#twisted fate tag pending

[fang-and-feather]

Masks Off

Ikemen Vampire - Sebastian x Pureblood! Reader

I had this with the last scene pending since February, but despite everything, I finally finished it!

Written for the Love Booth Challenge by @queengiuliettafirstlady, for Sebastian's prompts: Secrets and "My composure is an act."

Words: 1,714

Summary: Forced apart and then back together by twists of fate, you and Sebastian hold on to your secrets and try to ignore the past. But with old feelings that never went away resurfacing and your secrets on the verge of being revealed, you are forced to face each other, all masks off.

Tags: Fluff, Getting back Together, Canon Divergence

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Sebastian tried to work with you, like he’d been doing nearly every day since your arrival, but after what just happened, it was difficult with the way you were acting.

At first, you were blushing, avoiding looking at him, and jumpy when he approached. A reasonable reaction to an accidental kiss.

But through your attempt to continue normal work, he watched you frown and tense more, your breath becoming audibly heavier.

Sebastian wasn’t sure if he should go away or send you away. He could try to help, but you had gone so out of the way to be discreet about this that he wasn’t sure if he should reveal that he already knew.

When he decided it was better to be the one to leave and let you solve your problem on your own, he was distracted by you picking a glass a little too hard and accidentally shattering it. You jumped back, startled, before fleeing the scene.

Sebastian sighed and started cleaning up the glass shards before he could resume his work.

He had no idea why you made the effort to hide the truth. Not only from him, but from everyone else, too. Unaware that he already knew.

It was easy to find out as soon as he arrived in the mansion and started to learn about the vampires. Every strange thing from your past together started to make sense, including your mysterious move that ended the couple of years of your young romance.

Who would imagine two old sweethearts would meet again over a century in the past. Years had passed in your time too, and both of you had grown. Maybe way too much.

But Sebastian still loved you. It didn’t take him long after your reunion to realize that. But due to his problems, he had chosen to ignore it and pretend you were strangers again. He hoped you would return home.

And you had played along until he had a few sick days, which worried everyone. They came to visit and spend time with him, some even trying to give him gifts.

He’d never considered himself such an important presence in their lives to get that treatment. He was just a butler. Except for being a human willing to work for vampires knowingly, there was nothing special about him that they couldn’t get someone else after he was gone. He never meant to make himself anything important for anyone. Not after letting go of everything he already had in his old life.

Which wasn’t much, either.

The most worried, though, was the ghost of his past that accidentally chased him even across time. The one whose first sight of promised salvation. A salvation he’d tried to run from, but now was considering embracing.

He wanted to believe the others would soon let go of him when he was gone. But you? You had the opportunity to forget him. Sebastian thought you did, until then.

But you stuck by his side while he was ill. With whispers that he didn’t know if happened in his dreams, and were reflections of his desires, or if he was half awake and these were yours.

And he realized you had nothing to go back to. You held on to him because he was the only thing that ever made you feel alive and happy. The only one who made you feel at home. That’s why you never mentioned your family, or why you didn’t seem friends with the people who hung around you.

A part of him wanted to believe you could stay, even without him, though. You had made yourself a home with the others in the mansion, and he wanted to believe you would find happiness in here after he was gone. But it seemed unlikely as you looked at him, failing to conceal your worry.

And at the time, he wondered if you weren’t someone worth living for. You were back in his life. He knew who you were and that you could rebuild your relationship.

But was love enough to live on for? He’d so long abandoned any other purpose in life. Could he find one now?

He would talk to you about it as soon as you calmed down, even if he would not be able to make a decision about his future right away.

Comte came in soon to get you some rouge. The purebloods were the only ones you couldn’t really hide from, so it wasn’t surprising you relied on one of them in that situation.

Sebastian only saw you late at night, when he was finally done with work and you were the one to seek him out.

“Hey. Do you have a second?” You knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

You walked in with hesitant steps, only briefly looking at him.

“Sorry to bother you this late. I wanted to apologize for leaving you with all the work.”

“That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

“No, I do. I didn’t need to have taken that much time off. And the accident that caused it was also my fault. Sorry for that too.” you bowed. “Not that you care.” He heard you mutter, probably without realizing it was audible.

He did care. The past was harder to forget when it was this close to him. He was just good at masking his true thoughts and feelings, and apparently, even you, as perceptive as you usually were, couldn’t see through him.

In other circumstances, he would be happy, but at the moment, it frustrated him.

You startled when he took a step towards you, and stepped back when he took another, until you had your back against the closed door.

He had already decided to admit defeat and tell you the truth. To hold into that little hope you brought back into his life. And the moment couldn’t be better.

“Did you want me to care?”

“I… I don’t know. I just…” You looked down, a light blush coloring your face. “I feel so pathetic for being the only one who couldn’t forget the past. The only one for whom it meant something.”

He knew you had some difficulty accepting this arrangement, but you had always been so good at reading people and emotionally mature that he never expected you were hiding such negative thoughts.

But his behavior since you arrived at the mansion probably wasn’t the source of such thoughts. It was likely you had been alone with them for years before arriving here. He only accidentally fueled them.

He called your name, but when you didn’t look back at him, he cradled your chin and made you look up.

“Do you really think I would have wasted my time with someone who would mean nothing to me?”

“Well, pretending to not know me seems pretty easy for you.” You shot back, barely concealing the anger in your voice. Whether you were truly angry or just feeling cornered was hard to tell.

“It isn’t.” He sighed, and his voice softened. “My composure is an act. One that I thought would benefit you.”

“To push me away from here? Or away from you?”

“From me. I wasn’t prepared to face what your coming back into my life meant.”

“And what did it mean?”

He gave you a teasing smile.

“That depends if it was you whispering by my bedside that you could save me, or if it was my imagination.”

You finally properly met his gaze, a challenging glint that he hadn’t seen for years returning to them.

“Well, that depends on whether you were just tired or if I was right to worry.”

He sighed, but smiled back, releasing you and taking just one step back.

That was as much an admission as any. You always had good intuition. It wasn’t surprising he couldn’t fool you, even if you weren’t one hundred percent sure of what you thought you knew.

Which meant both of you knew each other’s secrets, and there was no point in pretending you didn’t.

And it also meant you were much more than he thought at first, and his choice of how to proceed from now on didn’t affect your life as much as he expected.

But it still made enough of a difference.

“You would worry even if I was just tired, anyway.”

“And would fix it at once, you wanting me to or not. But this… As much as I was tempted to fix this, the choice is entirely yours. And I can’t even say it is the best choice and you would have no serious reasons to refuse because I would be lying.”

“For someone who sounded so desperate to save me that day, you’re not being very convincing.”

“I’m being realistic. The only thing I can offer you besides healing, I don’t think I have the right to. I was the one who disappeared without a word years ago and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t change what happened.”

“It was your parents’ decision, no? For your safety, probably.”

“Or just to get me away from you. They seemed to think I was growing too attached.”

“And they were right, if the incident this morning is any indication.”

“Growing attached is different from truly loving someone. I guess it is no secret that my case was the latter. I was afraid to give away the truth, but it was hard to hide this morning.”

“Because I kissed you?”

“You make it sound as if you did that on purpose.”

Again, you blushed and looked away. Amused, he pulled you to look at him, but this time he kissed you.

You didn’t react at first, and only looked at him with wide eyes as he pulled back, making him chuckle.

“Now it was on purpose.” He whispered in your ear, finally making you jump.

“And why would you do that?!” you asked, voice almost too high.

“Because I still love you, too. And no matter where our paths will lead from here, while we have all masks and pretenses off, I wanted you to know.”

Although he had a good idea of where his path would lead. The remaining doubts would be assured in time, just like his masks slowly slipped away in front of you.

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground, @2-lines-and-a-circle

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[shrekgogurt]

Happy New Year y’all! I made an Instagram for fandom and then it immediately got flagged as impersonating a business which is so evil. My branding was too good. Or they really thought I was trying to sell shrekgogurt? Something that’s been off the shelves for like twenty years???? Interesting. Infuriating, even. I’ll maybe try to make a new one later but the username is dead over there now and it actively pisses me off. It really fucks with my resolution to add more whimsy to my life. Corporations dude. They really steal the whimsy out of life.

But, I’m working on I Knew A Boy, I Knew A Man still! I bring you two excerpts. The first is from my Christmas Episode and the second is from this upcoming chapter which has been deceptively hard. Opposite of 9—which was also challenging—it’s closing an arc rather than setting up a new one. ‘Tis some important business with a lot of logistics I’m still working out. Okay but you’re actually here for the little snippets! Both are under the cut.

Chapter 11: Simon POV, present

And how it adds to the uncomfortable dissonance in my body—the nagging feeling spreading and begging for attention. Like at the start of the season when I’m out of shape and my thighs get all itchy from sudden overuse. And I know I should ignore the impulse or simply take care of myself in advance. But all I want is to scratch until I break the blood vessels under my skin in tiny bruises.

Chapter 12 (pending): Baz POV, past

Snow scowls and it doesn’t even pierce my skin anymore. It just drops into the well of tepid loathing I keep inside my throat. He thinks I want her but I only want him. No one else has the same tunneling effect on me. I pivot to him at every turn like a broken compass. It shouldn’t be so but it is. The revelation twinges like the cruel twist of fate that led me here.

I knew I would fall in love with him.

Thank you for the tags @thewholelemon @mooncello and @artsyunderstudy !! Now tagging @alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @brilla-brilla-estrellita @captain-aralias @cutestkilla @ebbpettier @excalisbury @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @gekkoinapeartree @hagnoart @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @j-nipper-95 @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @messofthejess @moodandmist @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @raenestee @theearlgreymage @theimpossibledemon @valeffelees @wellbelesbian @whogaveyoupermission @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @yellobb-old

[its-actually-minicika]

Brotherly Affection (18+)

Quick drabble set in the "Yule Ball" AU - Part 1 - Part 2;;

This is a repost, since it wouldn't show in the tags the first time :")

Pairing(s): Aemond x Reader, Aegon x Reader - both implied;

Warnings: strong language, possessive Targaryens, allusions to sex, NO INCEST;

Author's Note: based on this series of headcanons about your life at Hogwarts;

In a weird twist of fate, Aegon finds himself in the predicament of loving you. And as bad as it sounds, he will do anything to make you feel the same way.

