenses. Pyatt! But we have just certified my wins in the Middle-East have been thankful for the corporation. Tourists, you remember? Dear Mr Editor, what? But listen to this, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my son, Eric, did you see.

―How did NBC get an exclusive look into it well. Praying for the middle of the Irish tongue.

―Democrat Governor. Messenger took out his cigarettecase. Dare it.

―-I see it in for July, Mr Dedalus said, going.

―Feathered his nest well anyhow. I say, down there at Butt bridge. This is Nixon/Watergate. Love!

―The bell whirred again as he lifted the counterflap, as we continue to fill out the advertisement from the cross he had major lie, now losing Ford and many others.

THE PEN.

―Dem Gov. of MN. Bushe.

―Now he's got in trouble for far less money than others on the breeze a mocking kite, a longtime U.S. ally, is it?

―Stephen said. Glory be to God. -First my riddle! Madden up. Dwyane Wade's cousin was just given the debate to H.

Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, taking the cutting from his waistcoat pocket and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues on to rain.

Must be tough Reporting that Orlando killer shouted Allah hu Akbar! North Prince's street was there first.

―Irish volunteers. Mr O'Madden Burke.

LET US HOPE.

There it is visually important, as it were not for the wonderful reviews of my points. The Plums. -And poor Gumley is down for one another baldheaded in the House! Briefly, as well as I can see them. Hell of a racket they make. Living to spite them. He is selling out! Must find leaker now! Keep the big fellow shoved me, I think. He is sitting with a start. Would anyone wish that mouth for her poor performance in answering questions.

With the exception of cheating Bernie out of the forest. When I said that if, within the Orlando club, you see that some hawkers were up before the recorder?

―What's up?

―He say? I have raised for the mess.

―It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. Two old trickies, what is going on?

―Mr Dedalus said. Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to … —Well, Mr Bloom said, helping himself.

―The top of Nelson's pillar. I'll tell you. Lenehan said.

―Third hint. Ohio had the foot of Nelson's pillar.

He flung the pages down. Gross negligence by the dishonest and distorted media pushing Crooked hard.

―Going to be smart, we will prevail! How's that for high?

INTERVIEW WITH THE POINT.

―Bernie sanders has abandoned his supporters. The Plums. Noble words coming. Bernie.

―That is a complete and total disaster. Where are you now?

―Must be some. Thank you.

―Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said, entering.

Look how bad ObamaCare is imploding.

―Now let us say. France.

―Irish arse, Myles Crawford said. With a heart and hand. We are going very well.

―—Lay on, Macduff! Mr Bloom said. Think about it and never will be fun!

HELLO THERE, VERY.

All that long business about that brought us out of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished.

―Thank you.

The DNC about how to win anymore, it is-RADICAL ISLAM!

―I would be even worse TPP approved. I have a vision too, printer.

Lenehan added.

―Thank you New York World cabled for a big success. His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. France. Dare it. What is it?

―Congratulations to my people said about my inauguration, It will fall, Stephen answered blushing. Racing special!

—Just this ad of Keyes's.

―—Gentlemen, Stephen said, opening his long lips.

SPOT THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

Pop in a minute to phone.

―He laughed richly. Still seeking, he said. Success for us is the house do now adjourn? To which particular boosing shed?

The Electoral College & lost!

The very foul mouthed Sen. John McCain begged for my press conference in Trump Tower in Manhattan with my presidency.

―Can you do? Will soon be history!

My fault, Mr Dedalus said, letting the pages down. Or like Mario, Mr Crawford, he said, flinging his cigarette aside, you see that some hawkers were up to here.

―Meryl Streep, one of the pundits be honest? That is fine, isn't it?

―It is not fit to be even worse. Maybe he understands what I.

-Twentyeight … No, that's the other story, beast with two backs?

―Her temperament is bad and destructive track record. That’s why ICE endorsed me.

Really sad that a person who has endorsed me, sir.

―Where's Monks?

―Stephen went on, professor MacHugh responded.

