#character: red on my ledger

[dreadbornesaint-moved]

your time will come to be the tragic hero. (Regulus)

| the agony of unmade decisions |

“I have no interest in playing the hero, tragic or otherwise.” Though, in some ways, she already has. She knows that she is on the side of good, that history will regard her as being of the correct path. Her conviction does not permit any contradictory belief. 

Beryl will act as she always has. One hand on the hilt of her blade, the other clenched around the unseen and unnamable. If it results in her story being read as a tragedy in which she plays the role of hero, so be it.

“Even so, I am well aware that I have little control over how history remembers me. If such legacy is one of woe and heroism, then that is the story my life will be immortalized by.”

[skj-weebmam]

So I love Heaths joker, but I love the joker from under the red hood too. It’s just something about his voice, he isn’t trying to sound like Mark Hamilton, John DiMaggio just went his own way, and I love it!

It’s my two favorite jokers in one drawing :), I hope you like it.

(Doodles)

[cygnusposts]

i think it's really funny when people try to assign batfam characters their own colors or whatever but refuse to use duplicates. could not be me. the inherent tragedy in using red for both jason and tim is something i will never get over

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ PINEAPPLE PLAZA ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA Making The Reader Eat The Food In Her World

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ When ENA first offers you food, it’s presented like a business transaction. She places a flickering silver platter in your hands, balanced on one clawed finger, whispering, “You look depleted. Here, a mutual investment opportunity for your taste receptors.” The food is…alive. It giggles. You can’t tell if it’s meat or if it’s trying to sell you real estate. ENA grins brightly. “Bless you for your business.”

☆ Her Meanie side bursts in just as you poke it with a fork. “WHAT KIND OF PEA-BRAINED FREAK EATS INCHWORMS THAT REEK OF TAX FRAUD?!” You’re relieved. Maybe she gets it. Then she shoves a glowing orb into your mouth. “Now THIS is cuisine. Tastes like regret, right? It’s seasonal!” You can’t feel your tongue. Or your past. Or time. You nod politely.

☆ You once tried to explain human digestion to her. ENA tilted her head—red side blinking thoughtfully. “Fascinating! You mean, you can’t metabolize uncut mercury shards wrapped in memory foam?” She sounds genuinely surprised. She writes a note in a ledger titled: “Consumer Weaknesses: Organic Digestive Systems.”

☆ Sometimes she forgets you’re not like her. One day she bites into a chalky cube labeled “FAKE MILK (with spores)” and beams at you with crumb-dusted joy. “It tastes like childhood trauma. You’ll love it.” You chew once. Your stomach throws a protest rally. You cough. ENA claps. “Success! I’ve found your palate’s language: pain.”

☆ You wake up to her crouching over your bed with a picnic basket. “Did I catch you at an okay time? I prepared us a morning charcuterie of fire salt, serotonin poppers, and a whole glass of tomorrow.” She hands you a drink that hums. It glows like a dying star. You sip. Now you’re glowing. Slightly. “You’re beautiful,” she says, already scribbling the recipe onto your arm.

☆ When you try to refuse politely, she flips to her Meanie side and screams: “IS IT BECAUSE I CAN’T COOK?!!” You reassure her you’re just not hungry. She throws the whole feast into the air. It hovers midair, spinning like a satellite. “NOW EAT IT ANYWAY, YOU STUBBORN FLESH MONSTER.” You eat a slice of hovering fear pie out of sheer love. And panic.

☆ Some of the food makes you hallucinate. ENA doesn’t seem to notice. You’re babbling about a hallway that doesn’t end. She nods approvingly. “Side effects may include temporal migration. Also, who gave you the key to the confetti factory?” You didn’t. It’s in your hand now. You don’t remember chewing that key.

☆ She creates a tasting game. Each food is labeled with bizarre titles: “Trust Issues,” “Abandoned Projects,” “Spleen of the Month.” You laugh nervously. She watches you intently as you bite into “Spleen of the Month.” Her smile twitches. “Oh good. No immediate bleeding.”

☆ There’s a delicacy called Grubgrub. It screeches when touched. ENA hums. “Mmmm. This one screams just like my 3rd grade teacher. Nostalgic!” You try to leave. She grabs your wrist. Gently. Firmly. “You haven’t even tried the soup yet. It changes flavor based on your sins.”

☆ Eventually, you grow used to the horror. You learn which foods to fake-chew, which ones to bribe into not transforming mid-meal. And ENA? She’s thrilled. “You’re adapting! How marvelous. You’ll be a native in no time.” You smile weakly. She slurps up a steaming bowl of liquid grammar mistakes and kisses your forehead. “My brave little guppy. Thank you for joining me in the feast of our shared delusions.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: please enjoy the first chapter!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“No, no, not the pink, red,” you cup your hand over your ear pod, “exactly what it says on the order sheet.” 

Were anyone to see you, sitting in the dirt, with a brush in hand, all alone, they might think you’re a bit out there. You, talking to the air, dusting off a clump of soil, orchestrating your own voice with the bristles. You dip your head as you focus on what the voice in your ear is saying. 

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you argue, “I put in the order weeks ago. A red bow. I have the receipt– I mean sure, pink or red doesn’t matter to me but it’s not my birthday.” 

“We’ll see what we can do,” the woman relents. It’s not exactly a triumph but as close to as you can hope. If it’s pink, you’ll just have to take the fall. The damn fondant will be devoured by the night’s end anyhow. 

You hang up with a double tap on the ear pod and your playlist resumes. You go back to trying to uncover the shape caked in layers of muck, turning the brush to chip away the rougher bits with the pointed tip. The work is tedious but it has to be. You can’t risk damaging the relic nestled inside. 

The abrupt chiming of your ringtone once more sounds through the bluetooth earpiece. You huff and hit the pod with the heel of your hand. You greet the call with only your name. 

“Are you still on site?” Your boss, Arturo asks. 

“Yep, still here,” you still your hand and twist your arm, pulling back the end of your glove to see your watch, “just a bit longer. You know I have that thing tonight.” 

“Uh, yes, I recall,” he says dully as you hear paper shuffling, “you got time to chat?” 

“Sure,” you keep the cluster of dirt and the brush in one hand and use your other to push yourself to your feet, “I just gotta catalogue this before I finish the day.” 

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” he begins as you carefully walk between the cordoned off patches. The whole place is a maze of where and where not to step. You go into the tent and put down the half uncovered idol. It’s brittle, made of hide and yew, with a bit of bone. “Lucia is pregnant.” 

“Oh? That’s great,” you furrow your brow, wondering what that has to do with you. 

“Means she can’t travel for a while. She’s adverse to long term commitments at the moment so…” 

“So…” you trail off as you label the mound of dirt and make notes for the next day. 

“So, you want her assignment?” 

“Which one?” You peel off your gloves and shake off the excess filth. 

“Norway. It can be a bit dingy but the landscape is nice.” 

“Norway? For how long?” You close up the ledger and tuck it away on the shelf. You pass between the tables of artifacts as you pull out your phone. 

“Could be a while but I figured you never get to go very far. You’ve been pent up in-state for so long, you could use the vacation.” 

“Oh? Well, I…” you scroll through your phone and see the notifications. Emails confirming delivery, messages asking if everything is sorted. “I’d have to think about it…” 

It’s evasion more than indecision. You know you don’t want to go. You can’t go. Your whole life is here. You have an apartment and friends and… Steve. Your best friend.  

“Make sure you do think about it. It’s a great opportunity. Especially for a junior anthropologist. Lucia won’t be on leave forever.” 

“I know. I’ll think about it.” 

You hang up and pluck the earbud out. Ugh, you’re covered in dirt and dust. You don’t have time to go home and shower. You knew you wouldn’t. You have to be at the venue before everyone else. You can change there and try to wash up in the sink. Whatever, no one’s going to be looking at you anyway. It’s Peggy’s night. Yay. 

You lock the fence and tug one last time to make sure it’s secure. You drag your boots across the thinning grass to your car parked on a stretch of gravel. You drop inside and hit start. You connect to the bluetooth and get some tunes going. You buckle your seat belt as you check the mirrors. You’re probably going to have to speed there. 

You back out as the music blares from the speakers. It’s not loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Why did you agree to this? Peggy doesn’t even like you. Oh, but she likes Steve. She is his girlfriend and you are only his best friend. You’re supportive. You keep your mouth shut and smile. 

Ugh. You squeeze the wheel until your knuckles hurt. You know why you offered to help plan the surprise. You’re pathetic but you’re not delusional. It meant you got more time with him. There hasn’t been much of that since Peggy came along, not just the two of you. 

Classic, isn’t it? In love with your best friend. Friends since college. Friends forever, you vowed naively, thinking that forever would never come. Nothing lasts that long, you can only hope to outlast Peggy. 

And if you don’t, maybe this crush will finally run its course. 

💟

Red and white streamers decorate a long table set with trays. There’s a banner over it that reads ‘Happy Birthday, Peggy’, and a stack of gifts already forming in the corner. Guests drift in with anticipation as you hurry around to check off all the items on your list. 

You fix a small vase of flowers, trying to hide the droopy one in the back, and tug a wrinkle out of a tablecloth. You smile and wave at those who are early as you weave between them. You pull out your phone and lean it on the clipboard angle in the crook of your elbow. They’re on their way, okay. Keep it cool. 

As you come to the kitchen door, you nearly collide with someone else. Sam touches your arm gently as he keeps you from tripping backward. You gasp and hug the clipboard with a wobbly grin. 

“Hey,” you greet breathily, “you’re here.” 

You look down at the guest list and check him off. 

“Ah, figured I’d make an appearance,” he kids, “Rogers would take it pretty rough if his best pal wasn’t here.” 

“Please, don’t start that with Bucky again,” you warn as you point the pen in his direction, “the two of you, in fact, are seated separately.” 

“No fun!” He whines dramatically. 

You scrunch your lips at him and peer around. Yes, none of this has been fun. Caterers, servers, tables, space, food! Yes, you were going to check on the cake. Your sole squeaks as you twist sharply and go to slam your hand into the door. 

“Hey,” Sam blocks your way with his arm, “before you disappear, you’re still wearing your boots.” He points to your feet, “in case you’re wondering about the snail trail.” 

He sweeps his finger up in a gesture alluding to your previous path. You glance over at the dirt littered in your stead then down at your dusty boots. You sigh and hang your head back. 

“Fuck!” You snarl. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a broom,” he assures you, “while you take a breath. You need it.” 

“I can’t, Sam, they’re already on their way. I still have to get everyone in their place and… quiet,” you scowl, “ugh, this is gonna be so bad. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“So… why’d you do it?” He asks as he drags his hand away from the doorframe. You look at him and blink slowly. You shrug. 

“I’m a good friend,” you insist. 

He gives a skeptical hum and nods, “sure are,” he grumbles, “too good, if you ask me.” 

You throw up your hand before turning into the kitchen. You don’t have time to worry about him. Is he jealous that you’re helping Steve so much? Or does he know something else? You don’t let the seed sprout as you nearly cry out at the sight of the cake. 

A pink bow. Jeez. Of course. You check the cake off your list, nearly tearing through the paper. It’s better than nothing, even if Peggy never settles for less than the best. 

There’s no time to complain or send it back. Your phone vibrates again. Five minutes. Your heart is racing. Why? This isn’t even your party. You just want it to be perfect for Steve. You hate to disappoint him. Ever. 

You really shouldn’t care that much but you do. Like so many other things in your life. 

💟

The crowd can't keep quiet. There's a low buzz that ripples through the guests. A wave of anticipation that's spread like a deadly virus. 

You feel a nudge in your side and peek over as Bucky sends Sam a sneer and wriggles in place. Those two never let up. You hiss at them to quit and they look as guilty as a pair of unruly children. 

"He keeps tickling me," Bucky whispers. 

"No, I'm tryna fix his hair, look at this mess," Sam flicks a strand away from Bucky's cheek, "this is a nice event, Buck, not your living room." 

"Both of you," you warn.  

"You're bitching at me when Indiana Jones here brought the dig with her," Bucky mutters. 

You look down. Dammit. You still didn't change out of your boots. You roll your eyes. It's not about you. It's Steve's night. Er, Peggy's.  

You shake out your nerves and shake your head, "you two," you step behind Bucky and insert yourself between the men, "behave." 

"Yes, mom," Sam snickers as Bucky groans and tries to smooth the few shanks that have slipped free of his low ponytail. 

You exhale and give an exasperated look to the door. You really can't handle them on top of everything else. You just want this night to end already. All your hard work and you won't even get to enjoy any of it. 

"Everybody," Natasha hisses as she runs away from the doorway, "they're coming." 

The group quiets, as much as they can, a collective bated breath as you wait and listen. The lull is unbearable as the heat of the bodies around you pricks sweat down your neck and across your scalp. The door begins to open, almost as if in slow motion, and as the guest of honour is revealed, you cry out. 

"SURPRISE!" The eruption of the chorus has your head spinning as Peggy gives a melodramatic swoon, grabbing at Steve's arm as she leans on him heavily. 

She parts only to fan her eyes and squeal. "Oh my god, you guys!"  

She teeters on her heels as people holler happy birthday and her group of girlfriends flutter over to wrap her up in a cacophony of giggles and preening. You smile, a bittersweet twitch in your cheek as you watch her spin back to Steve and pull him into a kiss.  

You're happy for them really, proud to see all your effort come to fruition, but you just feel so hollow. For an instant, you think it should be you right there, gushing in glee over the celebration of another year, with Steve beside you.  

You gulp down the jealousy and wiggle your nose to ward away the tears. That's a stupid thought. If it hasn't happened in more than a decade, it's not going to happen now. 

💟

As the guests disperse into their own conversations, you finally manage to wade through to the happy couple. You approach with a small wave at Steve. He doesn't see you, he's watching Peggy as she chats with Natasha. 

"Hi," you call above the din, "so, you like it?" 

Steve turns to you, confusion stitching his forehead before he registers your questions. He nods and gives a smile, "it's amazing, you did so good!" 

The sparkle in his eyes, the perfect line of his jaw, the way he's looking at you, it makes your heart rend. You tilt your head and dig your toe into the floor bashfully, "thanks. I'm so happy to see it come together." 