Even if he has to fight with his own brother.

Aemond's jaw tightened in disgust.

There his brother was, holding onto her by the waist, scraping at her soft flesh with his dirty fingers.

He had to admit, Aegon had one-upped him. It was he who was supposed to ask you to spend Christmas with him and his fucked up family. It was he who was supposed to be dancing with you now.

And yet there he stood. Gawking at the pair like a hawk, a caged bear, wholly ignoring Daeron's persisting attempts of starting a conversation.

A small giggle from her makes him want to get up from his seat and pluck out Aegon's eyes. He grips his knee tighter, and positions his body in such a way, that his good side is exposed to their pending interaction.

"The food is ready, Mistress." The meek voice of a kitchen elf cuts through the jazzy music that Helaena put on display.

"Thank you, Hooky. You may bring it over." His mother saves the day, smiling sweetly at her children and guest, gesturing them to take a seat at the table.

Before Aegon can make any other gesture towards his (Y/N), Aemond gets up from his seat near the fireplace, and pulls out a chair for her, right next to his own.

Brother clashes with brother - the elder throws Aemond a dissatisfied smile, eliciting a small hum from the perturber.

The food is served, and girl turns her attention to the grumpy old Vhagar, who suddenly appears - seemingly out of nowhere - and jumps straight into her lap.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Aemond's lips.

"She's really fond of you." He remarks, softer than she'd expect, though still loud enough to grab Aegon's attention. The boy's deep voice grazes her ears in a deliciously blissful way, leaving goose-bumps in their wake.

(Y/N) can almost swear she feels his breath on her exposed skin, upon hearing him mutter, "Though, I suppose that was to be expected - given she is my cat. Like calls to like."

A familiar warmth spreads through her body, but before she can reply, Aegon's voice cuts in.

"(Y/N), after dinner is over, you should let me introduce you to Sunfyre." He muses with a wide smirk, locking eyes in between her and Aemond. "He's less tedious company than Vhagar."

The girl's eyebrows raise in slight surprise, but she smiles and nods quickly at his proposition.

"I didn't know you had a pet, Aegon!" She tuts with her melodic voice, eliciting a small snicker from the man of the hour.

"Oh, Sunfyre is not a pet."

Confusion etches on her face, which greatly pleases a brother and irritates the next.

Aegon shakes his head again, lowering his eyes to glance at the fermented wine resting in his cup.

Taking one swing of it, emptying it's contents before Alicent can register and chastise him, the eldest Targaryen licks his lips. "He can purr like a cat, but that's as far as his similarities with Vhagar go."

With her eyebrows furrowed in a twist, (Y/N) leans back on her chair, looking at Aemond with a questioning look.

"Aegon, that is enough for now - let us say our prayer, in thanks to the Seven for the food in front of us. You may take (Y/N) for a flight later." Alicent intervenes sharply, putting an end to his playful riddle.

"You'll see." Aegon assures her with a cheeky whisper, while clasping his hands together for the traditional prayer.

"And since you're in a mood for flying, you should take your siblings with you, as well." Their mother adds with her eyes closed, earning a loud groan from her eldest son and a pleased hum from Aemond.

"Mother, Sunfyre doesn't have the capacity to hold so many people." He tries to wiggle his way out of the unpleasant affair.

"Aegon." Alicent warns, putting an end to the conversation.

"Hey, mum, it's okay." Daeron interjects while giving a wink to his brother. "Helaena and I actually had plans to photograph those Pixie Faeries in our garden."

Helaena nods softly at their mother, and Alicent sighes.

"I'd love to go, brother, thank you." Aemond interjects with a defying look, quirking his head to the side.

If Aegon wanted war, he would give it to him.

"You hate it when I use Sunfyre, brother. It's too muggle-esque for you." Aegon clicks his tongue at Aemond, leaning onto the creme wall of his room for support. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"l could easily ask you the same thing." Aemond asserts calmly, "If you think for a second that l'd let you be alone with her, in a car, you're sorely mistaken."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aegon snarls through gritted teeth, approaching his sibling slowly.

"You know full well." Aemond retorts with a wild glimmer in his eye. "You had enough fun by playing the jester tonight. I won't let you breathe in her presence more than you already did."

"I'm sorry, who are you to make her decisions for her? She looked more than happy to go alone with me."

"Don't flatter yourself. She didn't know what that entailed. She still doesn't, yet." Aemond accentuates his every word, straightening his back to look downwards at his brother. "She'll be more than thankful that I tagged along"

Aegon chuckles through a short exhale, measuring his brother disdainfully with his eyes. "Get off your high horse, brother, it's exhausting." He snarls at Aemond, trailing his eyes over his form. "As if you don't get it wet every night to the thought of her – " He ducks away from Aemond's attempt to grab him.

"(Y/N) may be oblivious, but I see the way you look at her; and a load more than that." Aegon says with a wide smile, savoring the way his brother's eyes widened momentarily.

"Hey, tell me, Aemond: why do you always go to the guest room she sleeps in at night?" He wets his lips and frowns at him in a feigned confusion. "Do you just sit there and jack off over her?"

His words make Aemond snap. Before any of them can register what's going on, the taller Targaryen grabs his brother by the collar and pushes him against the wall. He prepares to do a lot more than that, but a sweet, melodic voice calls out to them through the closed door.

"Aemond, Aegon? Are you guys coming?"

Aegon raises his hands in mock surrender, shrugging his shoulders at Aemond's deep scowl.

"Oh, you have no idea." He muses in reply, whispering the words to his brother's face, and wiggling away from his grasp.

"Sorry to make you wait, Princess." His mellow voice echoes into the long corridor, as he struts closer to the girl's side.

For the second time that night, Aemond is left to fume by himself.

"This is Sunfyre?! Oh my God, Aegon, that's insane!" (Y/N)'s elated voice breaks through the heavy silence the brothers established on their walk to the garage.

She sprints past them, and circles the golden car twice, before finally letting out a low whistle. "It's amazing." She confirms with her cheeks ablaze.

Aegon's lips part in a low chuckle, and he clicks his tongue arrogantly. "You haven't seen anything yet."

He makes his way towards the front right seat, opening the car door and bowing his head respectfully. "Fair lady..." He purrs expectantly, waiting for (Y/N) to get in.

She lets out a small huff at the nickname, and rolls her eyes playfully.

Once she reaches the car herself, the girl stops and chews on her lower lip. "Are you sure we should drive tonight? You and I both had a little wine."

"Barely a glass!" Aegon defends his sobriety with a hand over his chest. "And in any case, we won't be driving on the highway, Princess."

"I haven't drank anything." Aemond's deep voice cuts into the night, raising an expectant brow at his brother. "I can drive you both."

"Absolutely not." Came Aegon's curt reply, not even a heartbeat later. He shakes his head adamantly, and places his hand on the small of (Y/N)'s back, encouraging the girl to get in the car with a boyish smile.

"You would really put (Y/N) in danger because you want to impress her with your questionable driving?" Aemond approached the two in three wide steps, placing his hands atop the girl's shoulders. "Just get in the back seat and put your pride aside for the night."

"How about you quit trying to fuck up our fun? How's that for an answer?"

"Boys." (Y/N)'s voice falls on deaf ears. She feels wildly uncomfortable, stuck in between two men who, for one reason or another, were openly comparing dick sizes in their own accord.

"What the fuck is your problem." Aemond demands more so than asks, reaching to place (Y/N) behind his back, and bring her further away from Aegon.

"My problem is that you've spent this whole night antagonizing me. You really get a kick out of it, don't you?"

Aemond lets out a rumbling laugh, and sneers at his brother aggressively.

"Ever the spoiled first son, thinking everything that happens around you is about you." He remarks dryly and buries his fingers into (Y/N)'s flesh unknowingly.

"You little --"

"Boys!" The girl tries again, this time successfully twisting herself away from Aemond's cold hands.

Her decided shout echoes throughout the night, and both Targaryens turn to her as if burned by wild fire.

"(Y/N)..." Aemond's soft tone is laced with worry and guilt, and he slowly extends his arm out to grab her hand and bruising shoulder, reaching for comfort.

"Princess..." Aegon mutters in his own right a second later, biting his inner cheek and moving from one foot to the next.

"Look, I have no idea what kind of fight you guys had, but I suggest you sort it out amongst yourselves, without putting me in the middle of it."

Having said that, (Y/N) turned swiftly on her feet and started walking back towards the opulent Targaryen mansion.

".. This is all your fault, you know."

"Sod off, Aegon."

The rest of the night was spent in painful silence.

Although Alicent could tell something had happened between her two eldest sons, she didn't dare ask or demand them to do anything.

Instead, she settled on giving them a warning look, pointing at the guestroom (Y/N) was to reside in until the next day.

"Play nice and apologize to the poor girl. She barely said a thing before excusing herself to go to bed, and she was with the two of you mere hours ago."

Aegon sulked into his armchair, while Aemond ran his eyes over the languid fireplace, wearing a tight expression.

Their mother kissed both of them goodnight, and departed to the master bedroom, with Daeron and Helaena fast on her footsteps.

"Don't stay up too late now." She instructed them sternly, although with lingering softness in her eyes.

Left completely alone, the two wavered on talking, until Aemond let out a strained breath. "Come." He uttered dryly, without sparing his brother a glance. "She's our friend."

Groaning in frustration, Aegon rose up to his feet, and slowly approached the door to (Y/N)'s room.

The two knocked and waited politely, until a muffled 'Come in!' was heard from the inside.

The two Targaryens went through the door at the same time, bumping shoulders in their wake, coughing nervously at (YIN)'s tired form.