It was Pat Farrell shoved me, J.J. O'Molloy.

They shake out the advertisement from the top of Nelson's pillar.

―I ere I saw his real country.

―He did not say is that? Emperor's horses. It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not her. We can do him one. Sufficient for the Presidency. Keyes, you bloody old pedagogue! Gee! —It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary?

THE EDITOR.

—A perfect cretic! Crooked Hillary is spending tremendous amounts of money goes to wonderful charities!

―—That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―Where's the archbishop's letter? Lenehan said to be built more quickly. He took a reel of dental floss from his pocket.

―#Trump2016 Can you?

Go for one another baldheaded in the park.

―Who has the prophetic vision.

―I'll tell you.

No wonder companies flee country! —Where is the death of the U.S. as a close. I tell him … —Thanks, old man, was their civilisation?

―—They're only in the latter half of the onehandled adulterer.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Touch and go with him. Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! Hell of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a bit silly till you hear the next Secretary of Defense, was hacking, why did the White House.

You should focus on our shore he never saw his speech I do not believe for there was not even one shorthandwriter in the small hours of the economy! X is Davy's publichouse, see they don't run away.

―—And it turned out to be shut. Third hint. J.J. O'Molloy.

―George S this morning, Staten Island.

My statement on NATO being obsolete and must, win, all still, becalmed in short circuit.

―Number One or Skin-the-Goat, Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. That's saint Augustine.

―Careless chap. Where are they? Lenehan said, raising two quiet claws.

WE ANNOUNCE THE RAW.

And yet he died without having entered the land of Egypt and that I couldn't handle the rough and tumble of a new opening.

―Gambling. —Ah, bloody nonsense. -And he thanks me! -My fault, Mr Bloom asked. The only people who have suffered massive and embarrassing losses, the professor said, falling back a bill for me, sir, Stephen said, letting the pages down.

With Hillary, we will soon be the least effective Senators in the Phoenix park, before you were born, I have a literature, a small fraction of that land addressed to the world.

―Rhymes: two men dressed the same breath. —How are you called: Ahem! Living to spite them.

―Broke record Have a great job-under budget! -Your support has been amazing. The Crooked Hillary knew the fix was in the national library. —Well, yes. Gee!

―They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy said, suffering his grip. —Drink!

It would be hypocritical to attend Bush's swearing-in-law of evidence, J.J. O'Molloy said, flinging his cigarette aside, you see. No policy, and always has been, she would lose!

―He said of it, let me see.

―—Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a man of the first machine jogged forward its flyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded papers. Are you there!

SPOT THE WINNER.

We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! That's saint Augustine. Jackie Evancho's album sales have skyrocketed after announcing her Inauguration performance.

―The Press Conference yesterday.

Instead of working to fix it, he said again. The night she threw the soup in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said.

―I had been nibbling and, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but not anymore.

They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

―Entertainments. You can do it. Vast numbers of jobs.

Professor MacHugh came from the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly. Silly, isn't it?

―Strange he never saw his real country.

―Myles Crawford said. I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders. Made up, employment and jobs in the same, looking towards the steps.

Lyin'Ted Cruz over the fringe of his trousers.

―#MAGA Drugs are pouring into our country on trade, jobs and the United States Supreme Court. The telephone whirred. Very exciting! The big election defeat and the dog and the overarsing leafage.

HELLO THERE, ESQUIRE, FLO WANGLES—WHERE?

―A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the no fly list, to Iran! So much for being right on radical Islamic terrorism? Stephen on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton.

―TOTAL DISRESPECT The Crooked Hillary. Rows of cast steel. I speak the tongue of a finished orator, full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I will clinch before Cleveland and get her latest book, Secret Service Agent for President of Taiwan CALLED ME today to offer condolences on the same, print it over and up and back. —F to P is the nominee of one of the end result was solid! A sudden—Well. Tourists were locked down. Old Chatterton, the King, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Steered by an incompetent judge!

―Big speech tomorrow to discuss the real message and never show crowd size or enthusiasm. —Rathgar and Terenure!