"Um, the cake," he brings his index finger up, "I was hoping to bring it out soon." 

"Er, yeah, it's back in the kitchen. About that–" 

"Great," he claps your shoulder and brushes by you, "just gonna put the finishing touches on it." 

"Hm, what do you–" 

He's gone before you can finish your question. You deflate just a little, setting your feet flat as you sway aimlessly. The motion hooks Peggy's attention. You give a sheepish smile as you wring your hands. 

"Oh, uh, just came over to wish you a happy birthday," you chirp, "are you enjoying it?" 

"Ah, I didn't see you here, I thought maybe you were busy…" she gives a pointed look to your boots, "working." 

"Um, yeah, no," you fidget, "always happy to come support you two." 

"Where is Steve?" She gazes past you, shouldering by dismissively, "he was just…." 

Right. You nod and flit away in embarrassment. You can't say you ever got along with Peggy. Where you're accommodating, she's a bit too demanding. Different people, but you don't dislike her. You just don't mesh. Or perhaps it's just that you don't get what Steve sees in her. Especially when you're right there. 

Enough. This isn't about you or your stupid dumb heart. Just smile and go with it. 

The kitchen door swings open, a noise barely discernible above the hue, and the rattling wheels of a cart underline the steady drone. A lull washes over the crowd as they part. You move with the tide and face the sudden divide. 

A hush falls over the room as Steve pushes the cake across the floor. He stops before Peggy as she faces him, another feigned pout of surprise. He grins proudly at her as you stare curiously at the top of the cake. 

"Oh, pink?" She comments on the fondant bow as her eyes flick over to you. She quickly corrects herself an admires the double tiered dessert, "Steve, it's so pretty." 

You know she hates the colour. You recall the one time you wore a pink bow in your hair and she made a similar comment. Cute, she remarked in her roundabout way in her oh so sophisticated accent. 

You manufacture a smile and step closer as Steve beckons to the guest. Tension stills the air, almost paralyzing the crowd. You squint at the heart shaped box perched atop the bow. 

"Is this for me?" Peggy asks if it's not obvious. 

Steve nods, his cheeks tinting pink, as you notice how he wipes his palms on his pants. Peggy delicately takes the box from the pedestal of fondant and your ribs ache from the pounding of your heart. You curl your fingers until your nails dig into your skin as you watch him kneel beside her. 

She doesn't notice as she opens the box on its hinges. Her lips part and she stares at the contents. She looks over at Steve to find him on his knee and she claps her hand over her mouth. Her eyes gleam as she whimpers his name through her fingers. 

The scene hazes behind your tears as you stare wide eyed. Your ears ring as Steve's voice is dulled by your shock. 

"Margaret Elizabeth Carter," Steve's timbre warble just a bit, "will you make me the happiest man on earth?" 

You don't wait for her answer. You already know it. It's the very same you give in every outlandish dream you've ever had of your happy ending. You spin and storm through the crowd, blind with horror and self-pity. 

Surprise! Your whole world is crashing into pieces. 

[stxrdust-widow]

Stxrdust’s favourite characters: Black Widow edition

I have red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.

[kckt88]

Imzadi IX

Summary:

As Lucaera nears the end of her term, she starts exhibiting some strange behaviour and Aemond learns that a thief has invaded the Red Keep.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex (M Receiving), Pregnancy, Labour, Child Birth, Arguing, & Mild Violence.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA DYNAMIC

Word Count: 8935

A.N - 'Imzadi - Beloved'

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl @aphroditesblunt @iamtoriasworld @persephonerinyes

The council chamber was thick with tension, as Lord Thaddeus, argued heatedly with Lady Jeyne, their voices rising and overlapping in a contest of stubborn wills.

Scrolls were being waved about, ledgers flipped open with exasperated huffs, and the sound of quills scratching hastily across parchment underlined the entire scene.

Aegon was slouched in his chair like a bored child, one leg hooked over the armrest as he idly twirled a quill.

Corlys and Princess Rhaenys exchanged unimpressed glances, heads shaking in silent disdain for the squabbling.

Rhaenyra and Daemon observed from their seats, unreadable as always, while Alicent sat rigid, lips pressed into a disapproving line.

And Aemond? He was somewhere else entirely.

His posture was straight, his hands folded neatly on the table, but his mind was leagues away.

His Queen. His sweet Omega.

Aemond could still feel her belly, soft and round, pressed against him, the gentle stirring of their pup within her like a whispered promise of everything he’d ever wanted but never dared dream of.

He sighed softly.

Her scent. Apples, cinnamon and milk. A lullaby to the Alpha Prime inside him.

His thoughts lingered on how she had curled herself into him that morning, sleepy and smiling as his hand drifted over her rounded stomach, murmuring low praises and kissing her mark.

But then she’d descended his body, her lips and tongue against his skin.

“L-Let me taste you. Please” begged Lucaera.

Aemond moved and propped himself against a hastily assembled pile of pillows. His hard cock proudly on display.

Aemond stared down at his naughty little wife, his mouth hanging open as Lucaera lightly ran her fingers over him, teasing the glistening head.

Next thing he knew, Lucaera’s warm, wet mouth was wrapped around the head of his cock.

Lucaera’s tongue ran around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Lucaera!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s dark hair.

Lucaera ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When she engulfed Aemond’s cock back into her mouth, he squeezed his eye shut.

Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he had to watch his precious wife sucking his cock. 

“You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Her head moving back and forth, her pink lips stretched around him. Oh, it was heaven.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted.

Lucaera smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good” groaned Aemond.

Lucaera relaxed the back of her throat and swallowed as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“F-Fuck” moaned Aemond as she gently massaged him, the knot at the base of his cock was beginning to swell.

“Do you like that raqiarzy?” asked Lucaera, pulling away for a moment, but her hand still moved over the length of him (Beloved).

“Y-Yes” exclaimed Aemond.

Lucaera smiled and took him back into her mouth.

“That’s it-” whimpered Aemond his body rocking against her.

Lucaera smiled and increased her pace, her hand and mouth working in sync, her fingers squeezing his knot.

“Shit-Lucaera I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed-

Then—

“Aemond.”

He blinked.

“Aemond-”

This time it was louder, more impatient.

He turned sharply and found Aegon staring at him, one eyebrow arched in that distinctly smug way of his.

“Yes?” Aemond asked coolly, his breeches uncomfortably tight.

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Finally, the King regains his senses.”

Aemond shifted in his seat and ignored the chuckle that rippled through the table. “Have we come to an agreement between Lord Thaddeus and Lady Jeyne?”

The confused silence that followed made his brow furrow.

Aegon smirked and exchanged a look with Rhaenyra before saying, “Gods be good, brother. How long were you daydreaming for? We’ve moved on. We’re talking about a thief now.”

“A thief?” Aemond echoed, blinking.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra spoke now, composed but firm. “For several weeks now, items have been going missing from the Red Keep.”

“What sort of items?” Aemond asked.

“Articles of clothing, Your Grace,” she replied.

Aemond huffed a laugh. “Stolen clothing? You think this matter worthy of the council’s time?”

Rhaenyra raised a brow. “Yes, I do. Considering the victims of these thefts include members of your council.”

Aegon leaned forward dramatically, pointing at himself. “I’ve lost two of my best shirts. And Helaena says one of her cloaks has vanished.”

Daemon’s smirk twitched. “I’m missing a shirt too-”

“And I’ve lost a nightgown, and my sons are missing items of clothing as well” Rhaenyra added.

“My robe,” Alicent said, eyes narrowing. “And several handkerchiefs.”

Rhaenys tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps a desperate servant—trying to sell the items for coin.”

Aemond nodded, lips twitching. “Perhaps, but theft is theft. And if there is someone bold enough to steal from the royal family within the Red Keep itself, then we must remain vigilant.”

They all nodded their agreement, but Aemond inwardly marvelled at how ridiculous it all was.

A clothes thief. Still, if such petty concerns were the height of unrest with the council, then matters regarding the realm and its smallfolk were going well.

Eventually, Aemond dismissed the council with a wave of his hand and rose swiftly.

He had more important things to tend to.

Normally, Lucaera would attend the council meetings and sit beside him, poised and perceptive, but after their morning delight she’d felt a little unwell and chose to remain abed.

The halls felt too quiet as he made his way back to their chambers, the only sounds were his boots echoing against stone, or the metallic movement of the Kings Guard’s armour as they followed.

Back at his chambers, Aemond pushed open the door with expectation—and paused.

The bed was stripped bare, the sheets and pillows gone. The chairs were missing their cushions.

His brows drew together. It was as if a strange little storm had passed through and carried all the soft things off.

Aemond poked his head into the hall where Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk stood guard.

“Has the Queen left these chambers today?”

Both shook their heads. “No, Your Grace. She’s remained within all morning-”

Aemond hummed, closing the door again.

He inhaled deeply. Apples, cinnamon and milk. Her scent was thick in the air, almost overwhelming.

She was close. But where?

Aemond’s gaze turned to the smaller chamber adjacent to their bedchambers. A cozy room with high, curtained windows and a thick, woven rug—usually reserved for reading or private conversation.

The curtain was partially drawn.

Curious, he approached quietly and peered inside.

And stopped.

His wife was there, asleep on a pile of cushions and sheets.

But what truly caught his attention was what she was curled within: a circular formation made up of bed linens, cloaks, tunics, shirts, robes and handkerchiefs—all the items that had been reported missing.

It hit him all at once.

His Omega was the thief.

Aemond knelt down careful not to startle her as he gently ran his hand up her leg.

Lucaera stirred, blinking sleepily. “Aemond?”

“My love,” he said softly. “Why are you sleeping in here? And why have you stolen everyone’s clothes?”

Lucaera blinked slowly, then sat up with a soft groan, one hand cradling her round belly. “It’s my nest,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you like it?”

Aemond cocked his head slightly. “Your nest?”

Lucaera nodded solemnly. “I don’t know why but I needed to build it. For our pup. It had to smell like the people I love, the ones who make me feel safe and protected” She looked shyly up at him, cheeks flushed.

Aemond's heart swelled with something deep and wordless. The Alpha Prime inside him understood, even if he didn’t have the words.

“I understand,” he murmured. “You’ve done well, sweet one.”

Lucaera’s face lit with satisfaction. “Do you like it, Alpha?”

“I like it very much,” he said, brushing her hair back gently.

Lucaera purred, visibly pleased, her contentment humming through their bond like a lullaby.

“How long do you plan to stay in here?” Aemond asked.

Lucaera hesitated. “For as long as I need to. I don’t like it out there.”

“Out where?”

“Everywhere,” she whispered. “The scents of other Alphas, they make me nervous. I just want to be where it’s safe-”

Aemond felt something primal shift inside him. She needed protection, and she’d built this space for that very purpose.

A nest for her and his pup. It wasn’t just instinct. It was sacred.

Without a word, he removed his sword belt, his boots, and his jerkin, placing them aside.

“May I come into your nest?” Aemond asked softly.

Lucaera nodded, her eyes warm. “Only you. No one else.”

“No one else,” he agreed.

Aemond slipped into the nest beside her, curling around her protectively. As soon as he did, something within him settled.

The warmth, the softness, the scent—it was perfect. It was right.

And the Alpha Prime inside him knew:

This was the place his Omega had chosen to birth their child.

Over the next few days, the entire Red Keep seemed to bend and shift around Lucaera, as if the castle itself knew that its Queen was approaching the end of her term.

Her body moved slower now, every breath a little heavier, her back aching, her moods fragile. And though she remained graceful in her bearing, her instincts had sharpened into something primal—a nesting Omega in the final days before birth.

Lucaera refused point blank to leave her nest, save for necessary bathing or relieving herself in the privy.

The moment she returned, she would crawl back into the cocoon of stolen linens and soft clothing, clutching one of his tunics against her chest.

Aemond, though composed on the outside, was on edge—every muscle tense, every movement laced with the protectiveness of an Alpha Prime.

He had commanded that only Beta males be stationed outside their chambers. No Alpha scent was allowed near Lucaera.

Not unless she accepted it. And she was selective, to say the least.

She welcomed Daemon without hesitation, curling into his side when he sat near the edge of the nest.

She allowed her brothers, Jace, Luke, Aegon and Viserys to visit, their scents bringing her calm.

Even Aegon, to Aemond’s great annoyance, was permitted entry.

Aemond scowled every time his brother passed the threshold, sitting cross-legged outside the nest, offering her sweet pastries or telling jokes that made Lucaera laugh, the sound that made Aemond's chest ache.

He supposed Aegon’s act of protecting her from that would-be kidnapping played some part in her trust.

Still. He didn’t like it.

Lucaera also allowed visits from Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Helaena—the latter of whom brought warm hands that gently stroked her hair as they spoke in low voices about motherhood, legacy, and the strange beauty of giving life.

But even with so many faces coming and going, Lucaera never left her nest. She even ate there, curled up in the blankets, resting between bites.

Aemond also slept in the nest with her, every single night, wrapped around his Omega. It soothed her—and it soothed him as she clung to him, her hands pressed against his skin, her soft purrs and low whines keeping him pressed to her side.

The Alpha Prime in him had no complaints about staying curled in a scent-rich haven beside the woman carrying his pup.

Aemond also learned very quickly that his absence caused her great distress.

Once, he’d tried to attend a council meeting when she was napping. He’d barely reached the end of the corridor when her distress burst through their bond, like icy fingers around his heart.

When he rushed back, he found her trembling, tearful and unable to settle until he stripped down, climbed into the nest, and his knot was buried deep inside her.

After that, he did not leave again. She was his world. And she needed him.

Then, one warm afternoon, the sun casting golden rays through the high windows, he lay beside her with one arm around her belly, his hand slowly gliding over the stretched skin, feeling the occasional flutter or push from within.

Lucaera let out a soft sigh, her fingers tangling in his hair as he nuzzled her neck.

"You're going to be such a good father," she murmured.

Aemond smiled, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "And you're already the best mother. Our pup is lucky."

But then—

Lucaera gasped. Her whole body tensed beneath his touch.

“Aemond—” she whimpered.

He shot up, instantly alert. “What is it?”

Then came the sound—a soft, wet rush.

Aemond looked down and saw the glistening pool of fluid beneath her.

