#yes he's insane but he's going around denying a fourth of his age like a proper old fashioned womana

[muzsmocsing]

This is probably against canon but in my head gods do age, just very very slowly. So Xie Lian who ascended at 17 would look like he's in his mid 20s 800 years later. Why? Because I need Jun Wu to have grey hairs. It doesn't sit right with my soul to have his ancient bitter ass be youthful. I need him to serve that divorced dad midlife crisis realness.

[vventure]

Spanx and Spanks

Prompt: “You’re not going out in that outfit.”

Pairing: dom!Tenya Iida x fem!reader

All characters are aged-up to 20+!

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Daddy kink, spanking, squirting, dirty talk (kind of)

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Tenya would be such a good dom, and I think he’d be a fairly sweet one at that. If ANYONE ever tells you that you can’t wear something TELL THEM TO SUCK YOUR ASS. You wear what you want and you flaunt it. I just thought this prompt would make for a really good smut with Tenya.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom she shared with her long-time boyfriend, [y/n] twisted and huffed at her reflection. She was on the fourth outfit option that day, and the heat from the sun blazing through the windows was making each piece of clothing harder to wriggle on as time passed. This had to be it, she’d be a puddle of sweat if she didn’t just accept the dress she was in now. That didn’t mean she was happy with it. 

The dress was a cheery yellow skater, except that it really didn’t reach far beyond her ass, and with every spin she could feel the hot air against her lower cheeks. Whatever, time was slipping away and she really needed to get going. Her beloved, Tenya Iida, was waiting patiently to take her out to brunch. In what world was it fair for it to be so hot before noon?

To give herself some peace of mind, [y/n] slipped on a black pair of spanx and sauntered out to the living room where Tenya was sitting. He had his glasses off, trying to get them to de-fog from the sweat that was beading on his face and evaporating in the heat. Their air conditioning had been broken for only a day and they were both dying slow, sweaty deaths.

She assumed that he’d seen her bright yellow blob enter the room, and he reached for his glasses, pressing them onto his face. The spectacles immediately fogged over, though [y/n] thought it may be for another reason entirely as her boyfriend began to sputter. 

Taking off his glasses, he squinted at her blurred form before stating with nearly parental authority: “You’re not going out in that outfit.”

“Baaabe. This is, like, the tenth outfit I’ve tried on,” she whined in reply, stretching the truth to get him to relent. “It’s too hot for me to switch again.”

“What’s wrong with all of your other dresses, angel?”

“They’re in the laundry or they didn’t look right today.”

“I’m not taking you out in that dress,” he stated sternly.

“What are you, my dad?” She said with a huff. Tenya shot up from the couch and crossed the distance between them, his naked eyes boring into her own as he gripped her hips.

“You’re being a brat, and brats don’t get brunch,” he said as she tried to look away. His tight grip moving to her chin made their eyes meet yet again; his pupils were blown wide with lust. Oh- now things were making sense. She confirmed her suspicions as she glanced down to look at the bulge forming in his khakis. He took in her eye movements and smirked mischievously. “Brats don’t get that either. That is until they’ve learned their lesson.”

Slinging her over his shoulder, he sped to their bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed with her torso over his thighs as her ass peaked into the air. His large hand ran up her bare leg to the bottom of the short skirt and flipped it up so it rested against her lower back. She hissed as a sun ray shot onto her ass, deliciously warm even with the sweat pouring off her. Tenya paused, taking in the tight black shorts under her dress where he expected to see a pair of lacy panties. The pause was short, though, as he ripped the tight fabric all the way down her legs to her ankles. [y/n] whined as the material chafed down her legs; it had taken her almost three whole minutes to coax that tight fabric up her sticky legs. 

Groping one of her ass cheeks in his hand, Tenya began to massage. Watching her supple skin mold under his fingertips made him let out a light groan before he wound his arm up to land a harsh smack against the skin he’d just been admiring. A shriek left her lips as a delicious stinging warmth crept along her ass. She wiggled her buttocks a little, causing him to slam his hand in the exact same spot, drawing a moan from her mouth. Another slap landed before her moan had even finished, turning it into a high pitched shriek.

“Tenya--” she said, her sweaty face craning to peer at him. He landed a slightly softer smack this time as he took in the pain etched into her features.

“You lost the privilege to use that name, brat.”

“Daddy, please. I need your cock,” she whimpered in response.

“Do you really think you’ve earned it?”

“Y-yes.”

“I don’t think you have,” he said, ignoring her as he moved her off his lap to lay on the bed with her legs hanging over the bottom edge. Tenya got onto his knees and spread her thighs apart, his hot breath fanning over her sweaty skin.

“Ah-daddy-please I’m too sweaty. It’s gross,” she whined. Her eyes were ready to pop out of her head when he took the crotch of her panties into his mouth and sucked lightly before letting them snap back into place against her core.

“Are you denying daddy his favorite meal?”

“No-just-I…” Her protests fell on deaf ears as he pushed her panties to the side with his calloused fingers and ran the flat of his tongue along her slit, making her buck into his mouth. In response, a large hand pressed down on her pelvis to keep her from moving. Working his tongue along her folds, he teased around her opening before pressing into it slightly as his nose rubbed against her clit. A mewl left her lips as she wished that sensitive bundle of nerves was getting proper attention; she knew that Tenya could play her like a fiddle, though.

His tongue swirled around her entrance a few more times before moving languidly up her slit to her under-stimulated button. Two fingers entered her soaked heat as he ran circles around her clit painfully slowly with the tip of his tongue. 

His fingers pumped in and out of her leisurely, rubbing lightly against the spongy spot inside her, which made her whimper and writhe her upper body. As her thighs clamped around his head, Tenya sucked her clit into his mouth, giving it a light nip as his fingers pressed against her g-spot, making her lock her ankles behind him and arch her back off the bed as her orgasm rocketed through her.

She couldn’t tell if it had happened so fast because of the heat, or because of the spanking. Releasing his head, [y/n] looked down at her boyfriends soaked, but smiling, face. He licked his lips and pushed her farther back onto the bed before crawling over top of her while pulling down her panties. 

She feebly reached for his trousers before he smacked her hands away and pinned them to the bed. His hips settled between hers and she could feel his clothed cock through the rough fabric of his khakis as he began to grind up into her. Kissing her deeply, he continued his dry-humping against her soaked cunt as she moaned into him. 

“You like this, angel?” Tenya muttered against her lips. “Are you really going to get off just from me humping you?”

The metal of his belt dragged along her clit and she saw stars dance before her eyes as her toes curled and she groaned loudly in response to his question. She was already so close to another orgasm, and the cold metal in contrast to the heat of the room and their bodies was driving her insane. Taking this cue from her, Tenya did one more deep thrust against her, dragging his belt slowly along her pussy to grind against her clit again. Coming undone with a strangled shout, [y/n] squirted her arousal all over his pants as her hands grasped at thin air from their pinned position.

“Please, daddy, I need your cock inside me now.”

Her orgasms were making her legs quake and she just needed him the most to reach full satisfaction. No more was said as he unzipped his soiled khakis and pulled his cock out from between the teeth of the zipper. It was an angry red and the tip was swollen with precum dripping steadily from it. She bit her lip as she took it in, her pussy still clenching around nothing from her previous orgasm. Tenya lined himself up with her entrance and stared down at her, letting the tip of his cock stretch her opening just slightly.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, daddy. I promise,” she replied as he plunged himself into her all the way to the hilt with a hiss. Her walls clamped down on him immediately as he began a slow pace with his thrusts. The vein at the bottom of his member was running along her walls as the engorged head hit her g-spot with every thrust. Whimpers cascaded from her lips and her fingers dug into his polo shirt as he began to pick up speed, his balls slapping against her steadily bruising ass. After all his teasing, he was close to his own release.

“Take all of my cum, angel,” he gritted out through his moans. “Daddy wants to see you full.”

His words sent her straight over the edge and into her third orgasm. Tenya didn’t last long after as her walls clamped down on him, sucking every last bit of his release into her. Collapsing on top of her, he stroked some tangled hair from her sweaty face and kissed her deeply.

“So, about brunch--”

[futurewriter2000]

Convince me

A/N: This took me so long and no I won’t edit it because I just don’t want to read it again. I’m just gonna listen to my George Michael and chill at 2am.

PAIRING: Fred Weasley x reader

REQUEST: Could you do a Fred Weasley x Reader when their in their fourth year where they both are secretly in love with eachother. But one day George asks somethin like what do you like in a guy and since shes a few months older then them she jokingly says she likes older men. Later Percy asks her out she says no but Fred doesn't know that and thinks she said yes cause "she likes older men". And theres angst and stuff.

XX

 Sometimes you couldn’t describe what you felt. You knew exactly when you were angry; the gritting of your teeth, heart pumping faster, blood reaching your cheeks, nerves thinning, brain clouded... or when you were sad; usually feeling like your heart was in a dark pit, floating in a shallow sea of sorrow. 

But this feeling- this emotion- this whatever this is, you couldn’t describe it with words. You couldn’t even figure it out what this really was. It wasn’t just an affinity, nor attrection and desire but it wasn’t love either. So what was it? 

When your eyes meet, your heart stops for a second and it starts pounding in your chest. When his smile reaches his cheeks and is directed to you, your hands become clammy and feel yourself get sweaty. When he speaks with his voice, your stomach twists and starts doing rhythmic gymnastics but what happens when he’s close and his hand brushes against yours?- Combination of chaos, hormones and emotions. A mess to put it subtle.

“Hey, Cherry.” you snapped your head at the ginger boy, your eyes narrowing at him. 

Cherry. The nickname George and Fred thought of when they pulled a hair-colouring prank on you. Your hair was vibrant red, sticking out in every direction and because of the poor inovention, it kept letting red drops fall on the ground, turning them into cherries. It kept going on for three days. 

“Stop calling me that, George. If anyones hair is cherry, it’s yours.” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“George? What in the right mind made you think I am George and not Fred.” he scrunched his eyebrows together and crossed his arms over his chest as if he was offended. 

You could only wish it was Fred talking to you at the moment but he wasn’t. It was his brother. His taller brother whose nose was more crooked, eyes more round and brown, lips more thin yet more rosier, shoulders less broad, more brawny body and grin almost reflecting his brother’s yet with less mischief. Oh, and one more thing. You weren’t in love with George and the energy around was quite different than around Fred.

“Don’t bother, George.” you slightly pushed his shoulder so his arms uncrosed and fell down against his body. “You know it doesn’t work with me.”

He bent down, looking directly in your eyes and wondering. “You never cease to amaze me. From all the people that can tell us apart, you are the only one.” 

A blush crept on your cheeks, flattered by his words. “You make me swoon with your choice in words,George Weasley.” you crinckled your nose at him and started walking forward. 

Yet, he was more nervous when he walked. Tensed as even, You quirked an eyevrow at him and he smiled awkwardly. “Swoon, you say, I wouldn’t be surprised because, well...” he stopped in front of you, showing himself off. “Look at me.”

“I am.” you narrowed your eyes. “Can’t say I see much.” you joked and he let out a scoff.

“Oh, okay Mrs. Heartbreaker. What is much for you?” 

You laughed at his response, looking over his shoulder and seeing a 7th year Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper laugh with his roommate. “You see that Gryffindor over-there.” you nodded behind him and he turned around to see the 7th year. 

“Really? Oliver Wood?”

“Not just him. Your brother there isn’t so bad either. It’s like killing two birds with one stone- or more likely two birds killing one stone.” you winked and George laughed.

“Percy? As in my older brother Percy??” he kept looking at you with shock.

“How older exactly?” you continued to tease.

“Like too old for your picky arse- are you serious?” he still couldn’t believe his hearing. “Percy?”

“You know what the say; the older you get the more experianced you are.” you winked at him, walking away as his mouth fell agape. 

“Your dirty mind cannot compare to your innocent name, Cherry.” he spoke behind you.

“It’s always the most innoncent that are the wildest in bed.” you turned around with a grin, waved at him and left for your dorms.

And it was not all lie. You liked Percy even if he was a stuck up sometimes, he could really be sweet with you, caring even. You’ve never seen Percy Weasley rested nor relaxed. He was always trying to achieve something. His ambitions drove his mind almost to insanity.

Yet, you remembered this one day, back in your 2nd Year, he was sleeping in the library. His head was supported by his hand and his horn-rimmed glasses were on the pile of papers, his other hand on top of a few open books that were on top of some other closed books. And though at the time, you and Percy only exchanged a nodd or a simple “hi”, you decided to wake the Prefect up. 

‘ Your hand touched his shoulder and you rocked him gently. “Percy.” you spoke very quietly, trying not to frighten him. “Percy.” you tried again and he opened his eyes slowly. They were just like Fred’s, you noticed. When his mind awoke as well, he jumped up-straiht and started looking around. 

“Merlin! What time is it?!” he shouted and you shushed him.

“It’s late. That’s why I woke you up.” 

He looked up, calmed down and smiled softly. “You’re (y/n), right?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes. That’s me.” you kept smiling. “I didn’t know you knew my real name due to your brothers always calling me Cherry.” 

“My brother’s can quite step over the limit but they don’t mean harm.” he smiled as well. It was as if you were looking a completely different side of him. “Sit.” he offered, gesturing his hand to the chair. “I hear you’re doing great in all of your classess except Charms. I could tutor you if you would like.” 

“YES!” you blurted out desperatly. “I mean...” you looked down with a blush and fumbled your fingers. “I’d love to.” ‘ 

Charms was always hell for you. Always. Since the first year and you could notice that Flitwick wasn’t very fond of you as well. Fred and George, as great as they were with Charms, were never much on school and tutoring after-school hours wasn’t their idea of living. So, Percy was the one who always helped you with your school work, especially Charms and since that night, you got to know a completely different side of him. He could be patient and sweet. He takes his time with explaining how to do a wand movement or how to figure out Arithmancy when you decided to take the class.  

Yes, you liked Percy Weasley but he wasn’t his brother. He wasn’t Fred. He wasn’t the one you felt a mess for.

---

It was odd though. The next time you saw Percy, he was a bit on edge. He kept playing with his fingers, his mouth kept being curved up into this awkward smile and his voice kept shaking- speaking far too quickly for your ears to catch his words.

“Percy.” you put your hand on his, looking into his eyes. “You keep bouncing your leg and that is really distracting. I can’t concentrate.”

He sat solid on that chair like a rock, watching you back before shaking his head and smiling softly.” Sorry. I’m just a bit nervous.”

“May I ask you why?” you smiled and dropped down your pen to listen.

“Uhm...” he chuckled awkwardly, avoiding your eyes. “Well, George told me you fancied me for a while and I sort of fancy you back but I never wanted to say anything because of the-” he stopped for a while, reading your expression that stayed just the same as he started telling you this.”-age thing.” he continued with caution. “But he said you actually prefer that so I thought, maybe. if you want, we can go to Hogsmeade together next week?” 

You stared, empty for words, confused at what he just said,- what? What just happened?

“Percy...” you started with a disappointing sigh, seeing as his shoulders dropped. 

“It’s alright. I knew-”

“No, Percy. I do like you and if I do go on the Hogsmeade date with you, what would happen after? After you grauate and leave. I still have 3 years of Hogwarts left and you have a carrier to think about.” you smiled and put your hand on top of his. You could see his mind clear up, the pieces coming together. “Plus...I know you are still in love with Penny and I- well, I’m also in love with somebody else.”

You could see him exhale the breath he was holding it. In a way, he expected to be disappointed but if he was honest with himself, he was actually relieved. 

“Does that someone else have to do with my brother?” he smirked at you and you felt your eyes widen at him. 

He knew!

“You knew!” 

“The puppy eyes, the obvious red stain on your cheeks. It doesn’t take a genious to figure out.” he chuckled and leaned back on the chair.

“Yeah, well obviously it takes your brother quite some time to figure it out.” you sighed and leaned back as well.

“Just tell him then.”

“You tell Penny.” you snapped back.

“Tell her what?”

“That you want her back.”

“I do not!” he denied but you knew he was lying through his front teeth. You fixiated your gaze on him and he smiled awkwardly. “Perhaps I do but like you said, my Hogwarts years are coming to an end and we’re both going seperate way. All I want to say to you is that don’t wait as long as I did.” 

---

The next time you saw Fred Weasley, he wasn’t in his best of moods. You walked in the Gryffindor common room and saw two red-heads together, whispering. 

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the armchair opposite. “Hey, there strangers.”

Their heads popped up. George smiled meanwhile Fred didn’t. “Hey.” they both said in unison and then started whispering again. 

You knitted your eyebrows together and moved closer to them, trying to start a conversation. “What are the two of you doing?” 

“Noone of your business, Cherry.” said Fred with a forced grin. 

You leaned back, amazed by the attitude Fred just gave you and looking at George who shared the same expression as you. 

“Okay.” you said and stood up. “Guess, I��ll leave you both alone.” 

“Come on, Ch-” George tried to speak but Fred cut him off.

“Yeah. I think you know where my brother’s dorm is but I don’t think he’s there.” 

You turned around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Fred mumbled and turned his eyes back on the paper he was working with his brother. 

You kept looking at him. Shocked? Furious? With the most horrible feeling in our stomach? - More or so. Furious. 

“Guess, I will. He seems to be far better of a company than the two of you.” and you stomped up to the boys dormitory, walking into Percy’s room and starting to rant. “Your brother is such a prick! I cannot believe I fell for him!” you sat down on the bed and then got up again, throwing your arms around nervously. “Firstly, he’s all flirty and touchy with me! Always Cherry this, Cherry that! I honestly thought he might like me back but noooo,, not Fred-right! NOT FRED! He’s just gonna make a girl feel more daft then she already feels!” you turned to point finger at Percy who was grinning at you, flicking his eyes to his right. 

You looked to your right side only to see Oliver Wood, sitting and grinning on his bed. 

You covered your lips with your hands, feeling more embarrased than you did with Fred. “I didn’t see you there.” you spoke shyly and he just laughed. 

“I’m glad you didn’t. Then I wouldn’t see this intimidating side of you.” he said and put his hands away from the books. “So I gather you fancy Fred?”

“What gives you that idea?” you joked.

“Just a guess.” he joked as well, getting up and stretching his arms. “It’s funny because Fred fancies you back, you know?” 

“No, he doesn’t.” you laughed in denial. 

“He does?” Percy sceptically looked at Oliver. 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you.” you said, still laughing. 

“Want me to prove it?” he rolled his eyes.

“How?- actually no.” you shook your head, standing up. “I- Fred doesn’t like me. He just doesn’t and he just proved it. He would never act the way he did right now.” 

“(Y/n). That’s what guys do-”

“No, no.” you shook your head. “I am better than him. Better than planning schemes and trying to prove a point.” you said and walked through the doors. 

---

Well, you thought you were better than that. Fred’s been driving you insane all week. He kept teasing you, something about dating older guys and it didn’t bother you much because you only retorded something back but he crossed the line when he told other people you were shagging one of them.

You stormed into their room, red-stained, furious. “HOW?!” you clenched your fists and stared at his eyes, meanwhile Oliver just smiled.

“Just follow my lead.”

---

You never really knew what Oliver meant by following his lead but you did what he told you to do. You waited in the common room but since his Quidditch practice took a bit more longer than he told you it would, you decided to read a book. 