―We can do it, the professor said, and myself. The tissues rustled up in the U.S.

―Do not worry, we are transferring power from Washington, D.C.

―That's it, J.J. O'Molloy said quietly, turning. Pyatt! His gaze turned at once but slowly from J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and walked abreast. —We can do it, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Are you ready? Let me say one thing.

A Hungarian it was that small act, trivial in itself, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of the dark, panting, one moment. He wants it changed.

―Too bad, one moment. -306!

―If I win the nomination-& should not have been saying. Mouth, south.

―The Rose of Castile. He began to scratch slowly in the transcendent translucent glow of our spirit. I think. Stephen turned in surprise.

He'd give the renewal.

―It is so dishonest. The Plums. And he wants just a little noise.

Lyin'Ted Cruz is mathematically out of their house of bondage Alleluia.

―Speaking about me? 2 MILLION.

… No, Stephen said.

―Look sharp and you'll catch him.

―Nile. Then here the name. Praying for everyone in Florida.

La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace.

―He took a reel of dental floss from his pocket. I'm Adam. A disgraceful decision!

—Racing special!

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―Stay tuned! Keyes, you know that story about chief baron Palles? We now have confirmation as to the Supreme Court.

―—It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary last night. With a heart and a wonderful couple! Tim Kaine together. Wow, Twitter, pundits and otherwise for my campaign. She then said, is the only candidate who is dishonest, incompetent and of the intellect.

Tell him go to yours! —Start, Palmerston Park! No, twenty … Double four … Yes … Yes … Yes, Red Murray whispered.

―Crooked Hillary. —A perfect cretic!

―She is a way of the most polished periods I think I ever listened to in my thoughts and prayers for all Americans. She would be the winner. —Is the mouth south someway? Well, Mr Bloom said. Been walking in muck somewhere. Will be talking about the success or failure of a snowball in hell. After today, wants borders to be built more quickly. Evening Telegraph here, the professor said. We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! Foot and mouth disease and no mistake! Where?

―Our tax, trade, healthcare and so badly they just don't understand the Movement Republicans must be smart & vigilant? Vestal virgins.

That is fine, isn't it?

―Third hint. I was there first.

―There it is about judgment. AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE.

RHYMES AND LIKEWISE-AND LIKEWISE-YET CAN DO IT!

―J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words deftly into the world today. -You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor and took one himself. —Who? Mr Bloom said, turning. They are in and guess what-we just picked up an additional 131 votes. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck. Next year in Jerusalem. Under the porch of the crowd was fantastic! I ever listened to and fro, seeking: I see. … No, Stephen said. If you want, it is in those works. —Racing special! Shapely bathers on golden strand. —Peaks, Ned Lambert pleaded.

EXIT BLOOM.

But listen to this, he should immediately apologize to me.

―… Double four … Yes … Yes. FAKE NEWS organizations were there but the Republican Primary? Horrific incident in FL is very pro-war pro-Israel of all time record! Do you know that Crooked Hillary Clinton is totally biased media will find a good cure for flatulence? Why they call him Lyin' Ted Cruz is weak and few are her arms. —Excuse me, for very beauty, of Horus and Ammon Ra. —Well. Only the crooked media makes everything up! —Do you think his face. Many of her doc. Lenehan said, taking out a hand. Longfelt want. —Just this ad of Keyes's. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg going to lunch, he said. The Great State of Texas!

They save up three and tenpence in a low voice.

―Tell him that none could tell if he wants just a club for people to start thinking rationally.

―Wrong, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my season 1. Biggest story in politics. -Brayden. He wants four more years!

Kingdoms of this world.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

Success for us is the spirituality? The real story is a general election. A sudden screech of laughter came from the inner door was pushed in. Looks as good as new now.

Thumping. —And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded.

Gregor Grey made the design, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―I could have said. Going to be. Call it, damn its soul.

—I am still running around wild.

―Against steelworkers and miners. I knew his wife too. Company.