Lucaera stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. “My water just broke.”

For a heartbeat, Aemond simply blinked at her.

Then, like a dragon awakened, the Alpha Prime surged to life within him.

“The pup is coming.”

The chamber was dimly lit, warmed by the flickering glow of the hearth and scented thickly with blood, and sweat.

In the heart of the nesting room, wrapped in silks, linens, and the worn scent of their shared bond, Aemond sat in the nest, his long legs stretched out, and his Omega nestled between them, as she trembled with the sharp, unrelenting pain of labour.

Lucaera leaned back against his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Their hands were tightly clasped, her grip bruising, her nails digging into his knuckles with every spasm that tore across her belly.

Aemond didn’t flinch.

Outside the doors, Alicent, Rhaenyra, and Daemon paced with anxiety.

Earlier, Alicent had pressed a hand to Aemond’s arm and whispered, “This is not something a man should witness—especially a King.”

But Aemond had only looked at her, calm and cold.

“She needs me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Now, as Grand Maester Gerardys crouched at the edge of the nest with a cluster of midwives, Aemond kept whispering soft encouragements into Lucaera’s ear, his voice hoarse with emotion, lips brushing her temple between contractions.

“You’re doing so well, sweet one just a little longer. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The room was tense, filled with the sound of panting breaths, muffled moans, and the quiet rustle of linen.

Then came another contraction. Stronger. Deeper.

“Breathe, Your Grace,” Gerardys instructed gently. “And push, when you’re ready.”

Lucaera cried out, her whole-body tensing as she bore down, her hand crushing Aemond’s in hers. Her face flushed, her thighs trembling, every inch of her shivering with the intensity of her effort.

Aemond pressed his lips to the side of her damp forehead, murmuring, “I love you. You’re so strong. I’m so proud of you. Just a little more, my Omega-”

“N-Now is not the time for one of your Strong jokes” gasped Lucaera.

Aemond huffed a laugh “I wasn’t making one-this time”

“It hurts so much Valzȳrys” (Husband).

“I know. But you can do this. I know you can” said Aemond, doing his best to reassure his wife.

“No, I can’t” wailed Lucaera, grimacing in pain as a contraction ripped across his stomach.

“Yes, you can ñuha prūmia. Squeeze my hand as much as you want” (My Heart).

“I-I can’t-“ whimpered Lucaera, her head lolling back on Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel her pain and anguish through their bond and it was tearing him apart- he knew he needed to do something, anything to calm her down.

Then-

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis” (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing).

Lucaera closed her eyes at the sound of Aemond’s quiet rasping voice.

“Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan” (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing).

Lucaera smiled as she felt Aemond’s scent of leather and ash wrap around her-

“Hae mērot gierūli:, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī” (As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

“That’s it Your Grace. I can see the babes head”.

“You can do it my love. That’s it. Keep pushing” urged Aemond, grimacing slightly as Lucaera squeezed his hand tight.

Lucaera screamed until her throat was raw.

Then—

With a wet squelch, the chamber fell quiet for only a heartbeat—

Before it filled with the sharp, strong cry of a newborn.

Gerardys lifted the tiny, squalling form with reverence and looked towards the couple, his voice trembling slightly with joy.

“A boy, Your Graces.”

Lucaera sobbed as the babe was placed gently in her arms. She stared at him through tear-blurred eyes—his tiny limbs flailing, his mouth open in protest, and his hair—silver, like starlight—matted to his head.

“Oh gods, he’s perfect,” she wept.

Aemond rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath catching painfully in his throat as he gazed at the child they had created together.

He had thought he would be calm. Controlled.

But tears streamed down his cheeks, unchecked, as the Alpha Prime inside him howled with pride and unbridled love.

“Our pup-” he whispered. “Our son.”

“L-Look what we did” whispered Lucaera.

“I see” replied Aemond happily.

But then—

Lucaera’s body tensed again, and a low whimper escaped her.

The babe was gently taken from her arms, cradled by a midwife as Gerardys moved swiftly.

Aemond’s instincts suddenly began screaming inside him.

“What’s wrong?” he barked. “What’s happening?!”

Gerardys didn’t look away from his task.

“Another babe is coming, Your Grace-”

Aemond was stunned into silence.

Twins.

His gaze flicked down to Lucaera—exhausted, shaking, and tears streaking down her face as another wave of agony gripped her.

“You can do this,” Aemond whispered fiercely, wrapping both arms around her from behind. “One more. Just one more. I’ve got you, my love.”

Lucaera cried out again, her voice hoarse, her body trembling with the effort.

She pushed—and screamed—and pushed again—

Until with another slick, breathless moment, a second child slipped free into the waiting hands of the Grand Maester.

“A girl!” he declared, a wide smile breaking across his weathered face.

Lucaera sobbed anew as both babes were brought back to her—her son and daughter, placed gently in her arms.

Her back sagged against Aemond’s chest, her whole-body limp with relief, exhaustion, and joy.

“I did it,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Alpha, are you pleased?”

Aemond could hardly speak past the lump in his throat. He pressed a kiss to her temple, to her damp hair, his hand trembling as it brushed over the tiny curve of his daughter’s cheek.

“More than pleased,” he said thickly. “You’ve done so well. I’m so proud of you, my Omega.”

Gerardys and the midwives turned their focus to the afterbirth, giving the family a few sacred moments of peace.

Aemond extracted himself from behind Lucaera and opted to sit next to her as he slowly reached for his son, lifting him into his arms, then he took his daughter next.

He held them both. Pressing kisses to their downy silver heads, the twins immediately settling into their father.

The scent of milk and new life curled around him, warm and soft and overwhelming.

His Alpha Prime rumbled in satisfaction, his scent flaring, wrapping itself like a shield around all of them.

His mate. His son. His daughter.

His family.

The hours that followed the twins’ birth passed in a golden haze of quiet joy and overwhelming love, though never without a measure of fierce protectiveness—especially from Lucaera.

In the quiet of the evening, she finally allowed the maids to change the blood stained covers in the nest, though only under her hawk-eyed supervision.

She remained curled nearby with the twins tucked against her chest, and the poor girls dared not disturb a single fold of silk or cotton that made up the structure.

The nest was sacred. It had kept her safe, had birthed her babes, and now it cradled their first hours of life.

She would not allow even a corner to be shifted out of place.

Once the bedding had been freshened and Lucaera herself had been gently bathed and then placed back into the nest—her dark hair braided loosely, skin still slightly flushed from the heat of the waters, the twins nestled once more in her arms.

Aemond lay beside her, ever present, his eye watchful and full of adoration.

When a soft knock came at the chamber door, Aemond signalled for the visitors to be let in.

Rhaenyra entered first, eyes shining, but the moment she stepped past the threshold of the chamber and glimpsed the twins in their mother’s arms, she stopped short, breath catching.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmured, voice cracking as she stepped forward to the edge of the nest. “You did so well.”

Lucaera offered a tired, proud smile. “Thank you, Mother.”

Alicent followed, her expression tender, folding her hands as she looked down at the infants. “How wonderful,” she said gently. “Such a blessing from the gods.”

Daemon trailed in last, rolling his eyes at the dramatics, but even he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up in an amused smile. “You couldn’t just stop at one”

A soft chuckle rippled through the room.

Then, Rhaenyra asked, “And their names?”

Lucaera glanced to Aemond and gave a soft nod, letting him speak.

“Our son shall be called Rhaegar,” Aemond announced proudly. “And our daughter, Rhaella.”

Alicent placed a hand over her heart. “Beautiful. The bell of King’s Landing shall ring to announce their safe arrival.”

“See it done, Mother,” Aemond said, not looking away from his children. “I want the city to share in our joy.”

Rhaenyra then reached forward, hesitating slightly. “May I?” she asked gently. “Hold them?”

Lucaera stiffened instinctively, her arms tightening around the twins. Her Omega instincts screamed not to let them go.

Not yet. Not to anyone.

But she took a deep calming breath. This was her mother, she was safe.

Slowly, and reluctantly, she loosened her hold and allowed Rhaenyra to take Rhaegar, and then, with even greater reluctance, Rhaella.

Daemon then took a turn, cradling Rhaegar like he was made of glass, smirking as the babe wrinkled his nose in sleep. Alicent cooed softly as she held Rhaella, her voice barely more than a breath.

But even as the moment unfolded gently, Aemond could feel Lucaera’s anxiety rise through the bond. Her pupils dilated; her muscles coiling with unease.

He moved swiftly—taking back the twins one at a time, placing them carefully in the centre of the nest so Lucaera could immediately curl her body around them protectively.

Aemond began to climb from the nest, meaning only to fetch a drink for her—but she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t leave.”

Aemond looked back, heart tugging. “I’m not leaving,” he promised. “I’m right here, love.”

He remained perched at the edge of the nest, close enough for her to reach, his hand resting on her knee.

Daemon arched a brow in amusement, nudging Rhaenyra and murmuring something about “It seems the King will be indisposed for a little while longer”

Rhaenyra only smiled knowingly. “Let him be,” she whispered back. “He won’t leave that nest until she’s ready. Gods help anyone who tries to move him before.”

Talk then turned to the announcement of the birth, and possibly delaying the naming ceremony for Aemond’s heir.

“Perhaps a week or so,” Rhaenyra suggested gently. “When she feels ready.”

Aemond nodded slowly. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate it.”

Alicent then turned to Lucaera. “Shall I send for a wet nurse, my dear? To help you recover—”

“No,” Lucaera said firmly, already offering her breast to Rhaegar. “I will feed them myself.”

Her tone left no room for argument.

Eventually, the family departed, offering their final blessings before slipping out and leaving Aemond and Lucaera once more alone in the quiet of their nest.

Then came the sound of the bells.

They rang clear and bright through the windows, a jubilant announcement that carried over rooftops and echoed through the spires of the Red Keep.

Aemond smiled faintly, watching his children sleep.

“All of King’s Landing knows now,” he murmured. “Rhaegar and Rhaella. My son and daughter. The first royal babes of my reign-”

Aemond leaned down, brushing his nose over Rhaella’s soft cheek, when—

He froze.

For the briefest moment, a sweet scent brushed against his senses. Ripe peaches and warm summer honey.

But, it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the shared milk-sweetness of the twins.

Frowning, Aemond leaned down again to scent her—but found only warmth and milk.

Lucaera stirred. “You won’t smell it again,” she said softly, eyes already watching him.

“That scent—peaches and honey” he whispered. “It was there. Just for a second.”

Lucaera nodded, adjusting Rhaella against her chest. “After my presentation, I read everything I could about Omega’s. There wasn’t much at all, but I found one brief note. A Maester wrote that an Omega's scent may flare at birth—just once. Then it disappears, until they present.”

Aemond’s eye widened slightly. “Then why wasn’t it known when you were born?”

Lucaera gave a tired smile. “Because my mother is a Beta. The midwives who delivered me were Betas too. They wouldn’t have known. And by the time I was in the presence of Alphas, the scent would’ve faded-”

Aemond nodded slowly, realization dawning. “Maybe I smelled it because I’m an Alpha Prime”

Lucaera reached out to touch his hand gently. “It’s possible but I think we should keep it between us.”

Aemond nodded without hesitation. “Agreed. If word gets out, the noble houses will hound us for betrothals before she can even crawl.”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Queen Rhaenys had been the last Omega before Lucaera. And now, Lucaera had birthed one herself.

Was this the return of Omegas to the realm? Or merely a flicker in the bloodline, another unique miracle?

Whatever the truth, Aemond swore on his life: No harm would come to his daughter. Nor his son.

Both his pups would know love. They would know protection.

And he would make damn sure they never once questioned their worth.

The chamber was bathed in the soft glow of early moonlight when Aemond stirred from slumber, his hand reaching instinctively across the nest only to find cool, empty blankets.

His eye snapped open, his heart thumping until he saw Lucaera, standing quietly by the large window, her silhouette serene and radiant in the silver light.

She held both Rhaegar and Rhaella, cradled securely in her arms, their tiny heads nestled against her shoulders.

The sight was so beautiful, so peaceful, that for a moment Aemond just watched.

Then he rose from the nest with quiet steps, his silver hair tousled, his chest bare. As he approached, she glanced back at him with a gentle smile.

Aemond reached out, carefully lifting Rhaegar from her arms.

“I’m surprised to see you out of the nest,” he said, rocking the babe softly in his arms.

Lucaera turned back to the window, her voice calm but sure. “I think it’s time we left it,” she said. “I feel ready to rejoin the world.”

Aemond smiled, glancing down at his sleeping son. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “But if I’m honest. I’ll miss it. Being holed up with my wife and our pups, with no worries, no council meetings, no politics. Just us.”

Lucaera chuckled lightly. “There’s always when I go into heat, whenever that will be.”

Aemond raised a brow with amusement. “Do you know when?”

Lucaera shook her head. “I haven’t had a proper heat, remember? Only my presentation heat and you claimed me during that and got me with child.”

Aemond let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I did.”

“So, I have no idea when it will come,” she continued, “Hopefully not for a while yet. What about your ruts?”

Aemond shifted his weight, thoughtful. “I haven’t had one since I presented either. With us mating and you carrying the pups, there wasn’t any need for me to fall into rut. My instincts were already fulfilled.”

Lucaera turned to face him fully, curiosity shining in her eyes. “So basically, we have no idea when either of us will fall into heat or rut again. And the only experience we’ve had was our presentations.”

Aemond nodded, expression mildly exasperated. “Didn’t you come across anything else when you were researching?”

Lucaera sighed. “No. Just fragments—brief notes from Maesters, some barely a paragraph long.”

Aemond looked down at his son, then back to her. “Maybe, you should write about your experience. As an Omega.”

Lucaera blinked. “You think so?”

Aemond nodded, voice steady. “Of course. It would be a valuable source of knowledge. A worthy addition to the royal library. Mayhaps even Grand Maester Gerardys could help.”

Lucaera smiled, clearly touched. “I’ll consider it-”

They stood there for a while, side by side, each holding one of their twins, gazing out into the quiet city below, the moonlight washing over them in silver warmth.

Then Lucaera spoke, her tone soft but certain.

“I wish for our pups to have a dragon egg.”

Aemond was silent for a moment, his gaze darkening as he stared out the window. “What if they don’t hatch?”