It was until the loud voices came echoing from the portrait hole and the whole Quidditch team reappeared. 

You looked up at Oliver and he smiled at you, meanwhile Fred behind them quirked an eyebrow. 

“Come on. Go.” Angelina pushed Oliver, meanwhile Fred shot his head to her. 

“What’s going on?” Fred asked, switching his gazes between Oliver, you and Angelina. 

It was until right that moment when Percy came from behind them and leaned on Fred’s shoulder. “Oh, so he’s finally going to ask her out.”

Fred now shot his head to him. “I thought you asked her out?”

“I did but she made me realize I still have feelings for Penny and that because of the age gap, it wouldn’t work out.” Percy said and Fred shot his eyes back to the laughing pair at the couch. 

“Then she’d say no to him as well.” he said more nervously. 

“Wouldn’t know. Wood can be pretty good with the ladies-” he said but Fred was already with the two of you. 

You continued to giggle, touching Oliver’s arm and not taking a second glance at the boy who stood above you. He cleared his throat and both of you looked up to him.

“Yes, Fred?” 

“What’s going on here?” 

“Just two people enjoying each other’s company...alone.” 

“Aren’t the two of you a bit too cosy?” he kept glaring.

“So what if we are?” you crossed your arms over your chest. Was he really getting jealous? 

“Why would you care, Freddie?” Wood grinned, leaning back and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “It’s not like you like her. Do you?” 

He glared into Oliver’s eyes and felt his body shake. He wanted to punch him and tore that arm around you off him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, red staining his cheeks. 

“Fred?” you asked and his eyes shot to yours who looked so innocently at his. “Do you?” 

Fred kept exchanging looks. He wanted to deny. To say no or something but the way you were looking at him, he just thought that maybe- just maybe you liked him back.

But that was impossible. 

“Uh-I-”

“Oh bloody hell this is torturing.” Oliver groaned. “Just admit it. You like her, she likes you- end of story.” he stood up and clasped his hands together. “Now go make out and thank me later.” he started walking away. “Preferably with those nice sour gummy worms.” and he was out of sight, leaving both you and Fred blushing and awkwardly standing alone. 

“Do- do you really like me?” he looked up in your eyes  and sat down next to you. 

“I mean there’s no point in hiding it anymore.” you laughed and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“But I thought you liked older guys.” 

“Who told you that?” you smiled and felt the tension thinning.

“George said-”

“George?” you laughed. “All we ever do is joke around and make stupid sarcastic retords. Why would you ever believe George?” 

“I don’t know-” he smiled. “I just guess since I like you as well it felt serious at the time.”

A smile wiped itself from your lips.

It was true. Oliver and Percy were right. 

And then the biggest curve your lips could form appeared on our cheeks.”Really?”

“You don’t believe me?” he rolled his eyes, smiling. 

“I mean-”

His hand reached for your cheek and he pulled you into a kiss. A soft, short kiss just for the first taste. He pulled away, looking at your eyes and smiling. “Believe me now?” 

“I think I’ll need some more convincing.” 

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Incubus”

Incubus is a special type of metahuman that can enter people’s mind and the only one known to possess such abilities is Y/N. Captured by an underground agency and forced to obey orders, she has a new task today: to get inside The Joker’s head and find out where he stashed half a billion dollars after he pulled what everybody calls “the heist of the century”.

“Regression will begin shortly,” one of the doctors announces on the intercom. “Prepare for countdown.”

You lay on the cold metal table next to the Joker’s body: he’s medicated into a dreamless sleep, ready to have you purge his mind for the answer to the burning question: where did he stash half a billion dollars?

After being arrested two weeks ago, The King of Gotham refused to speak and disclose any information to the authorities; they tried everything: drugs, blackmail, best intimidation tactics and psychologists without success.

J didn’t crack.

Fed up with the puzzling mystery, CIA decided to use the top secret research facility operating under the grid where the infamous Incubus is held prisoner.

“A few reminders,” the flat voice echoes in the sealed laboratory. “Do not attempt to elude us, we have your little girl! If you aim to play us we’ll revoke visiting time.”

You blankly stare at the ceiling, upset they repeat the same rules when you’re forced to use your powers; the 15 minutes you’re allowed to spend with Mia on Saturdays is all you live for since they incarcerated both of you six months ago.

How you wish you could kill them but they found a solution to prevent you from rebelling.

“Please note that in case you plan to get inside our brains and compel us to stop breathing, your daughter will die. Confirm acknowledgement.”

“Confirm,” you bitterly reply because it hurts to have your child endangered; you could end them right this moment if it wasn’t for her.

Unfortunately, they found a way to subdue your terrific ability: the crew assigned to project Incubus carries portable heart monitoring devices 24/7; they resemble wrist watches and if just one individual’s pulse deactivates, it will set of the explosive in Mia’s collar. The 5 years old has no clue that what she believes to be a cute necklace is actually a device meant to eradicate her.

“Countdown to regression,” the clinician reports and the speakers carry his words around the room. “Five, four, three, two, one. Initiate!”

**************

You walk in the darkness, surprised you didn’t bump into memories yet: usually that’s the first thing you stumble upon when invading a person’s subconscious. He’s been under your spell for 10 minutes now and the void proves his twisted mind is probably worse than anyone thinks: The Clown is lost in the maze of his own insanity.

A couple more steps and you finally distinguish four doors ahead which means you’ll be able to analyze The Joker’s recollections.  

First Door

The little boy cries in the middle of the room and you slowly approach, wondering if you should interfere or just observe. But tears fall from those innocent blue eyes and the fact that he’s maybe your daughter’s age makes you decide.

“Why are you crying?” you kneel by the young Joker and he wipes his face with the sleeves of his raggedy shirt:

“My mommy died.”

“Did she? I’m sorry… Do you miss her?” you manipulate the conversation since warping his thoughts might lead to your quest: discovering where the money is.

“U-hum,” he nods and asks. “I don’t like it at the orphanage, I want to go home…”

“Perhaps I can help,” you pull him in your arms and he whispers:

“Who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare,” Y/N sadly concludes because it doesn’t bring her joy to distort an already broken mind, nevertheless she‘s here bearing a clear purpose. “It’s ok,” you hold the child and soothe him. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

The little boy whimpers, clinging to the stranger showing him kindness then vanishes in thin air: you got rid of a painful memory and replaced it with a nicer one.

Now The Joker will remember that someone comforted him when in reality it never happened.

Second Door

The young man is standing in front of the burning cottage while the firefighters are struggling to put out the blaze. He’s covered in ashes and his lips are barely moving; you can hardly discern what he keeps on repeating:

“They’re still inside… they’re still inside…”

The 24 years old Joker is numb and all you can conclude he seemed so different back in the day.

“Who’s inside?” you inquire and he glimpses your way without realizes he’s in shock.

“My wife and son. I couldn’t save them… I didn’t make it to the second level, the flames were too strong…”

You bend over and grab the blanket resting at his feet, placing it around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry they’re gone, you did everything you could.”

He glares at the Incubus for a split moment before disappearing: you just lift the burden of a horrifying experience and now The Joker will remember that someone offered consolation when in reality it never happened.

Third Door

The man is sitting on the floor with his back against the padded wall, tightly confined inside his straight jacket. He keeps screaming, then maniacally laughing and sobbing in the same time while straining to escape the garment.

“Calm down,” you slide near him. “You’ll hurt yourself if you continue.”

The 27 years old tries to articulate a couple of coherent sounds before reprising his yelling.

“Stop squirming,” you cup his face and make him pay attention. “Look at me. Relax,” you caress his cheeks. “Deep breaths, ok?” you plead with the madman. “Sssttt, it’s fine…” Y/N stares in his eyes and the shouting gradually dies out. “There you go,” you brush your forehead on J’s prior to him fading away: you switched a terrible incident into better conclusion by mimicking sympathy when in reality it never happened.  

Fourth Door

You’re surprised to notice The Joker talking to shadows: a woman and a little girl judging by their silhouettes; he resembles the most wanted criminal lying 10 inches apart from you in the secured establishment pushing you to accomplish their instructions.

A recent memory? Does it mean he has another family?...

You want to come closer and the sight of the contours disappearing is intriguing; The Clown rubs his temples and you can tell he’s distressed.

“What’s going on?” you dig in his brain for responses.

“They took my Queen and my Princess!” he grinds his teeth with resentment.

“Do you know where they are?”

“Yes,” J grumbles and evaporates saying a baffling phrase: ”I have to find the perfect plan in order to reclaim what’s mine!”

So weird the memory dispersed before you misled the truth in your favor … What the heck is going on?!...

The Cell

No rooms left and you stroll in the murkiness again, angry your scheme didn’t lead towards a better result: oddly enough The King of Gotham failed to unveil extra hints that could have aid you in discovering where the fortune he snatched is.

“Hello sugar,” the raspy intonation halts you in your tracks.

Y/N detects the heavy bars forming this square shaped cell containing what she suspects to be a version of The Joker; it’s difficult to restrain her astonishment since she’s witnessing a rare phenomenon: nothing less than a mind prison.

Jackpot! If he buried something deep inside and locked it even from himself it could mean you reached your destination.

“It’s nice to have visitors,” the eerie apparition chuckles. “It gets lonely.”

“I bet,” you pout. “Why don’t you break free?”

He kicks the bars, enraged he has to explain:

“I’m sure a superior creature such as the lady joining me knows a mind prison can only be opened from the outside!”

He’s self-aware! This is absolutely unbelievable: humans are never conscious within the deepest layers of their psyche.

“You are correct: you can only open it from the outside,” you agree. “What’s your name?”

“Joker. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

“Duh, I know,” he snickers and lets his tattooed arms hang loose outside the bars. “You have a kid, right?”

He sees your doubt and his gratification builds up to new highs.

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

“How do you know it’s a she?!” you counterattack with a quiz.

Damn, this whole charade is getting more and more fascinating by the second!

“I know soooooo many things,” the entity yawns. “For example I’m sure you wonder how I ended up in here.”

No sign you would deny his rambling thus he enlightens the riddle:

“Some are born with certain “gifts”, some develop them after a traumatic experience. I’m the lucky recipient of the latest, although I was locked in here from day one. If I had someone shatter the seal and by someone I mean you,” he points his finger at the smirking Y/N, “I could help you run from the place you hate. Tell me I’m wrong, but aren’t you trapped also?”

“You’re sneaky, I’ll give you that,” you laugh at his attempts to influence your actions.

“And you’re too powerful not to realize what’s going on! Snap out of it!!!” he hisses. “Are you single sugar?” the anger building up makes Y/N frown.

“None of your business!”

“Humor me, I beg,” he emphasizes the words.

“Yes,” you scoff and his demeanor doesn’t lower your guard.

“Are you 100% certain you’re not married?”

“What’s this nonsense?!” you sneer at the stupid conversation.

“Maybe you don’t remember because you created your own mind prison where you chained crucial data in order to protect the ones you love after you were captured. What’s your daughter’s name?” he sulks and you grumble.

“Mia.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am; do you think I don’t know my child’s name?”

“And you think I don’t recognize my own wife standing in front of me??!!!!” he snaps at your hesitation. “Set me free! Set me free and I’ll show you! I can get inside your mind and unlock your cage: you’ll remember everything!”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?!” you growl at the absurd sentences: like his devious tactic would work on you!

“I’m talking to the Incubus, am I not?”

Your mouth opens in amazement since there is no way in hell he could know that.

“Do I have your attention now?” the beast reprimands. “Good! Here’s what you deliberately forgot: nobody knows that we’re married, it’s better that way; yet a woman with your capabilities is bound to attract unwanted attention anyway. When we got together, we had a deal: you’ll never get inside my head and you consented. No? Doesn’t ring a bell?...” he cracks his joints. “After they took you and Emma from me…”

“Who’s Emma?” you interrupt, more and more convinced there’s something fishy happening inside The Joker’s subconscious.

“Our daughter, her name is not Mia, you just replaced it after you were both kidnapped in order to sever all connections with the past. Can’t blame you: it’s a great strategy given the circumstances: create a mind prison, hide everything connected to protect me and her. Last thing you needed was for them to find out we are actually acquainted in the most intimate way. That would have been a disaster! Do you know why I stole half a billion dollars and let them catch me? I knew that if I do that they’ll use everything possible under the sun to make me spill the beans. When all fails, won’t they flaunt the last ace in their sleeve? That’s how I got here sugar, it was the ultimate goal. I can’t function without my girls so I came to get them!”

“Listen here,” your menacing attitude takes over. “Who do you take me for?! Your fictional tale is starting to piss me off so I advise you to quit before I make your neurons crumble to pieces!”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it,” the feral beast sniffs the air. “You always kept your end of the bargain and never got in here before to poke the past. I respect that, sugar. Now I had no choice besides letting you in.”

“Stop it! Stop your lies!! You’re nothing more than a projection of The Joker’s mind!”

“Ahhhh,” the evil grin flourishes behind the silver teeth. “I am so much more than that. Do you want to get out of this facility? I suggest you set me free and I will prove I’m telling the truth!”

“Bullshit! What can you do anyway?! I can kill everyone and run, but my daughter will die!”

“Not if I help: you can make them stop breathing and I could keep the hearts beating until we get the key that unlocks Emma’s collar! It’s a dual team mission.”

“Her name is Mia! How do you know about the collar?!” the dumbfounded Y/N mumbles.

“Weren’t you listening? I know a lot of things!”

“Even if we assume you aren’t lying, how will you keep their hearts beating?!”

“Set me free and I’ll show you! SET. ME. FREE!!!!!! Or we are fucking doomed! Set me free!” he punches the bars. “Set me free and I’ll open your mind prison! You’ll realize each word I uttered is genuine! You’ll remember all of it! SET! ME! FREE!!! What do you have to lose, huh? Nothing! Do it!! Do it!!!!”

“How could you get inside my mind?! I’m a metahuman!”

“Goddamnit! SET ME FREE AND I’ll SHOW YOU!!!!! Do you want your daughter to perish in this place?! Do you???!!!”

You definitely are beyond skeptical; still… at least he’s correct about this: you have nothing to lose; you approach with caution and part the bars enough for the trapped entity to squeeze outside.

“Thank you honey,” he clumsily bows and before you can react he snatches in his arms and kisses you.

Y/N feels this electrifying sensation taking over, stupefied to understand what it means: she just unleashed another Incubus. And she always thought she was the only one!

You gasp for air and open your eyes, processing all the recovered memories rushing through your brain: your own mind prison was opened as promised.

You tilt your head to look at The Clown and he grabs your hand, panting:

“Are you ready sugar?”

**************

People keep falling to the ground, each step bringing you closer to your freedom. Emma’s face is buried in your neck as you jump over corpses on the way out of the underground laboratory:

“No peeking!” The Joker scolds and her little hands hold you tighter while obeying.

“Ok daddy.”

“Don’t be scared,” you kiss her cheek and continue the rampage towards the exit.

Screams intensify around the three detainees escaping their faith: the adults can’t afford any weakness or grant mercy to the ones that showed them none.

In the end, what is more terrifying than one Incubus that could plunge the world into complete darkness?

The answer is simple: two of them.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[rosegoldannie]

Tell Me no Lies Chapter 16

Hey! I’ve got another date with him tomorrow! Would you guys be opposed if i posted little updates of how things are going?

- Annie

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Aelin awoke to utter numbness, a cloud over her mind, muddling, mixing her thoughts. She went to stretch, then flinched out of reflex as a small tugging sensation spread up her spine.

A groan sounded from a few feet away, and she slowly glanced over to find Rowan curled up in a chair, snoring softly with his head turned towards her even in sleep.

“Ro,” She rasped, fingers gripping the scratchy blanket that covered her.

Instantly, he was awake and moving towards her, a hand going to smooth down her hair. “Princess,” He murmured, silver lining his eyes, “you’re awake.”

She could only nod, scooting across the bed to make room for him. Rowan caught her message, and easily slid into the bed with her, then gathered her gently against his chest.

That was how Sartaq and Dr. Rolfe found them, hours later when they came to check up on her. Rowan remained by her side, as Sartaq carefully explained that she had spondylolisthesis, that had never been discovered, and the most likely cause was the car crash.

Aelin immediately felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her. Her roommate’s arms simply tightened around her.

As if sensing her worry, Sartaq’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Aelin. I know how hard this is for you.”

She only nodded.

“The good news is,” he continued, “that we caught it just in time. If you’d carried on much longer, you’d have completely lost the ability to walk.” That cold feeling returned. “But, Aelin.” Sartaq leaned forward, and placed his hand comfortingly on her knee. “We caught it in time. You’re going to be okay.”

She at last lifted her head. “I am?”

He smiled warmly. “Yes. You’re going to make a full recovery.”

Rowan grinned, turning his head down to hers. “You hear that, A? You’re going to be alright.”

She was discharged from the hospital several days later. Rowan was absolutely always by her side, and all but insisted that she take at least until after the new year off of work.

Surprisingly, taking over six weeks off of work wasn’t the hell she had thought it would be.

Sure, Rowan was always by her side.

Sure, he was being an overbearing mother hen.

And sure, he was generally just driving Aelin insane.

But, every time he left the apartment, be it to go to the store, or to get the mail, he always came back with some of her favorite truffles.

As he entered with the fourth box for her today, Aelin huffed a sigh, and shook her head at him. “Are you serious, Whitethorn?”

He only grinned, tossed her the box. “Yes indeed.”

“I’m going to gain like twenty pounds by the end of the year if you keep this up.”

He sighed, then glanced out the window, to where snow was softly coming down in the early evening light. “Alright, get dressed. We’re going out.”

“What?! Where?” She stuttered, face turning a bright red. “I haven’t taken a shower in three days, Ro. My hair’s an absolute mess! And my skin-”

“-And yet you’re still breathtaking. Come on, go get dressed. Besides, you’re supposed to be walking every day for physical therapy.” He said it with such nonchalance that it took several moments to sink in. But when it did, Aelin felt as if the air had been ripped from her lungs, and she had been given a dose of pure adrenaline.

She froze, her jaw dropping. “What did you say?”

Rowan paled slightly, as if realizing he had spoken aloud. “I said…” For a split second, she saw indecision war across his face: to backtrack and deny, or forge ahead. “That you’re breathtaking.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s true.”

“No, why did you say it?” She pushed, heart beating wildly.

“Because you need to hear it.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her feet. “Only because of that?”

Rowan sighed. Ran a hand through his silver hair. “No. Because it’s true. You just happened to need to hear it.” There was a slight pause at the end, as if he wasn’t yet finished, but he didn’t speak again.

Warmth flooded her, turning her face an even brighter red, and Aelin took that as an opportunity for her to slip into her - for once, thanks to Rowan - clean room. He had all but insisted on cleaning it for her, saying that the last thing she needed was to trip and fall.

Shaking her head at the memory of her roommate visciously organising her makeup drawers, and muttering to himself about how many different mascaras and lipsticks and blushes one person needs, she rifled through her dresser, withdrawing a pair of soft and worn sweatpants, and tossed them to her bed. Next, she searched for a particular shirt she had most certainly not stolen from Rowan; an old cross country t-shirt which was so worn that the graphics were cracked beyond recognition. But still, it smelled like him, and was warm.