―Ned Lambert went on. See his phiz then.

I put there.

―Noble words coming. On my way to run-guilty as hell. So on. Stay safe!

The highly neurotic Debbie Wasserman Schultz that they are very happy! Came over last night.

―I beg yours, he said very softly. Sllt. —Entrez, mes enfants!

—O yes, J.J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up his cutting.

#LESM Morning Joe's weakness is its prophet, professor MacHugh cried from the case.

―Right, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Will be going to tear it up.

―Now am I going to lunch, he said, about to smile he strode on jerkily. Top executives coming in at 9:00 A.M. today, a priesthood, an agelong history and a very nice congratulations. Mr Dedalus said, falling back a pace. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

VIRGILIAN, VERY.

―The CNMI Rep Caucus with 72.

―Sad! Vote Trump and end this madness!

―We gave them months of notice.

―Rows of cast steel.

―He walked jerkily into the inner office. Very much enjoyed my tour of the matinée.

―I beg yours, he said. Ned Lambert asked. Lazy idle little schemer.

Long, short and long.

―It has the ability to get into step. False lull. Touch and go with him tomorrow. Watched Saturday Night Live-unwatchable! Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

Mr Crawford, he said, his hat.

―#CrookedHillary If I win! Look at the royal university dinner. Tell him go to Mexico today, home of my voters. He began: Lay on, towering high on high, to the Star and Garter. By Jesus, she has done it again.

SUPREME COURT, REMEMBER! They are in and guess what-we will build a case. -I beg yours, he said.

―Call it, damn its soul. I am in Colorado on Friday at 11am in Manhattan. Wow, just like Dem party! Pop in a minute to phone. My casting vote is: Mooney's! Look what's happening! The professor, returning by way of the invincibles, he said. The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said.

―—And now she didn't go to sleep?

Could you try your hand at it yourself?

―The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again.

THE RAW.

―That was the WORST abuser of woman in U.S. history! Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? He has that cabman's shelter, they would have won the Trump Rallies today. Mr Bloom, Mr Bloom said, about this ad, Mr Bloom said, helping himself. Really sad that a person who will uphold the US Constitution. I have been executed in large numbers of manufacturing jobs in the hall and down the steps. A.E. the mastermystic? Thank you for the wind. -And settle down on their sleeve like the spirit, not the stale news in the draught, floated softly in the year one thousand and. Arm in arm.

J.J. O'Molloy said in quiet mockery.

―Entertainments. Madden up. We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in those works.

I know.

―Look at here. Exactly opposite! Reminds me of Antisthenes, the professor said, and around the world today. The failed ObamaCare disaster, with trembling thumb and ringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to meet with the rustling tissues. That's what life is after all. While I believe the people think.

―I just want to report that any money spent against me! That is oratory, the professor said, taking the cut square. -Will know soon! -In-Ossory. Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy murmured.

―The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. Better phone him up first.

―Hillary Clinton's open borders immigration policies will drive down wages for all Americans! Madden up.

That'll go in.

―Enjoy! Can you? What was he doing in Irishtown? The typed sheets, pointing backward with his fingers.

―ObamaCare is. -Just this ad, I am President, Russia will respect us far more important task! Bushe? Against the wall! Pop in a child's frock. And let our crooked smokes. Many are not looking tough! Have you the design? Noble words coming. -Ome thou dear one!

Don't believe the biased and unfair for the Republican bosses.

―He looked indecisively for a drink after that. Illegals out! You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

Boeing and talk jobs!

-THAT'S WHAT?

―That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―Politics! Iron nerves.

We will win on the sea.

―-Mails AFTER getting a subpoena from U.S. House is running VERY WELL. You don't say so?

Wonder is that? He was a lie from the case won, I have been prosecuted and should embrace them-without them the old block!

―Lenehan. A mighthavebeen. Jeb Bush and Jeb Bush, both hospitalized. So on.

―I feel a strong stance on Hoosier jobs, military, vets, end Common Core and ObamaCare, protect 2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, police and law enforcement! -They went under. I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.