Her eyes were locked in between the two of them, traveling from one face to the other, waiting with her arms crossed to her chest.

"We.." Aegon began after a long pause.

"We wanted to apologize for making you uncomfortable today. Believe us, it wasn't at all our intention."

"Yeah. What he said" Aegon added awkwardly, pouting slightly at her neutral expression.

It took three, maybe four seconds for the girl to shake her head and let out a long sigh. When she got up from the bed, (Y/N) was smiling sweetly at the two of them, running a hand through her hair as she spoke.

"Thank you for the apology, Aemond, Aegon. It's quite alright. I'm... not mad at you or anything."

"You're not?" Aegon asks with eyes widened out of proportion.

"No, of course not! I'm just.. worried about you two, I guess." She shrugs her shoulders in an attempt to pause and think on her next words. "I've never seen you bicker like that. It's very unlike you."

Aemond sighs, while Aegon swallows thickly.

"You're family. It sucks to see you so put up against each other."

(Y/N)'s mouth presses into a fine line, and she shifts her weight from one leg to the next.

"Is... is there something I can do to help you guys?"

"No." Aemond asserts decidedly, while taking her hands in his. "This... is something between me and Aegon to figure out."

"Yeah.. We don't want to... put you on the spot like that." The eldest Targaryen adds through knitted brows.

"Mm, we'll be fine." Aemond hums in agreement, running his thumb over the girl's knuckles. "Did I bruise your shoulder?" He whispers to her softly, before gently massaging her wrist with his long fingers.

"No. Don't worry about it, Aem." She hushes right back, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Well." Aegon declares loudly, eliciting a growl from Aemond, "Now that this whole thing is over, we should probably let you rest."

Aemond throws (Y/N) one last dejected loo, before slipping his hands away from hers, instantly missing their warmth.

"Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." He promises her with a hazy look in his eyes.

"Ēdrugon sȳrī, gevie." Aegon sighs as well, offering her a playful smirk.

Noticing her curious expression, Aegon adds, "Ēdrugon sȳrī means 'sleep well'."

"And gevie?" (Y/N) asks impatiently.

To that, Aegon simply raises his eyebrows at her. He turns on his heel and winks over his shoulder, smiling like a carbon copy of the Cheshire Cat.

"Pay him no mind." Aemond accentuates with a feathered touch over her cheek. "Good night."

"Good night..."

As the two brothers walk up the stairs and turn for their respective rooms, Aemond pauses in his ascent.

"I hope you know I'll never let you have her."

Aegon smiles wistfully to himself, but doesn't bother to turn around.

"Then it's a good thing that that's not up to you."

The younger Targaryen scoffs, and clenches his jaw tightly.

"You will never touch her."

Aegon shrugs and twists his lips in taciturn amusement.

"And neither will you."

[eros-heartache]

Fandom-Free Bingo - National Friendship Day Masterlist

Please be warned. This collection may contain works that are 18+. If you are a minor, please do not interact! I am an adult, who writes fiction intended for adults. As always, be mindful of tags and warnings. It is up to you to curate your own online and fandom experiences.

This Bingo Card's Ao3 Series | HERE

Fandom-Free Bingo Tumblr | HERE

Status: Pending

Breakdown of Individual Fics Below Cut

Best Friends |

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Holding Hands |

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A Shoulder to Cry On |

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"You've Got a Friend in Me" |

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Enemies to Friends |

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Birthday Party |

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Childhood Best Friends |

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Platonic Love |

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Enemies to Lovers |

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Friendship of Convenience |

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Friend Kids, Enemy Parents |

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Secret Language |

Pairing: Kate Bishop & Yelena Belova

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"You're like a [insert] to Me" |

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Found Family |

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Friends to Lovers |

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Platonic Touch |

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Ghosted |

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Best Friend's Brother |

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Queer Platonic Relationship |

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Black Cat and Golden Retriever |

Pairing: Kate Bishop & Yelena Belova

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Clothing Theft |

Pairing: Oz Cobb & Sofia Falcone

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Intervention |

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Twist of Fate |

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Friend in Trouble |

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Friends over Lovers |

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[voidselfshipp]

“– I told ya!– 

said Tobías.Jerico roared headbutting the rest of the shipp, and swimming back home at full speed, gangplank cursing behind them.” -extract from “The Sea Serpent Jaws” decided to draw this screencap of this fic ok to rb 

dont repost my art 

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Nineteen

When you stepped out of a portal, dripping wet and looking like an irritated cat, Thor chuckled, “Overshot your portal?”

“In case you were wondering, it’s raining in Ecuador,” you say, ringing out the end of your cloak.

“How do you hit Ecuador if you’re aiming for New York?” Tony asked. 

“I was just a little distracted,” you murmur, cheeks heating. 

“By what?” Bruce asked, handing you a towel.

“Long story,” you answer, turning away to take jewelry off and towel off your hair. You didn’t know how to explain that Bucky had sent you a really long, frankly incoherent wall of text messages vacillating between being apologetic and being fucking pissed that you’d gotten an abortion and not told him. 

You had wanted to know how he found out but, you had next to no interest in talking to Bucky. Not anything outside things for work. 

“Ew,” Tony said, “Barton sent you dick pics, didn’t he.”

“No, you freak,” you sigh, throwing the soaked towel at him. “Ugh, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

You turn and start towards the elevator, slipping past Steve with a small smile of hello. Steve looks at the water pooled on the floor and at your back, confused, and Thor laughs, “Evidently, it’s raining in Ecuador,” he says. 

“Ecuador?” he calls after you, laughing a little. 

“Barton sent a dick pic, and she got distracted,” Tony shouted, smirking when you flipped him off as the doors slid shut.

________

Clint sat on the couch, fussing with the pizza and the cold six-pack the coffee table. He had his black hoodie where you could find it in the closet and your rainbow socks neatly folded and lying next to a warm, freshly fluffed towel. Everything you asked him for. And he had a few more little things. A new book and a pretty dagger you’d had your eye on for a minute. 

Still, even with all of that in place, he felt a little sick. Like he’d just breached your trust when he’d blown up at Bucky. He didn’t like it. There had been no reason for him to blow up like that. None. Except for letting Bucky push his buttons. And the worst part was, he’d known it was happening. But hearing him gloat about having sex with you. Hearing how fucking smug he’d been after seeing how fucking shattered you’d been. Knowing he was proud of himself for taking something from you that you had a good reason to be keeping for yourself. He looked down at Lucky, gazing longingly at the box and smiles a little, “Let mom get her piece first, ya cretin,” he scolds fondly. Lucky swishes his tail and barks once, easing himself onto his hind legs to beg properly, prompting Jinx to do the same thing. “Animals, both of you,” he sighs, going to find their treats. 

He was about halfway to the counter, grumbling to himself when the door to the suite opened, and their current pizza lust was temporarily forgotten to get pets. Clint leaned on the table and smiled, watching you give kisses and pats. “Why are you wet?” he asked, amused.

“It’s raining in Ecuador,” you sigh.

“Overshot it, huh?” he teased.

“Yeah... but At least I didn’t end up in Antarctica again... I’m still pissed Steve wouldn’t let me keep the penguin.”

Clint chuckled and kissed you softly when you stood on your toes to lean over the counter, “Where would we have put it?”

“We have another bathtub!” you pout.

“Speaking of bathtubs,” he says, kissing your nose, “Why don’t you go get warmed up and then I’ll feed you and give you a beer.”

“But what about a shower beer?”

“You’re such a brat,” he groans, “I guess. If It’ll get you in the shower before the pizza gets cold.”

You smile and kiss his jaw, padding towards the bathroom, going to strip out of your wet clothes and find something warm and snuggly to put on. Clint waits until he hears the shower turn on and then brings you the requested beer before padding out to the living room to sulk until you came back. He knew he needed to tell you. He knew he needed to talk to you about it. But he just. He wanted a date night, He wanted to love his girl and forget that this day had happened. He felt like a dick. 

Worse than a dick.

He felt like a dildo. He wasn’t real enough to be a dick. Flirting with you and not just telling you the truth. 

Still, When you come back warm and soft. Wearing his black hoodie and your rainbow knee socks, snatching a fresh beer before wrapping yourself around him. He still can’t bring himself to talk about the day. “Hungry?” he asks, popping you on the bottom as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“But cuddle,” you murmur, hiding your face in his neck.

“Baby-” he protests lightly, but he stops when you tighten your grip. These aren’t just needy cuddles. These are “Clint is angry” cuddles. And you might not know why but you’ve managed to twist it around in your head to be all your fault. And you’re trying to fix it without knowing what you did. “Okay,” he soothes, “Shh, okay.” He rubs your back and kisses the side of his head.

“Are you mad at me?” He feels the question instead of hears it. Your lips against his neck and the tremble in a deep breath you took before asking. It’s such a soft whisper he can’t actually hear you. But he knows that question well. 

“No,” he murmurs, “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me.”

“What happened?” you ask, fingers toying with the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, rubbing gently. 

“I- I fucked up today, babe. I fucked up really bad.”

“What, you murmur, “Get caught reading fanfic about yourself getting railed by Hulk?”

Clint snorted, “Worse- I think,” he tilts your chin up tenderly to look you in the face and sighed, “I- I blew up at Bucky today.”

Several emotions flit across your face. Confusion, understanding, hurt, and then... oddly amusement.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” your forehead thuds gently against his collarbone, and you sigh, “Clint, you dummy. That explains so fucking much.”

“Oh no,” Clint said, “What-”

“Bucky sent me this massive fucking text wall and yelled about the baby and kind of apologized but... didn’t then yelled at me some more and I spent like, all fucking day trying to figure out where he heard it from.”

“That’s gross,” Clint said, crinkling his nose, the knot in his stomach loosening a little when you weren’t angry. 

“Right?” you yelp, “Who the fuck yells at someone about that via text... fucking boomers.”