Carefully, she changed out of her stained, smelly pajamas, and into the cool, fresh sweats and shirt. Instantly she felt better, and made her way over to her vanity, where she grabbed her hairbrush, and positively raked it through her golden locks. 

Next, she went for an unhealthy amount of dry shampoo, spritzing and spoofing and spraying until her hair looked at least a little bit clean.

After a moment of debate, she decided against putting on a full face of makeup, and settled for a few swipes of mascara and blush, to make her look just a little bit less dead. It didn’t do much, but hey, at least it did something. 

Digging through her drawers once again, she pulled on yet another one of Rowan’s hoodies, one from Terrasen University. It smelled like him, and her home. That pine and snow scent that permeated all of her childhood memories.

Rowan was lacing up his timberland boots when she returned. When he at last glanced up at her, his face became tinged with pink, and he blinked several times. “Damn…” He muttered.

Warmth once again flooded her, along with happiness and the urge to laugh. “I know, I look good.”

His green eyes crinkled as he stood, softening. “No, I’m pissed you stole more of my shit.”

Aelin brushed past him with a cackle, slipping on her coat and shoes with blessed ease, and minimal pain. “Oh, really?”

He held her gaze for several seconds longer than necessary as he opened the door for her. “Yes, ma’am.”

Chuckling, she led the way towards the elevator.

Rowan, bless him, didn’t so much as comment about her not opting for the stairs, and saved her the embarrassment of saying she wasn’t ready quite yet.

Outside, it was near silent save for the occasional car or solitary person.

Immediately, an arm wrapped around her, and pulled her against a warm body. She rested her head against his shoulder, and wound her own arm around him. Calm filled her with that movement.

For just a small moment, barely more than a second, Aelin allowed herself to pretend that Rowan wasn’t simply her roommate, but rather her lover, and they were walking towards a romantic rendezvous. Warmth radiated through her, and she fought the urge to smile. Something about that just felt so right, she wished upon every star she couldn’t see that somehow, he would be able to see her even a fraction of the way she saw him.

Instantly, guilt filled her, and she found it difficult to resist shoving him away from her. How could she do that? He’d never want to be anything more than friends, he’d all but said it. He never seemed to want to be near her, and rarely did he seem to actually want to talk to her, and here she was picturing him as her boyfriend simply because he was being a caring roommate? Pathetic. All he had done was show he was a decent person, who had the ability to pity someone and here she was imagining him as her lover. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

Snow crunched loudly beneath their feet as they slowly made their way through the streets, up hills and across bridges. Past countless stores she nearly asked Rowan to go into with her. Past the river which sparkled from the sunset.

As they passed a used book store, Aelin found her feet frozen in place, utterly unable to move. Her eyes were fixed into the small, warm looking store. She turned to Rowan with a pleading grin, her eyes darting from him to the books, then back to him.

He nodded with a resigned sigh, then opened the door for her.

A warm blast of air whoosed past her, as she stepped over the threshold, inhaling a long breath of old leather, warm paper, and cedar.

She slowly made her way over to the fireplace, eyes darting to the overfilled shelves which were so meticulously and carefully organized. Running her palm across the spines, she allowed herself to pretend she was still seven years old, playing in her father’s study while he acted as if he didn’t know she was there.

Pine boughs decorated the rafters high above, accented by the warm, golden Christmas lights that trailed back and forth overhead.

Rowan had long since wandered off to the law section, and she found herself trailing over towards the books about history. She found it one row past the Law books, and gave her roommate a goofy grin as she passed him. He simply shook his head, then ducked his head down to hide his grin.

“Evalin?” A weathered voice called, shaky with age. “Evalin, is that you?”

Something cold and heavy settled deep in her gut. It was neverr good when someone recognized her, thanks to Arobynn. He’d completely destroyed her parent’s legacies.

An old man, hunched with age and the weight of burdens which were not his to carry, stepped out from behind a tall bookcase, his arms utterly laden with books.

“Emrys!” Aelin cried, launching towards him, hot tears streaking down her face. 

Emrys dropped his books, and hobbled towards her, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close.

When they at last parted, both their faces were damp and blotchy. Rowan was standing a few feet away, watching. His expression was a mixture of utmost discomfort and interest.

“Oh, sorry.” She cleared her throat, swiped at her cheeks, and wiped her hands against her sweatpants, then held out a hand to Rowan. He took it, moving close enough to tuck her into his side. “This is Emrys McCallistair. He’s a distant relative, but basically was a glorified grandfather to Aedion, Elide and I.”

Rowan smiled warmly at him, and held out his free hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Rowan, a good friend of Aelin’s.”

The old man’s chestnut eyes trailed to where Rowan kept one arm wrapped around her waist, then back up. “Good lad,” He murmured, shaking his hand, a hidden emotion swimming in those wide eyes.

He then turned back to her with an almost-grin. “I do believe you have forgotten about one of your cousins, Aelin.”

Her nose scrunched up. “How do you mean?”

He smiled. “Luca, of course.”

Aelin paused, her jaw dropping. Instinctively, her eyes flew to Rowan’s, searching for reassurance. It was only after several seconds that she realized he wouldn’t know who they were talking about. She inhaled and exhaled several times. “Luca’s alive? You’re sure?”

Emrys chuckled. “Yes, I’m quite sure, my dear. He’s alive and well, much to the fate’s chagrin.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And to the pain of my wallet.”

“But--I saw...he…” She stammered, a smile worming across her face.

Her grandfather’s eyes darkened, turning near black in the firelight. “You saw correctly. We nearly lost him during the coup, but Darrow managed to stop the bleeding just in time.”

“Darrow?”

“Yes, my dear. Darrow.”

She was quiet for a long while, lost in her thoughts as Rowan made small talk with Emrys, discussing anything and everything while Aelin absorbed the fact that her family wasn’t as small as she’d thought that morning. That she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.

By the time Aelin and Rowan stumbled out of Emrys’s bookshop, with warm hugs and promises of seeing each other again soon, the sun had long since set, and the gently falling snow had become an angry storm, ripping scarves and hats alike from unsuspecting people.

Rowan’s arm instantly returned to its spot on her waist, as he continued to lead her down the street, towards that same pizzeria from all those months ago.

Her suspicion that they would frequent it often had been correct. Nearly every single Friday, they would either make the long walk down to the shop itself, or would simply order in, and spend the night curled up together on the sofa watching awful horror movies into the early hours of the morning.

The chill left by the wind followed them into the shop with a sharp howell.

Cheeks a bright cherry red, he lead her over to their usual booth, and they each settled into their respective sides, though Rowan kept ahold of her hand, clutching it gently between his and playing with her fingers, tinged slightly blue by the cold.

The waitress, whom they had long since learned was named Thea, flitted over to them, her notepad clutched in one hand. “Ooh, is it date night?” She teased, those brown eyes lingering on their intertwined hands.

Aelin’s cheeks became a bright red, and she was glad for the excuse of the cold.

“Sure thing.” Rowan said with a grin.

Thea grinned, and took their usual order: One medium pepperoni pizza, with one iced tea and one lemonade.

Her heart gave a sharp leap, and began pounding in her chest.

Did he not know the effect he had on her? How a single smile or kind word from him could make or break her day? And when he pulled stunts like this, pretending they were on a date, when he had never shown a true romantic interest in her… It hurt. More than anything since losing Sam, and that scared the shit out of her.

It was then that she realized why.

And that was why she excused herself after only a few minutes, and sulked off into the bathroom to call her best friend.

Lysandra answered immediately. “What’s up?”

Aelin’s throat tightened to the point of pain. “Lys,” She rasped.

“What? Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.”

Lysandra paused for a moment, her voice taking on that elder sister tone she only ever used with Evangeline. “What’s the matter?”

She had to take several deep breaths, and count down from ten before she was able to speak. “Lys, I… I’m in love with Rowan.”

Comment or reblog if you want to be added to my tag list!

I’m also considering doing half-chapters from Rowan’s POV. Let me know if you’re interested.

Final thing: Please send asks for prompts!!!

tag list: @sailorsassley @whiskeybusiness1776 @mad-scientist-pyromaniac @la7sorcellerie @dayanna-hatter @mis-lil-red @aelinfeyreisa @bamchickawowow @togswiftie @teresa-1121 @hizqueen4life @aelinchocolatelover @smexyminion @rowaelin-cressworth @illyrianbeauty @angelofmusic81 @rosesandglass @blackjacks-donuts @highlordrhysie @ame223 @sleeping-and-books @seducemewithyourbookcolection @high-lady-rhys @clumsybookworm18  @westofmoon (HOLY HELL YALL, THE @westofmoon IS READING ONE OF MY FICS!!!) @giorgia-the-trashpanda @burritowithfeels @happily-emma-after @awkward-avocado-s 

[villainsblog97]

Stray Kids Reaction: Kissing a Stranger on New Years

Summary: What's so bad about kissing someone on New Years? Well... it helps if you know who they are...

Warnings: some language and use of alcohol

Scenario: Pure Fluffy Balls of Fluff!!!

Bang Chan

"What's your name?" The aussie asked you.

"Where's the fun in that, if I leave you to keep guessing... you'll stick around a little longer" you smirked.

To say that he was enchanted by you would be a total understatement, you were definitely driving him insane, and the more you two hung out the more he wanted to know you.

"Countdown in 15 guys!!!" A guy called out.

You two met at a new years eve party, you had to help Chan get lose, he told you he didn't really do a lot of partying, but you helped change his mind, when he saw you it was like time froze, you were the only thing on his mind, and thanks to Jisung and Changbin, he finally got up the courage to talk to you (okay more like Jisung and Changbin pushed him towards you).

3 hours lead you to here, you found out he was producing music with his friends and hoping one day to make it big, you told him that you came from a small town and were a city girl stuck in a country world, so you packed it up and followed your dream.

Now you stood beside him, with 2 minutes left on the clock.

"You ever kissed anyone on New Years?" He asked.

"Its so overrated..." you yelled over the music.

The song ended and the Hyped up DJ began to start the countdown.

"Ten...Nine...Eight....Seven" your eyes drifted off to Chan's lips who were counting down with the crowd, they looked so soft and plump, made you really curious of the taste of them.

"Five...Four..." Chan looked down at you and caught you in the act, his mind went blank, maybe it was the rum and coke in his hand or maybe just the way you looked, but his eyes met your lips, and he couldn't take them off.

"Three....Two....One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!"

"What the hell" he smiled as he pulled you in for a long 2020 kiss, you stomach flipped as you kissed him, he knew what he was doing, and it was driving you wild.

"Now will you tell me your name?"

"(Y/N)", "I'm Chris... but everyone around here calls me Chan"

Lee Know

This boy was already a tease, constantly hinting how badly he wanted to kiss you, but he also had a couple shots, so he was feeling pretty good.

"You know... you're suppose to kiss someone on new years...." he hinted.

"You don't have to..." you rolled your eyes.

"Its tradition!" He protested.

"Its lame..."

However as the alcohol set in, he was looking more and more delicious.

"I will admit, you are freaking hot" you smiled.

"Oh really?" He smirked.

"Little bit"

The guy called out the countdown was about to begin.

"Three.....Two....ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!" you looked over and put your hands on his face and leaned up on your tip toes and planted a big kiss on him.

His eyes widen as you pulled away, but he'd be damned if he was just gonna let you go.

Changbin

After the fourth short joke, he was getting tired of being near you, but somehow everytime he tried to leave, he'd always run right back into you.

"Following me now pip squeak?" You smirked.

"Quit with the short jokes you're not that much taller!"

"Yes but I'm still... taller"

"Whatever!" He threw his hands up and walked away again.

Forty minutes later, he saw you again, he tried to avoid you but it was no use.

"Hey! Quit following me Amazon!" He glared.

"Amazon!?"

"Yeah! AM-A-ZON!!!!"

"You're starting to piss me off!" You yelled out

"That makes two of us!" He agreed.

"Five...Four...Three...Two...ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" you yelled at him.

"Yeah! Same to you!" He said before pulling you into his lips for a harsh, yet satisfying, kiss.

You both froze in your tracks... (talk about sexual tension)

"Instead of Pip Squeak....why don't you call me Changbin"

Hyunjin

He was a flirt, no doubt... he could get any girl he wanted, except you, you were a challenge, and he liked the challenge.

"What is it about you that is so different?" He asked.

"Maybe I just don't fall so easily..."

"That you don't... but still..."

You gave him one last smile before walking away, because truth was, he was getting to you... and you couldn't have that, but at the same time you wanted to.

He was unlike anyone you've ever met, totally gorgeous, funny, and that smile.

Girls kept coming over, hanging all over him, he would politely deny their request, he knew what he wanted.

"Let's start the countdown!!!" A girl started cheering.

Everyone started the countdown, you looked around for the mystery guy, kind of hoping you could start your new year with him, but he was out of sight.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!" the crowd cheered as people started to share a kiss with their significant other, you felt a hand on your shoulder and spun you on your heel, you met his eyes for only a second before he pulled you into his sweet, perfect lips.

"Call me Hyunjin"

Han

Jisung was a shy little bean, he didn't usually talk to girls because it would come out more incoherent gibberish than anything.

But he saw you and wanted so bad to know you, absolutely beautiful was what he saw and he really wanted to know more of you.

"Just go talk to her!" Felix said

"Yeah right... unless she understands jawa..."

"You don't sound like a star wars creature when you talk!"

"No it just comes out h-yo-ah-go-na- bye!"

"Okay so maybe that is a little Jawa..." he shrugs, "look mate... 2019 is almost over! Go now or forever hold your peace!"

A few minutes later, He was up talking to you, not doing too bad when talking to you.

Drinking has helped.

You couldn't help how adorable he was, and how he just melted your heart everytime he smiled, you two spent pretty much the rest of 2019 together, laughing, talking and occasionally staring into each others eyes.

You were falling.

And so was he.

"Ten...Nine...Eight...Seven...Six....Five...Four....THREE...TWO....ONE!!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!" Jisung looked down at you with nervous hands and a shaky voice.

"Can I kiss you??" He yelled over the loud music and equally loud cheers.

"Yes!" You yelled back, with that His shaking hands reached your face as he leaned down and kissed you ever so softly.

"I'm Jisung" he smiled

"(Y/N)"

Felix

Felix was having fun, spending new years with Chan at a local little club in Australia.

"2020 resolution!" Chan said as he sat the shot glass down.

Felix downed the shot and sat it beside him.

"Awe why mate... those never happen!"

"Come on come on, just play along!"

"Okay I..... holy..." his eyes widened

"More....religious?" Chan asked

"If my religion is her..." he sighed out as you approached him.

"Nice hair" you smiled.

"Hair.... " he was in a trance by you.

"What my good mate here was trying to say was, thank you! And I'll leave you two to it then!" Chan slipped away leaving you and Felix to talk, you told him you just moved here a few weeks ago and saw him around a couple days ago, you blushed as you told him he had an enchanting presence that made you want to get to know him more, he blushed a bit too.

Few hours later, you two were hitting it off well... Chan stood back and watched his friend like a proud mom.

"So any new year resolutions?" You asked as you took a drink.

"Nothing I can think of... I'm not really a new years resolution kind of guy"

"Oh come on.... everyone has a new years resolution" you laughed.

"Well let me get back to you"

"Countdown in Ten.....Nine...Eight!!!" The DJ called out.

"We better get over there!" You called as you grabbed your drink in one hand and took Felix's hand in the other, dragging him to the crowd.

He grabbed a hold of his drink as he followed you.

"Five...Four..." you both chimed in.

"Three...Two...One... HAPPY NEW YEAR!" without even thinking Felix leaned over and placed a sweet kiss on your lips, you weren't complaining, he was gorgeous, and his lips were the perfect taste.

"You know how I said I'd get back to you on that resolution?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I just found it..."

Seungmin

From the get go Seungmin was hypnotized by you, he pretty much ditched all his friends to go talk to you, but it was worth it, he found you exceptionally beautiful, and couldn't take his eyes off you.

You two were talking and enjoying each others company, when you unzipped your jacket to reveal a Day6 T-Shirt.

Seungmin then knew he found his soulmate.

"You like Day6!??!?" His eyes lit up.

"Of course! Die hard My Day since day 1!" You smiled.

"I love them! Their music is so..."

"Amazing!" You both said in unison

"Whos your bias!?" He smiled.

"Oh hands down Jae! He cracks me up!"

As if you two weren't already getting to know each other, now it was getting serious, Seungmin was falling for a total stranger, he didn't even know your name.

"Hey... I'm Seungmin" he smiled as he held out his hand.

"I'm-"

"Start the countdown!!!!" Everyone cheered as they counted down to the new year.

You and Seungmin joined in counting down with the crowd.

"Three....Two....ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!" Seungmin leaned down and kissed you, then froze.

"I'm sorry... I was....lost in the moment"

You leaned up on your toes and returned the kiss to him.

"Its okay... also... (Y/N)" you smiled.

I.N

When it came to Jeongin, girls were the last thing on his mind, he wasn't exactly scared of them... he would just... run away from them.

However you were different, he was talking with you all night at the party his friends dragged him to.

It wasn't so bad when you started talking to him.

You found out he was the same age as you and only a couple months older than you, but he was adorable, and his smile killed you.

You told him that some of your friends dragged you along too, you were the youngest of your little group too, you both had a lot in common and the countdown got closer and closer.

"Anything you wanna remember from 2019?" You asked.

"Well... definitely you!" He grinned, your heart shook, no one ever said that to you.

"I wanna remember you too" you smiled.

"Let's start the countdown!" Everyone cheered.

"Jeongin! Let's go!!!" Some of his friends came by and pulled him along, he made sure you followed him.

You two stood close and slowly laced your fingers together.

"Three....Two....One! HAPPY NEW YEAR"

Jeongin looked at you with those soft, heart melting eyes, you nodded a little, knowing what he was asking for, he held both your hands and leaned in to give you a new year kiss.

"THATS MY BOY!!!" you heard one of the members call out.

"So... I'm Jeongin" he smiled, light pink dusted on his cheeks.

"(Y/N)"

"Happy New Year (Y/N)"

[sebastbu]

My Top 40 Movies of the Decade

***just my opinion***this list is not set in stone either***

1. 12 Years A Slave (2013)

What Steve McQueen has managed to do with this movie in nothing short of the best thing art is capable of. He takes the horror of humanity and turns it into a heart shattering tale of the best of humanity. A film that could have sunk easily among the brutality it contains, instead soars with Solomon’s survival. It is one of the most life-affirming, uplifting works of art I’ve ever seen. It makes you cry, it makes you shout, it makes you cheer, it makes you breathless. In short, all the things movies are best at. Not just a definitive movie, but a definitive work of art.

2. The Act of Killing (2012)

This has my vote for the best documentary film of all time. What begins as a transfixing profile of the mass murders responsible for the 1965 Indonesian genocide quickly transforms into a Brechtian nightmare as director Joshua Oppenheimer somehow convinces these men to stage scenes for a fake movie reenacting their crimes. As the film progresses you can hardly believe what you’re witnessing. Horrifying, yet you can’t look away. Oppenheimer holds your attention for every second. What’s captured for film here is truly unique, ground-breaking, soul shaking. A statement about the banality of evil as profound as Ardent’s essays. 