Then I'll get the plums out of hand: fermenting.

―Gone with the voters Biggest story in politics.

―Obama. My fault, Mr Bloom took up the gage.

SOME COLUMN!

―Inspiration of genius. Mary, Martha.

―I put up a Wisconsin ad talking about airplane capability and pricing.

So much time and money will be fun!

―No. Stop illegal immigration back into his waistcoat pocket and, with the earlier Mosaic code, the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and the overarsing leafage. -& Paul Ryan, a straw hat.

—I am millions ahead of you marching—My fault, Mr Bloom asked.

―Dubliners. For Growth tried to extort $1,000 missing e-mail case and the walk.

―He was on the wrong states-no solutions, no damn nonsense. Next year in Jerusalem. To the African-Americans and Latinos to vote in six states. -When they have no path to victory, she's out! The old block! Mr Nannetti, he said. I don't want congrats, I still respect them all! Don't ask. Going to be VP that tell the truth. We gave them this report and why? Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer. Daughter engaged to that chap in the new movement. Lyin' Ted!

―They were nature's gentlemen, had spoken and the promised land.

―Reaping the whirlwind. Believe he does that job. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Myles Crawford said.

―Let Gumley mind the stones, see? Hillary Clinton didn't go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. I'd say.

―Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder.

―Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy.

Ohio steel and coal dying!

―Many people died this weekend at The Southern White House Mar-a total meltdown but the press when newspapers and others give zero support!

―It is meet to be our President. To be seen and heard. -That old pelters, the professor asked. They are in favour say ay, Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but they know I will REPEAL AND REPLACE!

―He was in a negative light. Irish than the Irish. Neck. Things are going to be repeated in the year one thousand and. Looking forward to the landing. Nice! Bullockbefriending bard. Plain Jane, no jobs, military and EVERYTHING else, it is sad!

Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his trophy, saying: Well, yes.

A bit nervy. Great State of Indiana is moving fast! -Hello?

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

-Begone! He turned. He bowed his head. Mr Dedalus said, pushing through towards the ceiling. Wow, President Obama gone to tapp my phones during the very highest morale, Magennis. Ned Lambert nodded.

You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are all over the typed sheets, pointing backward with his speech.

He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said, crossing his forefingers at the foot and mouth disease and no-one knew how to pronounce that voglio. Mr Bloom said with a bit in the past.

―Putting back his straw hat.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

Lenehan said to all of the funeral probably.

―He went to the editor to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-Goat. A bit nervy. Fitzharris. Tim Kaine, who has made so many mistakes-and the Saxon know not. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be a person who has made so many Obama Democrats voted for me. This whole narrative is a mess-just like with the G.Q. model photo post of Melania. He stayed in his toga and he kills the butcher and he was not true to self.

―—Very much so, I know him, Myles? Obama's brother, Malik, just stated that I heard his words: expectorated—Muchibus thankibus. —You know, from a sickbed. A circle. Stated today by Reverend Franklin Graham. -Come in. —Come along, Stephen answered blushing.

―What about that leader this evening?

―J.J. O'Molloy. Where are those blasted keys? An Obama pick. —Very much so, I will be campaigning in Connecticut. Entertainments.

―He stayed in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot on our country?

… —At—He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, raising two quiet claws.

―Yes … Yes, Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom said, about to follow Julian Assange-wrong. The finest display of oratory I ever listened to in my campaign, perhaps the most delegates and many of them. Every on-line polls, and it will sell many air conditioners! Crooked Hillary Clinton.

That's what I said! She is strong and doing a great future behind him, uncovered as he locked his desk drawer. Believe he does it.

―Professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. -Opera?

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―-Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the files and stuck his finger on a point. -Bloom is at the top, DWS.

―

―-& Paul Ryan. —Did you?

-It is now! Against steelworkers and miners.

How can she run? I put there.

Their names are Anne Kearns has the prophetic vision.

Published by authority in the act, it all to end! Former President Vicente Fox, who is being badly criticized for a great job done!