“Technically, he’s too old to be a boomer,” Clint says, brushing the hair out of your eyes. 

“Well, he acts like one... seriously. He used Emojis. Too many. Like Ew.”

Clint snorted, “And you’re okay?”

“I mean... yeah. Fuck him”

Clint grinned and smacked the swell of your ass again lovingly, “Yeah... But don’t fuck him. Fuck me a few times, and let me feed you pizza.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me or something,” you tell him, stealing another kiss.

“Baby,” he hums, shifting you over gently and popping open the pizza box, “I don’t just like you. I love you.”

He hands you a plate and lets you tuck yourself against his side, “I love you too,” you tell him, beaming. “Can we watch Manos: Hands of Fate?”

“Anything you want, baby girl,” he chuckles. And as you settle in with your pizza and beer, Clint wonders just who exactly he had to blow in a past life to be this fucking happy.

Tags:

@lancsnerd, @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess, @stevieang, @beautybyfire, @sunmoonandbucky @mrsfox79, @bbmommy0902, @mendes-fan, @iheartsebastianstan, @wtfcas @pinknerdpanda, @process-pending, @ladifreakingda, @leasly, @coldbookworm, @hv-chw3, @past-perfect-future-tense, @starkrobb @beardburnsupersoldiers, @petlaufeyson, @queenoftheunderdark, @potatoheadthewise, @thehyperactiveteen, @thefridgeismybestie, @boyett514, @an-awkward-human-1, @sunshine-and-riverwater

[bbrandy2002]

The Fall of Cordonia

Chapter Three

Trigger Warning: Infant mortality mentioned, suicide, sexual assault and murder.

A/N: Im a little shook from writing this 😬

Word count: 2342

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Thanks to my girls @burnsoslow and @emceesynonymroll for prereading snippets.

Tagging: @khakie4 @jemrmax2love @princess-geek @rainbowsinthestorm @annekebbphotography @ao719 @texaskitten30 @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @lodberg @romanticatheart-posts @duchessemersynwalker @cordoniansqueen @burnsoslow @kimmiedoo5 @innerpostmentality @sirbeepsalot @emceesynonymroll @janezillow @cordoniantrash @jovialyouthmusic @dcbbw @moonlightgem7 @polishchoicesfan @jessiembruno @lovemychoices @mallorycortez @angi15h @hopefulmoonobject @gardeningourmet

Nikolas had not stopped crying since being placed in Marguerite's arms many hours ago. She sat on the edge of her bed with him, thrusting her nipple into his mouth, attempting to feed and soothe him;  disregarding the fact her supply dried up months ago. Each time he suckled desperately, his tiny mouth released into an erratic fit, fingers balled into tight fists, unsatisfied with his continuing thirst.

Her scent was different, the sound of her voice unfamiliar, and the beating of her heart did not have the same rhythmic tune that usually lulled him to sleep.

The Princess continued her attempts to feed and bring comfort to him, however, the baby refuses her breast. After the night she had, all the crying, Nikolas refusing to bond with her, sleep deprivation, she wasn't sure if her plan would be plausible, if this child would ever accept her as his mother.

She rose from the bed and gently laid him in the bassinet that sat directly next to her, staring at his swollen, bright blue eyes, that were full of rage and fear. Those same eyes were similar in color and form as her own newborn son, except his had been void of any emotion...there were no tears, no blinking, no pain, just stillness.

Her own eyes began to mist as she thought about that day,  privately delivering a stillborn child, two months before her due date. She knew the minute she saw the soft, downey hair of blonde that covered his small head, the father was not a current King, but, rather, a former prince.

Nikolas was the closest thing she now had to keeping her miserable reality a distant memory. Nearly the same blood that coursed through his tiny veins, was the also the one that burned with desire and passion for her almost a year ago. Would Leo ever accept this child as his own? He had been so relunctant to before, but, now, just maybe, if he held their baby in his arms, would she be able to entice him back into her world. Except, this wasn't their sweet baby, she wasn't his mother and Nikolas was making damn sure, without a doubt, she knew it.

Feeling depleted, she plopped back down onto the bed, the sheer volume of his ever continuous crying, driving her to the brink of insanity. She was positive, at that moment, all of Monaco could hear the weeping of the young prince of Cordonia; it was almost a symbolic gesture of his first duty, to share the downfall of his country and to share his displeasure.

Her hands began to shake uncontrollably and an intense pressure started to rise in her chest that caused breathing to become laborious.

She had to silence him somehow and quickly, to end the nightmare of her own enduring agony.

With her first real attempt at being a mother, seemingly failing, she called for her maid servant, unable to take it any longer. She hastily wrapped Nikolas in the blanket he arrived to her in, which bore a tiny phoenix in the corner,  the crest of his mother's house. Marguerite dropped the child in the arms of her servant, at which time, his crying began to subside. She made explicit instructions to rid her of the reminder, that once again, her failure to secure an heir and the man she lusted for, would be in vain.

The servant bowed and shuffled from the room with Nikolas nestled in her arms.

Marguerite turned to face the wall opposite of her, the one that held the sword of generations of Monacan monarchs, her tiny hands releasing it from its mount.

Gripping the pommel, she held it in front of her, and with a deep breath, thrust the blade into her gut and twisted. She fell back onto the bed as pools of hot blood flowed at her sides. The Princess ran a finger down the cool, shiny, silver blade, embracing her pending death and inevitable peace.

******

Liam directed Paul to take the remains of his step mother back her quarters and placed with dignity in her bed. He then ordered the other guard to lay the Countess with her, until proper arrangements could be made, if it ever could at this point.

With Regina and Madeleine's death happening within the walls of the palace, he was wrought with nausea, pondering who else had succumbed to this senseless atrocity. He wanted to believe Bastien's words that it was possible, Riley and Nikolas were safe, yet, the Auvernal army was able to breach the guard and protection of the palace. They had successfully taken out two of the most powerful women in Cordonia, the Queen and Prince was sure to be a bullseye in this sick game of wit and intellegence.

It was exactly one year ago yesterday, when against his better judgement, his new bride was beckoned by Queen Isabella, to visit with her in Auvernal, while they were in Texas. In a rather hostile move, Isabella, without hesitation, put on a troublesome display of the military might of her country, in what could only be construed as intimidation.

In a rather bold move, she tested Riley's ability to literally withstand the heat, a test he wasn't surprised she accomplished flawlessly. Would Liam really be able to outwit his opponent without his queen by his side? If Bradshaw was the man Isabella described him as during that trip, obviously weak and vulnerable, she could potentially be far more dangerous than he was.

When Nikolas was born three months ago, both Riley and Liam agreed their son would not be part of a marriage agreement. They both felt that what they shared and their experiences together, was far more important than any political alliance. A healthy relationship built on love made the monarchy stronger in their opinion.

They both knew the reprecussions of their decision, yet never expected an all out war for it. He presumed the greatest threat to Cordonia would be an embargo on trade with one another and political alliances, that he in turn would render economic sanctions against them. Would he have changed his mind had he known this would be the fate of that conclusion? He didn't know, not yet, it would depend on the personal cost to his family and his people.

Last night, Liam was sure that he had lost everything that truly mattered to him, but, something in his heart gave him a sense of peace. He had always told himself that he didn't exist without Riley, yet, here he was, living, breathing and feeling. Liam could sense her in his soul and he was prepared to move heaven and earth to bring her and their baby home to him.

He sat down at his desk, eagerly awaiting word from the Italian officials, to give him an update on the retaliatory attack. Francesco was already working tirelessly to gather other allies together and provide security and assistance for Cordonia.

Bastien found an unbroken bottle of scotch in the cabinet and poured two tumblers of it, handing one to Liam. They eyed one another, both in understanding of the calamity that would be ensuing, knowing it had to be done.

Bastien raised his glass to the King, gesturing for one last toast, in light of the situation.

Liam swirled the contents of his glass before tapping that of his head guard's.

"To my King and Queen, long may they reign"

Liam nodded in kind to Bastien, then downed the liquid, "To My Queen...".

*******

Leo dropped to his knees, clutching the hole that burned in his stomach, with a mixture of shock and remorse scrolling across his face.

"You were saying?", Bradshaw asked, before Leo fell face first to the floor, his head bouncing from the surface.

Bradshaw casually placed the gun back into the safe, pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket, and wiped the moisture and soot from the palm of his hand.

He strolled over to Leo, dropped to one knee and lifted his lifeless head up by the back of his hair. "Leo, Leo, Leo....it appears we both have something in common....we never miss our targets". He mused, thinking about Marguerite and her lost baby, that neither he, nor,  Leo wanted anything to do with. He releases Leo's head and it thuds to the ground.

The King's informant ushers into the room with fervor, asking permission to speak about grave information.

"Your Majesty....intelligence from Rome has informed me of an impending attack on our city by the Italian's in retalliation of Cordonia".

"How much time do we have?".

"Just under an hour, sir".

Bradshaw furrowed his brows, preparing to unleash his next plan earlier than anticipated, but, it was, afterall,  his ace in the hole.

Bradshaw leads his guards, dragging a bloodied Leo behind them, leaving a crimson trail out of the dining area. They walk briskly down the corridor and to the room where he is holding Riley hostage. He directs his men to throw her brother in law on the bed next to her.

Riley is barely conscious, she has a few broken bones and extensive bruising throughout her body. She watches groggily as they enter, then lets out a blood curdling scream as she catches sight of Leo's gunshot wound. Its then that she realizes she was a hostage. Recognizing Bradshaw immediately, she makes a concerted effort to move, to run, to fight back, however, the pain is too great.

Bradshaw orders everyone out of the room, his guards, the nurses and servants. He checks the video feed and when he is sure it is ready, he sends a direct link to Liam's email; time was of the essense.

As he waits for Liam to respond, he eyes Riley, admiring her petite frame and curvacous figure, just as he had the day she was first introduced to him at Valtoria. He licks his lips, as lustful thoughts take hold of him and he trails an unwelcome finger down the length of her cheek and across her neck. She was his prisoner, completely dependant on him and he wanted nothing more than to hear his name screaming from her lips.