3. The Tree of Life (2011)

Malick has reached his final form here. An organic art form, pure cinema, visual poetry, whatever you want to call it. Nothing but a movie could be this. The images he crafts here are as close to a religious experience as I’ve ever had watching a movie, and probably ever will. In exploring childhood memories, Malick’s style perfectly matches his subject manner. He use of ellipsis and fluidity mirrors the way memories flash through our heads. It is as if we are witnessing memory directly, unfiltered. This movie will move you in ways you didn’t know a movie could. 

4. The Social Network (2010)

That Facebook movie? Hell yeah that facebook movie. What Fincher and Sorkin have managed to do is take what could be a standard biopic, or dull tech movie, and made it into an epic tale of betrayal, greed, friendship, coming of age, and identity. Ross and Reznor’s score pulses, as does the dialogue. This movie starts the instant you press play and it doesn’t let you catch your breath for one second until the very end. Endlessly quotable, perfected acted. A masterclass.

5. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

What can I say about this movie? Every shot is perfect. Every joke, beat, pan, zoom. Well, I guess I’ll say this. This movie disarms with its charm, its facade. But at its heart is a wrenching tale of loss, nostalgia, and the fleeting nature of everything, especially those we love. A jewel of a film. Anderson makes sure you’re cozy and then pulls the rug out from under you, and suddenly you’re crying. 

6. The Master (2012)

Career best performances from Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Lushly shot. Greenwood delivers another ground breaking score. PTA has made an aimless film about aimless characters that nevertheless is riveting. At the end, you may not know exactly how far you’ve progressed, but you’re sure glad you went on the journey. 

7. Drive (2011)

This is not an action movie. It’s a love story. The now famous dream pop soundtrack. Ryan Gosling doing so much with so little. Refn’s breathtaking cinematography. Diluted dreams. Crushed hopes. Silent gazes, filled with more emotion than dialogue could ever render.

8. The Revenant (2015)

An achievement of pure cinematic insanity. I still have no idea how they got some of these shots. A brutal, thrilling story of survival among nature’s cruelty. Inarritu’s camera is like magic in this film, uncovering the previously thought not possible. 

9. La La Land (2016)

A reinvention of a genre that somehow manages to have its cake and eat it too: a nostalgia trip that also subverts expectations. Right up there next to Singin’ in the Rain, in my book at least. How on earth was that only Chazelle’s second ever movie? 

10. The Lighthouse (2019)

TELL ME YE FOND O ME LOBSTER! WHYD YA SPILL YOUR BEANS? IF I HAD A STEAK ID FUCK IT. That about sums it up.

11. Parasite (2019)

Bong Joon Ho has made a beautifully twisted psychological thriller that is also hilarious, touching, and a lasting commentary on class and social mobility. 

12. The Florida Project (2017)

Baker’s approach of setting this story from the viewpoint of children makes it a glorious romp through a world of innocence as well as tragedy, and also makes it all the more emotionally impactful.

13. Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

It’s all about the cat. Alongside the Coen’s mastery of dialogue and the side character, as well as the beautiful folk music, this film acts as a deeply moving portrayal of depression, and how sometimes we are our own worst enemy. 

14. Moonlight (2016)

Expertly crafted. Expertly acted. Expertly shot. A gorgeously rendered coming of age story. I’m not really the person who should speak of its importance. I’ll just say: it is. Very. A movie that will stun you. 

15. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Practical! Effects! Yeah, that really is Tom Hardy swinging fifty feet off the ground on a pole as explosions go off behind him. A feminist, post-apocalypse, road trip movie brought to you by the director of Happy Feet and Babe 2. What more could you want?

16. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

A wonderful celebration of childhood and of fantasy. Anderson crafts a world you want to return to again and again. Anyone else get jump scared when they realized Lucas Hedges was in this??? 

17. Arrival (2016)

I love Denis Villeneuve’s films for so many reasons. The most important I think is that he balances entertainment and artistic depth so well. Like all great scifi Arrival is not really about aliens, it’s about us. 

18. Inception (2010)

A film that runs on all cyclinders. Smart, funny, jaw dropping, just plain fun. Nolan manages to build some surprisingly moving moments as well. 

19. Gone Girl (2014)

Ah Fincher and his twists. Rosemund Pike at the top of her game. Ross and Reznor return with another gripping score. Around the narrative, Fincher creates a fascinating portrayal of the media and marriage, one with endless twists and turns. You never quite know where it’s headed.

20. Sicario (2015)

A second thing I love about Dennis Villeneuve: he does point of view characters better than anyone else. 

21. Enemy (2014)

A third thing I love about Dennis Villeneuve: he plays with genre and narrative structure unlike anyone else working right now.

22. Incendies (2010)

A fourth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: he’s given us some of the best female lead characters this decade.

23. Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

A fifth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: he somehow managed make a Blade Runner sequel work. Here’s hoping for Dune. 

24. The Look of Silence (2014)

The companion film of The Act of Killing. Oppenheimer does it again, this time focusing more on the victims of the genocide. Groundbreaking cinema.

25. Shame (2011)

Slow clap for Michael Fassbender. Slow clap for Carey Mulligan. Slow clap for Steven Mcqueen.

26. Hereditary (2018)

Using horror to examine mental illness and family trauma. Aster has made a new classic of genre, taking it to new heights.

27. Under The Skin (2014)

How to make a movie about an alien descended onto earth in order to capture men and engulf them in her weird black room of goo? Make a very alienation movie. Chilling. Otherworldly. Haunting. 

28. Son of Saul (2015)

In making any holocaust film there’s always the risk of feeling exploitative. Nemes’s radical camera work, focusing almost entirely on the main character’s face in close up leaves this concern in the dust. The horrors enter only at the corners of the frame, while humanity is firmly centered the whole time. An important film everyone should see. 

29. Whiplash (2014)

As visceral and heart pounding as the solos performed, the film as a whole is a perfectly made portrait of a obsession. 

30. Amour (2012)

Haneke takes his unforgiving approach and lays bare a topic with incredible emotional depth. The result is deeply moving without ever being sentimental. I’m hard pressed to find another film about old age that is this poignant. 

31. Birdman (2014)

A whirlwind of a film. A high wire act. The long takes turn it into something more akin to a play. A pretty damn good one at that. 

32. Once Upon A Time In Anatolia (2011)

What’s Chekhov doing in the 21st Century? He’s in Turkey. He name is Nuri Ceylan. 

33. The Favourite (2018)

Lanthimos turns down his style and turns up his humor. The result is the best of both worlds: a dark, twisted tale of power and a hilarious parody of monarchy and British costume drama. 

34. Phantom Thread (2018)

PTA delivers again. What could easily have been another tired tale of the obsessive artist and the woman behind him is instead a fairy tale-ish ensnaring of two people’s ineffable pull towards each other. 

35. A Hidden Life (2019)

Still fresh in my mind. Malick’s late style is given the backbone it needed in the form of a relevant tale of resistance and struggle. A meditative, prayer-like film about the power of belief. 

36. Prisoners (2013)

A sixth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: his movies have layers, but only if you look. Otherwise, the ride is pretty great as well. 

37. Manchester By The Sea (2016)

A masterclass in doing less with more. 

38. Foxcatcher (2014)

Bennett Miller does biopics unlike anyone else. That is to say, maybe better than anyone else working today. 

39. The Witch (2015)

Eggers’s first foray into historical New England horror. A chilling commentary on the evils of puritanism.

40. The Kid With A Bike (2011)

The Dardenne brothers managed to make a gut-wrenching tale of childhood, masculinity, abandonment, the power of empathy, belonging, and redemption in 84 minutes. Here’s a suggestion. Watch this movie. Then watch it again. A better use of the same amount of time it takes to sit through The Irishman. Oh wait, no you still have 30 minutes left over. 

[candyshua]

Intertwined | Chapter One - Spilt Coffee

hey guys!! sorry for the inactivity. to make it up, i decided to start writing a multi-part fic!! this is a mingyu x reader x jeonghan love triangle. enjoy!!

Kim Mingyu was your best friend, your knight in shining armor, your crush, your everything. But sadly, you were not his.

After getting his girlfriend pregnant in his fourth year of college, the two of them moved away to America after graduation. And then, you were all alone.

Meet Yoon Jeonghan, your current best friend. An aspiring video game designer, he has been your rock for 5 years. He helped you through so much drama. You would be surprised to learn that he was madly in love with you.

What happens when Mingyu comes back to Korea? 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Potential Smut (I haven’t decided yet)

Warnings: Alcohol, foul language, pregnancy

Word count: 2,250

-

Chapter One - Spilt Coffee

Your back was starting to hurt. After sitting on that uncomfortable chair in that cramped cubicle for so long, you felt your body start to ache. You tied your hair up into a ponytail, fully aware that you weren’t going to go home until you got this stupid project done.

“Bye, Y/N!” Your boss, Wonwoo, bid to you as he walked out of his office and on to the elevator. You merely hummed him a goodbye, too preoccupied with your work.

You worked in the media department of a phone cable company. You write commercials, ads, anything that can get your product bought. It can be tedious at times, just like now. It’s especially tedious with you, since you’re the world’s biggest procrastinator. So, you’re pulling an all-nighter to finish proofreading this commercial so it can be sent to headquarters.

Sometimes, you felt disappointed with yourself. Your life amounted up to this--an office job. You also had a one bedroom apartment, which wasn’t too bad. It just never felt like home, nothing ever did.

You sighed, groaning frustratedly. “Get this done, Y/N.” You said to yourself. You then cracked your knuckles, swallowed another mouthful of coffee, and started typing away.

-

You arrived home at 3 AM. Lucky for you, it was a Friday.

Within minutes of arriving in your quaint apartment, you collapsed onto your couch, not even having enough energy to make it to your bedroom. You then smiled, thinking of that one time where Mingyu and you got home so late during sophomore year that you weren’t allowed to see each other for a whole month. You still saw each other anyway.

Then, you felt your heart get heavier, remembering where your dear friend Mingyu was right now. He’s in America, with his kid, and his girlfriend. Hell, she’s probably his wife now.

And you’re stuck here, in Korea, with no boyfriend, car, or family. You have your parents, but they’re too busy worrying about your little sister who’s getting in trouble at college right now to even acknowledge your existence. What did your existence mean anyway? Was it even worth a dime? Sometimes, it felt like you were watching your life pass you by. Days turned into months, and months turned into years. Yet you, you were still the same. Sure, you grew up, both emotionally and physically, but deep down you’re still that lovesick girl that lets little things get to her head way too much.

You sighed, running your fingers through your messy ponytail, trying to subdue the knots. You heard your phone ring, which brought you out of your depressive trance. You picked it up the moment you saw the caller ID, already fed up.

“Yes, Jeonghan?” You groaned, knowing what the next two words were going to be.

“I’m drunk!” Yup. You were right.

“Where are you?” You sighed, already getting up and getting your bus pass ready. Although you didn’t have a car, you always walked Jeonghan home when he was drunk.

“I’m at my apartment. Could you come here please?” Jeonghan pouted, and you physically cringed when you pictured his face in your mind. He was probably doing some drunken puppy eyes.

“You got drunk by yourself? Why’d you involve me in this? Just go--”

“Hyesung broke up with me.” Jeonghan sighed, and you swallowed.

“On my way.”

-

You knocked on his door very lightly, hoping not to wake any of his neighbors. You heard Jeonghan’s clumsy steps, and you watched the doorknob fumble multiple times until it was finally unlocked. The moment Jeonghan met your eyes, his mood immediately brightened. A drunken smile broke out on his face, and you inwardly vomited due to the putrid smell of alcohol.

Jeonghan is 28, and he is your best friend. You met him through your job, but he quit a while ago to go and follow his dream of video game designing. He wasn’t doing too bad actually, his apartment was nice. It was mellow, but you weren’t one to judge apartments, since your apartment basically screamed “depression”. You are 27, just a year younger than your best friend.

Jeonghan often calls you when he’s drunk, and you have no idea why. He often wakes you up in the middle of the night just so you could walk him home. If this was anybody else except Jeonghan, you wouldn’t do it.

You walked inside his apartment and threw your coat on the couch. You walked to his kitchen, which wasn’t a separate room from his dining area, and got a can of beer.

“Bad day?” Jeonghan asked, and you just nodded while walking toward his couch. You plopped down, sprawling your limbs across the piece of furniture.

“What happened with her?” You asked, and Jeonghan just scoffed.

“She cheated on me...Multiple times. It’s okay though, our relationship wasn’t serious.” Jeonghan explained, and you frowned while sipping on your beer.

“But you really liked her…” You argued, and he gave you a sad smile.

If only you knew, Jeonghan thought.

“It’s fine. Why was your day bad?” Jeonghan asked. You could tell he was tired by the way he blinked. Each time he closed his eyes it would take longer for them to open.

“Don’t worry about me, go to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?”

“Mmm.” Jeonghan murmured. With slumped shoulders, he trudged to his bedroom and closed his door. You sighed slightly, ignoring the pain in your chest. Why did your heart hurt so much? Did it hurt for Jeonghan?

That answer seemed simple enough, so you decided to agree with it. You then lied down on the couch with your hands under your head. You ignored the sudden anxiety that had bubbled in your stomach and closed your eyes wearily. You had so many things to worry about, like work, Jeonghan, bills, your apartment...Yet, you never seemed to worry about yourself. You could never, though. That’s because it would require actually reflecting on your past, and everything you’ve done. Or, haven’t done.

-

The weekend went by in a cloudy haze, but everything seemed to go by like that nowadays. You didn’t really feel alive anymore, and you don’t know exactly when this haziness seemed to start. Everything was numb, nothing caused you to feel. Things were automatic, you did everything without thinking. You wake up, go to work, go home, make dinner, and then go to bed. It’s a constant cycle of hell. The only time you’d feel remotely alive was when you’re with Jeonghan, but he’s got his own shit to deal with.

The thing that hurts the most is that you’re absolutely and utterly alone. You wake up with no one by your side. Your biggest fear is dying right now, at this age. What mark would you leave on the world? It would be a small, insignificant one. There’d be a memorial service at your work, and your family plus Jeonghan would miss you, but that would be it.

Were you destined to be a nobody?

-

You were young once. You were young and happy, not a care in the world. Well, that’s a lie, you cared about one thing.

Kim MIngyu.

Mingyu was a breath of fresh air. After having so much pressure put on you by your parents, you felt like you could finally breathe around the 6’2 boy. He always had that effect on people, he was just an energy-giver.

Your friendship never once faded, even after his countless amounts of girlfriends. You had a thing for him in early high school, but it turned into full-blown love senior year. You’d watch him walk around with his girlfriend, feeling nothing but pain in your heart.

You never took his earlier girlfriends seriously, because you thought he would realize one day that he was madly in love with you. And then, he would kiss you passionately and apologize for not coming to you sooner. Alas, that never happened.

Your feelings just got worse.

And when you both got into Seoul University, you watched him prance around with his new girlfriend, Ra Jieun. From then on, things went into the gutter.

And here you are now, without Mingyu. You’re well over him now, you’ve actually had your fair share of boyfriends these past few years. It was just the “what could have been?” aspect.

Sadly, you would never know.

-

You woke up to the sound of a shower being turned on. Light peeked through Jeonghan’s windows, and you groaned internally. At least it was a Saturday.

You grabbed your phone, checking the time. 9:22 AM. Didn’t you go to bed at 4 AM? This was fucking ridiculous.

This time, you actually groaned out loud when you got up, walking slowly to Jeonghan’s kitchen. You poured yourself some cereal with some gross skin milk. You ate it mindlessly, watching Jeonghan walk from his bathroom to his bedroom, with the most pained expression on his face. Poor guy, you thought, he’s probably so hungover right now.

The thing about Jeonghan’s apartment is that you could never possibly get bored. He has herds of video games, literally starting from as early as to when they were invented.

He also has every gaming console known to man. His spare bedroom was used as a gaming room, where he’d stream his new games from time to time. Jeonghan was a computer genius, and you were insanely jealous since you weren’t so tech savvy yourself.

Jeonghan finally came out of his room, fully dressed, with wet hair. Jeonghan had dyed light brown hair, with dark brown eyes and tall stature. He was slim yet muscular. You could never deny that your best friend was indeed extremely handsome.

You smiled when you saw his face, and he returned a pained grin back. “Have some cereal.” You suggested with a quiet tone, and he gave you a small smile.

You let him eat by himself, because you went into his gaming room to check out what new video games he has added to his collection.

After playing a few easy video games for a bit, Jeonghan came in and sat down on the black leather couch in the already dark room. The only source of light was the light emitting from the computer screen, and the window. He never turned on the overhead light in that room, for some reason.

“Whatchya doin’?” Jeonghan asked, and you shrugged.

“Just playing around.” You murmured, earning a nod from Jeonghan.

Soon, the two of you found yourselves in a video game match. Jeonghan had multiple computers in that room, so you both partook in an adventure of competition. Jeonghan beat you every single time, but it was kind of unfair since he was an actual video game designer.

You found yourself appreciating Jeonghan more and more as you got closer to him. You really were so lucky to have such a good friend like him, because nobody knows where you would be if Jeonghan wasn’t there to help you get over the boyfriends you had, your quarter-life crises, or your financial dilemmas. Jeonghan was your rock. You hoped he felt the same about you.

“Jeonghan,” You began, “we should do something. Like, go on a trip or something.” That earned an odd look from the man, and he furrowed his eyebrows curiously.

“That was random.” He said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know. I just thought we should do something nice, since you’re like, my best friend.” You pouted, resulting in an adorable chuckle from the man next to you.

“Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?” Jeonghan asked. You merely shrugged your shoulders, your frown deepening.

“Let me come up with something. Give me some time.”

Jeonghan nodded.

-

You remembered the first time you felt feelings for Mingyu. As a kid, you were late to hit puberty. So, girls who were larger than you would steal your money and other possessions.

There was one time where you were walking home from school, and these three girls jumped you. It was around the eighth grade, so you were still a tiny little thing. No matter how much you kicked and screamed, they would not stop.

Suddenly, Mingyu came out of nowhere. Mingyu was the opposite of you, he bloomed very early. Therefore, he was a tall and confident man. You will never forget the look of anger in his eyes on that day. “HEY!” Mingyu screamed, running toward you.

The girls dropped everything they stole from you and then bolted, murmuring rushed apologies and words of regret. By then, you and Mingyu were already best friends.

“Thanks, Gyu.” You sighed, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your voice cracked when you tried to talk again, and soon you were breaking down in front of him.

You sat against the brick wall the girls bullied you by, hugging your knees to your chest. You just sobbed, and let yourself be held by Mingyu. “I’m so sick of this,” You hiccuped, “I’m so sick of being pushed around!”

“Hey, Y/N...You’ll always have me, alright?” Mingyu reassured, giving you a sad smile. You wiped the tears from your face and sniffled slightly.

“Alright.”

From the summer of eighth grade to ninth grade, you grew 5 inches and gained a few pounds, resulting in your chest and bosom to be much bigger than before. Needless to say, you attracted a lot of boys.

Alas, there was only one boy in your heart.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Sweet Tooth: Part Two

A/N: Okay guys I’m SO into this story. I can’t wait for you guys to see what I have planned.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Cursing. Like a motherfucker. Because this is a story about Lance Tucker. Mention of slight fat shaming. Drinking and driving (which is stupid, don’t even try kiddo’s)

Summary: Lance Tucker has come back to his hometown with his ego bruised and his look on life more tainted then ever. When he runs into Y/N; a vibrant plus size woman he went to high school with at her bakery ‘Cake Faced’, he leaves the shop with the taste of sugar on his lips and a hunger that has nothing to do with the cupcakes.