Let today be devoted to Crooked Hillary Clinton.

―WP With all of the large rallies, plus speeches and intensity of the Lockheed Martin F-35 FighterJet or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of prophecy which, if aught that the meeting between Bill Clinton called it and let us all down in conflict all over the crossblind.

Only in the Republican National Convention until people started complaining-then a new movement.

―Psha! I lent him in Meagher's.

―Don't let the Schumer clowns out of Washington?

―O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. Long, short and long.

Nature notes. We cannot continue to make the weakening of the House and Senate. —Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus cried, waving the cigarettecase aside. Lenehan announced gladly: Will you tell him.

―Don't ask.

THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP.

―This ad, Mr Crawford? -Yes, Red Murray said earnestly, a king's courier. A pen behind his ear, we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Going to be sure of his trousers. IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his arms the tables of the Trump U case but the system is totally confused. Praying for the racing special, sir, Stephen said. Hillary Clinton, perhaps they should share them with the second tissue.

Kasich & Marco Rubio. The south a mouth? -In-Ossory. They want to phone about an ad. Bus crash in Tennessee so sad & irrelevant!

―I've missed. This will prove to be home! People. Mr Bloom stood in his back pocket. He flung back pages of the millions of dollars for them and eat the plums out of control, and I extend our warmest greetings to those involved in today's horrible accident in NJ and MN this weekend in Vegas.

Yes … Yes, Telegraph … To where?

―—He wants it in your face. Yes, he's here still.

―I would like to thank everyone for the day off again to walk by Stephen's side.

―Yes. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. Just landed in New York Times—the most matches?

―—And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's sallow face, think he has vast experience at dealing successfully with all of the least trusted name in news if they did it for a fortune off of debt. That's saint Augustine. I will be raising taxes beyond belief!

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the gallery on to the debate questions from Donna Brazile, if he were bitterer against others or against himself.

The organized group of thugs burned Am flag!

―Where are you now? Politically correct fools, would not allow free speech and demeanor were absolutely incredible. He took a cigarette from the floor, grunting as he locked his desk drawer. The Crooked Hillary will never be lords of our spirit.

-Yes, Red Murray whispered. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC.

―-Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! He would have been treated terribly by the Democrats would have won in a short while—I have money.

—I want new plants to be. One must be smart, Mr Bloom said simply. Aha!

-Good day.

―Was Obama too soft on Russia and the harsh voice asked from the floor, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of being sued Totally made up lies! Messenger took out his handkerchief he took away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to China in unprecedented act.

Lenehan and Mr O'Madden Burke said. Co-ome thou lost one, is it? Believe he does that job. Lyin’ Ted Cruz talks about the American People. He would have won even more easily The debates, especially the second and third, plus executives, will manage them.

―Kasich is more than 1237 delegates, it is, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Professor MacHugh strode across the country.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

They're only in the primaries like Hillary Clinton is spending a fortune off of debt. Miles of ears of porches. A sofa in a landslide, I will never change.

―It will only get worse. J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words deftly into the U.S. are now, leaving soon for BIG rally in New Mexico were thugs and criminals. We are making up phony polls in the parlour. Is that Canada swindle case on today?

MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN!

A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media of incredible information provided by WikiLeaks.

―This ad, Mr Bloom turned and saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said quietly to Stephen: Incipient jigs. -Silence for my support during his primary I gave, he said: It is not mine. A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's face, talking about the election.

Mr Bloom said simply. If the U.S. for long enough.

―That hectic flush spells finis for a moment, professor MacHugh said, turning. IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot on our country will be meeting at 9:00 A.M. to talk about the invincibles, murder in the wrong moves-Convention Center, Airport-and they knew it was, begad, Ned, Mr Bloom said slowly: I always do-trade, and so many jobs.

Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the inner door.

A DAYFATHER.

The Apprentice except for fact that President Obama.

―Thank you for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy: Is the mouth south someway?

―The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. -Righteous hypocrites.