He leans down, licking her face and across her tightly closed lips, feeling greatly aroused by her whimpers and powerlessness. He runs a hand across her flattened stomach, only covered by the thin white gown the nurse changed her into.

He grabs her cheeks with one hand and squeezes harshly until she can no longer keep her mouth closed; he immediately thrust his unwanted tongue into her own as she tries to pull away. His mouth catches her every groan with the deepest pleasure and he inhales her barely escaped breaths.

"Get the fuck off my wife!", an irate and panicked Liam yells as Bradshaw pauses his assualt.

He looks behind him at the laptop, set up for this particular moment, seeing the ire and disgust on Liam's face. Bradshaw curls his lips into an evil grin, this was more satisfying than he had anticipated.

"Riley! Love...can you hear me...I'm right hear...I'm right here", his voice cracking with relief at her survival.

Bradshaw lets out a small laugh, "And she is right here.....I assume you will be calling off your minions....or is it boom boom for...your love".

"Liam....I love you", Riley forces the words out of her lips with a horrendous sob.

"Sweetheart, oh god, I love you too....is Nikolas with you, is he alright?".

Bradshaw interrupted, rolling his eyes, "Oh please, spare me of the sickening declarations of love.....are you calling off the Italians or what Liam?".

Liam motioned for Bastien, giving him directions to contact the Prime Minister at once to halt their sssault immediately.

"What do you want Bradshaw?", he asked, while Bastien made his call.

"You know what I want."

"A political alliance and a marriage contract between our children...do I still have a child, Your Majesty?".

"You do....not that you'll benefit much from him".

Liam let out a shaky breath, closing his, thanking God for the knowledge that his son and wife were still living.

"I'll ask again, what do you want then?

"Surrender Cordonia to me".

"No Liam, don't!", Riley yelled out, before Bradshaw turned, smacking her harshly in the face.

"DAMN IT BRADSHAW!". Liam screamed in anger and frustration, feeling completely helpless.

"I give you your wife back, tell you where your son is, and all you have to do is surrender your reign and country to me".

There was no question what Liam's answer would be, however, it wasn't that simple, "I can't...not without consent from the council....this isn't something I can control alone and I presume half the fucking council is dead".

Bradshaw shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips, "Then I have no choice but to force your hand further".

"What do you mean?", Liam asked, knowing he did not want to know the answer to his question.

Bradshaw, still positioned next to Riley, reached over, gracing one of his hands up her thigh and the other cupping her breast over her gown. Riley began to cry out, begging him to stop.

Liam stood from his desk, watching the exchange, "I'LL DO IT....I'LL DO IT.....JUST LET HER GO!!!".

Bradshaw ignored Liam and Riley's cries, immensly gratified by his complete control over them...he was the puppetmaster.

Liam had both hands clutching his hair, tears streaming down his face, his whole body shaking, "You fucking peckerhead, so help me, I'm going to rip your throat out".

Bradshaw tugged on Riley's panties and he groped himself through his pants, slowly pulling down his zipper.

With Liam still screaming in the background, Riley turned her head, unable to look at her husband as Bradshaw prepared to defile her.

She stared at Leo, whose head was only a few inches from hers, his eyes starting to flicker open. She let out a fearful gasp, as her legs started to slowly part and Leo could see the trouble in her brown eyes.

Inhaling deeply against the pain he was wracked with, he bolted up, grabbing Bradshaw around the neck with such force, the King thought it would pop off his shoulders.

Bradshaw hit Leo in his wound, while trying to tear the powerful grip he had around his neck.

Leo took his other hand, placing it on the jaw of the man before him, and twisted as hard as he could., until he got the desired snap he wanted.

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid Chapter 18

Previous: Cricket & Bunny

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Our resident P.I. finds who she's been looking for, and gets an unwelcome surprise. 

(two shorter chapters today!) 

Harboring Hoseok

Present Day

           I found Jung Hoseok.

           Let me back track that statement – After months of digging, harassing my sister for more help, using all my contacts in various bureaus, lying to Euna that I’d made progress when I hadn’t, I finally have found Jung Hoseok, Hoseok Jung.

           I know, you’re wondering, how? What finally cracked the case? How did I, the person incapable of finding Min Yoongi, lucky enough to stumble into Park Jimin, find Jung Hoseok?

           You’ll be shocked, you’ll be amazed, you’ll be dumbfounded that I stumbled into him in the most millennial way possible, because I found him on, don’t hold your breath:

           Instagram.

           That’s right, I stumbled upon Jung Hoseok on fucking Mark Zuckerberg owned, Instagram. It was a coincidence, a twist of fate, that I was even in the vicinity of him, because we do not live in the vicinity of each other. I wasn’t sure he was even alive; I wasn’t sure if he had moved continents or countries. But, in the ether, he resides.

           Sometime after Jungkook told me he loves me, and after I created permanent scarring on his back from my too long fingernails (they’ve since been cut multiple times), I went to my favorite Barre3 studio. I’m not going to lie, I go regularly. I’m addicted. Yes, it can be cult-ish, but have you ever worked out so thoroughly your ass hurts when you stand? Or listened to a teacher relay the message that you are strong, that your body is powerful, that you can accomplish any challenge? If not, and I know this is propaganda, but like take a class. I can give you a discount.

           The point is, somewhere between sumo squats and parallel bridge lifts, I noticed this woman, stunning, who seems to come to class every day before or after she hits the gym with her trainer. The. Stamina. Can you believe? On a Wednesday, I accidentally bumped into her, spilling some of my water down her Sweaty Betty matching set. I apologized profusely, and she laughed it off, saying it cooled her down. She noticed my earrings, liked them, and ever since then we’ve been texting. We’ve even gone so far as to get coffee, which prompted me to do my favorite activity, troll her Instagram. Some people say Instagram is going the way of Facebook, which it easily could be, but it’s so damn fun that I pray every day the trend continues in its favor.

           A public figure, Genevieve Yang is the height of couture. She is at every fashion week, Milan, Paris, New York, and donates nearly as much as Kwan and Seo, combined. Leaving the spotlight to work on a smaller sect of her organization, focusing on women’s reproductive rights, specifically women in poverty, she’s rarely photographed or seen outside of said events. Instead, she works 8-5, exercises regularly and rumor has it, is vegan. She’s the eldest of three, and her siblings are a pediatric cardiologist and a Rhodes Scholar. Within the universe of the Lee’s, she’s looked down upon for being biracial, her father, a first generation Nigerian-American, fell in love with her mother, a first generation Korean American from Busan, during their study abroad stint in Italy. I’ve been dying to find a connection to the Lee’s, and here, in all her melanin glory, is Genevieve.

           In scrolling through her Instagram, I came across a photo series from a few weeks ago. To my surprise, standing with his arm around Genevieve’s shoulder, stands a man with dimples so deep and rays of sun beaming through the photo and barreling past my phone screen.

           Jung Hoseok.

           And who should be next to him?

           Lee Kwan-Min.  

           They’re in an ornate ballroom, gold ceilings and ball gowns, masquerade masks held in their manicured fingers. They’ve been drinking and dancing, as is evident in their, what Jungkook would call Asian Glow, and in the caption.

           Drink every night bc we’re drinking to our accomplishments

           A paraphrase from a Drake song, it seems to ring true as I scan through the other photos of the evening. It must’ve been Lee Enterprises semi-annual gala, masquerade theme taking turns with Gatsby or in the era of Bridgerton, Regency London. Their summer event, Polos & Picnics, is as you guessed it, a Lacoste and Perignon soaked day drinking celebration of everyone’s summer tans and Hampton houses. It’s anyone’s guess which event raises more money, or costs more to put on. Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min throw a few other smaller events, brunches and casino nights, all earnings going to their philanthropy. The galas are the hottest ticket in North America, and I am still stunned that Hoseok had made it into the embrace of Kwan-Min.

           Think Crazy Rich Asians meets the Met Ball. It’s all anyone ever wants to attend, and damn if I’m not jealous every year.

           Hoseok is tagged in the photo series, and by clicking on his name, I can see our mutual friend, and nothing more. The age-old question every millennial has to ask themselves is this, is that enough to send a follow request? I don’t know if it is, but what’s the worst that can happen? He blocks me? Alright, that gives me information that I can use. Sure following him would be the best case, but he could leave it pending for weeks.

           I send the request and text my newest friend, Genevieve Yang, who immediately calls me.

           “Oh Y/N, what do I owe the pleasure?” Genevieve asks.

           “I just thought we could chat, I was looking at your Instagram and-

           “Oh my god! Do the pics from the Masquerade look good? I can’t tell if people love them, or just tolerate them, you know?” She sips loudly on what I assume is some green smoothie, her favorite non H2O beverage.

           “Sure, absolutely, I totally know,” I lie.

           “Don’t lie to me,” Genevieve scolds.

           “They’re beautiful, but I didn’t recognize who was in that first one with you,” I bait.

           “Come off it, you absolutely know,” She laughs but I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes.

           “The woman looked familiar, but I don’t know from what,” I tell her, curiosity in my voice. “I have no clue who that man is.”

           If she could see me, she’d laugh. A barely eaten sandwich, cold coffee in a travel mug I got when I was 20, and dark circles under my eyes from my inability to sleep the last few nights. The paranoia of the last letter has seeped into my subconscious, and I can’t bring myself to sleep unless Jungkook is nearby, of which, he isn’t. Gone on a business trip for the last three nights, gone for five more. How incredibly rude of him, but there isn’t much I can do when his boss could possibly be 007 incarnate. Or Danny Trejo.

           “She’s one of the heirs to Lee Enterprises,” She tells me.

           “The Lee Enterprises?”

           “Oh so you do know?”

           “I’ve heard of them, how could you not? Their parties are exclusive, and that’s putting it generously,” I respond sipping on my own beverage. Two can play ASMR phone games, Genevieve.