Lucaera turned to him, brow furrowing slightly. “Aemond”

Aemond sighed “We both know what it’s like to be a Targaryen without a dragon. I do not wish for our children to experience the same inadequacy.”

Lucaera stepped closer, her voice firm. “You mustn’t think like that. Our eggs might not have hatched but now we ride two of the largest dragons in the realm, not every Targaryen has a dragon born to them”

“I just worry-”

Lucaera put her hand on his arms “-I have faith that our children will soar the skies on dragon back.”

Aemond took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. They deserve to have an egg placed in their cradle. I’ll speak to the dragonkeepers.”

A small sound drew their attention—Rhaella, fussing in Lucaera’s arms.

“Looks like someone is getting a little hungry,” Lucaera said with a smile, making her way to the armchair.

She settled herself, gently exposing her breast and helping Rhaella latch on to feed.

Aemond smiled, his heart full at the sight. Carefully, he laid a sleeping Rhaegar into the cradle that had been brought in earlier that day, then went to summon a maid.

The fire needed tending and the bed needed remaking.

Soon, the room was bustling with quiet activity. Maids lit the hearth, warming the chill from the stones, while others changed the linens and arranged fresh pillows on the large bed.

When the fire crackled to life and the warmth spread, Lucaera handed Rhaella to Aemond, who took her gently and rested her against his shoulder, patting her back softly to burp her.

The tiny hiccup that followed made him grin.

Lucaera took Rhaegar next, feeding him as his little gulps filled the chamber with quiet joy.

When both babes were full and sleeping soundly, nestled close together in their cradle, Aemond and Lucaera climbed into the bed.

It felt strange—large and open after the comfort of the nest.

They lay close, his arm around her waist, her head tucked beneath his chin.

“Feels strange to be back in a proper bed,” Aemond murmured.

Lucaera giggled softly. “I know what you mean.”

She then moved to press a kiss to his forehead, before resuming her position, her eyes slowly closing.

The chamber was warm, and the long table of the Small Council was crowded with familiar, weathered faces—of the council members.

All were seated, parchments and ledgers spread before them, voices murmuring about the recent rise in the cost of grain.

“The smallfolk are beginning to grumble,” Lord Thaddeus was saying, his fingers steepled. “There’s unrest in Flea Bottom, and reports of bakeries struggling to maintain their supply.”

“It’s a combination of poor harvest and tightened trade routes,” added Lady Jeyne. “If something is not done, we may face riots by midyear.”

A pause, then Princess Rhaenys leaned forward slightly, her expression sharp with consideration. “We can open the Crown’s emergency grain stores. Rotate them into the public market at reduced price. It will ease the pressure on merchants and prevent desperation among the people.”

There was a collective murmur of approval, nods rippling across the table.

“A sensible suggestion,” Rhaenyra said. “Make it so.”

Aegon let out a long, exaggerated sigh, his chair creaking as he slouched low with boredom. “Shouldn’t we be discussing more important matters?” he muttered. “Like the celebration for the King’s new pups?”

Alicent narrowed her eyes and turned to her son with pointed restraint. “You will sit up straight and hold your tongue unless you have something of value to contribute.”

Aegon groaned but complied, mumbling, “Just saying-”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to answer—but the double doors to the chamber opened before she could speak. Ser Harold Westerling stepped in, his armour gleaming.

“His Grace, the King,” he announced.

All eyes turned as Aemond strode into the room, regal and composed in his black and crimson doublet, his sword hanging at his hip.

“Finally, you grace us with your presence, brother,” Aegon smirked.

Aemond’s only response was a sharp glance. He stepped forward, reached across the table, and picked up the stone marker of the King. He placed it in the holder before the high-backed chair at the table’s head, then took his seat.

Lord Corlys cleared his throat, speaking first. “How fares the Queen, Your Grace?”

Aemond smiled. “She is well. At this moment, she is overseeing the disassembling of her nest.”

Aegon scoffed with a chuckle. “Thank the gods. Mayhaps now I can get my shirts back.”

Aemond’s eye flicked to him, sharp and cold. “The items in the nest were chosen by the Queen to promote safety and protection during her pregnancy and the birth of my pups. You should be grateful she deemed your scent worthy to be included.”

Aegon winced as Alicent elbowed him and he held up his hands, surrendering.

Corlys’ tone softened. “And how are the babes doing?”

“They are doing well,” Aemond replied, a faint pride creeping into his voice. “Both are hale and healthy, thanks to their mothers exemplary care-”

Daemon leaned forward, his arms crossed lazily. “As much as it pains me to agree with Aegon we do need to organize the celebration.”

Aemond gave a slow nod. “By all means, arrange it. But I wish for Lord Stark and the Lords of the Riverlands to be in attendance. But the timing of their journey must be taken into account-when making the arrangements”

Jeyne made a note. “We can have ravens sent by day’s end.”

Aegon, emboldened again, added, “No expense must be spared. A grand celebration is in order. We must have a tourney! You could even compete, Your Grace.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond replied dryly, earning a snort from Daemon. “But your ideas have merit. It would be good for the smallfolk to join in the celebrations as well.”

He turned to Aegon, voice cool. “You will work with Lord Thaddeus to arrange the celebration.”

Aegon paled, visibly slumping. “You want me to arrange it?”

“You seemed most eager to celebrate the birth of my pups a moment ago,” Aemond said with a thin smile.

“Celebrate, yes. But to arrange—”

“I will not have you use it as an excuse to drown yourself in wine and whores,” Aemond interrupted, his voice calm but iron-clad. “You will do as commanded. And for good measure, I would have Princess Rhaenys oversee your efforts.”

Aegon groaned, slouching even further in his chair as Rhaenys smiled, ever poised. “Of course, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”

Aemond straightened in his seat. “Now that’s settled—are there any other matters?”

Daemon cleared his throat. “There have been some reports of unrest. It seems Vermithor has grown restless in his rider’s absence. He’s been gorging himself on livestock. The farmers aren’t pleased.”

Aemond exhaled slowly. “I’ll speak with Lucy. See if she’s up to visiting him. Lord Thaddeus, ensure the farmers are compensated.”

Thaddeus bowed his head. “I will see it done, Your Grace.”

Aemond’s gaze swept the table. “Is that everything for today or—?”

Corlys cleared his throat. “There is the weekly audience with the smallfolk in the throne room, Your Grace. In your absence, your Hand has been conducting these meetings.”

Aemond sighed but nodded. “No—I shall conduct it today. With my Hand’s assistance.”

Rhaenyra nodded, approving. “Good. It will do them well to see their King.”

“Then if there is nothing else-” Aemond stood, brushing his hand over the table. “I must return to my Queen and our pups.”

Corlys nodded with a smile. “That is all, Your Grace.”

Later that day the throne room was stifling, even in the cool of early evening. Sunlight poured through the high stained-glass windows, painting the cold stone floor in ribbons of red and gold.

Aemond sat rigid upon the Iron Throne, his posture composed but his single eye sharp and watchful, the conquerors crown cool against his brow.

Before him, a line of smallfolk stretched halfway across the hall, each waiting for their turn to bring their troubles to the King.

From her place, Rhaenyra at the base of the Iron Throne called “Next”

An elderly man stepped up to the base of the dais, trembling as he removed his worn hat. His shoulders hunched; his eyes fixed on the ground.

Aemond’s voice came down gently. “There is no need to fear me. What is your name?”

The man looked up slowly. “G-Gerrard, Your Grace.”

Aemond offered him a small nod. “Good morrow, Gerrard. How might your King be of service?”

Gerrard fidgeted with his hat. “M-my g-goats, Your Grace. The dragon, the Queen’s dragon. H-he took them. All of them. I’ve nothing left. My family, we—my daughter died in the birthing bed, and I raise her babe. They were all I had-”

Aemond exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening just slightly. He had known this was coming. Vermithor’s restlessness had been raised that very morning in the council meeting.

“Issues surrounding Vermithor have already been brought to my attention,” Aemond said calmly. “I have ordered that any farmer who has lost livestock be compensated. You will be given coin to recover your losses, and additional provisions if needed.”

Gerrard’s face crumpled into grateful disbelief. “Oh, Your Grace-thank you. Blessed be the King. Seven bless you.”

Aemond gave him a brief but sincere nod, watching as the man bowed and shuffled away.

Rhaenyra climbed the steps to stand beside him, her voice lowered. “I fear he will not be the only one to come, Your Grace.”

Aemond gave a tight nod. “No,” he murmured, “I expect not.”

And he was right.

One after another, seven more farmers approached with the same story: livestock devoured, and fields scorched by dragonfire.

And with each, Aemond repeated himself — assuring them of compensation, writing names and locations for the steward to follow up with, and trying to keep his tone warm, if not hopeful.

But then, a young woman, no older than Lucera stepped forward, her face flushed and tear-streaked, a squalling infant bundled in her arms. She bowed shakily.

Aemond straightened. “Your name, my lady?”

She sniffled. “M-Marla, Your G-Grace.”

“And what might the King do for you, Marla?”

Her voice trembled. “I—I beg your kindness Y-Your Grace. I’ve no coin. No food. My mother’s milk has dried up and I-I cannot feed my babe-”

Aemond’s heart clenched slightly, his thoughts turning to his own pups “Do not fret, my lady. The Crown will help. You will not be left to suffer.”

But Marla pressed on, her voice growing more emotional. “He said he’d care for us. That we’d be safe. He said—he promised.”

Aemond’s brows drew together. “Who, my lady?”

Wordlessly, Marla pulled back the covering from the babe’s head, revealing a tuft of unmistakable silver hair.

The hall was silent as Aemond’s gaze fixed on the child. His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching slightly. He didn't need her to say the name.

He already knew.

Aegon.

Aemond glanced to Rhaenyra, who simply shook her head.

Aemond's voice was clipped, tight with restraint. “I apologise for what my brother has promised you, my lady. Rest assured. I shall deal with him in due course.”

“Y-Your Grace-”

Aemond took a breath, steadying himself. “You will be compensated for his disgrace. The child will not go without.”

Marla’s eyes welled again as she bowed. “Thank you. I’m sorry, Your Grace. I had nowhere else to go.”

“It’s all right,” Aemond said quietly. “The Hand will see you provided with coin and care.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on the young woman’s back and leading her to the side where a court official was already gathering notes.

After that, Aemond’s mood darkened visibly. The lingering joy from his morning with Lucaera and the twins had ebbed away, replaced with an aching desire to leave this hall, and give his twat of brother a damn good thrashing.

Instead, his gaze dropped to the remaining ten petitioners still waiting, some already fidgeting anxiously in line.

Aemond shifted in his seat, his voice low.

“Gods help me, let no more of them be cradling my brother’s bastards.”

And with a deep breath, he gestured forward.

“Next.”

A goblet shattered against the stone wall with a sharp ring, and Aegon yelped, diving behind a nearby armchair.

"You pathetic cur!" Aemond roared, flinging another object across the room—a candlestick this time.

It missed Aegon’s head by inches and clattered off the chair he cowered behind.

Peering up like a child caught sneaking sweets, Aegon looked over the top of the armchair. "Brother, please—"

"Do you have any idea the embarrassment you’ve caused?!" Aemond snarled, his fury radiating off him in waves.

Aegon scrambled behind another chair, crawling on his hands and knees. "Look—I didn’t know she’d come here! I swear!" he pleaded, his voice cracking.

"That doesn’t make it better!" Aemond snapped. "She was obviously desperate”

Aegon slowly stood, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide. "I-I’ll give her money. I’ll make sure she and the child are—"

Aemond cut him off, eyes blazing. "I’ve already made arrangements. And the cost will be deducted from your princely allowance."

Aegon nodded quickly. "Yes. Of course. Totally fair."

Aemond took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing. "Was that the only one? Or shall I expect a line of silver-haired bastards waiting outside the gates?"

Aegon hesitated. His lips twisted, face pinching into a grimace.

"How many, Aegon?"

Aegon awkwardly raised both hands and started tapping his fingers together, silently counting. When he looked up to answer—

CRASH.

A jug exploded near his feet and Aegon dropped to the floor with a shriek.

"I should have Vhagar roast you like a sausage on a spit!" Aemond bellowed, voice thunderous. "How could you shame our sister like this?! You idiot—thoughtless, feckless, self-indulgent whore!"

Aegon slowly pushed himself up, his lip quivering. "Brother, I—"

Aemond cut in again, his tone lower but no less cutting. "Every time I think we’ve made progress. That maybe—just maybe—we could be as brothers. And then you go and do something stupid. You are an ill-considered, trifling—"

"Don’t stop there," Aegon said suddenly, voice trembling. He stepped forward, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Tell me how worthless I am. How disgusted you are with me. Go on-"

Aemond froze, the anger still burning in his chest—but now something else stirred with it. He watched his brother weep, the fragility of him.

The agony behind the mask of laughter and wine.

"You can’t keep doing this," Aemond said, softer now.

"You think I want to?" Aegon’s voice cracked. "That I don’t want to be a good husband? A good father? I’ve tried, Aemond. I’ve tried so hard and it’s never enough. All I’ve ever done is try and—and—"

He broke off, covering his face with his hands. His shoulders shook with sobs.

Aemond stood still for a moment, torn between anger and understanding, then he moved forward.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around his older brother.

Aegon froze, stunned—then slowly collapsed against him, clutching at Aemond’s leather tunic, his face buried in his shoulder as he wept openly.

Aemond didn’t speak.

Didn’t move. Only held Aegon, in silence, a single tear tracing down his own cheek.

Minutes passed.

Eventually, Aegon’s cries faded to soft hitches of breath. He pulled away, quickly wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, refusing to look up.

Aemond discreetly wiped his own tear, then murmured, “I know what it feels like—to try and never be good enough.”

Aegon blinked. “What?”

“With Father,” Aemond said. “I studied. I trained. I claimed the largest dragon in the world. And none of it mattered. Even when he named me heir—it wasn’t really me. It was because of Lucy. If he couldn’t have Rhaenyra, then he’d settle for her daughter on the throne instead”

Aegon’s mouth dropped slightly. “Well, that’s shit-”

“Indeed,” Aemond muttered dryly.

“You don’t hold it against Lucaera, do you?”