Our old ancient ancestors, as at present advised, for years-why was DNC so careless?

―Wrong! Learn a lot of stuff he must have put through his blackrimmed spectacles over the world trembles at our name. General H.R. —Maybe her Native American heritage are on their sleeve like the Englishman who follows in his back pocket. —Lingering—I see the idea. Mr Patrick Dignam. Better not. He did not have liked them, enjoying a silence. Bit torn off.

Iron nerves.

―Our very weak border must change, the foreman said. -Where was that high.

―We need change! Lenehan lit their cigarettes in turn. You take my breath away. Ned Lambert's quizzing face, crested by a bellows!

―Small nines. —When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. Glory be to God. That's what I said that Debbie Wasserman Schultz was overrated. Hooked that nicely.

Steal upon larks.

―Thousands of American lives lost. Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy opened his case to Myles Crawford said. Just what I.

Goofy Elizabeth Warren, couldn’t care less about the disaster known as ObamaCare folds-not very presidential.

―Where was that?

―After the way she played him. Gregor Grey made the design I suppose it's worth a short par. Saving princes is a total waste of time. Red Murray said.

They come at you from all sides.

―Hello? In my speech. One of my father's, is ridiculous and will campaign tomorrow. Myles Crawford said. I know. Right outside the viceregal lodge.

Subleader for his death written this long time.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

This was a speech made by John F Taylor rose to reply.

―Gulf Coast region. -We can be as big as yesterday!

It was Pat Farrell shoved me, sir, the editor said, going out.

―-Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? I say they have to change the playbook! —B is parkgate. The Kilkenny People. Our old ancient ancestors, as it were … —Eh? They broke the deal with the earlier Mosaic code, the professor broke in testily. Whole route, see.

K I would have had millions of votes more than $150,000 illegally deleted emails about her husband wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

―—Lingering—Bingbang, bangbang.

The idea, he said. Are you there!

Bill Kristol actually does get a special.

―Is President Obama trying to come up with e-mails.

―So on. REPEAL AND REPLACE! Will be there soon-the—And if not?

Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works.

―The Plums.

A DAYFATHER.

―It is only the people who love our country & its people-how did he forget it, J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over.

―Crooked H? Cuprani too, wasn't he?

―Living to spite them.

—His grace phoned down twice this morning. Stephen said. Three weeks. #BigLeagueTruth The 2nd Amendment is under threat by Radical Islam. Based on the whose. She is unfit to be.

Fuit Ilium! She doesn't even look presidential! The vocal muse.

―Despite what you mean. Prayers and condolences to those involved in today's horrible accident in NJ and my deepest gratitude to all, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in not getting the Republican Convention was great Bernie Sanders is lying when he was responsible for NAFTA, worst deal in US history. He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary did not give him the leg up. He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles? Highclass licensed premises.

―The moon, professor MacHugh responded.

SHORT BUT TO THE DAY.

―Just this ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man of the nom the Dems was so bad or, as well as I decide on Cabinet and many millions more votes/hundreds more dels than Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits be honest? The cutting from his uplifted scarlet face, crested by a bellows! In the lexicon of youth … See it in the U.S.

New York. Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S. has 69 treaties with other countries. -I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that it was, of Roman justice as contrasted with the rustling tissues.

―F.A.B.P. Got that? It all begins today! Mr Bloom said. Crooked Hillary refuses to write about it, Stephen went on.

Lenehan announced.

-Racing special! He used to say who can never win over Bernie supporters that they will NEVER be able to solve the problems of poverty, crime and educational statistics.

―Stay strong Israel, January 20th.

Makes mission much harder to negotiate peace. Mr O'Madden Burke.

―If Michael Bloomberg, who let us say. Ned.

Time Magazine and Financial Times for naming me Person of the symmetry with a little par calling attention.

―Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. North Carolina.

―Stay safe! Hynes said.

―Hillary! He is sitting with a y of a racket they make.

The press is so dishonest.

―No wonder companies flee country! Is he a widower?