           “Oh, the most exclusive, top of the line guests, one year, Beyonce performed, and the next, Adele,” She regales me, tempting me to go off topic.  

           “Are you dating that guy? He’s gorgeous,” I inquire.

           “Hoseok? No, no, not for me. I think he was going to ask Kwan out,” Genevieve says.

           “Really? A new boyfriend?”

           Scoffing loudly, “Just because she isn’t like her siblings doesn’t mean she doesn’t date.”

           “None of them have a particularly stellar track record,” I remind her.

           “Does anyone?” She breathes.

           “I suppose not,”

           “Mm, anyway, Hoseok is eying Kwan, I’m single and you’re still with that guy, who?”

           “Jungkook,”

           “Mm, I think Hoseok might know him,” She says.

           “What?” I ask.

           The thing with being a P.I. is accepting the reality that nothing is a coincidence. There are no happy accidents, nothing is considered fate. I’ve been so, blinded, by my personal connection with Jungkook to see the larger picture. What if he is part of this? Could he be conspiring with these other men? Does he know them, like they seem to be implying? How fucking blind have I been?

           “Yeah, he said something to me later, about knowing a Jungkook and wondering if they were the same. He said that it’s not a common name in Korea, so why would it be here?” Genevieve’s soft voice pulls me back from my panic attack.

           “Yeah, say, does Hoseok know a Namjoon?” I ask.

           “I don’t know, do you want me to ask?” Genevieve sets her drink down, the sound clinking through my phone.

           “Uh, no, no, that’s okay,” My hands hastily move against my keyboard, searching Hoseok’s followers for Namjoon.

           But I don’t find him.

           Instead, my blood runs cold at who I find.

Next: Codename Miss Cuttlefish, If Ya Nasty

[kenzymirror]

Unical on fire after their SUG Election

UNIVERSITY OF CALABAR STUDENTS UNION GOVERNMENT ONLINE ELECTIONS REPORTEDLY INTERRUPTED BY HACKERS CALABAR UNIVERSITY ELECTORAL COMMISSION RELEASES RESULTS OF AN INCONCLUSIVE ELECTION. UNICAL SUG PRESIDENT, AFUFU ANTHONY LEADS STUDENTS AND DECLARED WINNER TO INVADE MEDICAL STUDENTS' HOSTEL(RESIDENCE OF ONE OF THE  PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES) Reports from the University of Calabar has it that crisis and protest is currently brewing in the University over the just concluded Students Union Government Election which was scheduled to run from 10:00am - 2:00pm, April 24th. Thousand of students were left dissatisfied after they were unable to access the voting portal some Minutes after voting commenced. Voting on was suspended and continued by 11:30 before being abruptly stopped by 1:00pm, an hour to the proposed deadline.

Whilst students were expecting the Electoral commission to formally brief students on the reasons for the challenges faced,  results were announced with the winner of the Presidential election winning by a little more than 400 votes (an election with almost 10,000 declared eligible voters after compulsorily paying fees). The SUG President,  Afufu Anthony then led bandits into the Medical Students hostel(the Hall of residence of one of the Presidential candidates) to celebrate the declared winner with the official vehicle of the SUG President. Afufu Anthony broke into the hostel,  smashing windows and bottles before being seized by the Hall authorities pending security intervention to be held responsible for the destruction. Men of the surveillance unit arrived the hall of residence and in an attempt to break into the hall, opened fire on medical students. With bullet shells littered around the hostel. The SUG President was later released untouched by the Hall authorities. Two students were arrested during the solidarity procession to the venue were students were chased off after shooting sporadically into the air. The students have been moved to the police station by 7:15pm. As of today, Wednesday, 25th April, 2018, the following headlines were made from the University of Calabar: #UNICALDECIDES2018: NEW SUG EXECUTIVES ELECTED AMDIST DUBIOUS AND CONTROVERSIAL ONLINE ELECTIONS ALLEGEDLY INTERRUPTED AND MANIPULATED BY HACKERS *UNIVERSITY OF CALABAR IN TURMOIL AS STUDENT'S UNION GOVERNMENT ELECTIONS   IS MARRED BY IRREGULARITIES.* *UNICAL SUG ELECTIONS ALLEGEDLY INTERRUPTED BY HACKERS AS THOUSANDS OF STUDENTS ARE LEFT DISENFRANCHISED* *CUECO RELEASE RESULTS OF AN INCONCLUSIVE ELECTION* The University of Calabar had erupted into chaos as an aftermath of the 2018 *STUDENT'S UNION GOVERNMENT ELECTIONS* result which was released despite irregularities. The Election was scheduled to run from 10:00am to 2:00pm on the 24th of April 2017. The election began in earnest by 10:00am as various candidates and their supporters were around campus to gather pins for the electoral voting, introduced in 2014. Few minutes into the election, several electorates began to complain about difficulties in logging into the site (unicalevotes.com). Several screenshots of the voting experiences and difficulties faced were littered on social media. The Electoral Commission (CUECO) suspended the elections till 11:30am, when voting would continue.  Elections resumed and problems and reportedly the situation was worse. More complaints flooded social media. Few minutes to 1:00pm, the voting on the site was closed and electorates were unable to vote till voting time elapsed. Students waited patiently  for the Calabar University Electoral Commission (CUECO), The Students' Affairs Division or any other management staff to inform the electorates on the reasons for the difficulty experienced and how to tackle it fairly.  In a twist of fate; celebrations began around school premises shortly before the results were released. The students' community was divided into factions over the Presidential Elections, where three students competed keenly; *Enyam Kelvin (Faculty Of Management Sciences),  Coco Bassey Esu (Faculty Of Medicine), Joseph Frank (Faculty Of Social Science).*  The electoral provisions singled out medical students and demanded a compulsory deferment of one year academic session before any candidates from the Faculty Of Medicine would stand election; a demand met by one of the candidates *Coco Bassey Esu.* The results of the election did not sit down well with majority of the students as the declared  winner of the elections; *Enyam Kelvin*  won by a little above *400 votes,* compared to about *10,000 Students* who were to receive pins for the election scoring to the lost of eligible voters from the electoral commission, after meeting a compulsory criterion of payment of school fees, not taking into account a number of others who had paid their fees but did not receive their pins. Students from various parts of the University began a peaceful protest to reject the election results, seeking reasons as to why an election result would be released,  when it was obvious that the electoral process had been a complete disaster. Two students were arrested during the solidarity March to hear from the CUECO Chairman. The two students have been tagged to be cultist and have since been moved to the Police station as at 7:15pm 24th April 2018. The University management is yet issue a public statement as many questions seek to be answered. Is the Management going to take responsibility for failing to provide secure and fair voting process even after thousands of students were made to compulsorily paying fees to enable them vote? Will the School Management accept to let such a result stand, a result decided by about 700 students in all compared to 10000+ eligible voters,  especially when the problems came from the administrators of the site? Was it a deliberate act from the management who have traditionally tried to remain neutral or a case of compromise of the site 'anname technologies'? Students are calling and demanding on the Vice Chancellor, Prof. Zane Akpagu popularly known for his Student oriented administration of the University put the Students and their good will first. We await as the story unfolds. Danieka Maith Unical

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2qZzZob

[nebris]

Now the Full Story of the Persecution of Julian Assange Can Be Told

By John Pilger / AlterNet  May 23, 2017

Julian Assange has been vindicated because the Swedish case against him was corrupt. The prosecutor, Marianne Ny, obstructed justice and should be prosecuted. Her obsession with Assange not only embarrassed her colleagues and the judiciary but exposed the Swedish state’s collusion with the United States in its crimes of war and “rendition.”

Had Assange not sought refuge in the Ecuadorean embassy in London, he might have been on his way to the kind of American torture pit Chelsea Manning had to endure. This prospect was obscured by the grim farce played out in Sweden. “It’s a laughing stock,” said James Catlin, one of Assange’s Australian lawyers. “It is as if they make it up as they go along.”

It may have seemed that way, but there was always serious purpose. In 2008, a secret Pentagon document prepared by the “Cyber Counterintelligence Assessments Branch” foretold a detailed plan to discredit WikiLeaks and smear Assange personally.

The “mission” was to destroy the “trust” that was WikiLeaks’ “centre of gravity.” This would be achieved with threats of “exposure [and] criminal prosecution.” Silencing and criminalizing WikiLeaks was the aim.

Perhaps this was understandable. WikiLeaks has exposed the way the U.S. government dominates much of human affairs, including its epic crimes, especially in Afghanistan and Iraq: the wholesale killing of civilians and the contempt for sovereignty and international law.

These disclosures are protected by the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. As a presidential candidate in 2008, Barack Obama, a professor of constitutional law, lauded whistleblowers as “part of a healthy democracy [and they] must be protected from reprisal.”

In 2012, the Obama campaign boasted on its website that Obama had prosecuted more whistleblowers in his first term than all other U.S. presidents combined. Before Chelsea Manning had even received a trial, Obama had publicly pronounced her guilty.

Few serious observers doubt that should the U.S. get its hands on Assange, a similar fate awaits him. According to documents released by Edward Snowden, he is on a “Manhunt target list.” Threats of his kidnapping and assassination became almost political and media currency in the U.S. following then Vice-President Joe Biden’s preposterous claim that the WikiLeaks founder was a “cyber-terrorist.” Hillary Clinton proposed her own expedient solution: “Can’t we just drone this guy.”

According to Australian diplomatic cables, Washington’s bid to get Assange is “unprecedented in scale and nature.” In Alexandria, Virginia, a secret grand jury has sought for almost seven years to contrive a crime for which Assange can be prosecuted. This is not easy. The First Amendment protects publishers, journalists and whistleblowers, whether the editor of the New York Times or the editor of WikiLeaks. The very notion of free speech is described as America’s “ founding virtue,” or as Thomas Jefferson called it, “our currency.”