💘💘💘💘💘

It had all started a couple weeks ago.

When Courtney, your best friend of nearly two decades, had sashayed into the shop, a cup holder containing two Venti coffee’s in hand. She always did this, came and distracted you at some point in the day. She claimed if she didn’t you would get completely buried in your work and she’d never see your ass again. You defend yourself of course at the jab, but weakly. Because you knew she was probably(defiantly) right.

“Hey hooker” you greet from your place, adjusting the display in the window while the store seemed to have a quiet moment, only a few costumers scattered around the place. Your short frame was balanced on a step stool as you reached up high to

“Hello gorgeousness…Why don’t you come down from there before you brake your neck. Neck braces aren’t on trend this spring” She teases, because everyone whose ever met you knows how dangerously clumsy you are. You just huff and climb down. Courtney then hands you your drink and you give her an over exaggerated groan, holding your hand to your chest and telling her that she was too good to you before taking a sip of the sweet caffeine you had desperately needed.

Thank god for Courtney- that she knows you better then you know yourself. She took time out of her own day to come check on you and ask you how yours was going, yeah it wasn’t really out of her way seeing on how she worked up the street, but still. You appreciated her more then she’d ever know, even if she had ‘momed’ you since you guys we’re teenagers.

“So how has your day been?” She’s nibbling on a coconut cream pie scone. She claimed god himself had given you the recipe for them “It looks unusually dead in here”

“It’s been aright so far, nothing too exciting. The 4 o'clock rush hasn’t happened yet so I’ve just been fucking around. Yours? Your manager still harassing that new guy?” You guys end up sitting at one of the little tables, Shane assures you that he’s got who ever might come in.

“Yeah, Patty’s still earning herself one shiner of a Law Suit. Dirty ass old woman” Courtney shakes her head at the mention of her boss, the woman was a seventy year old former play boy bunny AND the dirtiest woman either of you had ever met. “But that’s whatever. I have some major gossip”

You can tell just by the tone of her voice that what she’s about to tell you is insanely juicy.

Fun fact, you never really grow out of gossiping. Thirty(well twenty nine) years old or not, when you live in a town as small as this one, it’s just a given that every one knows everyone’s business.

“Okay why didn’t you start out with that? Spill” You demand, leaning in closer to her, anticipating her next words.

“Okay so you know how Felix used to date Sarah whose best friends with Brooklyn?” She starts and you nod. Obviously “So I guess they’re sleeping together again. I know, big shocker, and Sarah told him that Brooklyn told her that Lance is moving back in with their mom” Courtney informs you of the tabgled drama between her coworker, his ex, and Brooklyn Tucker.

You gape at that for a moment. No way. Lance Tucker, Olympic gold medalist, LANce Tucker was moving back into his parents house. How?

“No way” You decide but she just chuckles and nods.

“Yes way, dude. I guess there was some huge scandal at that gym he worked at in California. Some coach got one of the girls pregnant or something? I don’t know all of those details but what I do know is Lance the mother fucker Tucker is moving home” Courtney cackles “How hilarious, right?”

Courtney was nice…to you. To everyone else she was a bit of a bitch.

“Hilarious isn’t the word I would use. Ironic though-” You cluck your tongue. Hadn’t he always hated this town? You remember even in middle school he had been so adamant about getting out of this “suburban shithole” and going somewhere he deemed worthy of him. Him and his shiny superstar ego.

“It’s fucking fitting I think. He was always such a giant dick. Now he’s living back with his mommy? Karma really is a vicious bitch. Ha” Courtney shakes her head with a smirk and you roll your eyes.

Yeah, he’d been a huge cocksucker to everyone- you included. But losing your dream? The one you’d spent years working on? You didn’t wish that upon anyone.

“It is but how…sad” You bite your thumb nail as you mull it over.

“Sad? I mean I guess- But he’s such an asshole. Don’t you hate him?” Courtney hates you and your big bleeding heart sometimes. That guy didn’t deserve your sympathy.

“No, Court, I don’t hate him…anymore” you cant deny, there was a time when he had made you see red “He’s not my favorite person in the world. Of course not, but I don’t know. I’m an adult now-” Courtney scoffs hard at that and you fling a cupcake wrapper at her “I just don’t see the point in holding grudges anymore”

“Yeah okay” Courtney rolls her eyes as she gathers up her belongings “You keep telling yourself that, Mahatma Gandhi. Like you don’t still hate Carlos Vance for accidentally hitting you with a pencil in the 6th grade”

“He really almost blinded me and wasn’t even apologetic about it at all. Fuck him forever” You’re dead serious and it causes both of you to laugh.

“My breaks almost over, I have to run. We’re still on for Margarita’s with the girls this Friday, right?”

“Of course” You kiss each other on the cheek and you pack her another scone “for the road” before she’s hurrying out of the door. You give her reciting frame a fond smile, but continue to mull over her words. Lance was coming back. You stomach felt unsettled at that- and you hated it. You hadn’t even talked, or much less thought about him in years.

So why we’re you so…so weird about the idea of him moving back? It was stupid, really.

So you do what you did best, and buried your self in your work.

It really did help, too. Your mind is completely free of any thoughts of people you hadn’t seen in ages-

Until a few days ago.

When he had walked into your shop.

He was still the same. The way his presence seemed to fill up the entire room. That smirk and those expressive eye brows. And, because you’re not a hater, of course you’d noticed that he’d seemed to be even more in shape now then he was back in high school. His broad shoulders strained against the material of his track suit. Jeeze, he was still wearing those. Didn’t he know it was a different decade now?

So you’d taken him personally, helped him choose a cupcake and rang him up. Just being professional, you tell yourself. that was all it was.

You tried to ignore how…tired he looked. Not physically, really…but drained. His demeanor drained. It wasn’t your business, right? So you try to keep it cool, keep your self in check.

You never did have the best self control. When he’s going to leave, you call for him.

“Welcome home”

Simple words, but you hoped they might have a little impact.

His grin is still ridiculously bright and handsome, you note mentally.

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

It brings up old- feelings. Memories. Adolescent adoration and hate. It’s annoying, there’s no place for it in your adult life.

“He seems like a real winner” Shane had dead panned “Hot as hell though”

You laughed at your younger employee. You loved Shane, he’d been working for you since pretty much the moment you’d opened this place and even though he was five years your junior, he’d become a close friend “What you don’t remember Lace the mother fucker Tucker? Olympic gold medalist and grade A dick wad?”

“Nah, I remember him. That tight ass of his though, that slipped my memory”

You’d swatted Shane’s shoulder as you laughed. Little shit.

You hadn’t seen him after that, though. Not that you wanted to. Not that your eyes maybe scanned the shop for a tall head of dark hair…

You didn’t expect him to come back. Him and his athlete ways. Back in high school you remember him and his grueling diet he’d been on.

So you go about your routine, the comfortable one that you follow without even thinking about it. The one that included waking up at the crack of dawn, feeding your dog, watering your garden. Tending to the shop as though it was your child. Bullshitting with your friends.

The usual.

Your usual is broken, though, by one phone call.

It’s not even a bad phone call, so you don’t know why it throws you off so awfully. Why you feel overwhelmed and hot and near panicky as you sit at your kitchen table. But you know that you need to remedy it. With wine. Lots, and lots of wine.

Which you don’t seem to have in your house. How we’re you completely dry? What kind of blasphemy.

So you drag yourself out of your house, muttering about “fuck your life” and “Courtney’s the antichrist” because you knew that alcoholic bitch was the culprit, the wine bandit who had left you with no choice but to go to the store. At 10 O'clock. In a pair of tight leggings, an over sized sweater and ugg booties.

You’re walking lazily through the brightly lit isles of the grocery store on main street. You’ve found your wine, have it popped open, as you stress shop.

You figure you might as well get some ingredients. Plus, you needed new dish towels- and oh, we’re those Fourth of July decorations? Might as well grab em’ even though it was only Mid April.

You’re so engrossed in your task, that you don’t notice you’ve been being trailed.

Lance needed to get out of the house.

Living with his mother and sister- and Brooklyn’s two daughters was driving him nuts. Did he love them all? Yes, very much. Was he going out of his fucking mind at the overwhelming amount of female energy he was being force exposed to? Absolutely.

He was already apartment hunting.

So he’d go on drives, long ones that would take the edge off of- everything.

Re-explore this town that he seemed to know every corner of. Get to know the few parts that we’re new. But even that was getting boring.

So he decides that the only way to get through this night is drunk. Or at least buzzed. The liquor store is closed so the supermarket is the only option. Lance takes long legged strides into the all but empty store. It’s late, so no one is really there, but the one cashier working and Weird Wallace, the towns hermit who only came out at night to avoid all other human life.

Lance tips his head at the man as he makes a bee-line for the liquor section, intent on buying a twelve pack of beer and hopefully drinking everyone that night.

He doesn’t expect to see you. He catches the sight of you out of his peripheral vision. You have a wine bottle tilted all the way back, taking a gulp, before going back to your shopping.

What were you doing at the store at nearly eleven o'clock? Lance wonders with an amused grin.

He should just grab his beer and go home. That would be the smart thing to do- Buuuut, Lance really wasn’t as smart as he prided himself on being.

He’s not following you.

Not even.

He just happens to be going in the same direction as you.

Not creepy at all.

Okay- kind of creepy. Especially when you bend over to grab something off a bottom rack. Your leggings go sheer as they hug your large, round ass. He can see the outline of the little lace g string you have on and he cant help but bite his lip.

What a sight.

You always had, had a nice ass. Wide and grab-able. His fingers still itched to dig them selves into the doughy flesh.

“Well, fancy meeting you here”

The sound of his voice sends you snapping up straight fast, you almost loose your grip on the neck of the wine bottle as your heart pounds and a gasp rips it’s self from your throat. You spin on your heels to face him and he’s just standing there. In a track suit, that look- his signature smug smile gracing his features.

“Lance, you dick!” You hiss at him, holding your middle as you regain your breath “You scared the shit out of me!”

His icy eyes could make the queens guards quake in their tall black, fluffy hats. They’re so…predatory. And sharp. And beautiful.

And bold, they look you up and down unapologetically.

You swallow the rush of self consciousness that raises in your throat.

“Sorry, sugar” He doesn’t sound sorry at all “What are you doing out so late?”

“It’s not even eleven o'clock yet, Lance. It’s hardly late”

He likes your snark, It suits you. You’d never had that edge before “My mistake. It’s totally normal for people to be going shopping for-” he gazes into your shopping basket “Red, white and blue tiki torches and chardonnay in the middle of the night”

“Being normal is vastly overrated” You shrug and shift on your feet “What about you? You going to a kegger?”

He grins “Nah, I just needed a breather… you want to join me?” He holds up the case of beer in offering and you roll your eyes at him.

Hard.

“I’ll pass” you dismiss him easily, turning back to your cart “You have a good night though”

You had a sense of self preservation and you absolutely would not get drunk with the man. Randomly. On a Thursday night.

Lance’s eyebrows stich together at how easily you shrug him off and that part of him, the competitive athlete one, pushes him forward. Because he never gave up, on anything. Ever. And who we’re you to just turn your back on him?

“Really? You’d rather drink your bottle of wine alone?” He presses on, keeping up easily with you so you’re standing shoulder to shoulder(well not really because he has a good near foot on you) with him. You convince yourself that it doesn’t unnerve you.

“Yup” you pop the ‘p’ dramatically.

“That sounds like fun" His sarcastic bite makes you bite the inside of your cheek “I’m offering you company. A good time and…good beer”

“I’ve never really been a beer girl” the sound he makes in his throat at your words is cute. You cant deny that “So again, I’m pretty sure I’ll pass”

“And here I thought we we’re friends”

“Really?” You give him incredulous eyes. Was he serious?

“Yeah- I mean we had that art class senior year and we were partners and” Lance recalls how close the two of you had gotten, how many hours you’d spend laughing and bullshitting and wasn’t that friendship? “I just assumed we we’re still friends”

“Do you not even remember what you said to me?” You don’t mean to say it, you really don’t. But you’ve taken one too many gulps of wine. The look of confusion on his face feels like a slap to yours.

“No?” He starts “Should I?”

You scoff at him so intensely it’s almost painful before you’re off, wanting to put some distance between the two of you.

Why wont he let you?

“Y/N” Lance insists on being the biggest pain in the ass ever to walk the planet “What did I say?”

“Just leave me alone” You’re almost through at the check out isle, the cashier is taking their sweet time though. You’d always loved La'tecia. The elderly black woman kept you in stiches, but you needed her to hurry the hell up.

“No. What did I say?” He continues to push, keeping up with you easily. He was fitter, his legs longer. You couldn’t out run him if you tried.

When you don’t answer him he can feel his annoyance spike at your antics “Why don’t you quit being a child and tell me so I can say sorry- even if I don’t really mean it- and you can get the fuck over it”

Oh.

Hell.

No.

He did not just speak to you like that. Your teeth grit in an attempt to hold your temper. Even if the store was dead it was still a public place.

“You know what, Lance? First of all fuck you-” He opens his mouth and your finger slices the air in front of you as you hold it up “No, I’m talking right now. You keep your mouth shut and listen to me. You want to know what you said to me? You told me that I might be, and I quote, actually pretty cute if I lost some weight. That you bet all the guys would be after me if I worked on my fitness. And that killed high school me. But adult me, whose obviously doing a hellva lot better then you in life doesn’t care. So there’s nothing you need to say a meaningless sorry for. But we are not friends” You’re pretty composed during the entirety of your little rant. Until the end. You hiss those words at him.

La'tecia just minds her business, and you give her your card, eagerly.

Lance attempts to absorb your words, you’d never seen him at a loss for words. Yeah, he remembers that conversation…but you were totally twisting his words! It hadn’t even gone down like that.

“Y/N-” He starts. but your bags are in your cart and your off. He intends on following you again but-

“Uh-uh. Are you going to pay for those?” La'tecia’s cutting voice asks and he sighs and takes out his wallet.

“Let me tell you, boy. You’ve always been heard headed. And loud as hell. But I never thought you we’re cruel, even with all that nonsense everyone always spoke about you” She starts, looking him right in the eye as she speaks “You’re a grown man now. Act like it”

Lance feels personally attacked. How had this night taken this route? All he’d wanted was some beers.

“Thanks for your words of wisdom. You should consider a new profession? Therapy maybe? Counseling? Telling people where isle four is, is obviously getting to mediocre for you” He sarcastically pans at the woman before snatching his beer and his card and stalking off.

He doesn’t know why he’d expected to find you outside, the lot is empty. Your long gone. He reaches for one of the beers, wrenching open the box before popping the can open an chugging. The drive back home is spent with him stewing and going over things he hadn’t thought about in…well ever. How was he supposed to know that him stating a simple face back so long ago would make you hate him forever? Hah, no, you didn’t even hate him. As you said. You just didn’t care about him. At all.

Like no one did.

His knuckles are white around the steering wheel as he sits outside the front of his house for nearly half an hour. Wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

——————

@huntressxtimelady @i-had-a-life-once @zombiewerewolfqueen @spookyscaryscully @adyseesbeauty @geekyweed @maximum-effort-minimum-life @peacefulwriter88 @pegasusdragontiger @papi-chulo-bucky @yslbucky @iamwarrenspeace

Okay so one of my Aunts from my dads side of the family was just over and I knew I needed to write in La'tecia because I love bold black women. I’m sorry it got to moody, but for there to be any realism in this story Y/N needs to first call him on his shit. Give me some feed back! Let me know if you want to be tagged! Love you’s guys!

Part Three

Part Four

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

Standing In The Outfield (1/2) + A CS Fanfic

A two part fic about baseball, the friend zone, and what happens when your unresolved feelings bring you home after five years away. Inspired by the song 'The Outfield' by The Night Game.

Rating: T/M (pretty tame for now, but it gets steamy in the second part) Word Count: 3.5K

Hello out there! I apologize that it’s taken me so long to write/post anything. The past couple of months have been insane (school starting, a death in the family, various other drama, blah blah blah) but I’m back! I have a few little stories like this that I’m hoping to post between updates of my multichapter stories.  Here’s the first part of this one - also on FF.net and AO3.

To this day, Killian still couldn't exactly figure out how they'd ended up in such a comfortable yet confusing relationship. Ugh, he hated that term - relationship. Well, it was Emma who really loathed that word. He'd just come to share the opinion because….well, because he liked sharing things with her.

Many things. Okay, all things.

Sharing was perhaps a vague way to put it though. She rarely asked for much and he'd always been all too willing to give her everything he could - several answers to the dozens of tests Mr. Gold administered in their junior high algebra class, the black windbreaker he tossed over the fence to her when she came to every single one of his baseball games, and even some really crappy dating advice when it came to who she should go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with. He should have asked her to be his date before the lead pitcher of the varsity team managed to, but he didn't - and therefore, he'd had to support her choice to accompany Storybrooke High's most eligibly overrated idiot to the decorated gym he was now sure as hell going to avoid come Friday night.

It wasn't like he wanted to go anyway. With the first round of the playoff tournament scheduled for the following Monday, the batting cages were probably a much better place for him to be. After all, it wasn't like Neal Cassidy was going to be throwing consistent strikes if he was out all weekend trying to score with the girl Killian had dropped the ball with for years now.

Sure, he loved America's favorite pastime, but as thoughts of figurative "bases" crossed his mind, Killian realized how much he truly hated sports analogies.

It had been tough to encourage Emma to accept Neal's invitation, but he was fully convinced that karma was paying him back in good faith when she still ended up on his doorstep after the formal. He'd been surprised to see her standing there in her post date glory, her pale pink dress clinging to her figure and her tangled blonde hair loose against her shoulders. With her lightly colored high heels hanging from her fingers, she'd asked if she could come in - and once again, he couldn't deny her - not that he actually wanted to.

Their pattern of give and take with no protest picked right up as she changed into a pair of his sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt she plucked from his dresser drawer. He'd tried not to smile at how tiny she looked in the baggy clothing, using the distraction of making hot cocoa and trying not to read the 'SB Sluggers Club' title that stretched across the front of the shirt too many times.

He hadn't ever struggled quite this much when it came to staring at her as she scanned his limited movie collection. Her fingers skimmed the titles lightly, tracing the letters as she contemplated her options. He wasn't sure what had brought her to his humble home's living room after a night out with that Cassidy git, but he liked the outcome - the fact that she'd seemed to end up there with him so automatically.

"It's amusing that you're pretending to think this through, love," he grinned as handed her a mug and flopped onto the couch. "I'm pretty certain that any other film beyond your usual choice would be….inconceivable."

She smiled big at his fast conclusion, plucking the movie case from the shelf and tossing it to his lap. Taking her seat at his side seemed rather easy and he allowed himself to relish the way her leg bumped against his when she tugged a light quilt over her body.

"I know you don't like it as much as I do," she acknowledged as she snuggled beneath the blanket. "You can turn it off when I fall asleep."