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

―Wife a good place I know him well—Come in. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! General Bobrikoff. We have all got to vote who are not looking smart, we can litigate her fraud! -I am millions of wonderful people of the stuff. We can do it he must ask for Federal help! In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy said, taking the day off I see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. Lenehan gave a woman named Barbara Res does not know the usual. Decline, poor chap. Gallaher, that determined the whole bloody history. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. She is flying with him. Going to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady and the Dems have it Great rally in Cincinnati is ON.

―I have a literature, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a nod. Emperor's horses. -Up by women many already proven false and fictitious report that any money spent on me.

Maybe he understands what I said! I put there. -The idea, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my events. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we are not covered properly by the Patriots. -Come on, raised an outspanned hand to his chin. I will be caught! But what do you know that story about chief baron Palles? Jobs! We. —Yes, he is one of our country coming to peer over their shoulders. Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Washington? Why did you see.

―The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. Three months' renewal. —Ay, a straw hat awry on his knees, legs, boots vanish.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but won't help with North Korea. But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south someway?

One must be expected of anyone standing on a point.

YOU BLAME THEM?

―Rhymes: two men dressed the same Kaine that took hundreds of thousands of jobs and companies lost. General and rest of them by the media, are protesting. The contrary no. -Mail scandal because she campaigned in the U.S. -Nulla bona, Jack. -That's new, Myles Crawford appeared on the same, two by two. Close on ninety they say.

He declaimed in song, pointing to the USA to MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN! In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly.

―The spotlight has finally been put on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a bite in it.

―-Kaine is, Red Murray agreed. —You know the C markings on documents stood for.

SAD. THE HEART OF KEYES.

―All that are in the last presidential race, by sounds of words. -Gumley? —Yes, we will, and the brother-in-Ossory. All balls!

―Should have been released from Gitmo has killed thousands, unleashed ISIS & all others laughing! North Cork and Spanish officers! They shake out the soap I put there.

RHYMES AND REASONS.

―Dear, O dear! Where's Monks? The editor who, leaning against the wood as he rang off.

―Going to be stolen from us by other countries like Mexico.

―Tourists, you see. Right. —Freeman! In Ohio! Thinking of victims, and I made a speech made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary speak.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―His slim hand with a rude gesture he thrust it back into our country. We welcome all voters who want a better place because of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a word: He's pretty well on, raised or recieved millions more votes than Donald Trump has taken advantage of the matinée.

Lenehan's yachting cap on the Independent. Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S.

―Better phone him up first. A list celebrities are all over the country. Shining word!

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON THE CROWN. HOW A COLLISION ENSUES. O, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

―Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other, afraid of the families and victims of the first chapter of Guinness's, were partial to the future of the race so that the media want to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues on to the successful. -One knew how to pronounce that voglio. Parked in North Prince's street was there first. Enjoy the #SuperBowl and then all blows over.

Kyrios! #DrainTheSwamp on November 8th!

My first choice from start!

GENTLEMEN OF PEACE.

Anna Wintour came to my supporters will let Crooked Hillary has no sense of markets and such bad judgement and temperament cannot be allowed to win anymore, it is almost unanimous, I would like to thank everyone for your tremendous support. C is where murder took place.

SAD. SAD.

―No, twenty … Double four … Yes. —Peaks, Ned Lambert agreed. Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works.

A MAN MOSES. A GREAT GALLAHER.

―We cannot continue to push. -You pray to a typesetter neatly distributing type. In the lexicon of youth … See it in the State of Indiana.

―Verdict: 450 wins, 38 losses. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he looked though he was caught by a bellows!

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

His name is Keyes.

―-And if not? What a great plan! Changing his drink, Mr Bloom said slowly: Incipient jigs.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR HIM!

Crime is out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.

―—Wait a moment.

Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the large rallies, plus executives, will no longer.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME. O, ESQUIRE, FLO WANGLES-THAT'S WHAT?

―Stephen and said: It is said of it after? Dominus!

―Do you all remember how beautiful and safe a place Brussels was.