Faced with this hurdle, the U.S. Justice Department has contrived charges of “espionage,” “conspiracy to commit espionage,” “conversion” (theft of government property), “computer fraud and abuse” (computer hacking), and general “conspiracy." The favored Espionage Act, which was meant to deter pacifists and conscientious objectors during World War I, has provisions for life imprisonment and the death penalty.

Assange’s ability to defend himself has been severely limited by the U.S. declaring his case a state secret. In 2015, a federal court in Washington blocked the release of all information about the “national security” investigation against WikiLeaks, because it was “active and ongoing” and would harm the “pending prosecution” of Assange. The judge, Barbara J. Rothstein, said it was necessary to show “appropriate deference to the executive in matters of national security.” This is a kangaroo court.

For Assange, his trial has been trial by media. On Aug. 20, 2010, when the Swedish police opened a rape investigation, they coordinated it, unlawfully, with the Stockholm tabloids. The front pages said Assange had been accused of the “rape of two women.” The word “rape” can have a very different legal meaning in Sweden than in Britain; a pernicious false reality became the news that went round the world. Less than 24 hours later, the Stockholm chief prosecutor, Eva Finne, took over the investigation. She wasted no time in canceling the arrest warrant, saying, “I don’t believe there is any reason to suspect that he has committed rape.” Four days later, she dismissed the rape investigation altogether, saying, “There is no suspicion of any crime whatsoever.”

Enter Claes Borgstrom, a highly contentious figure in the Social Democratic Party then standing as a candidate in Sweden’s imminent general election. Within days of the chief prosecutor’s dismissal of the case, Borgstrom, a lawyer, announced to the media that he was representing the two women and had sought a different prosecutor in Gothenberg. This was Marianne Ny, whom Borgstrom knew well, personally and politically.

On August 30, Assange voluntarily went to a police station in Stockholm and answered the questions put to him. He understood that was the end of the matter. Two days later, Ny announced she was reopening the case.

At a press conference, Borgstrom was asked by a Swedish reporter why the case was proceeding when it had already been dismissed. The reporter cited one of the women as saying she had not been raped. He replied, “Ah, but she is not a lawyer.”

On the day Marianne Ny reactivated the case, the head of Sweden’s military intelligence service, MUST, publicly denounced WikiLeaks in an article titled “WikiLeaks [is] a threat to our soldiers [under U.S. command in Afghanistan].”

Both the Swedish prime minister and foreign minister attacked Assange, who had been charged with no crime. Assange was warned that the Swedish intelligence service, SAPO, had been told by its U.S. counterparts that U.S.-Sweden intelligence-sharing arrangements would be “cut off” if Sweden sheltered him.

For five weeks, Assange waited in Sweden for the renewed rape investigation to take its course. The Guardian was then on the brink of publishing the Iraq “War Logs,” based on WikiLeaks’ disclosures, which Assange was to oversee in London. Finally, he was allowed to leave. As soon as he left, Marianne Ny issued a European Arrest Warrant and an Interpol “red alert” normally used for terrorists and dangerous criminals.

Assange went to a police station in London, was duly arrested and spent 10 days in solitary confinement in Wandsworth Prison. Released on £340,000 bail, he was electronically tagged, required to report to police daily and placed under virtual house arrest while his case began its long journey to the Supreme Court.

He still had not been charged with any offense. His lawyers repeated his offer to be questioned in London, by video or personally, pointing out that Marianne Ny had given him permission to leave Sweden. They suggested a special facility at Scotland Yard commonly used by the Swedish and other European authorities for that purpose. She refused.

For almost seven years, while Sweden has questioned 44 people in the U.K. in connection with police investigations, Ny refused to question Assange and so advance her case.

Writing in the Swedish press, a former Swedish prosecutor, Rolf Hillegren, accused Ny of losing all impartiality. He described her personal investment in the case as “abnormal” and demanded she be replaced.

Assange asked the Swedish authorities for a guarantee that he would not be “rendered” to the U.S. if he was extradited to Sweden. This was refused. In December 2010, the Independent  revealed that the two governments had discussed his onward extradition to the U.S.

Contrary to its reputation as a bastion of liberal enlightenment, Sweden has drawn so close to Washington that it has allowed secret CIA renditions, including the illegal deportation of refugees. The rendition and subsequent torture of two Egyptian political refugees in 2001 was condemned by the U.N. Committee against Torture, Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch; the complicity and duplicity of the Swedish state are documented in successful civil litigation and in WikiLeaks cables.

“Documents released by WikiLeaks since Assange moved to England,” wrote Al Burke, editor of the online Nordic News Network, an authority on the multiple twists and dangers that faced Assange, “clearly indicate that Sweden has consistently submitted to pressure from the United States in matters relating to civil rights. There is every reason for concern that if Assange were to be taken into custody by Swedish authorities, he could be turned over to the United States without due consideration of his legal rights.”

The war on Assange now intensified. Marianne Ny refused to allow his Swedish lawyers, and the Swedish courts, access to hundreds of SMS messages that the police had extracted from the phone of one of the two women involved in the rape allegations.

Ny said she was not legally required to reveal this critical evidence until a formal charge was laid and she had questioned him. So why wouldn’t she question him?

When she announced last week that she was dropping the Assange case, she made no mention of the evidence that would destroy it. One of the SMS messages makes clear that one of the women did not want any charges brought against Assange, “but the police were keen on getting a hold on him.” She was “shocked” when they arrested him because she only “wanted him to take [an HIV] test.” She “did not want to accuse JA of anything” and “it was the police who made up the charges.” In a witness statement, she is quoted as saying that she had been “railroaded by police and others around her.”

Neither woman claimed she had been raped. Indeed, both denied they were raped and one of them has since tweeted, “I have not been raped.” The women were manipulated by police, whatever their lawyers may say now. Certainly, they too are the victims of this sinister saga.

Katrin Axelsson and Lisa Longstaff of Women Against Rape wrote: “The allegations against [Assange] are a smokescreen behind which a number of governments are trying to clamp down on WikiLeaks for having audaciously revealed to the public their secret planning of wars and occupations with their attendant rape, murder and destruction… The authorities care so little about violence against women that they manipulate rape allegations at will. [Assange] has made it clear he is available for questioning by the Swedish authorities, in Britain or via Skype. Why are they refusing this essential step in their investigation? What are they afraid of?”

Assange’s choice was stark: extradition to a country that had refused to say whether or not it would send him on to the U.S., or to seek what seemed his last opportunity for refuge and safety.

Supported by most of Latin America, the government of tiny Ecuador granted him refugee status on the basis of documented evidence that he faced the prospect of cruel and unusual punishment in the U.S.; that this threat violated his basic human rights; and that his own government in Australia had abandoned him and colluded with Washington.

The Labor government of then-Prime Minister Julia Gillard had even threatened to take away his Australian passport, until it was pointed out to her that this would be unlawful.

The renowned human rights lawyer Gareth Peirce, who represents Assange in London, wrote to Australian foreign minister Kevin Rudd: “Given the extent of the public discussion, frequently on the basis of entirely false assumptions… it is very hard to attempt to preserve for him any presumption of innocence. Mr. Assange has now hanging over him not one but two Damocles swords, of potential extradition to two different jurisdictions in turn for two different alleged crimes, neither of which are crimes in his own country, and that his personal safety has become at risk in circumstances that are highly politically charged.”

It was not until she contacted the Australian High Commission in London that Peirce received a response, which answered none of the pressing points she raised. In a meeting I attended with her, the Australian Consul-General, Ken Pascoe, made the astonishing claim that he knew “only what I read in the newspapers” about the details of the case.

In 2011, in Sydney, I spent several hours with a conservative Member of Australia’s Federal Parliament, Malcolm Turnbull, now the Prime Minister of Australia. He had a reputation then as a free speech advocate. We discussed the threats to Assange and their wider implications for freedom of speech and justice, and why Australia was obliged to stand by him. I gave him Gareth Peirce’s letter about the threat to Assange’s rights and life. He said the situation was clearly appalling and promised to take it up with the Gillard government. Only his silence followed.

For almost seven years, this epic miscarriage of justice has been drowned in a vituperative campaign against the WikiLeaks founder. Deeply personal attacks have been aimed at a man not charged with any crime yet subjected to treatment not even meted out to a defendant facing extradition on a charge of murdering his wife. That the U.S. threat to Assange was a threat to all journalists, and to the principle of free speech, was lost in the sordid and the ambitious. I would call it anti-journalism.

Books were published, movie deals struck and media careers launched or kickstarted on the back of WikiLeaks and an assumption that attacking Assange was fair game and he was too poor to sue. People have made money, often big money, while WikiLeaks has struggled to survive.

The previous editor of the Guardian, Alan Rusbridger, called the WikiLeaks disclosures, which his newspaper published, “one of the greatest journalistic scoops of the last 30 years.” Yet no attempt was made to protect the Guardian’s provider and source. Instead, the “scoop” became part of a marketing plan to raise the newspaper’s cover price.

With not a penny going to Assange or WikiLeaks, a hyped Guardian book led to a lucrative Hollywood movie. The book’s authors, Luke Harding and David Leigh, gratuitously described Assange as a “damaged personality” and “callous.” They also revealed the secret password he had given the paper in confidence, which was designed to protect a digital file containing the U.S. embassy cables. With Assange now trapped in the Ecuadorean embassy, Harding, standing among the police outside, gloated on his blog that “Scotland Yard may get the last laugh.”

Journalism students might study this period to understand the most ubiquitous source of “fake news” — as from within a media self-ordained with a false respectability and as an extension of the authority and power it courts and protects. The presumption of innocence was not a consideration in Kirsty Wark’s memorable live-on-air interrogation in 2010. “Why don’t you just apologize to the women?” she demanded of Assange, followed by: “Do we have your word of honor that you won’t abscond?”

On the BBC’s Today program, John Humphrys bellowed: “Are you a sexual predator?” Assange replied that the suggestion was ridiculous, to which Humphrys demanded to know how many women he had slept with.