“No,” Aemond said at once. “It’s not her fault. She never asked for it.”

Aegon nodded slowly. “Neither did we.”

Silence again.

“I apologise,” Aemond said quietly. “For losing my temper.”

“I deserved it,” Aegon replied. “You’re right. I can’t keep carrying on like I do.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “I know you and Helaena have an understanding, but siring bastards needs to end.”

Aegon gave a sheepish nod. “Especially since Helaena is with child again.”

Aemond went still. “You what?”

Aegon shrugged. “I got drunk a few weeks ago. Went to her chambers and we-laid with each other. Now she’s with child.”

Aemond groaned, running a hand over his face. “And she’s fine with this?”

“She seemed to be. I mean, she was smiling when I left her chambers.”

Aemond grimaced. “I do not wish to know the details.”

“Oh, come on,” Aegon grinned, “You do it with Lucaera.”

“Be that as it may,” Aemond muttered, “I do not need the image of you in bed with our sister rattling around in my head.”

“Fine, fine,” Aegon relented with a playful roll of his eyes.

Aemond’s expression grew serious again. “Think of this babe as a reason to start anew. Don’t let your children grow up like we did. Let them know they are loved and wanted. Before it’s too late.”

Aegon nodded. “Is that why you’re so involved with the twins?”

“I want them to know me,” Aemond said. “To know they’re loved.”

Aegon placed a hand over his heart. “I promise, I’ll try, brother.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

A beat passed.

“So-” Aegon began slowly, “this celebration for your pups. Are you sure you don’t give a shit about tourneys?”

Aemond let out a breath of a laugh. “Gods, Aegon, do you ever know when to stop?”

Aegon grinned mischievously. “Nope.”

Aemond gave a low hum. “At least you’re being honest.”

And just like that, the room filled with the warm sound of brotherly laughter, and—for a rare moment—peace.

Aemond’s boots echoed down the corridor as he approached his chambers, but there were no guards stood at the door.

The absence immediately set him on edge.

He paused, hand hovering over the door handle. No sound only silence.

Aemond pushed the door open slowly. The heavy oak creaked—but inside, all was still. The hearth had burned low.

The cradle was untouched. Aemond’s voice was low but urgent as he stepped into the room.

“Lucaera”

No answer.

“Ñuha dāria-” (My Queen).

Still no answer.

Aemond moved swiftly across the room, yanking aside the thick curtains that covered the entrance to the small room that had housed the nest, but it was disassembled, stripped of the sheets, pillows, and protective barriers that had once cocooned his Queen and their pups.

The chamber felt empty, too empty.

Panic gripped his chest like an icy fist. He forced himself to close his eye, drawing in a slow, controlled breath.

Aemond then reached inward, into the bond.

And then—there she was. Like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Lucaera. Her emotions brushed against his own: warm, light, and giddy.

She was happy.

Before he could fully exhale, a booming roar split the air.

Aemond turned and strode to the balcony, throwing the doors wide. He stepped out, the wind whipping through his silver hair.

Bracing his hands on the rail, he scanned the skies above King’s Landing.

A vast shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun for a breath.

Aemond looked up as Vermithor soared high above the Red Keep, his wings moving slowly as he dipped into lazy, commanding turns.

And there—just for a heartbeat—a figure in the saddle.

Lucaera.

Aemond’s chest loosened, a smile breaking across his face. He could feel her joy, the freedom in her flight. Their bond pulsed with affection.

Vermithor then glided across Blackwater Bay, his wings skimming the surface, sending up trails of sparkling mist.

From the meadow in the distance, Vhagar let out a mighty roar in response.

Without hesitation, Aemond turned from the balcony and strode through the halls of the Red Keep.

He moved swiftly; the long halls lit by the golden afternoon sun slanting through the narrow windows.

Servants scurried to press themselves against the walls, giving him space, heads lowered respectfully—though more than a few snuck curious glances at their King striding past like a storm held barely in check.

As he passed through the gallery, a pair of gold cloaks stationed at the door began to bow, but Aemond didn’t slow. “Out of my way-”

Aemond then descended the wide staircase, a steward at the bottom opened the door just in time, bowing low as the King passed through.

“Bring me a horse! Now!” Aemond barked the command as his eye scanned the stables. His voice rang across the open air, cutting through the din of clanging metal and training squires.

Stable hands dropped what they were doing, scrambling to obey. One of them—a thin, nervous boy no older than fifteen—rushed forward, leading a tall, chestnut courser by the reins.

“Your Grace,” the boy stammered, offering the reins with shaking hands.

Aemond took them without a word, mounting the horse with practiced ease in a single, fluid motion. The steed stamped and snorted beneath him, picking up on his rider’s barely restrained urgency.

“Open the gates!” Aemond shouted, his voice booming across the courtyard as guards scrambled to swing the heavy iron portcullis aside.

The moment the gates parted, he spurred the horse forward. The animal surged ahead, hooves pounding against the ground as they thundered through the open archway and down the path that led beyond the walls of the Red Keep.

Wind rushed past him as the city spread out below, the towering form of Vhagar already visible in the far distance, basking in the sun-soaked meadow.

As he approached the grassy meadow, he saw Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk standing beside a waiting carriage. Both men bowed at once.

“Your Grace-” Ser Erryk said respectfully.

Aemond dismounted quickly. “Are my pups with their mother?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Arryk confirmed. “Both are wrapped in silk, against Her Grace”

Aemond gave a curt nod and strode past them, his gaze locked on the hulking form of Vhagar, who was stretching her wings, tail swishing in anticipation.

The ancient dragon let out a low rumble as he approached.

Aemond grabbed the rope ladder, climbing up her massive side with practiced ease. Once in the saddle, he strapped himself in tightly and leaned forward, stroking her scaly neck.

“Kessa īlon sōves, uēpa riña,” he murmured, smiling (Shall we fly, old girl?).

Vhagar bellowed in answer and Aemond laughed as she began her lumbering run, each step shaking the earth beneath her.

And then, the great dragon took to the sky, ascending higher and higher.

Aemond guided Vhagar and she obeyed with ease, soaring toward the shimmering expanse of Blackwater Bay.

Ahead, Vermithor circled lazily, his roar answering Vhagar’s call as the two flew side by side.

Aemond glanced over, and there she was—Lucaera, radiant, wind-tossed, her cheeks flushed and glowing with life. She raised a hand in greeting, her smile like sunrise.

Strapped to her safely were Rhaegar and Rhaella, bundled in soft silks.

Aemond’s heart swelled as he reached out through the bond again, feeling her happiness, her love and her pride.

He looked ahead, to the open skies, to the glittering waters below, to the endless blue stretching out before them.

The wind was perfect. The skies were theirs.

And Aemond, felt truly content.

He had his Queen. He had his children.

And all was well.

TBC

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 14)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. This chapter continues the themes of being under the influence of a drug, with nightmarish hallucinations. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Part 14 -

I couldn't tell whether I was stuck in the grips of whatever Vladislav had dosed me with for hours, days, or weeks even. Time ceased to exist entirely in whatever dark place my brain had slipped down into. I was stuck in a purgatory of living nightmares, gripped by insanity, at the mercy of horrific hallucinations.

In the first moment of clarity I had, like the briefest spot of sun breaking through the thick clouds of a battering storm, I became faintly aware of my surroundings. I was laid out on a double bed in a white room.

I watched the peeling paint in one corner as it seem to pulsate and move. My blood was thumping in my ears, my throat dry as sandpaper, and the thin bars of light poking through the half shuttered blinds were unbearable. I groaned and drew up my arms and legs, rolling up like a little pilbug.

This glimpse of reality was short lived because the substance wasn't done tormenting me yet. I was burning up. Sweat beading from every pore, my skin felt raw and I thought that it was blistering. I frantically stripped off any clothing I had on, the fabric feeling like needles against my flesh. In this, the first of many subsequent after shocks, I began to see terrible things again.

All manner of abstract horrors flickered to life in my poisoned brain as I screamed and begged for help until my voice gave out. Occasionally, I thought I could make out voices nearby, or less often, in the room with me. Once of twice, I thought someone, or something, was stood over me but If I tried to make out their figure, it was like trying to look for a person in swirling mist - my brain kept latching onto shapes, and then they would move and I'd lose them again.

I thought that I was stood on one of the wide streets in the centre of the city, probably in the financial district. I shuddered at the sight of the glistening chrome skyscrapers towering over me, like knives stabbing into the sky. The air was thick with smoke and the sidewalks and road eerily empty. Devoid of life. Where were the finance workers in their suits and ties dashing around? Time is money so they always rushed between offices. Where were the cops on patrol, the city officials in sleek cars? Where were the taxis ferrying the regular folk: the cashiers, the bank tellers, the office workers, like myself? It was like finding an empty ant farm. What was the point of the structure if there was nothing living inside?

I felt my chest tighten up. Why was no one here? What had happened? I began to walk forwards into the fog, desperate to find some sign of life. Eventually I broke into a jog, one unsteady foot after the other, beating against the grey asphalt of the road. Rapidly twilight came and went and the heavy cloak of nightfall dropped over the city. The road seemed to never end or change. Just as I was about about to give up in utter despair, I hit a crossroads.

I saw a looming firetruck abandoned in the centre of the junction. Brilliant orange flames were licking their way along the bright red paint, reducing it to a burnt out shell. The windows were shattered and the tyres slashed. Still no people, alive or dead. Not knowing what else to do, I kept running along the main avenue. Finally the shapes of some cars emerged from the shroud of the smoke and fog. They too were abandoned, little more than burnt out husks.

Suddenly, I thought I heard the briefest whisper of a voice on the wind. I whirled around, this way and that, trying to seek it out.

"(Y/n)"

Something, or someone was calling to me.

"Where is it taking you now?" It came again from behind me this time.

I circled round, desperate to find the source. The voice was low, and oddly familiar. I couldn't place it. My brain felt like it had short circuited and all the connections were fried.

"What do you see?"

This time it sounded much closer, from the right and clear enough that the man speaking could have been right next to me. I whipped in the direction of the voice. There he stood, so close that I almost jumped out of my own skin. I stumbled and fell backwards on my ass in the road.

He stepped forward, his vibrant purple coat, even faded as it was, a dazzling contrast to the grey world around me. I looked up in silent fear at his face, covered in white paint with black circles around his dark eyes. There was the splashed curve of a blood red smile extending beyond the bounds of his lips, and his hair was a tangled mess of green-tinted curls hanging forward as he leaned over me with hunched shoulders.

I shrank back in his shadow, fear running through me, and struggled under his piercing gaze. I was silent, too afraid and confused to speak.

"What do you see?" He asked again.

"I - I see you," I stammered out in confusion, struggling to sit upright.

"Me?" Came his reply, and he looked equally confused.

The smoke was thinning out around us now, and the ghostly shapes of the city began to reappear with greater clarity as I slowly hauled myself up and back to my feet. My whole body ached in protest, even my bones felt like they were sore.

"Where... where am I?" I asked the strange man before me.

"Well, that depends?"

"What do you mean?"

I screwed up my face in confusion and rubbed my sore head.

"It depends. On the one hand you're here with me," he threw out his arms and spun around gesturing at the empty streets.

"And, on the other?"

He abruptly stopped spinning, his coat swaying around him and revealing a flash of beautiful orange silk lining, like dancing flames.

"On the other, you're supposed to be somewhere else."

I frowned.

"Where else am I supposed to be?"

"Beats me!" He erupted into laughter.

"Is she still out of it?" A new voice echoed around me.

Again it belonged to a man, and he spoke with a thick accent but it was still just the two of us standing in the empty street, now so clear that I could see right the way along upper fifth.

"She's sometimes responding to me now."

"So the the treatment is working?"

"Well yeah, but she's still gonna be a bit loopy until all of it leaves her system for good."

My head felt like it was full of thick sludge as I staggered forwards, past the strange man in the long purple coat. Nothing made sense. Something was wrong. What had he said?

'You're supposed to be somewhere else.

I decided to veer left, since going forwards didn't seem to actually cover any ground. I found myself in one of the compartments of a large revolving door to one of the skyscrapers. Turning around, I saw that the man had somehow appeared opposite me. He gave me an enthusiastic wave, much to my horror. I had to get away, something was deeply unsettling about him and now he was following me.

I turned and ran full tilt for a line of elevators, aggressively smashing my fingers against the call buttons and frantically looking over my shoulder. One of them finally arrived and I bolted inside, again smashing the buttons of the control panel desperately trying to get the doors to close. From my position, I could now see him again as he walked towards me - there was something all the more sinister about his leisurely pace. It was as though he was a big cat, stalking it's prey in the long grass.

The doors began to draw closed and I pressed the button for the top floor, feeling a swell of relief as the elevator began to shift upwards. I watched as the light on the control panel flickered through each of the markers for the forty-six floors. It seemed to take forever, and I was shocked when the destinstion arrived.

I gingerly stepped out into a large open-plan space. There was glass everywhere, and I felt like I was in a fish tank. I wandered by some partitioned executive offices, and paused for a moment as I saw that one had a beat up old tv set in it. It was so at odds with the surroundings that I felt compelled to look closer and approached. It was switched on and something was playing. I fiddled with the aerials on the top until the static dissipated and the picture clarified.

Next, I came across an outdoor terrace which I rushed out to. The cold night air greeted me as I pushed open the door and a breeze blew past me back into the building, scattering loose papers in stacks on the desks. There were multiple empty tables and chairs lined up in neat rows. I wondered if some of the workers would drink coffee and talk about important meetings up here. I noticed one table was laid out, but not with what I'd expected to see. Instead it was littered with empty beer bottles and a deck of cards, like the vanished people had been interrupted mid-game. As I moved closer the wind picked up the cards and scattered them in every direction.

Much to my surprise, the film was one I thought I might have seen before... but I was struggling to recall what it was. I could see a man and a woman climbing the stairs of a tower. The scene was fraught, and they seemed to be arguing, or he seemed to be confronting her. The building violins in the soundtrack were spiralling higher and higher. I turned away from it: I had to keep going. I had to keep moving, even if I didn't know why.

I reached out to grab the nearest one as it fluttered by. They were bigger than I'd have expected a standard pack of cards to be, and I soon realised why: they were tarot cards. I turned over the one I'd fished out of the clutches of the wind.