He rose quickly and cued up the old movie player before glancing back with a dramatic eye roll. Killian admitted silently how much he loved her little retorts and facial expressions as he pressed play. Yes, refusing her requests was an ability he'd lost years ago….or maybe he never had such a skill in the first place.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he shook his head, moving back to the sofa and enjoying the way she leaned into him. "Staying here then, love?"

"Maybe," she mumbled with a yawn, his arm tucked around her. "Probably."

He'd never been quite so quick to accept such perplexing circumstances - well, at least not up until then. It would be a lie to say he ever thought twice about it after that.

He should have kissed her though - and lord knows he thought about the fact that he hadn't many times after that night.

Though he wasn't certain how they'd grown quite so close, the roots of their friendship were simple and perhaps even a bit fated. Emma lived only a few streets away and the sunny days of their childhood had brought her to the baseball field that sat on the block between their two homes. He was one of the youngest players on the club team and still very much a bench warmer when he'd first noticed her climbing the bleachers. It took him less than two innings to determine who she was - the younger sister of David Nolan, the three time captain of their rather talented group of athletes.

The fact that he'd ended up being such good pals with the popular leader of their team was something that still perplexed Killian, even now that David was competing at a junior college level a few hours away from their small hometown. The timing of their friendship had evolved when Killian most needed it - a mere two lonely months after his own older brother had passed tragically in a military accident. David had taken him beneath his wing quickly and with the man's consistent will to keep an eye out for his younger teammate, Killian soon found that he almost fit in perfectly with the Nolan family.

They spent loads of time together - summer days at a nearby lake, study sessions with friends and dozens of snacks, and even an occasional holiday gathering or two. Killian's own father was often working late nights or drowning in rum fueled misery which made accepting an invitation to a pick-up game in the park or the Nolan family's annual Fourth of July celebration an easy thing to do. He was beyond grateful that David had taken a liking to him and even more so when Emma seemed to as well.

It didn't take him long to like her just as much - well, maybe even a little more.

By the time David graduated, Emma had instantly stepped up to fill the role of Killian's best friend. If they weren't playing catch and quizzing each other on SAT prep, they were making late night movie plans and debating the proper amount of salt needed on some freshly popped popcorn. He made sure she always had a ride to school in the morning while Emma made sure he knew how to get the grass stains out of his uniform pants. She was always there for him whether he needed a pep talk after a tough game or a high five over the fence after he closed out a tough inning. Killian had never imagined he'd ever meet someone who understood him the way she always seemed to.

There was something about Emma and the way she made him feel - something wild and exciting that he couldn't totally explain. She made him feel hopeful - like maybe he could be something more than just Killian Jones, the relief pitcher for the Storybrooke Knights. He sure as hell wouldn't ever be meant for shining armor or hero status, but Emma almost made him believe in happily ever after - maybe a new beginning that even somehow included her. Well, maybe if he could ever work up the courage to suggest it.

He didn't though. Instead, April turned to May slowly, the green grass of the baseball diamond and a need to keep his curveball sharp about the only things keeping Killian from spending every second with her. Emma never told him about the dance or the date she'd apparently ended earlier than expected, not even the one time he'd worked up the courage to ask.

He was kind of grateful for that - he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

Their senior year floated by in some sort of odd dream that Killian allowed himself to get used to - probably one of his more naive mistakes - and when she'd show up to his typically lonely house to indulge in a poor romantic comedy from the eighties or when she'd swing by the field to walk home with him after practice, he tried to convince himself that getting comfortable was a bad idea. It was a near impossible task when she observed him with those deep green eyes and a clever smirk. It was completely impossible when she fell asleep against his shoulder or took the leap of being candid with him about some little detail of her life.

He'd wanted to tell her how he really felt for ages by the time she mentioned another date with Neal. Everyone deserves a second chance - that's what she'd prefaced that conversation with. Then once she'd rescheduled their movie night again, Killian couldn't help the speculation that perhaps the third time really was a charm where Neal Cassidy was concerned. It only took one solitary and very repeated viewing of The Princess Bride to realize how much he loathed that number.

He knew he owed her his honesty, but giving in - maybe even telling her the whole truth about what she meant to him - wasn't a fear he ever dared face. It was cowardice in its worst form and Killian wondered why he was so afraid each time they ended up in one another's company on the porch swing to the side of his front door.

They were in that exact setting the night before the semifinal game when it all came to a head and he realized that his failure to put himself out there had led to an awful conclusion. Emma was his teammate's new girlfriend - yes, that teammate - and that meant his own position was now extremely obvious.

Killian Jones had somehow become trapped in the friend zone - and lord knows, he had absolutely no one to blame but himself.

"Bloody hell, mate," Robin grimaced, tugging his glove off and shaking his catching hand with a wince. "Save it for the mound."

Killian let out a deep exhale as he ignored the warning of the first baseman. Lifting his forearm, he wiped the light sweat from his brow before adjusting his cap. The blue brim felt firm between his fingers as he tugged it down over his stare just a bit. Emma had told him once that his uniform hat matched his eyes and he wasn't sure if he'd ever forget the way her mouth had curved at the corner when she'd said that. He peeked over toward the packed stands briefly as he reminisced that moment and immediately found himself grateful for the barrier the baseball cap was providing from the view that had him fuming.

"A few more, Jones," Robin nodded, crouching down with his mitt as he noticed what had Killian distracted. "I wouldn't be surprised to see you get called up tonight, especially if Cassidy doesn't get his head in the game."

He huffed at that, trying to ignore the comment as he wound up and threw a fastball right down the middle into Robin's glove. The loud smack of the rubber and cowhide against the inside of a leather mitt was a decent diversion, but it didn't totally keep his mind from wondering just what Neal was flirtatiously saying to the beautiful blonde standing just behind the fence.

Killian wasn't actually sure that the pair were an official item, but they'd certainly been spending a fair amount of time together for the past couple of weeks. He'd seen less of her, something he noticed rather quickly - especially on the nights they usually spent with a well known film or immersed in endless conversation. Killian supposed he missed her and as he peeked over to where she was chatting with the captain of their officially undefeated team, he admitted silently that he was getting awfully tired of it.

She looked beautiful all clad in casual jeans and a t-shirt with the name of the school he'd played for since their freshmen year. It was a familiar outfit she'd once completed with his jacket, the borrowed article of clothing drowning her in a wealth of black fabric. She looked almost incomplete without it and he tried to ignore how much he wanted to dig the old windbreaker out of his duffel bag. Maybe she didn't need it anymore. Maybe things were different now - and lord, that thought hurt.

"Looks like we better go," Robin said with his head tilted toward the dugout. "Ready, Jones?"

"Aye," Killian answered with a start toward the cement enclosure, knowing full well that his initial position on the field would be right between second and third while Neal lined up on the pitcher's mound. "Let's go."

He looked at her one more time as he jogged toward the bench, his feet snagging slightly on the grass when her gaze drifted to his. He could almost swear he saw it then - how much she'd missed him and their curious friendship - and he entertained the idea of telling her he felt the same way she seemed to.

Maybe he would. Maybe someday he'd be that brave. Maybe eventually he would finally spill his feelings to the girl watching him from a distance...or maybe he'd always stay in that same place - standing quietly in the outfield, sometimes literally and almost always figuratively.

They'd lost the game - not that the defeat was the hardest part of that evening. No, that honor belonged to the moment when he'd looked up to catch her reassuring gaze while walking toward the dugout and saw only a glimpse of her long hair blowing in the breeze as she jumped down from the bleachers to meet her boyfriend. The sight made his heart sink as his cleats grew heavy and he tried to settle with the knowledge that this was just how it was going to be now - she wasn't his. They were just friends.

Killian spent the rest of their last year of high school realizing how difficult it was going to be to accept that - but after three years in the minor leagues, two hundred miles of distance, and five years apart, he decided that maybe letting go of the golden haired girl from his small hometown was truly outside of his talent range.

But she was happy from what he could tell - and that was all that mattered, even if such a conclusion broke him into pieces.

He wasn't sure why he'd decided to take the coaching job at Storybrooke High when it opened up. The longtime patriarch and leader of the team, Marco Wood, had finally stepped down to pursue a well deserved retirement and when that announcement had caught his eye in the Daily Mirror - which he still subscribed to despite the fact that he now lived in New York - Killian had found himself with an odd desire to consider it. The sudden idea of returning to Maine was almost surreal. He hadn't crossed that town line in years and he'd certainly done his best to leave that life behind, but it was almost like a sign - and it wasn't like he had anything going for him since he'd opted to throw in the towel on his baseball career.

It wasn't much of a career anyway - several seasons of riding the pine and concrete in the minor league dugout for the New York Pirates, a relatively unknown team that rarely led anyone to the majors. Sure, the opportunity had allowed him to remain close to the game he had always loved, but it had pulled him away from the girl he probably could have loved if given the chance.

He'd likely never forget the night he'd told her he was leaving. The few tears she had shed and the image of her forced supportive smile didn't make up a fond memory.

He had managed to pick up a job for a local athletic magazine in the off season, his need to stay busy prodding him into being okay with reporting game scores and stats for sports he didn't know extremely well. The work was easy enough, but giving two weeks notice and moving out of his apartment one weekend in late February was even easier. It was probably all a bit impulsive - how he'd jumped at a chance to move back with very little prodding, especially when he had left Storybrooke in a very similar way only half a decade earlier. He couldn't help the way it just felt right and as he loaded up his car with a few sparse boxes and his old memories of home, he decided not to fight it.

It was a task that turned out to be rather easy once he settled into his new role back on that familiar field, fresh chalk lines and intricately moved grass a welcome view. The school's new principal - another town native named Archibald Hopper - was thrilled to have him there and made it known by updating the team's uniforms and equipment before the first practice took place in March. He'd even offered Killian an office….well, the small room attached to one of the abandoned locker rooms in the old wing of Storybrooke High. It was a quiet space and Killian found out instantly how much he valued that while he organized his things on the built in shelves and the old desk that rested near the single window.

There wasn't much to display - his few team photos from over the years, several small trophies, and a couple of baseballs signed by players he'd idolized as a younger man. He was sorting through his box of collected cards when his fingers fumbled over an old picture, one he'd almost forgotten about until that nostalgic moment.

It was her - well, them, and the faded film provoked an elated memory of the first summer tournament win he'd been a part of. The image made him chuckle softly - and not just because David had managed to sneak into the picture by jumping up behind them. Killian himself had been a sweaty mess when the candid shot had been snapped, his buttoned jersey half untucked while covered in dirt and grass stains. Emma looked brilliant, of course, with her hair woven into a loose braid but covered partially by a beat up baseball cap. She had one arm flung around his neck while her other hand held up a finger claiming they were number one. He remembered how he'd sure felt like it in that instance as she pulled him close, not caring that he was downright filthy after playing his heart out. He'd pitched two perfect innings and brought in a few runs with his triple in the eighth, but neither of those stats were the ultimate win of his evening.

No, that highlight had been the way she'd cheered him on all night and the way her face lit up when he'd winked at her while crossing home plate. Seeing her so proud and happy meant more to him than any victory.

He quickly dug an old empty frame out of the box he'd plopped down near his feet. Sliding the photograph behind the thin glass, he took one more glance at it before stationing it carefully on the second shelf with a sigh. It seemed like the proper place for the past to sit and remind him - or perhaps even haunt him. He wasn't sure which was preferable.

"Nice picture," a soft voice offered from the doorway. "I haven't seen that one for a long time."

Killian froze briefly, the air leaving his lungs in a surprised gasp as he worked up the courage to turn and face the words he hadn't expected to hear. He knew that voice though - even if he hadn't heard it for a number of years. It was the same one that played as the soundtrack of his childhood and the one he'd thought about more than he could ever admit. It was the one he had let slip away, but ultimately, it was the voice that had truly called him back here anyway. With his heart pounding in his tight chest, he spun slowly to meet the owner of the smooth tone and those gorgeous green eyes.

"Emma," he breathed, wondering if he sounded half as wrecked as he felt. "Hi."

Tagging some folks: @optomisticgirl, @xpumpkindumplingx, @laschatzi, @jennifer-morrison, @spartanguard, @teamhook, @kat2609, @thesschesthair, @timeless-love-story, @its-like-a-story-of-love, @shady-swan-jones, @kmomof4

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.37

“Walking in Space”

A/N: Everything is fluffy until it's not. We tell the biggest lies to ourselves.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 36 - She’s Like a Rainbow 38 - This Binary Universe >>

2255.

"Anything, Arzo?"

"Negative, sir."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were dealing with lului." They were standing in the middle of a town square market. There were stalls of fruits, vegetables, cloth, rugs, housewares, virtually everything imaginable. Beautiful buildings with curved, ribbed architecture rose around them. The only thing missing was the people.

"I cannot deny the similarities," said Arzo. "I suspect that is why they assigned us. Several other ships have attempted to locate this planet already without success."

"So we're the 'species in hiding' specialists," sighed Lorca, looking around. He ran his fingers across a piece of grey-blue cloth flecked with bits of white and yellow. "I mean, we're good at it, apparently. Two for two now."

It had taken the better part of three months to track the planet's location. Zero radio signals, no satellites, and fleeting sightings of ships across six sectors that always ran, resisted scanners, and never answered hails. Evidence of mining operations, too, in several systems. Just not this system.

The crew called them the Scaredycats. Ran at the first sign of danger. Scattered their warp trails to avoid being traced. Nothing but blurry pictures at max magnification of their ships. Never darted exactly towards their homeworld when they were spotted, which was how Lorca had traced them. When there was one system vector near the middle of their range they never quite seemed to use, it seemed the best system to check out.

Owing to the lack of signals or orbital technology, their planet appeared very nondescript. The Buran's sensors detected life signs in great abundance but low concentrations. They had no cities and instead lived in a series of scattered towns almost evenly dispersed across the inhabitable surface areas, a network of roads running between them. Mapping out the roads and villages revealed an arrangement more like a carefully planned web or a piece of mesh than a naturally-occurring society, but there were signs that the mesh had spread over time. The structures increased in age as you went west and north across the largest continent.

Their arrival in orbit had led to a curious phenomenon on the surface. The life signs initially detected began to vanish, apparently in relation to the Buran's presence in visual range.

There had been some objections to beaming down. Levy's, most notably. "I'm not convinced this is the place the ships are coming from. The conditions on the surface look positively bronze-age."

"This is it, all right," swore Lorca. "I'll bet you anything."

Levy attempted to take the bet. "Two weeks shore leave?"

"Lieutenant, if I lose the bet, not only do you not get shore leave, chances are you no longer have a captain."

Levy scrunched up her face. "Then, your entire supply of fortune cookies against my tennis racket?" What she was going to do with a thousand fortune cookies was anyone's guess.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Benford. "You won't win the bet."

"Sir, we're being scanned!" called out an ensign at the science station.

Lorca gave a tiny swish of his wrist and popped his mouth, giving the effect of returning a volley. "Ace," he declared. Levy hung her head. Lorca took pity on her. "How about a match and we call it even."

"You have got to stop gambling against the captain," said Benford as Lorca started gathering an away team. "Have you won once yet? I'm beginning to think you have a problem, lieutenant."

Owing to the unpredictability of the reception, the away team heavily favored security personnel. Lorca, Benford, Morita, and two more security crewmen, Doss and Havisham. Arzo and Patel rounded the team out, in as much as a five-to-two ratio of security personnel to scientists could be considered at all well-rounded.

Leaving Sural in charge of the ship, they beamed down and the Buran left the system. The life signs then returned to the surface. On approach, they were spotted by a red-clad humanoid who immediately raised some sort of alarm, and the life signs disappeared again.

Arzo crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt. "Sir, I believe I understand what is going on here. The soil has been seeded with topaline."

Topaline was a rare mineral with the ability to disrupt sensors. "Seeded?"

"Yes. This is not naturally-occurring. It must have been intentional. I believe the aliens have all gone underground, sir."

They wandered the town, but there were no signs of any hatches leading downward and no way to scan for the underground bunkers or passageways that they knew had to be down there. Apparently the entrances were well-hidden. The whole place was eerie. They returned to the market.

"What do you want to do?" asked Benford. Everyone looked to Lorca for one of his trademark cunning plans.

He had one, but it wasn't very good. "Bear with me on this," he said. "Remember that big rock with the split in it we passed on the way here? Take Doss and Havisham and go find a good-size rock, split it in half, and bring it back here. Patel, grab some of that navy-colored cloth." Morita stood lookout, not that it was necessary. The aliens weren't coming out. Arzo wandered around, scanning and examining various objects and recording instances of language and technology, which was decidedly more advanced than bronze-age on closer inspection.

After a minute, Patel declared, "I see what you're doing!"

"Well then don't just stand there, give me a hand!"

When they were done, Benford declared it a "preschool art project" based on his firsthand knowledge of the subject. It was a very crude lifesize rendition of a silver humanoid made out of metal pots and pans wearing a red outfit holding hands with a humanoid made out of navy blue cloth with a smiley face drawn in the dirt for a head. A large split rock sat between the two.

They retreated back to the actual split rock. "You've lost me on this one, Gabriel," said Benford, out of earshot of the others.

"It's psychology," said Lorca. "We came, messed with their stuff, but creatively, not destructively, and left a message a preschooler could understand."

"I'm pretty sure absolutely none of that is real psychology."

"Also, it was so bizarre, they're gonna be scratching their heads." Lorca started to snicker.

Benford grabbed Lorca's arm. "Hold up. Was this a real plan, or did you just want us to cart around rocks before the ship came back?" Absolutely nothing on Lorca's face dissuaded Benford from the veracity of this conclusion. Quite the opposite: Lorca started laughing harder. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry, Jack!" laughed Lorca, almost in tears. It hadn't been intentionally a joke, but imagining Benford and the others running around cracking rocks trying to find the perfect one was priceless. "I mean, it could work. Stranger things have happened."

Benford rubbed his face in exasperation. "I'm putting in for a transfer," he said, but he was laughing, too, and they both knew it was an empty threat.

It did not work, but on their second trip to the surface, they left a communications system with the flag of the United Federation of Planets laid out on the ground in front of it, and on their third, a holorecording with a built-in translator providing a greeting and stating their purpose. Between each trip they left the system so the aliens would emerge from their underground hiding spots and have a chance to process these gifts.

As they returned a fourth time, they got a frantic call from the surface on the equipment they had left behind. "Alien vessel, what do you want!"

"Greetings, unidentified planet. This is Captain Lorca of the United Federation of Planets..."

"I can't believe we annoyed them into making first contact!" laughed Yoon at dinner later that week. This week the featured cuisine was Ktarian. Yoon described the meal as "proof the Ktarians excel at more than just desserts."

Lorca fixed her with a look. "Annoy them? Is that what you think I did."

"Well they certainly didn't seem to like you."

The Hizanites had agreed, by the end of it, to host a small Federation delegation in the near future, provided the Buran went away and never came back. It turned out they were terrified of everything in the universe, but most especially alien conquerors. They had endeavored to hide themselves once they realized they were not alone in the universe. Unfortunately for them, in an increasingly crowded universe, discovery was inevitable. Lorca managed to convince them that their chances were better off befriending the Federation than waiting for someone else to find them.

"Reiko, help me out here," said Lorca.

As usual, Morita had been sitting in quiet thought while Yoon and Lorca talked. "It wasn't just that the captain annoyed them," she said after a moment. "He also let them know we weren't a threat. Leaving gifts and coming back repeatedly. It's what you would do to befriend a stray cat. Just on a shorter timescale."