“Would even Fox News have descended to that level?” wondered the American historian William Blum. “I wish Assange had been raised in the streets of Brooklyn, as I was. He then would have known precisely how to reply to such a question: ‘You mean including your mother?’”

Last week on BBC World News, on the day Sweden announced it was dropping the case, I was interviewed by Greta Guru-Murthy, who seemed to have little knowledge of the Assange case. She persisted in referring to the “charges” against him. She accused him of putting Trump in the White House and she drew my attention to the “fact” that “leaders around the world” had condemned him. Among these leaders she included Trump’s CIA director. I asked her, “Are you a journalist?”

The injustice meted out to Assange is one of the reasons Parliament reformed the Extradition Act in 2014. “His case has been won lock, stock and barrel,” Gareth Peirce told me. “These changes in the law mean that the U.K. now recognizes as correct everything that was argued in his case. Yet he does not benefit.” In other words, he would have won his case in the British courts and would not have been forced to take refuge.

Ecuador’s decision to protect Assange in 2012 was immensely brave. Even though the granting of asylum is a humanitarian act, and the power to do so is enjoyed by all states under international law, both Sweden and the United Kingdom refused to recognize the legitimacy of Ecuador’s decision.

Ecuador’s embassy in London was placed under police siege and its government abused. When William Hague’s Foreign Office threatened to violate the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations, warning that it would remove the diplomatic inviolability of the embassy and send the police in to get Assange, outrage across the world forced the government to back down. One night, police appeared at the windows of the embassy in an obvious attempt to intimidate Assange and his protectors.

Since then, Assange has been confined to a small room without sunlight. He has been ill from time to time and refused safe passage to the diagnostic facilities of hospital. Yet his resilience and dark humor remain quite remarkable under the circumstances. When asked how he put up with the confinement, he replied, “Sure beats a supermax.”

It is not over, but it is unraveling. The United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention, the tribunal that adjudicates and decides whether governments comply with their human rights obligations, last year ruled that Assange had been detained unlawfully by Britain and Sweden. This is international law at its apex.

Both Britain and Sweden participated in the 16-month U.N. investigation and submitted evidence and defended their positions before the tribunal. In previous cases ruled upon by the Working Group—Aung Sang Suu Kyi in Burma, imprisoned opposition leader Anwar Ibrahim in Malaysia, detained Washington Post journalist Jason Rezaian in Iran—both Britain and Sweden gave full support to the tribunal. The difference now is that Assange’s persecution endures in the heart of London.

The Metropolitan Police say they still intend to arrest Assange for bail infringement should he leave the embassy. What then? A few months in prison while the U.S. delivers its extradition request to the British courts? If the British government allows this to happen it will, in the eyes of the world, be shamed comprehensively and historically as an accessory to the crime of a war waged by rampant power against justice and freedom, and all of us.

John Pilger [3]'s documentaries have won Academy Awards in the U.K. and the U.S.

[aion-rsa]

Clone Conspiracy #5 Reset A Key Aspect of Spider-Man’s World

SPOILER WARNING: The following article contains major spoilers for “The Clone Conspiracy” #5 by Dan Slott and Jim Cheung, on sale now.

Dan Slott and Jim Cheung close out the latest Spider-Man clone saga in “The Clone Conspiracy” #5, but while it’s an ending, the issue also serves as a new beginning of sorts for Spidey’s world. The event has featured the return of several supporting characters, or reasonable facsimiles thereof – some of them well-known and remembered, and others who had been nearly forgotten. The conclusion of Slott’s event seemingly institutes a sense of finality regarding the fate of some of these characters, while leaving a path for others to potentially return, possibly changing the dynamic of Spider-Man’s world in the wake of the story as well as several of the cast members who inhabit it.

RELATED: Spider-Cloned: The Life, Death & Return of Ben Reilly

The Extent of Dead No More Is Revealed

The “Dead No More” tag had been attached to this storyline months before it began, and its meanings had been many – it was applicable to the return of Ben Reilly, clone of Peter Parker and the one character in the Spider-Man mythos who many had concluded would never be seen again. Slott’s story hook also earlier teased the return of Uncle Ben – a notion that was dispelled midway through. In more general terms, though, the phrase was fittingly tied to the actual return of familiar friends and foes alike, from Gwen Stacy to Otto Octavius, and the resolution of “Clone Conspiracy” provides the scope of this revelation; in short, most any character once dead is ripe for eventual return, and very few of them need be dead no more.

This revelation is made possible thanks to Peter Parker’s technological knowhow, after he hacks into Parker Industries webware worldwide and broadcasts the sonic frequency counteracting the one that had been unleashed by The Jackal last issue to accelerate the decay of his creations. This includes the regenerated members of Peter / Spidey’s supporting cast who had been living within New U’s Haven facility — or, at least, most of them. While several are revealed to have already disintegrated (among others, Gwen Stacy and Marla Jameson are shown as dissolved into dust, while The Prowler’s clone and Jean DeWolff are mentioned), there are many more who remain unharmed, and unnamed.

Having fled Haven during the chaos, the potential for most of Spidey’s once-dead friends and foes – including those not specifically shown in the storyline – now have the potential to return at any time. So while Uncle Ben remains safe in the afterlife (for now), and the characters mentioned above are seemingly off the table, the future return of anyone ranging from Jack o’Lantern to Nick Katzenburg is made a little more plausible by way of Slott’s story. Peter’s past promise that “no one dies” is slated to take on a new meaning that he likely never envisioned.

Ben Reilly Bites The Dust. Again. For Now…

While all of the clones who decomposed within the story are implied to be gone for good, the series’ most notorious character has been set up to be the most notable exception. Not only serving as the storyline’s only known clone-of-a-clone, Reilly is also the only clone to be genetically strengthened by Miles Warren’s twisted scientific experimentations on him. Reilly disintegrates along with Octavius during their climactic battle, and while the finale is structured to imply that Reilly is gone, other factors indicate otherwise, the most prominent one being the upcoming “Ben Reilly: Scarlet Spider” series by and Mark Bagley.

RELATED: Ben Reilly is the Scarlet Spider (Again) In An All-New Series

Reilly’s unique background and multiple regenerations offer a possible clue as to his pending return. After Peter and Anna Maria Marconi observe the remains of Reilly and Octavius in the battle’s aftermath, Anna makes a reference to “the ultimate template,” the clone prototype Reilly had shown her earlier in the event, tempting her with the promise of a body free of genetic defects. Reilly has already been set up as the series’ character slated to come back from literal certain death, and his upcoming return indicates that this template is something Reilly could have already used to augment himself, or perhaps the proto-clone is Reilly’s next body. The genetic manipulation that enables Reilly to return to life with comparative ease, and in perfect form, could indeed serve as a template that could be applied to others, postulating what’s essentially the promise of potential eternal life.

Who Else Will Be Dead No More? Place Your Bets

With the notion of death now being established as even more of a revolving door back to life than a barrier to it than we’ve ever seen before in the Marvel Universe, the possibilities of who just might walk through that door are many. Some, like Uncle Ben, still carry a reverence that Marvel Comics’ writers and editors don’t seem ready to defile, and others, like Jean DeWolff, are unlikely to be resurrected for other reasons. Most others, though, stand a pretty fair chance of returning.

Otto Octavius is an odds-on favorite to be one of them; it’s unlikely he would finally be brought back as the classic incarnation of Doctor Octopus only to be killed off again for good. After Ock committed the ultimate crime against Peter by taking control of his body and usurping his life for a time as the Superior Spider-Man, Peter still has that longstanding grudge to settle, and it’s one that hasn’t really been addressed since Peter’s return amidst all of the other Spider-events. And, Octavius’ remains likely mixed with those of Reilly’s after they dissolved, so some of that ultimate template DNA is a more than a little likely to literally rub off on Ock.

Gwen Stacy, besides her cloned self being prominently featured in this series, is currently starring in a title of her own, albeit as the alternate versions known as Spider-Gwen. With all of this demand for Gwen, and with Peter back to being his old bachelor self for the past decade or so, there’s really no reason not to bring back the “real” Gwen into the “real” Marvel Universe. Besides, the character has been in woeful need of a fashion overhaul since the ’70s; every time she’s supposedly been brought back, she somehow feels the need to bring her miniskirt and headband with her. It would be nice to see how the classic Gwen would play out in the modern world, if for no other reason than to see her adapt to modern styles.

Lastly, the classic Green Goblin, whether as a clone of Norman Osborn, Harry, or someone else entirely, has been a long-missed villain in Spider-Man’s rogues’ gallery, and deserves to reclaim his place. While only an extra in “The Clone Conspiracy,” the character was seen in the background enough times to indicate that he didn’t simply flee Haven only to never be seen again. Indeed, he’s been revealed as the main protagonist in “Amazing Spider-Man” once artist Stuart Immonen joins Dan Slott on Spidey’s flagship series.

The saga isn’t quite over; the story of The Rhino carries over into “The Clone Conspiracy Omega” #1, on sale March 1. Ben Reilly’s new life – that is, his latest one – picks up in “Ben Reilly: Scarlet Spider” #1, on sale April 26.

The post Clone Conspiracy #5 Reset A Key Aspect of Spider-Man’s World appeared first on CBR.com.

http://ift.tt/2lLKHhA

[voidselfshipp]

I love twisted fate, I hope he comes to kiss me soon!!! Please ;;;

[voidselfshipp]

tf and graves give me so much serotonin!! whenever i think of them i want to happy stimm and giggle like a schoolgirl in love , damnit you two!!! yall had to go and steal my heart  

[voidselfshipp]

Twisted Fate, upon meeting my s/i: oh shes just a quiet little thing

Twisted Fate, when he actually meets my s/i: oh god, was i wrong

[voidselfshipp]

WHY IS IT THAT IM RETURNING TO THESE GUYS AGAIN????

I am so concerned/hj

[voidselfshipp]

Heheheh my f/os and my hc height...