On it was a picture of a crumbling tower, struck by lightning, and two people falling from the top. The windows were bursting with flames and the storm clouds raging behind it. I felt a pang of dread at such an obvious bad omen.

The wind was rapidly picking up and I decided that I would have to head back indoors. I had wanted to look out over the city, hoping it might reveal some clue as to where everyone had gone, but I was terrified of being so very high up. As I turned to reatreat, there was an almighty boom, and the walkway beneath my feet shook so violently that I was thrown off balance. I knew immediately that something was deeply wrong.

There was a crescendo of shattering glass, and a horrible grinding, scraping sound. The whole building seemed to shudder beneath me. At a loss for what else to do, I picked myself up and ran back inside. As I fled in a total panic around a blind corner, I collided with something and went crashing to the ground.

"Hey, watch it!" Yelled out a man from the ground beside me.

I floundered around in confusion as he picked himself up and gathered the things I had knocked out of his hands.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He huffed, hurrying off.

I ran back to the elevator and waited anxiously for the next one to open. As the doors slid back I was again shocked as no less than fifteen people hurried out and chastised me for not waiting my turn. On the one hand, it should have been a huge relief to have people back, but on the other it only drove me to further madness in my desperate attempts to make sense of the whole situation.

As the elevator reached the fifth floor it stopped. The doors parted to reveal the strange man I had run away from earlier. I jumped back in horror and pressed myself back into the corner of the lift as he stepped in. He looked at me with an air of superiority and disinterest as I cowered in the corner. We continued to travel down to street level and a sharp ding indicated our arrival.

The opening doors revealed a scene of complete carnage unfolding - it looked as though a bomb had gone off in the lobby, all the glass was broken, things were on fire, people were running around screaming as the air was filled with acrid smoke. The man with the painted face strolled out into the middle of it all, entirely unfazed as I trailed after him in disbelief.

Out in the street, the usual bustle of city life had returned as though it was never gone and I stood beside the road watching as people and cars jostled for space. The air filled with the sound of police sirens as cop cars screeched to a halt outside the building and officers ran up the steps.

Just as I was looking down fifth avenue towards the mayor's offices at the end, several more explosions rocked the ground beneath my feet. Multiple buildings were hit. Cars swerved, people screamed, and panic took hold. Everyone began to run. Everyone except the strange man I had followed and myself. The crowd moved around us like water in a stream as we stared at one another.

One of the frantic people broke off from the herd and collided with me. I moved to try and help her up from where she'd fallen but she slapped my hand back.

"What are you doing just standing there gawking. Get the fuck out of the way!" She yelled as she gathered up her briefcase and scrambled away.

Suddenly I found my hand was clasped in the purple gloved hand of the strange man with the painted face. He put me into the position for a waltz, posing my limbs like I was a marionette. Before I could protest, I was whirling around in a strange dance with him. It felt like I was bewitched, like my feet automatically moved and I had no choice but to obey. The only kind of dancing I was accustomed to was jumping around a crowded dancefloor, too many shots deep to form any coherent thoughts - and that was as a teenager: an increasingly distant memory. We had all paid off the bouncer to not question our obviously fake IDs, and misspent our youth drinking and dancing all night. I found myself wondering where any of those people were now; ten years was a long time...

We were spinning around at such a dizzying rate that the towering buildings around me started to blur as my body kept graceful timing. Abruptly, we came to a halt as he put me into a dip. It felt strange to be suspended, as if mid-fall, held there by his strong grip. I looked up at his face in silent confusion.

He pulled us both back to standing position and I withdrew my hand from its resting place on his shoulder. The city started to fade and bleed, like an ink drawing in the rain. All the bleak colours and the harsh lines blotted together. Everything around me began to re-materialse as something else, and before I knew it, I was standing on a bridge. The rain was coming down in fat, heavy droplets which soaked into my clothes and ran over my skin. The hands holding me in place released me and I looked back to see who had brought me to this place. My strange dance partner stood just out of my reach in the downpour. I stepped back from the barrier toward him.

The rain was so heavy it was washing the paint from his features, revealing piece by piece his nakedness - his real skin. He looked lost in thought, and I had to touch his arm before he would react to my presence. As soon as I did, he spoke.

"You need to wake up."

"But I am awake!" I protested in confusion.

"No, you're not," he muttered back darkly.

I didn't know what he meant. It was all too much.

"If you don't wake up, you might get stuck like this".

"I don't understand."

"You're dreaming, and you have to wake up," he pressed, grabbing onto me and shaking me violently by my shoulders, until it hurt.

"But..." I trailed off as I began to think it through.

It would explain the strange things which kept happening, the way time had seemed to stop, the unexplainable disappearance and reappearance of the city's inhabitants, and the sudden change of location.

"Okay, so how do I wake up?" I asked, but no one was there to answer: he was gone.

I was alone on the bridge. I sank down onto the wet ground in total despair. I don't know how long I sat there, dripping wet and miserable as the heavens continued to pour down over the city. I watched the occasional pairs of car headlights sweep by and listened to the crashing swell of the river somewhere far below.

Maybe what I needed was a shock. If the nightmarish visions had stopped, and I was stuck in this shallow imitation of the city indefinitely, then maybe I needed to do something to shock myself into waking up. I turned slowly towards the bridge's barrier.

Dread immediately sank its claws into my gut. Surely that wasn't the answer... but what if it was? Just the idea of jumping made me feel dizzy and sick. I paced back and forth as I weighed up my options. If nothing else here had inspired enough fear in me to wake me, then I'd have to do something more drastic, and this would certainly qualify. Forcing myself to act out a long-time fear might just be the only thing drastic enough to work.

Why start small? I knew it had to be this. The most fucked up part of me enjoyed the poetry of it too, as I gripped the barrier with trembling hands and willed myself to climb over it. Just the sight of the drop made me want to cry out in panic, to turn and run, but somehow I held fast.

I knew I couldn't do it facing oblivion, so I turned myself around. What was I doing? What if this was all just some mental break I was having? And, oh god, what if it was like the Matrix: where the dream was more pleasant than the reality? If that was the case, this dream world left a lot to be desired. I exhaled sharply, as though I was trying to physically expel my racing thoughts.

A part of me was telling me I had to do this, even if I didn't know why. The primal, most prehistoric part of me was screaming self-preservation, but something in my heart told me to ignore it. As I made my peace with the decision, I saw a dark figure on the opposite side of the bridge. He had emerged from the mist like an apparition, and said nothing as he met my gaze. It was the batman. I wasn't alarmed by his presence, and something about the way he was watching suggested a kind of understanding. He didn't move to stop me, or offer any resistance.

I let go of the bars and leant back as far as I could. My heart fluttered into my throat as I felt gravity come up to greet me and I passed the point of no return. I toppled down into the dark with a scream of terror at my imminent end. I prayed that it would be quick.

With a gasp like I had stopped breathing for several minutes, I coughed and spluttered as I lurched upright. My dry eyes snapped open and I suddenly felt the urge to vomit. I struggled to the end of the bed. Suddenly, a bucket was thrust under my bowed head just in time. My whole body ached. When I finally stopped being sick, I let myself fall back onto the mattress beneath me.

"Kurwa, I'm glad I put the bucket in here," muttered the looming figure to my left. As I looked at him I remembered who he was.

"Are you okay, you were screaming again?" He asked.

"Tony..." I thought aloud.

His eyes widened in excitement.

"You know who I am now, yes?"

"I - I think so," I muttered, rolling onto my side with a groan.

"I will go and tell the boss. He's been watching you a lot, but even he needs sleep sometimes," he said.

I barely had the strength to answer him.

"Okay," was all I managed as Tony left the room with the bucket in hand.

Silent tears of relief rolled down my cheeks as I realised it was over, and I was still breathing.

Link to the masterlist for other chapters:

Tag list:

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

@ruby-da-archangel

@harleenqvinn

@helchronicles

@ostricx

@knoepfl

@jumpingjellyfishhaha

@nicklet94

Dividers by @strangergraphics

[daemour]

Welcome to the Outlaw [K.HJ]

☆ Pairing: outlaw! Hongjoong x f! businesswoman! YN

☆ Word count: 4717

☆ Genre: wild west au, fluff, some angst

☆ Warnings: cursing, mentions of weapons (guns, knives, etc), violence, death (non-major character)

☆ Summary: When a stranger decides to stay for an indefinite amount of time at your inn, you find yourself more entangled in his life than you expected to be.

☆ #CallMeDjango collab with @sanjoongie (Sunset Outlaw), @flurrys-creativity, @mingsolo

-

this is uh,,,kinda trash LMAOAFOGHJDGHKDSGHKDS so i do apologise. theres a few more plot points i was gonna add but i was running behind deadline so if u want a part two with the rest of it lmk!

It’s been a long while since a newcomer had come to the little town of Utopia. The last one had been the young farmer Jongho, who now has a life for himself just outside of the town’s edge. Not many people choose your town as their new home, temporarily or permanent.

He showed up at your inn in the dead of night, hat pulled low over his eyes. Out of fear, you kept a hold of the pistol you kept under the counter as you greeted him. But despite the initial aura surrounding him, he smiled at you so kindly, an unfamiliar accent pulling at his words.

“Got a room to spare, ma’am?” he drawls, leaning over the counter to wink at you.

You flush red and turn your eyes up to let your burning cheeks cool down. “You got the money to pay for it, cowboy?” you parrot him, and the stranger chuckles.

Without another word, he places a stack of bills on the counter top, his smile growing crooked. “Is this enough for a room that ensures total privacy?”

You’re almost scared to see how much it actually was, and you’re not too embarrassed to admit  you gasped out loud. It was almost enough to buy your inn three times over.

“Let me show you to your room,” you offer, immediately grabbing one of the keys off the hooks behind you. “I’ll make sure the staff won’t bother you.”

Leading him to the room way up at the top floor was quiet save for  the clink of his spurs. Even the ‘thank you’ he said to you was quiet, and as he closed the door behind him, you felt any energy you had left drain out of you and you decide to retire quite early into the night.

In the morning, it almost feels like a fever dream. You completely forget about the handsome stranger occupying your inn. It’s only when you wander into the kitchen and see the cowboy, hat gone and dark hair messy and you gasp out of shock.

The cowboy turns leisurely, a smile just as crooked as the one last night on his face like he didn’t just give you a heart attack. “Mornin,’” he greets you easily, “fancy some coffee?”

You shake your head, attempting to regain your breath. “N-no thanks. Can I ask why you’re in my kitchen? Breakfast is served in the dining hall.” 

The cowboy shrugs. “I like my breakfast the way I make it. The cook let me in.”

Your eye twitches. “Oh, he did, did he. Well, I can’t let you waltz into my hotel’s kitchen any time you please. Hell, I don’t even know your name. If you want coffee, you’re gonna have to wait in the dining hall like everyone else.” You sigh, bringing your hand up to pinch the bridge between your eyes. “Look. If you really are craving a coffee by your own hand, at least ask me first and not my cook.”

The cowboy shrugs and nods. “Fair, fair. I’ll come ask you next time.” He picks up his coffee cup leisurely, tipping his hat.

You’re left to watch his retreating back, a mixture of confusion and amusement swirling in your stomach. You’re not sure what to make of this stranger, but something about him intrigues you.

-

“Coffee?”

You nod and reach out without looking up from your deposit ledger. It’s become a routine for the strange guest to offer you a cup of coffee he made that morning, and although you were a little suspicious at first, now it’s just casual and natural.

Although he’s been here for a while, you still don’t know much about your guest other than the fact he requires total privacy. You don’t even know his name. All the townsfolk warn you about letting him stay for too long, but you’re sure he doesn’t mean any harm. Your cook likes him, and that’s about all you need.

“Sure, thanks,” you beam up at him, reaching out to take the mug from his hands, your fingers brushing against his.

“What are you working on today?”

Conversation today? What a treat. You look up, smiling at the sight of him leaning atop the counter. “Just some finances and reports. Boring stuff, really. I have to stop by the bank at lunch and make a deposit on the mortgage.”

The guest hums, head tilting ever so slightly. “You wouldn’t mind if I tagged along, would you? I have a couple errands I need to run, and I don’t know where anything is in this town right now.”

You glance down at your papers, and then back up at him. “I wouldn’t mind. I can show you around a bit, too. But first…a request.” The guest looks a little confused, but gestures for you to continue. “What is your name? I have to put you down in the guest book, and I also can’t quite possibly only refer to you as ‘The Guest’. It’s the polite thing, you know.”

The guest laughs, throwing his head back and showing off a row of perfect teeth. “You can call me Deuce. And you are?”

Smiling, you reach out a hand. “I’m YN. Good to meet you, Deuce.”

To your surprise, instead of just shaking your hand, he leans down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine, YN. I will see you at lunch.”

Your eyes follow him as he walks back upstairs to his room, and after he disappears from your view, you can’t seem to keep your mind off him. There’s something about him that draws you in, whether it’s his light accent or the way he focuses all his attention on you when you’re speaking. You lightly smack your forehead, willing yourself to focus back on your paperwork. You don’t have the time to focus on a pretty boy cowboy.

Before you know it, noon has arrived and the telltale sound of his spurs are approaching you. “Ready to head out?” you ask, looking up to see Deuce smiling at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him without one, and you’re not too sure how you feel about it. “I’ll show you around first, get lunch, then stop at the bank last. Sounds good?”

Deuce nods, smile never wavering. “Lead the way.”

You stand from your seat, picking up your light skirts and making sure your apron is on straight. “Now, the town isn’t large by any means, but there’s a good many people who live here. We’re all pretty close, and every first Sunday there’s a town dinner. You’re welcome to join us as long as you bring one dish,” you start talking, pointing out the church where the dinner is held. “Our first stop will be the general store—I need to pick up some earrings.”

Deuce seems perfectly happy to just listen to you talk, but you’re not one for carrying the conversation. “So, what brings you to this town anyway?” you ask as you step up on the front porch leading to the general store. “It’s not often new people wander through here and stay for longer than a few days. It’s been almost a week and a half, hasn’t it?”

“Just about,” Deuce confirms. “I’ve been trying to find a new place for me to live. I’ve stayed in my hometown for a very long time, and this little town seems very homey.”