"See? Reiko gets it."

Morita's face clouded. "But... The people you made on the ground?"

"We had an hour to kill. Had to do something. Call it out of the box thinking. And I have to think it disarmed them somewhat when they saw it."

"I'm sure it did, because apparently you looked insane," said Yoon, giggling.

"My results speak for themselves."

"To results, then!" proclaimed Yoon, and they toasted their glasses of wine. Yoon took an exceptionally large gulp and set her glass down with a look of determination. "Right. Okay."

She seemed to be talking herself up to doing something. Lorca arced an eyebrow.

"Gabriel. There's something we want to ask you. Reiko and I have been thinking..." Morita took Yoon's hand. "We were wondering... if you might... Oh my gosh, this is so hard to ask!" She clapped her other hand against her face.

Such conversations, in Lorca's experience, usually went a certain way. In this case, it went a different way entirely.

"We want to have a baby. And because it would be me, and Reiko doesn't have any siblings, we were wondering if you might... consent to be the donor?"

It was very rare for Lorca to be rendered completely off-guard. He blinked rapidly. He couldn't even form any words.

"You don't have to decide now. And if you don't want to, we completely understand, and it's no problem. There are cousins we can ask, there are donor banks. It's just, you've been coming to our table for six years now, and you have all the qualities we'd want our child to have, and you're part of our family. We don't want you to feel obligated, but we had to ask."

"I mean... Wow. That's... and here I thought you were gonna ask me for a threesome."

Yoon shrieked his name, hit him, and laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair.

Morita rolled her eyes and turned to Yoon. "Okay, have we seriously considered what happens if our child gets his sense of humor?"

Lorca had not spoken in several minutes. He was staring out the window, alternately running his hand over his mouth, cheek, and forehead. "I don't know what to do," he said at last. "It's a big honor, but..." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I don't even know if there should be any more Lorcas running around in this universe."

"How can you say that?" said Lalana. "As far as I am concerned, there should always be a Lorca. It is a much better universe with some piece of you in it."

His hand rubbed his temple again. "You don't know. I never told you." His eyes squeezed shut and his face contorted. "Lalana..." He pressed his hand against his face so hard his fingertips went white and he let out a choked sob. He slid his hand down over his eyes. This was one of those rare gestures that lului and humans shared.

"Gabriel, what is wrong?"

He pulled his hand back down over his mouth and managed to open his eyes. They were rimmed with tears. He took a breath. "I..." He wished the holocomms showed her correctly. Even though he wouldn't have been able to touch her, it would have been some comfort to have the sense of presence holocomms provided instead of the flat projection of her face.

"You do not have to say if you do not wish to."

"Okay," he said, but it wasn't a statement of agreement with her offer. He was saying it to himself. He took another deep breath. "Do you remember on Risa? In the Winowa? And the first time." His voice was small, weak, and rasping—entirely unlike him.

"I remember, Hayliel."

"You said you were running to the stars and I told you I was like you, but I'm not. I'm not." Air sniffled through his nose as it began to close up. "I didn't run to the stars. I just... I ran away. I'm always running away. I—I can't. I can't go back." He covered his eyes again. "I can't! I can't!" He began to repeat it over and over again.

He could see it. Her face, his father's hands, big hands, strong hands that knew exactly where to strike. Everything perfect, because it had to look perfect, that was the most important thing, and every bit of it a lie. He'd learned early how important it was to lie, and to keep lying, and to show everyone the face you were supposed to wear in front of others and never, ever, to let it slip. He learned to misdirect, out of necessity. He learned to pretend. And he was very, very good at learning these lessons. He had to be. He had no choice.

And it was all the harder because he loved them both, and knew they both loved him, and if he hadn't run away, maybe they would be with him still, despite everything.

Lalana watched him shake and sob into his hand from her ship, desperately wishing there was more she could do. Lorca had given her everything when she had nothing. She wanted to return that favor more than anything. "Hayliel, listen to me. I was wrong about the human concept of spirit. We are all greater than the bodies we inhabit. Which is why I can say this with absolute certainty. It does not matter that you are running away. It only matters that we are running in the same direction. Because it means I am with you every step of the way."

Her words were almost enough. He fell into quieter, uneven breathing.

There was one more thing she could offer him. It had taken them some time to complete the task the first time, but they had gotten there in the end, and maybe now it was time to begin again.

"In the year 1866, the whole maritime population of Europe and America was excited by an inexplicable phenomenon. This excitement was not confined to merchants, common sailors, sea-captains, shippers, and naval officers of all countries, but the governments of many states on the two continents were deeply interested. The excitement was caused by a long, spindle-shaped, and sometimes phosphorescent object, much larger than a whale..."

Part 38

[onlymorelove]

Fic: this is not a love story (1/1)

Title: this is not a love story (1/1) Fandom: Timeless Ships: Lucy Preston/Garcia Flynn AND Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan but no Garcyatt Rating: PG-13 Summary: Written in response to the following prompt from @timeless-fanfic-prompts : “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it’s gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it’s not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth." — Azra T. [Lyatt. Garcy. Yes, both. No Garcyatt.]

Read under the cut, on AO3, or at FF.net.

Tagging @timeless-fanfic-prompts even though I couldn’t get this finished before the contest deadline. :) Thanks, mods, for posting prompts! Also tagging @garcynetwork .

If you read this, thanks. Feedback is treasured; constructive criticism is welcomed.

Once upon a night in 2016 a Homeland Security agent whisked Lucy Preston away from a bitter conversation with her sister about how the university had denied her tenure, to an industrial gray and black waiting room at Mason Industries. A man, a stranger, leaned back in a chair on the other side of the room, his eyes closed as if asleep. Short, dark hair stippled his jaw. His booted feet lounged on a glass-topped table as if he was just someone relaxing at home. She envied him his obvious ease. Why had Agent Kondo brought her there? Had she done something wrong? She fingered her locket and tried to ignore the way her nerves pinged, her stomach churned, and her knee wanted to jiggle up and down. OK, so maybe she had an unpaid campus parking ticket lying in the console of her car, but— “Are you asleep?��

In her head, she’d already dubbed the man in the jeans and boots Sleepy. “No, ma’am,” Sleepy said.

“Oh. Okay, good. This is Connor Mason’s company? Do you know why we’re here?”  

“No idea, ma’am.”

“You know, we're pretty much the same age, so you can just stop calling me ma'am.”

Sleepy’s eyes opened, beaming all their blues at her.

Lucy blinked. Oh, she thought. Maybe she’d have to reconsider that nickname.

His mouth arced in a slow, lopsided smile. Lucy inhaled sharply. Oh, she thought again.

The first time she saw him it was on a computer screen. Coal-dark hair, green eyes, and a slender, unsmiling mouth. She shivered but could not look away.

“Garcia Flynn, ex-NSA asset in Eastern Europe,” Agent Christopher said.

“Ex since when?” Wyatt asked.

“Since he killed his wife and child and went off the grid. That was a year ago. We thought he was holed up in Chechnya, but apparently not.”

What kind of man murdered his wife and child?

It was with the flaming skeleton of the Hindenburg dying next to them, pandemonium and screams puncturing the night air, that she stood with Garcia Flynn for the first time. He loomed out of the darkness, a tall creature wreathed in shadow.

“It’s time we talked,” he said, and the charcoal-smudge impression in front of Lucy resolved into a man. A tower of a man holding a gun trained in her direction. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his blistering gaze, while he tipped his down. Firelight burnished his hair red. The two-dimensional image Agent Christopher had shown her had not prepared her for the weight and vibrancy of Flynn’s presence. “You need to understand who and what we’re dealing with,” he said. His eyes traced her face as if seeking an answer to a question she didn’t know how to ask yet.

His voice, she knew it—had heard it ring out across the barren landscape of her dreams, even if she had never met its owner before. The rough timbre of his speech and the way he elongated his A’s—all of that was familiar to her in a way that defied understanding. “I understand that you’re a psychopath trying to burn everything to the ground,” she said, ashamed at the tremor in her voice.

“Well, that depends on your point of view, Lucy.” Her name slipped from his lips like a caress—the murmur of a thumb stroked over the top of her hand.

Babylon burned all around them, and this man, this stranger with the voice and the eyes she knew somehow— This man was responsible. Terrorist, they called him. Danger, her mind whispered, here there be dragons. Ignoring the klaxon that blared in her head, shoving aside all common sense and logic, Lucy stepped closer to him. “How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you.”

He held open a book, a journal, and showed her pages filled with her own handwriting. Of course she recognized her own penmanship, but how could that be, when she possessed no memory of writing the words? Impossible, and yet… Hadn’t she journeyed on a ship back through time?

“Do you believe in fate?” Robert Todd Lincoln asked her at a train station in 1865. Did she?

Flynn found her there, fresh from her encounter with Lincoln. Lincoln, upright and handsome in his dress blues. Lincoln, with the soft gleam in his eyes.

In daylight Flynn was all formidable lines and stern angles, his hands folded stiffly behind his back. His nose was a touch too long; his mouth sat tense and unforgiving. Only a few feet separated them as she cursed him for being the reason for her sister’s disappearance.

He didn’t hold her there with a gun this time. No, this time he pinned her with only the electric flare of his eyes. He arrested her. The elegant score of his eyebrows beneath his creased forehead captivated her in a way it should not as he threw around words like Rittenhouse, war, and future.

If there was any softness in this man, her eyes could not find it.

But her ears heard it every time he uttered her name.

“Lucy, one day you are going to help me,” he said and wrapped the sound of her name in that silken familiarity. A wave of warmth, wholly unwanted, cascaded over her as if Flynn had touched her.  

She wanted him to touch her.

Beyond all logic and reason, in defiance of all the sense her mother had tried to instill in her, Lucy wanted to touch Flynn, this strange man with phantoms and future trajectories and vengeance in his eyes. She could cut herself on the dagger point of his lips and not care that she bled. The skin on her palms craved the harsh geometry of his face, so she argued twice as hard, her tone strident and brutal, teeth snapping, antagonizing Flynn even as she questioned the wisdom of doing so.

His large hand closed hard around the fine bones of her wrist, light catching on the gold ring that encircled his fourth finger. Thus manacled, Lucy fought back the tears of humiliation that suddenly clouded her vision.

If there was any softness in this man, her eyes could not find it.

In 1865 Lucy flirted her way into an invitation to Ford’s Theater with Robert Todd Lincoln. She donned a white gown sprinkled with silvery blue flowers, and when she came out from behind the changing screen she watched Wyatt’s lips echo that same half-smile from the night they met. Strands of his hair slashed down across his forehead, and her fingers twitched with the traitorous impulse to push them back.

Flynn shot Abraham Lincoln in front of her that night; his blood christened her dress in a macabre series of Rorschach blots.

Blood brutalized her dress.

Blood marked her skin.

Blood thrummed thick and fast in her ears.

“I decided I was gonna let it happen. But then I called out to warn him. It was too late. It's one thing to talk about history like this abstract thing. But when the man gets shot right in front of you… I tried,” she said in an effort to convince herself she had done her utmost to save Abraham Lincoln’s life. The words offered her no solace as she recounted her tale to Rufus and Wyatt in the half-dark interior of the Lifeboat. Lucy’s throat closed up and she found she couldn’t continue. Wordless and heavy, she floundered in a vast sea of guilt and grief.

Until Wyatt’s hand curled over hers, knuckles resting on her blood-stiffened clothing.

In the welcome pressure of his hand, the steady warmth of his gaze, and the steadfast bow of his mouth, she found an anchor.

In 1962 she listened to Wyatt dictate a telegram to send his dead wife in 2012. (Time travel—its risks, its paradoxes, all of it—raked her thoughts into hopeless knots. But the human heart and its capacity to expand, to contract, to shatter, and continue beating, well, these were timeless things.) Over the irregular click clack of the typewriter keys, Wyatt’s voice trudged on, its cadence shaky and tinged navy with sadness.

This moment, she hadn’t meant to witness it, and the guilt of intruding on her teammate’s privacy licked hot at her skin. Then he turned around and caught her watching him; he donned his armor, made a joke and strode away from her. But his eyes shone too bright; his head hung too low, and he had no other easy quip or crooked smile to offer her. All his other masks fell away while anguish sheathed his features like a second skin, and she could not let him leave.

“Wyatt.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“No, you don’t. Look. I understand. I would do anything to get my sister back.”

“Look, I’m sorry about before. I get it’s your job, keeping history the way it’s meant to be. I don’t believe in ‘meant to be,’ though, or fate, or anything like that, and if you knew how Jess died...You would know there’s no such thing. It’s all just dumb luck and random chance. It’s just a roll of the dice.”

Wyatt’s voice reverberated with old pain; she recognized it. With her sister’s loss still a fresh injury, she felt a certain kinship with him.

That was when Lucy began to believe in ghosts.

1836 found Lucy and her team chasing Flynn to the Alamo Mission in what was then still Mexico. Hundreds would die there. Hundreds of souls burned white-hot and true, souls just like hers or Rufus’ or Wyatt’s, then flickered, before they were finally snuffed out. It didn’t get easier, riding a metal bucket of bolts and vibrations through history to witness life’s end over and over again and knowing she shouldn’t do much, if anything at all, to alter history’s tragic outcomes. Contemplating these ethical dilemmas for too long would lead, she knew with a bone-deep certainty, to insanity.

There in 1836, while the dry wind flicked sandy soil into her skirts, Lucy peeled back more of the mysteries that lay behind Wyatt’s blue eyes. Six men—his men—all soldiers like him, had died so he could complete his mission and carry out crucial intelligence. She overheard him confess this to Colonel Bowie. Yet another private moment she shouldn’t have witnessed, though honesty made her admit, if only to herself, that she didn’t regret it. Couldn’t regret it. Because she wanted to know Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan, and every piece of his history she learned was a dot in the Pointillist painting that would eventually reveal his complete image.

Fine grains of soil clung to Lucy’s skin as musket and rifle fire thundered around her. Until recently, war had seemed an abstract entity, a mirage shimmering hot in the distance: something fought in distant lands or at least distant times. Now, though, war was this, a man who could not forget:

“I'm not going,” Wyatt said.

“What? No. What do you mean?” “You don't need me. They're getting rid of me anyway, right?”

Lucy looked at him in horror. “You can't stay here. Everybody dies.”

“No, I know. I can't leave good men like this, not again.”

Wyatt Logan was a good man, too; he acted as her sword and her shield and Lucy would not leave him behind to perish with everyone else left at the Alamo Mission. “No. No, Wyatt.”

“What difference does it make? Jessica, everyone I care about is gone. Let me do one good thing. Let me buy you the time to get out.”

Jessica. He was so mired in his own grief and memories that he had called her by another woman’s name.

“What about us? We're counting on you,” Lucy said, desperate to convince him.

“The next guy's gonna handle it.”

“I don't want anybody else. Look, I trust you. You are the one that I trust. Rufus needs you. I need you. Okay?” Her lips formed the words she thought would be the right ones to persuade him. Underscoring her words, she fit her hands to his face and let their warmth and pressure guide Wyatt out of the past and forward into the present. I need you.

1934 took them to Arkansas—and Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. Their love affair was doomed, Lucy knew, and seeing them together was... difficult. Their desire for each other was so stark, so vivid, that Lucy had to ignore the hot blood she felt flood her cheeks and force herself: to look at them when they spoke and to go through all the right motions to maintain her and Wyatt’s cover. Bonnie and Clyde wanted each other, and that want was almost a tangible, visible thing, a circuit of raw hunger cycling back and forth between them. Watching them was torture. Wyatt spoke up in a low, gruff rumble. He spun a tale about himself kneeling on a hill in West Texas in front of the woman he loved, with a ring box in his hand and the sunset as a witness. There was a kiss, he told them, a kiss he’d never forget. Lucy knew he told the truth; this story was his story—his and Jessica’s. It was— It was something about the way his eyes turned remote, suspended in memory, and his body grew still. Finally, when Lucy was sure she could not bear it any longer, Wyatt turned to her and said, “You remember that, honey?”

It was all she could do to stutter out a “Yeah” and hope her nervous laugh didn’t give them away to Bonnie and Clyde.

Then he kissed her, stealing her surprised breath into his lungs. His palm found a home on the curve of her cheek as if they had done this a thousand times before. Through the whirling chaos in her mind and her body Lucy reminded herself that this, this was pretend. She fought to remain academic. She fought to divorce herself from the intimacy of pressing her mouth to Wyatt’s, especially since she couldn’t even count how many months it had been since she had last shared space and breath with someone like that.

It didn’t matter that Wyatt tasted faintly of hooch and of light—of sunlight filtered through a damp forest canopy of green leaves awakening in springtime. The grains of light hair on his jaw tickled her fingertips. Lucy wanted to slide her hand into his hair and curve it around his skull. I need you so much closer.

It didn’t matter. Her fingers quivered on the hard line of his jaw. This was acting. Nothing more.

In 1780 Lucy, Rufus, and Wyatt teamed up, unbelievably, with Flynn. Crisp early-autumn air slid its cool fingers under Lucy’s wine-dark cloak while she listened to Flynn murmur to their horses as he helped them slake their thirst. “Hey, buddy.” She blinked at the gentle, slip-slide lilt in his voice.  Perhaps she’d imagined it. But, no, there it was once again as he tended the animals. Those tones, overflowing with affection and warm splashes of color, were ones she had never heard from him before.

If there was any softness in this man, her eyes could not find it.

But her ears, oh her ears, they found it.

She swallowed hard and tried to shake off her desire to curl up against that kind voice like a cat dozing in a puddle of afternoon sunlight.

“I wanted to be a cowboy growing up,” he said. Growing up. They’d all had to do it. She’d never considered, though, that Garcia Flynn had once been a child, too. Did he have nightmares when he was little? Who had stroked the dark hair from his forehead and soothed him back to sleep? His mother? His father? And what had he looked like as a little boy? Had those solemn green eyes always held so much torment? His face must have been fuller and held more softness back then….

Flynn continued speaking, tugging her from her musings as he told her about some comics he’d read as a child. Terms like “good guys” and “bad guys” fell from his lips, and Lucy silently asked, Which do you think you are—a good guy or a bad guy?

Lucy discovered she hungered for more knowledge of him. It wasn’t fair that he knew so much about her from a journal that she, or rather some version of her, had written. It added a strange, one-sided layer of intimacy to their interactions. The imbalance troubled her. This was the most open he had ever been with her. Who knew when he would slam the door shut and bolt it from the other side?  She decided to take advantage of the moment. “If we take out Rittenhouse, then what will you do?”

“Go home to my family. They'll be alive again. Let my little girl jump into my arms. Hug my wife. And then say goodbye and walk away forever.”

That he had responded at all rather than shaking off her question altogether sent a surge of shock through her. “What? You would just... you would just leave them after all that we've been through?”

“Chasing Rittenhouse, I've done horrible things... become something else. How can I bring that into my home? What kind of husband or... or a father can I be after what I've done?”

Without meaning to, Flynn had even answered the question she had not dared to ask aloud: Which do you think you are—a good guy or a bad guy?

Flynn had immolated history and stood ready to throw himself on the pyre as well simply to put his family back in the world. He didn’t intend to share a life with them; he only wanted to know they were alive. Without him.

