MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo! Here I am again starting new things when I still have stuff that need to updated yesterday. But now I can blame it on college. Whoop, whoop! This really just serves to make me aware of how mediocre a writer I am. Don't know how they expect me to write a thesis.

The thing is that, like many things in Peter's life, he didn't plan for this. It just happened, so he just went with it. And yeah, he knew Loki was a bad guy. Sure, the man had had his reasons, and from what Peter had heard and read, Odin's parenting could only be described as A+ in the same ironic fashion as one should always say #yolo, but there are better ways to deal with one's anger/problems. Genocide has never been the answer, no matter how many times it's been tried.

Peter digressed, but he does that a lot.

The point is that he was aware that Loki was on the dark side, and it would take more than New York hotdogs to lure him away. That being said, Peter rather liked Loki, in a distant, bitchy friend way. That friend that one had to wonder why they hung out with, but invited everywhere anyway. Loki was like a mixture a toned down Deadpool, time lord Mary Poppin, and how Peter imagined Kanye West might be like; which is to say, a sociopathic bag full of sassy cats.

Digression.

Peter was probably not the most responsible person in the world. He was sure that there were better people out there, people more capable, who could balance the responsibilities of being a hero and having a civilian life. Those who could hold a job, protect their family, and sustain a relationship. Peter only barely made do, struggling every step of the way. Even when things seemed to be looking up, life was ready and waiting to slap his ass down again.

Today was definitely going to be one of those days.

You go to bed one night content with the thought everyone you cared for was alive, (even if most of them didn't remember your face,) and wake up the next morning with the baby of a super-villain-demi-god-frost-giant on your fire escape.

Peter sighed quietly. Baby Loki was already awake, staring up at him with bright green eyes that shined rather inhumanly in the morning sun. Peter knelt down to return the stare, and wondered if Loki could remember or even recognize him. A gummy smile told him that it was highly unlikely. Little Loki was swaddled in what could only be actual animal fur cradled gently in a basket of straw, (possibly of some strange Asgardian version of wheat,) and leather, (probably from some strange Asgardian version of cows, or maybe a dragon,). Placed centerfold where his chest would be had not the only skin visible been his chubby disembodied face was small scrap of yellow parchment.

Peter chose to ignore the inquisitive coos of one baby mischief god to pick up the scrap with minimal contact. It was mostly blank, no heart wrenching missive by anyone's terms. It read, in painstakingly written chicken scratch:

This is Loki

Save Him

Peter balanced precariously on the balls of his feet. Eyes closed to the world and this life changing problem wriggling in front of him, he considered. He considered the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. He considered the cost of the amount of costume repairs he made per week, and the amount of money he could save without them. He considered his rundown apartment and the crappy jobs he couldn't keep to afford better. He considered power, responsibility, and a renewed secret identity. Tilting his head to the side, he considered a non-existent marriage and a lonely aunt.

He opened his eyes to the cutest face the side of Midgard and made a decision. The most responsible one if he did say so himself. With a nod to himself he lifted one baby Loki, staring him down, and was reward with a spit bubble.

Awwwww.

Well, Peter Parker was not one to ever be misconstrued as responsible, and Aunt May had once told him that she was more than ready for grandchildren.

And what the actual fuck …it's not like he was ever going to have kids at this point anyway.