You can’t help but feel a swell of pride in your chest at how he describes your hometown. “It is. All the townsfolk are like family. I’ve lived here all my life, and I can’t imagine being elsewhere.”

“You’re pretty young to own and run your own inn, I commend the work ethic,” Deuce compliments you. “What made you want to start it?’

And just like that, the warm feeling in your chest is replaced by painful memories. “Oh. Well, the inn was actually run by my family for generations. I just had to take over much sooner than expected. I don’t hate it though, meeting all the new people always makes me happy. Plus, I’m old enough.” You try to direct the conversation to a happier tone, and thankfully, Deuce seems to understand.

“I see.”

Before he can say anything else, the general shop owner approaches you with a smile. “Little bluejay, good to see you. Here to pick up your earrings?”

“Yes, sir,” you smile, leaning forward to give the old man a quick hug. “Hope business is doing well.”

“Good as always,” he replies happily. “Yunho came in with a new shipment, and brought his sweet wife along. Did you hear that they’re expecting already?”

“I did. Yunho and his family have lived here for generations, I’m pretty sure the Jeongs will be staying here for years to come as well.”

“Now that I can agree with,” Mr Jon agrees. “Now, here are your earrings. Straight from the East Coast.”

He hands you a package wrapped in linen, neatly tied with a pink ribbon. “Thank you kindly. I’ll be sure to wear them during the next dinner.”

Mr Jon raises an eyebrow. “You better. You didn’t pay a fortune for shipping just to not wear them. Now, anything else you’re looking for today? Or how about you, Mr…”

“You can call me Kim, no titles necessary,” Deuce offers. “I’m not looking for anything, really. YN is just showing me around.”

“I see.” The owner has a twinkle in his eye you pointedly ignore. “Well, have fun you two. And it was good to meet you, Kim.”

Quickly, you pull Deuce out of the general store, warmth rushing to your cheeks. “So that was the general store,” you change the topic. “We’ll go to the saloon next. Wooyoung is the owner and the pianist, and he knows everything about the town.”

“Sure, sure.” A pause. “Bluejay?”

You raise an eyebrow, meeting Deuce’s curious gaze. “Kim?”

“Okay, okay, fair. You have your secrets, I have mine,” Deuce concedes. “Earrings from the East Coast, huh?”

You snort, smacking at his shoulder. “As the front of house for the inn, I’m sure you understand I must always be presentable. Take it as a business expense.”

With a shake of his head, Deuce doesn’t push it any further. “I see, then. But you know, you’re pretty and presentable with or without earrings. Now, Miss Money, what is the plan for the saloon?” He changes the subject so smoothly you almost don’t catch his compliment.

Although heat rushes to your cheeks, you keep your demeanour cool. “I was thinking lunch. Wooyoung is the second best cook I’ve met, you know, with the hotel cook being number one, of course.”

Deuce chuckles. “Jisun is indeed phenomenal, so I will have to go into the saloon with high expectations.”

You shoot him a sly smile. “And I’m sure Wooyoung will exceed them. I have excellent taste, you know. After all, I did let you into my inn.”

“Not sure if letting a stranger pay for utmost privacy is in excellent taste, but I’ll take your word for it,” Deuce teases. “After all, it does benefit me.”

You raise an eyebrow in challenge. “That’s right, Mr Kim. Watch what you say. I could very well kick you out.”

Deuce chuckles. “Duly noted, Miss Bluejay.”

-

“What are you doing this evening?” Once again, you look up from your paperwork to see Deuce smiling at you. It’s become a common occurrence in the past few weeks for him to come sit by you while you worked on paperwork, but it’s a first that he has decided to initiate conversation.

“Nothing of importance. May I ask why?” You set down your pen to look at Deuce, noticing a hint of something you can’t place in his eyes. “Is something happening?”

Deuce winces at the tone of worry that leaks into your voice. “No, no, not at all. I was…I was just wondering. If you would like me to cook you dinner.”

You blink up at Deuce. “Cook me dinner?” you repeat blankly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want me to! I just noticed you seemed to be a little more stressed these days and thought I could show you my appreciation for being so kind to me,” Deuce tries to redirect, waving his hands frantically. You don’t think you’ve seen him so flustered before, and the sight of it makes a smile slowly grow onto your face.

“I’d love that, Deuce. I do appreciate it.”

“Sit tight for a few hours for me, then, okay?”

As if his nervousness wasn’t even there in the first place, he throws you a wink before sauntering into the back. You’re not sure how he will convince your cook, but you’re willing to bet that Jisun would gladly take the time away from work to go visit her lover.

You know that you absolutely cannot focus on your paperwork, because every time you turn your eyes to the numbers, all you can see and hear is Deuce’s smile and the polite little giggle he offers you whenever you make a bad joke.

The curiosity you’ve had surrounding him has slowly morphed into attraction each passing day, despite the way you know next to nothing about him. But he’s never tried to harm you, and he’s only ever treated anyone he interacts with with the utmost kindness.

He is so ingrained in your thoughts right now that you don’t even notice the cloaked figure swiftly approaching your table. When your gaze finally raises, you’re met with the gleam of a knife pointed straight at your face and your heart drops into your stomach.

“I–”

You don’t even get to say anything before the knife is waved around menacingly and the figure tsks. “Just give me all the money!”

Your hands move under the desk, but the gun you usually keep there is missing, and belatedly you remember you put it in your room to clean it properly but forgot to put it back. “Uh–”

“Are you stupid?”

“No, but are you?” The words fall out of your mouth without you thinking. “I mean, trying to rob someone with a knife? What if I have a weapon under the counter? Or a gun? It wasn’t a very thought out plan, don’t you think?”

You’re running on autopilot, and the only thing keeping you going is hoping that Deuce would hear the commotion or finish his cooking soon enough and come help you. The door leading to the kitchen is out of the robber’s vision (yet another rookie mistake he made), and although you can’t see down the hall either you hope and pray you can stall for enough time.

After Deuce had paid you for his stay, you know you have enough money squirrelled away to cushion the robbery, but all sane thought has escaped you in this moment and all you want is Deuce’s presence.

“Just shut up, okay?” The thief yells, his grip tightening on the knife, knuckles white with strain.

You could see the beads of sweat on his brow, smell the stale odour of his breath. The air crackled with tension, thick and suffocating. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Would Deuce appear in time?

Lost in your thoughts, a cold blade pressed against your throat, the sharp point a chilling reminder of the man’s presence. The metallic scent of blood flooded your brain, memories of a fateful day almost five years ago. Then, a deafening blast shattered the silence.

Instead of the stabbing you expect, all you hear is a gunshot and the residual ringing in your ears, deafening you for minutes before you finally muster up the courage to open your eyes.

A body is slumped onto the desk in front of you, blood pooling around the stranger’s head. Your jaw drops open, a soundless scream escaping you as your back stiffens. You can’t seem to take your eyes away from the body, even as warm arms wrap around your shoulders and the familiar presence of Deuce fills your senses.

“YN, look at me. YN.” He repeats himself a few more times until you finally are able to rip your eyes away and turn your head towards his direction. His voice is too calm, but you can see the pain in his eyes. “YN, are you okay? I need you to talk to me, okay?”

“He had a knife. He was going to stab me,” you say, although you don’t know if you’re even aware of what you are saying. “But who shot him?”

“I did, YN. I just wanted to keep you safe, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new desk.”

You can’t help but bark out a short laugh, but the outlandishness of that statement brings your mental back just the little bit that you needed. “That’s what you’re worried about? I don’t care, Deuce. You saved me from a pretty nasty fate back there.”

He nods, although the worry in his eyes doesn’t cease. “Let’s go get the sheriff, okay? I already told Jisun not to let the guests downstairs in the meantime, okay?”

You nod. “Okay…will you talk to me though? Anything, really. Just to keep my mind off of it. Please, Deuce.”

Deuce sighs. “I suppose. You know, my nickname is Deuce because in my town, I was a sheriff, and I always wielded two pistols. I don’t think my people were very good at titles, but the name stuck, and now it’s like a piece of home that I carry with me everywhere I go.”

“It suits you, I think,” you state, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I like it.”

If you squinted, you swear you saw redness appear at the tips of his ears, but you’re not sure if you’re just imagining it. “Thank you, darlin’. It means a lot coming from a pretty lady like you.” Deuce offers a half-smile.

You chew on your lower lip for a minute before sighing. “I also have a story behind Bluejay, as I’m sure you’ve heard the villagers call me. When I was younger, my parents ran the inn. I actually wasn’t supposed to run it until I got married or turned thirty. But one day, there were bandits who came roaring through.”

The memory makes you shudder, and Deuce rubs your shoulder comfortingly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to…”

“No, I should.” You shake your head with resolve. “I’ve kept it under wraps for so long, what better time to spill my dark secrets. The sheriff, Mingi’s father at the time, was away on county business and Mingi had only just become the deputy at that time. There wasn’t much he could do. They raided everything. Seonghwa’s parents were killed in the raid. As…as were mine.

“But when they decided to make me their next ransom victim, I was in such shock, I couldn’t do anything but talk. And talk I did. I didn’t shut up, no matter how hard they tried to make me shut up.” You let out a mirthless laugh. “In the end, it bought me enough time that Mingi was able to gather enough men to save me.”

“YN…”

“Well, there’s my life trauma for you to unpack. I hope I didn’t scare you away from staying at my inn.”

“YN. I wanted to cook dinner for you. Hell, I shot a man for you. I think I should be more worried about you being scared of me.” Deuce shakes his head fondly. “Come on, we’re almost at the sheriff’s. Let’s get this behind us and have that squash soup I slaved over.”

As he leads you up to the sheriff’s office, he pauses. “Deuce?” you question, and his eyes twinkle as he looks up at you.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Bluejay.”

-

“Hello,” you greet the newcomer. You’re vaguely surprised another mysterious person has come within six months of Deuce just as late as he had, although at this point he’s just as much of a part of this town as you are, even though his name is still unknown to you. “How can I help you?”

“Can I have a room?” Jumping straight into business, huh. Reminds you of a certain someone you’re keeping at your inn. You look up and down the young lady carefully. She looks like trouble, with a large gun and a pointed wooden stick by her side, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn away a guest.

“It’s a dollar for the night. Twenty-five cents more if you want hot water, but you have to go to the pump yourself to get it,” you say, looking down into your ledger and marking out a room for her. Not many other guests in town, so you take the liberty of placing her further away from Deuce’s place of residence.

As you’re preparing her keys, she continues talking as if you were interested in a conversation with her. “I’m a bounty hunter…have you seen this outlaw? Kim Hongjoong? Miss…”

“The townspeople call me Bluejay,” you offer her your alias, unwilling to give your proper name to a bounty hunter. Taking a glance at the poster, you struggle to keep your face calm, and pray to God that you succeeded. Your own guest, Deuce…no. Kim Hongjoong stares right back at you on her poster. There’s something fishy going on with him, but you don’t want to jump to conclusions, and although it may be a bad idea, you resolve to keep him safe. “Never heard of him. Sign here, and I’ll give you the key to your room.”

With a hasty scribble, the new guest writes down her alias. Red Hawk. Before you can say anything else, she throws down a few crumpled bills totalling ten dollars. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town. Call that a downpayment on my room.”

“Be my guest,” you hum. How it played out was amusingly similar to how Deuce paid for his own room. “Your room is on the first floor, straight down the hallway.”

You carefully watch her retreating back, and as soon as she disappears, you turn around and start heading towards Deuce…no, Hongjoong’s room. You may not have blown his cover, but now he owes you some explanation. You don’t want to host an outlaw at your inn without good reason.

Quietly, carefully, you make your way up to the third floor and knock on his room. There’s a long moment where you’re not even sure if he’s actually in, but soon a soft “come in” is heard and you swing the door open.

“Hey, I need to talk–”

Mid-sentence, your brain decides to short-circuit at the sight of Hongjoong’s waist. It wasn’t a very long glimpse, the cowboy in the midst of putting his shirt on, but you’re a proper young lady. You’re not usually in such situations.

But first things first. You shake your head, ridding yourself of such thoughts. “What’s up, YN?” Hongjoong’s voice helps to bring you back to reality. “Did you need to tell me something?”

“Right. Look. Someone—a bounty hunter—came in…and they showed me your Wanted poster. I don’t think I can house a true outlaw, no matter how kind and peaceful they have been. But I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. I just want you to explain. Hongjoong, right?”

Hongjoong’s smile appears much more strained, but yet again, it does not falter. “I suppose I owe you a story, then. Why don’t you have a seat?”

You carefully make your way over to the bed, sitting down and waiting for Hongjoong to start his story.

“Now,” Hongjoong starts, “you’re not obligated to believe me, but I swear on my mother’s grave whatever I say is the truth. I once was a sheriff in my own right as you know. I kept my town safe. But the more outlaws and robbers and kidnappers I put behind bars, the more they held grudges. In the end, they framed me and I had to go on the run. If I stayed to wait for a trial, they would’ve won. The lawforce was weak without me. Now I’m just playing the long game to wait for my name to be cleared.”

You frown, leaning forward. “But why would the bounty hunter be hunting you? They’re not bound to a law, why would she try and capture you? Aren’t you basically the same as her now?”

Hongjoong shrugs. “Yes, well, bounty hunters need to make money somehow. Maybe she’s been on a long stretch of no bounties, maybe she’s stuck on a different trail and I might be some easy cash. But the hunters never stay in one spot for too long. I’m sure it’ll be within the week I can be less wary. And I can leave the town if you’re still not comfortable with keeping me here. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

You sigh, leaning back, much more relaxed. “Look, I’ll be straight with you, Hongjoong. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and to the townsfolk. I can’t see any issue with continuing to house you. It also doesn’t seem like your case is widespread, as the sheriff hasn’t said anything about it and the hunter’s wanted poster was the first I’ve seen of you. I’ll keep your secrets. You…you’re important to me.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Hongjoong’s expression shifts to one of relief, and before you can react, he wraps you into a hug. “Thank you,” he sighs, his chest heaving with a breath of relief. “I know I try to sound cool all the time, but it has been weighing on my chest. As I got closer to you, I didn’t want to keep secrets, but I was scared of how you would react.”