A pang of melancholy sounded somewhere in the deep recesses of the small muscle that pumped blood through Lucy’s body. Had anyone ever loved her as much as Flynn loved his wife and daughter? Would anyone? Would she ever love someone that much?

Flynn pointed his gun at John Rittenhouse, a boy, a person whose only crime was being born to the wrong man.

There was no other choice: Lucy put herself between Flynn and the boy. Though she had no sword, she could be a shield; she would be a shield. “I’m not letting you kill a child,” she said, and that was it: She understood now that the war she and Rufus and Wyatt fought was against Rittenhouse, not Flynn, but she could not remain a bystander in that moment. She wasn’t fool enough to think she was Flynn’s conscience, but she believed— She had to believe that he still had his own conscience, buried beneath layers of silt and rock and the misery of someone who had lost everything and found that yes, he could go still go on living.

She searched his face—absorbed the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes, and the unsteadiness of his shooting arm. “You have a choice right now. We all have choices… You can go back, but not if you do this.”

It was finished, or nearly so: Ethan Cahill, her grandfather, had come through for her. For all of them. Because of his meticulous notes and records, the authorities had arrested 150 Rittenhouse members. She’d make one last trip on the Lifeboat and get her sister back. Soon she and Amy and their mother would be reunited. Life would go back to normal, and they’d be a real family, a whole family, once again. The thought should have filled Lucy with exhilaration and joy, and it did. But those emotions sat side by side with a sensation of dread as she remembered her final exchange with Flynn when he’d been arrested and dragged away to a military prison:

“No! No! I trusted you, Lucy. I trusted you with my family. I trusted you with my child!”

“I’m sorry!” she’d said, aware of how hollow the words rang even as she spoke them. She hadn’t known that Agent Christopher had followed her to her rendezvous with Flynn, but she should have. Her naivete had cost him his chance to get his family back.

“Oh, you're sorry? You're sorry? You have no idea what you've done!”

The situation had twisted so quickly, and Lucy had no power to fix it. Only minutes before, he’d handed her the journal, her journal. His lips had curved in a smile then, a real smile that wiped the harshness and rigidity from his face and replaced it with something soft and almost...vulnerable. It was so unlike the dangerous copy of a smile he usually wielded like both a weapon and a wound that Lucy had smiled back, helpless to do anything else.

No matter what paths her future might take, that smile would haunt her.

“How do you think I met your father?” Lucy’s mother said. “We both come from good, strong Rittenhouse families. And that almost makes you royalty. Sweetheart, you've made me so proud. You've made everybody so proud. You have such... such an incredible future.”

Her mother was Rittenhouse. Her father was Rittenhouse. Ergo she was Rittenhouse as well. Her mother said there was a Rittenhouse agent on the Mothership. Nothing was over. Nothing was finished.

Lucy’s stomach roiled, the sour taste of bile surging inside her mouth. Her hand clapped over her mouth as she wrenched herself away from her mother and the obscene sheen of pride singing in her opaque blue gaze. She raced upstairs to her bathroom, silently cursing her clumsiness when she stumbled on a step and went down hard, her knees and shin taking the brunt of the damage.

(Everything she and her teammates had done, every life they’d either taken or been unable to save,  every single principle Flynn had violated—all of it had been for naught.)

When Lucy made it to the bathroom the porcelain of the toilet was a cool benediction under her clammy fingertips, and she clung to it as she lost the fight with her stomach and everything she’d eaten that day poured out into the toilet bowl. She retched until she was sure nothing lingered in her stomach--nothing but a tangled skein of betrayal. Still, her body heaved, the floor unforgiving against her kneecaps. On shaky feet, she stood, the ground beneath her rolling like a boat on choppy waters.

Run, said a voice in her head. Just run. But where—and to whom? Flynn would understand her confusion and her anger; he would feed the latter until it sent fingers of flame reaching to the sky. Moreover, he would know what to do next. He would know best how to attack Rittenhouse.

But Flynn was no longer an option; he sat in prison, and it was her fault, at least in part. She couldn’t blame him for thinking of that, even though she hadn’t knowingly betrayed him. Oh god, Lucy thought. What if her parents were directly responsible for the murders of Flynn’s wife and daughter? Nausea crashed over her again, so she shoved those thoughts aside and stuffed them into a box to examine later. Or maybe never.

Lucy trudged to her bedroom and yanked at various drawers until she found her journals, both the one Flynn had given her (returned to her?) and the one her mother had gifted her. She threw them in a bag and left the house, not pausing again until she sat behind the wheel of her car. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and her blazer felt like it was strangling her.  She tore it off as quickly as she could and tossed it on the passenger seat. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked and her knuckles whitened with strain.

Lies. Lies. So many lies. Her grandfather had lived a life of lies, danger, and subterfuge, all because she had asked him to. He had sacrificed his happiness. And for what?

She breathed through her nose, scrambling for calm; she didn't find it. With a sigh that ruffled the locks of hair that had fallen into her sweat-damp face, Lucy released the steering wheel and fumbled for her phone.

She sent Wyatt a text.   Pls meet me at your place.

It felt like years passed while she waited for his response. What’s up? You OK?

Eyes closed, she pictured Wyatt sitting in the upstairs conference room or maybe the locker room at Mason Industries, eyeing his phone with a frown creasing his forehead. Was she OK?

She typed a response before she could think better of it. No. I need you.

Her phone chimed with his reply mere seconds later. On my way.

Why bother with preamble? Lucy thought, pushing past Wyatt into the hallway of his apartment as soon as he opened the door to her rapid series of knocks. “My mother is Rittenhouse.”

Wyatt blinked rapidly. “What?”

“My mother”—she shoved her hands into her hair and tugged until her scalp smarted and tears sprang to her eyes—“is Rittenhouse, Wyatt. I'm an idiot. The world’s biggest moron. God, how could I not see it? She’s been lying this whole time. She’s been lying my whole life. ” Lucy tossed the last words over her shoulder like a grenade as she stalked to his living room. She knew she was talking too fast, everything rushing out in a confusing torrent, but she couldn't stop.“My mom’s Rittenhouse. My fa—” Eyes screwed tight, she paused in her tirade and shook her head before continuing.

“Whoa. Take a breath. Slow down, Lucy—”

“My biological father is Rittenhouse.” Her voice shook and she hated it—hated herself—for the weakness. She folded her arms in front of her chest and paced in front of Wyatt’s brown leather couch. Head down she stared at the worn hardwood floor and stalked five steps one way before she spun on her heel and stalked five steps the other way. Click click click click click went the heels of her sensible, low-heeled black shoes. The floor started to blur into a golden brown streak. She inhaled an unsteady breath. “It’s in my blood…And my sister is gone and my mother doesn't care. She's known all this time and it doesn't matter to her. How can her daughter not matter to her?”

A floorboard creaked. There was a shift, of energy, of presence, then Wyatt stepped up behind her. Gentle fingers curled around her biceps; warm breath stirred her hair. Wyatt turned her until she faced him. Still, her gaze remained downcast, focused on the contrast between the curved toes of her shoes and Wyatt’s naked feet. They looked...oddly vulnerable, in a way that made her throat tighten. “Is my whole life just a series of false choices my parents designed for me?” Lucy asked, her voice quiet. “Have they… Has Rittenhouse been the puppeteer all this time, and I've just been the fucking puppet?” Her voice rose; Wyatt’s hands tightened on her arms. “I don't know what's real and what's a lie. I don't… I don’t know who I am,” she said, an unwelcome catch in her voice. Her gaze finally lifted to meet Wyatt’s.

His eyes were somber and calm as they watched her steadily, and she was glad she had gone there—gone to him. “We’ll figure things out,” he said, and she nodded, because she had faith in him, even if she couldn't quite believe his words just yet. “It’s OK, Lucy. Luce,” Wyatt said, moving a hand from her arm to the back of her neck, “hey, I know who you are.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I know who you are,” he said again, his breath puffing against her skin as he tilted her chin, leaned in, and kissed her.

She made a small sound in her throat, then stumbled backward in an effort to put some distance between them. Her hand rose to her throat. “No,” she said into the horrible silence, pained by the stark lines of shock and embarrassment she caught on Wyatt’s face. Right before her eyes, his expression shuttered, the openness that had been there scant moments before hidden by one of his masks. She was responsible for that, and she hated herself despite the necessity. Something aching and hollow opened in her stomach. “I'm...I’m so sorry, Wyatt. I just—” It had been their first kiss or at least the first one that wasn’t done for show, and she had ruined it because she had to. “It’s not you. We just can't do this right now.”

A few hours ago Wyatt had talked about focusing on the present and being open to possibilities. Of course she'd known what he was hinting at, and a part of her had been happy, even as Flynn’s face had flashed into her mind, filling her with sadness, guilt—and something else she might never be ready to face. That was before, when they had thought their work as a team was complete. That was before she had talked to her mother. Squaring her shoulders, she looked him directly in the eyes; they owed each other that much. “My mom said she and Rittenhouse are proud of me. I don't trust myself or my actions right now. How do I know I'm not doing exactly what they want me to do?”

“Lucy why would Rittenhouse care if we...if we kiss?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed at her forehead, at the tightness there. “I don’t know, Wyatt. Maybe they wouldn’t. But I can’t… No, we can’t focus on”—Lucy waved a hand between them—“this right now.” She gasped and raised a hand, intending to touch his arm, but he retreated a step. Her hand dropped back to her side, heavy as a boulder. “We need to call Agent Christopher. Wyatt, my mother said someone from Rittenhouse is on the Mothership. ” It should have been the first thing she’d said when Wyatt let her into his apartment, but she’d been upset and… No, there was no good excuse. She’d simply messed up.

Wyatt’s phone rang. Lucy’s followed a few seconds later. “Logan,” Wyatt answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Uh huh. Got it. Lucy’s… here. On our way.”  After he hung up, he said, “That was Agent Christopher. Your mom was telling the truth; someone does have the Mothership. Emma. Let’s go.” He turned and started to walk away, shoulders hunched, and every step he took seemed to take him miles from her. “Wyatt,” she said softly, and he paused, “I really am sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s not the right time, and—”

“Forget it, ma’am,” he said, interrupting her and waving away her apology. He smiled, but it was brittle and didn’t reach those beautiful blue eyes she— “We’ve got a briefing to get to.” With that, he disappeared into his bedroom.

Like a puppet whose strings had just been cut, Lucy collapsed onto the couch and closed her eyes, her body and spirit leaden, and waited for Wyatt to return so they could head back to Mason Industries.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

“After the disappointment of the Andrew Garfield-led Amazing Spider-Man movies, everyone’s favorite wallcrawler has been having a renaissance. Entering the Marvel cinematic universe in 2016's Captain America: Civil War, the webslinger fully redeemed himself with well-crafted live-action film in Spider-Man: Homecoming.”

 Yes...okay...that was definitely what Homecoming was....

 “and a wildly successful spin-off film Venom, ”

 I mean financially successful sure...

 “In the midst of all his success, Spider-Man has quietly become one of the most inclusive and socially conscious superheroes of today.”

*raises eyebrow*

 Okay...go on...

 “Last week, it was announced that Spider-Man: Far From Home would feature two out transgender actors playing trans characters, the first big-budget superhero film to do so. Spider-Man: Homecoming also featured a queer character, as well as numerous people of color.”

  Wait who was the queer character in Homecoming?

 “It’s also worth mentioning that Spiderverse included a Jewish version of Peter Parker, who is typically portrayed as either secular or Christian.”

 ....ehhhhhhhhh....yes and no.

 In media adaptations barring maybe one (the 1994 show cos I do not remember where he got married) Spider-Man is portrayed as...I guess secular but really it’s more that they just don’t say anything.

 It’s not that the character is not a believer in a faith per se, especially if you go by older adaptations during times when hardly anyone was secular. It’s just that they, understandably, aren’t saying anything.

 In the comics Peter is some kind of Christian but probably a Protestant (unless you go by Amazing Grace where he is an atheist but that’s hot trash we don’t talk about) but we don’t really talk about it that specifically.

 We just know that he and his family celebrate Christmas and very, very occasionally Aunt May references going to church and that she, Peter and MJ believe in a monothetistic deity they refer to as ‘God’.

 And really apart from the Church thing there is no clue to Peter’s religion and Marvel probably (wisely) would rather keep it that way. He even got married in a civil ceremony!

 However in the SUBTEXT...he’s Jewish. And it’s basically an open secret that he is and always has been Jewish.

 “The Spider-Man video game also featured a wonderful easter egg for queer fans by having a giant rainbow flag, as well as several smaller ones, scattered around the game’s fictionalized New York City map. ”

 I mean that’s wonderful but I wouldn’t call that an Easter Egg so much as...it’s just what you’d find in modern NYC.

 “Even the Venom film got in on the fun, with fans shipping Tom Hardy’s Eddie Brock and the titular male alien-symbiote after the two kissed in the film. Sony even encouraged the pairing, releasing a romantic comedy-esque trailer for the film to promote the home release. While some complained of queer-baiting, most felt that it was all in good fun and included queer people in on the joke, instead of making us the target.”

 Again, good for them but I don’t think that was the movie actively trying to be positive towards queer people.

 Brock and Venom kissed when Venom was bonded to Brock’s ex-fiance and had a pronounced female form, being an adaptation of a character literally called She-Venom.

 And it was based upon a script written in the 1990s so really it was more the movie did it and then people took it as a thing that was shipping Venom and Brock (even though Venom is sexless). Brock and the symbiote have been shipped numerous times in the comics but the subtext has always been that the symbiote, if any sex, is female. In the Spec cartoon it is referred to as Symbi (a pun on Cyndi) and in the Spider-Girl comics it is marked out as female (granted this happens after it’s bonded to a woman).

 And again, headcanon away but like...that probably wasn’t intentional at all Sony were just being goofy or unintionally made something people took a certain way.

 “Indeed, even in the comics, Spider-Man has always been a fairly inclusive hero. Miles Morales was introduced in the early-2000s, taking over the mantel from Peter Parker for several years. ”

 Okay, this is so weird for me to be correcting such a praising point but lets really look at this.

 First of all Miles didn’t take over Peter’s role for several years he did it permanently.

 Second of all Miles is from 2011 so that’s not the early 2000s, that’s the early 2010s, but okay maybe that was a typo.

 Third of all, is it really all that logical to say this franchise that began in 1962 has always been fairly inclusive and then cite a character from 2011 as proof of this? Wouldn’t examples from during the FIRST quarter century have been more apt?

 Fourth of all...eh. Has Spider-Man been fairly inclusive from the start? Yes, no, its complicated.

 Look there were exactly 0 LGBTQ+ characters in Spider-Man until maybe the 1990s and even then I couldn’t off my head tell you who they were. Felicia Hardy is bisexual but we didn’t find out until the 2000s and it was most prominent in an AU. Really the most significant LGBTQ+ character who’s had the fact that they are queer be more than a one off reference was Max Modell and he debuted 2011 and IIRC wasn’t established as queer until 2012. In defence of Spider-Man the Comics Code literally FORBID any character be anything other than straight until the 1990s and even then it was relatively rare, even in X-Men which you’d think it wouldn’t be.

 If we’re talking POC again this one is a bit complicated Glori Grant, Joe Robertson, Randy Robertson are frequently appearing POC characters but not in every run and they aren’t usually as prominent as like Jameson, Aunt May, Harry Osborn, MJ, etc. Characters of other ethnicities are even less frequent and I don’t even know what we should make of Puma/Thomas Fireheart. I mean A for effort, they wanted a Native American character who wasn’t really a villain and wasn’t exactly a sterotype so there is that I guess.

 Again though...most other Marvel franchises decade by decade weren’t much better with this and we should give credit where credit is due to the same guy who created Black Panther writing a nuanced scene where 2 black people in the 60s separated by age discuss different approaches to civil rights with neither being proven right or wrong.

 When it comes to disabled people, outside of evil insane villains, forget it, there is nothing before Flash Thompson in 2008 unless you count Aunt May’s chronically poor health.

 “Spider-Gwen quickly became one of the highest-selling female superhero comics. Spider-Woman was a prominently featured bisexual character, and the female Asian-American hero Silk also had LGBT supporting characters, Rafferty and Lola, who were in a healthy relationship. Additionally, many view vampire villain Morbius, who is getting a spin-off film starring Jared Leto next year, as a metaphor for those suffering during the HIV crisis of the '80s. ”

 Again...Spider-Gwen and Silk are 2010s characters so that’s not ‘always fairly inclusive’.

 I don’t even know if Jessica Drew is bisexual, I’ve never heard that but I don’t think she is.

 Morbius as a metaphor for HIV...MIGHT be true if we are specifically talking about his 1990s solo-book which I’ve never read. But the character as originally created 100% was never about that because he was created in the 1970s before HIV was known about.

 “Unlike his Marvel counterparts Thor, Iron Man and Captain America, Spider-Man’s world has accurately reflected real world diversity for years.”

 ....Not really.

 I’m not even saying Spidey maybe haven’t been comparatively better at it than those guys but he’s deffo not been accurate.

 Plus to be fair to the other guys, Captain America and Iron Man have had at least one major black supporting cast member and in Cap’s case he was fairly candid about social strife and issues.

 And with Thor it’s not that fair to throw shade at him for not reflecting the real world given that 90% of this characters and stories are literally pulled from fantasy and myth. I don’t even know if there are any queer figures in Norse myth let alone poc.

 “While it’s a seemingly simple idea that any of us can be a superhero, it’s sadly still a radical concept in a endlessly growing film genre that has predominetly centers straight cisgender white men. ”

 Well that’s mostly because the comics the movies adapt are about those types of people.

 “That is because relatability and inclusion has always been core to Spider-Man’s appeal and message. It’s why the late Stan Lee decided that, unlike other superheroes who expose parts of their faces, Spider-Man had to wear a full-face mask.”

  Stan Lee only speculated that that was part of Spider-Man’s appeal, he never had any input on that design choice it was all Steve Ditko...who frankly was unlikely to have been thinking about that...

 “Even further, Spider-Man isn’t the king of a country, a billionaire, a woman out of a Greek myth, or a brilliant scientist. He’s just an average high-school kid from Brooklyn who always strives to do the right thing even while struggling to balance his everyday life and hiding a secret identity.”

 WHOA there buddy...Spider-Man isn’t routinely ‘a kid’ nor is he from Brooklyn.

 MILES is from Brooklyn but Peter, as evidenced by that great big caption in Captain America: Civil War, is from QUEENS.

 “And it’s the idea of balancing a secret identity with everyday life that has always allowed Spider-Man to connect with queer audiences long before comic writers were allowed to explicitly include LGBT characters.”

 ...I’m not denying this necesarrilly but whilst i’ve heard stories from poc who connected with Spider-Man I’ve never heard this about LGBTQ+ fans of Spider-Man.

“Indeed, perhaps the strongest part of Spider-Man’s inclusivity is the subtlety to which it has been done. While Black Panther, Black Lightning, and Wonder Woman rightly put issues of identity front and center, Spider-Man’s quiet diversity allows audiences who typically cry “SJWs are ruining my favorite characters” to actually see diversity showcased without it being overt.”

 Errrrrrr...sure....*represses memories of when Miles Morales was first announced*

 Lets um...wait and see what happens when those trans characters show up in the movie this year okay.