You laugh, letting your body relax against his. “Hongjoong, I think we’ve been through enough that you don’t have to be worried about how I react to things like this. But why don’t you talk to Mingi about this? I’m sure he can work to have your name cleared without needing to put you behind bars. And he’s fond of you too.”

Hongjoong chuckles. “He’s fond of me because I’m not scared of killing scorpions. How a guy can be a sheriff but too scared to sweep a bug out of the house is beyond me.”

“Hey, now, Mingi could be your next chance of getting your name cleared. Let’s not bully the guy if he’s not even here.”

You can feel his shrug as Hongjoong sighs. “Fair. There’s something else I’d much rather do, anyway.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

Without warning, Hongjoong positions himself to face you so close that you can feel his breath on your lips. “I’d like to kiss you senseless.”

He’s waiting for your response, but instead of gracing him with one, you lean forward and let your mouth lightly brush against his. As if you unlocked a new side of Hongjoong, he immediately deepens the kiss and his hands move up to cup your face, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

A long moment passes before the two of you finally part, lips red and swollen like you’ve been kissing for hours. “Been waiting to do that, you know. Ever since that lunch you took me out on my first two weeks here,” Hongjoong admits. “But I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

You heave a sigh. “This is the absolute worst timing to bring this up, Hongjoong, but the answer is yes. I know what this entails. A time of uncertainty until your name is cleared. But I don’t care about that. Any relationship comes with trials, and this is just one of them. I’ll stay supporting you, as long as you do the same for me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hongjoong confirms softly, eyes glistening as he leans in again. “Okay, YN. I’ll have you as long as you’ll have me.”

“And I will have you. Gladly. Now, can we continue?” Your hand trails down Hongjoong’s chest and as he presses his lips against yours, you can feel the smirk forming on his face.

“I believe we can.”

[sungbeam]

BIRD HUNT — series m.list

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman ; i haven't decided who's end game yet LOL there might be multiple endings

▷ warnings (do read). vulgar language, depictions of violence, mentions of blood, usage and description of weaponry, depictions of corruption and assault, murder/death, grief turning to revenge/vengeance, no one is sane tbh, kissing, yn actually has a lot of cats; each installment will have its own warnings per the content it holds

▷ taglist. open // update schedule. whenever i can </3

▷ total wc. tbd // each part is ~4k each

a/n: this has been one of my passion projects for so long tbh :') if this flops ... let's pray for the best!! but it's okay bc i love it too much <//3 the biggest thanks and so much love+appreciation to @loveliestfelix for being my hype woman from the beginning of this project ilysm 💖

CHOI FAMILY FILES_ unlocked.

⌕ TEASER!

FILE_00 : PERSONNEL (character guide)

FILE_01 : A THING FOR STRAYS

FILE_02 : BEHIND EVERY MAN

FILE_03 : BY THE TAIL

FILE_04 : DEATH BRINGS US TOGETHER

FILE_05 : FALL WHERE THEY MAY

FILE_06 : ARMS OF AN ANGEL

FILE_07 : RED ON THE LEDGER

FILE_08 : BURN AFTER READING

FILE_09 : WHEN JUSTICE BECOMES VENGEANCE

FILE_10 : A JOB OFFER

FILE_11 : BLOOD OF THE COVENANT

...pending

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @loveliestfelix @zhaixiaowen @justanotherkpopstanlol @w3bqrl @kangfication @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @super-btstrash-posts @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @kflixnet @rikizm

series taglist: @winterchimez @mosviqu @boba-beom @strawbrinkofdeath @baek-at-it-again95 @todosmash @loveforred @rocarecs @megseungmin @arsjeong @woncheecks @vicurious28 @lun4kazumii @shoberi @moguwcrld @firstclassjaylee

[isthatmyjacket-covenofchaossq]

Mini rant incoming because I recently re-watched avengers age of Ultron and this specific thing has been on my mind a lot lately

First of all: this is not a hate post on Bruce. I don't hate him at all! I hate that lazy script that had Nat comparing herself to a monster because she couldn't have kids.

The scene at Clint’s farmhouse in avengers: age of Ultron, where Nat confesses the red room "graduation ceremony" to Bruce, remains one of the most infuriating moments in the MCU to me. Even after all these years and many infuriating scenes later.

It’s not just that Natasha calls herself a monster for something that wasn’t her fault, it’s that this moment reveals just how profoundly lonely and broken she feels, and how desperate she is to prove to herself that she deserves love and goodness.

Natasha spent her entire life fighting to redeem herself. After breaking free of the red room’s control, she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to atone for the blood on her hands.

But no matter how many people she saved, no matter how many heroic deeds she did, she never truly believed she was worthy: her ledger was too red, her past too dark, and she carried that guilt with her in everything she did.

When she opened up to Bruce in this scene, it wasn’t just about her trauma; it was a moment of vulnerability from someone who had spent years hiding behind walls.

The tragedy is that Natasha genuinely believed she was unlovable. She compared herself to Bruce, a man literally transformed into a destructive green giant, because she thought only a monster could love someone like her.

That belief is devastating (especially for those of us who have Nat as one of their fav characters and love her so much), not just because it’s so untrue, but because it speaks to how deeply her past still haunted her. Natasha didn’t see herself as a hero, a protector, or even a survivor, she saw herself as broken beyond repair.

And that’s what makes this scene so frustrating. It’s not that Natasha was wrong to feel pain or to carry the weight of her past; those feelings are part of what make her human.

It’s the way the movie framed her sterilization as the crux of her pain, as if the inability to have children was what made her feel monstrous. That completely misses the point of Natasha’s trauma.

What truly defined her pain was the violation of her autonomy. The red room didn’t just take away her ability to have children; it took away her choices, her agency, her right to decide the kind of person she wanted to be. That’s the real tragedy of Natasha’s story, and it’s what makes her survival and redemption so extraordinary.

The fact that Nat felt the need to compare herself to Bruce/Hulk shows just how isolated she felt, even among the Avengers.

She was desperate for connection, for someone who could understand the darkness she carried. But in trying to connect with Bruce, she reduced her own trauma into something it wasn’t, framing herself as a monster when in reality, she was anything but.

Nat wasn’t defined by what the red room took from her: she was defined by how she fought back.

Natasha’s desperation in this scene highlights another layer of her character: she wanted so badly to prove she was a good person, to believe that she deserved love and happiness. That’s why she was willing to open up to Bruce in the first place.

But the movie fumbled this moment by framing her confession as though her inability to have children was the defining measure of her worth.

Yes, we all know how much Nat wanted to be a mom, but not being able to for something that wasn't her fault and using this to compare herself to Bruce and call herself a monster was bullshit.

It was reductive and dismissive of who Natasha really was: a woman who had spent her entire life fighting to reclaim her identity and prove she was more than what the red room tried to make her.

Nat was no monster. She was a protector, a fighter, and a survivor. She was the one who stayed behind when others walked away.

She fought for people who couldn’t fight for themselves, for Clint and even Wanda, to the entire world. She carried her trauma with her, yes, but she also carried a fierce loyalty and compassion for the people she loved.

The fact that she couldn’t see her own worth in that moment speaks to how deeply her past scarred her, but it doesn’t define who she was.

Nat deserved better. SO MUCH BETTER. She deserved to see herself as the hero she was, not as a monster shaped by her trauma. And she deserved to have a story that honored her resilience, instead of reducing her pain to a single, misguided moment of self-loathing.

I'm sorry if I repeated myself in a few points, but this shit pisses me off too much

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Fic Title Challenge

updated April 12. 2025 with NEW! choices!

For the Rules:

please reblog this post if you can

no need to follow me, but it's always appreciated.

Any Characters, ANY fandom!!

Use the Tag #TitlesForCaplan if you participate

Use warnings appropriately.

please put a summary!!!

If fic is above 400 words, please use ReadMore Feature

tag me in Author's note

if you post the fic and I dont respond within 24 hours, please message me

this doesn't need to be a one shot, can be a chapter fic if inspo strikes!

To The Rising Sun We Go

Into the Darkness We Fall

A Poor Man’s Feast

The HeartBreak of Loving You

The Cat's in the Bag Now

The Monster in Him

Assassination Destination

Big Boys in Small Cities

Not Your Kinda Love

Truly, Madly, Insanity

-

He Bit Me First

Your Blood, My Weakness

You Haunt Me Like a Lover

Fangs and Feelings Don’t Mix

You Said Forever, and I’m Immortal

Love Me Through the Curse

This Spell Tastes Like You

Bound by Magic, Tied by Love

His Darkness Felt Like Home

Death is Quiet When You Hold Me

-

Where The River Ends

Flowers For the Evening

Dead Daisies Don’t Talk

Below the Riverfront

Versace Curtains

Clover Leaves

Basement Lovers

Bottom of the Bottle

On the Basement Floor

Salvation For Greed

-

Deepened Troubles

Beta Luck Next Time

Fluorescent Moonlights

Okay, You've Got Me Now

If Only I Had You

The Dead One

Amnesia Problems

Alpha Remorse

Ten Ways to Bribe the Lost King

King’s Grief

-

How Not to Get Her: 5 Ways to lose the one You Love

Sever the Wealthy, Ride the Poor

Better Off Without You

It’s Never The Right Time

Belonged to the Sea Once

Golden Arch Weddings

No High Mountains

Dearly Reunited

Losing Him Never Felt So Good

It’s never been You

-

The One Where She Lives

Good Lovers Lie

But Just One Touch

Not Welcome in my Blood

Take A Number, it’ll Cost You

For Bribes in Death

A Sorrowful Justice

Gun For(e) Play

Heartless Honeymoon

Only Your Royalty

-

Family Affairs

Pine Needles and Campfires

In Harlot We Trust

Death of a Maiden

Love Her Never Again

Drunken Ships and Pretty Women

Beautiful Times in Saviors

Beta Denials 

Wealthy, Filthy, Clean

The First Anniversary

-

Disastrous Affairs

Toxic Dreams and Heartless Love

Dearly Detested

Less of a Being

Desperation of a Devil

Hooked Onto Her

Hit the Road, Damsel

The Lesser King

The Stolen Heart of Mine

To Be Open For Her

-

Trigger Discipline

Echoes of Command

Taught to Obey

The Cost of Loyalty

Built to Break

Collateral Devotion

Memory’s Weapon

In Your Crosshairs

Red in My Ledger

No Safe Word This Time

--

Glass in My Hands

Things We Don’t Say

Let Me Bleed, Then Stay

How to Love a Loaded Gun

Not Enough, Never Enough

I Only Remember the Goodbye

Mercy Isn't for People Like Me

We Were Beautiful Until We Broke

The Apology You Never Gave

His Love Came with a Body Count

-

The Soldier You Made Me

After the Fire

Controlled Burn

Your Orders, My Hell

The Ghost You Created

Steel Hearts and Golden Wings

Your Hoodie Still Smells Like Home

Kisses in the Quiet

Let Me Fall Asleep on You (Please)

You Talk in Your Sleep and I’m in Love

-

I Made You Pancakes, and Also Love You

Sunlight on Skin, You on Me

Snuggle Protocol Activated

Hearts Don't Break on Sundays

You’re My Favorite Distraction

I’d Let You Steal the Covers Forever

Say You Hate Me, Then Kiss Me Again

Loving You Was a Battlefield (and I Lost)

The Knife and the Kiss Came From You

We’re a Tragedy Dressed in Leather

-

Don’t Save Me Unless You Mean It

I Killed for You, You Left Anyway

Ruin Me Sweetly

Love Me Like I’m a Secret

I Burned the World for You. Did You Notice?

You’re My Favorite Regret

Made of Red Flags and Good Kisses

You Belong to Me (And You Know It)

I Love You, Now Run

The Devil Has Dimples, Apparently

-

Don't Trust the Way He Says Your Name

Bloodstains and Pillow Talk

You're the Villain, I'm Just Obsessed

He Carved His Name Into My Survival

Not My Hero, But God You Look Good Bleeding

I Should Hate You. I Don’t.

Same Old Love

Sick of Loving You

Why Is It Always You?

The Silence After You

-

The Silence After Goodbye

If You Loved Me, You Would've Stayed

Don't Pretend You Didn't Mean It

I’ll Love You From the Wreckage

The Way You Left Still Hurts

Only One of Us Survived This Love

You Forgot Me First

Almost Was Ours

This Love Tastes Like Ash

We Weren’t Built to Last

-

You Smell Like Home

Love Notes in the Sock Drawer

Five More Minutes (Then Forever)

Holding Hands Like It’s a Promise

I Like Your Stupid Face, Okay?

Good Morning, Always You

Your Hoodie is Now Mine

You’re the Calm After My Storm

Home is Wherever You Nap on Me

Love is in the Little Things

-

Mine, Even When You Lie

He Loves Me Like a Warzone

The Chains Are Velvet, I Swear

Kisses Laced with Blood and Honey

I’d Kill the World if You Asked Nicely

You're Not Going Anywhere

Obsession Sounds Better in Your Voice

Love Me, Even if It Hurts

Marked by You, Loved by No One Else

He’s the Devil, But He’s My Devil

-

Kiss Me Like You Hate Me

We Shouldn't Be Doing This (Again)

Your Knife, My Neck, Our Thing

I Hate You, Shut Up, Come Here

Battle Scars and Bedroom Eyes

If Looks Could Kill, We’d Both Be Dead

Your Enemies Are Too Pretty

This Alliance is Getting Out of Hand

Sworn Rivals, Shared Bed

The War Was Easier Than This

-

Programmed to Love You

Lab Rat with a Heart

They Put Wires in My Heart for You

You Were My Handler. Now What?

Tell Me I'm More Than the Experiment

I Remember What You Made Me Do

Control Me, Love Me, Set Me Free

The Trigger Phrase Was Your Name

We’re Not Supposed to Feel This

Monsters Aren’t Meant to Fall in Love

[natr0manova]

My biggest issue with MCU Natasha

Her entire arc revolves around her trying to get the blood off of her hands. Removing the red of her ledger.

But we never saw her doing anything bad (except for the 10 second flashbacks in AOU & Black Widow)

Like, why have a character wanting redemption, without showing us their crimes?

"I got red in my ledger. I want to wipe it out." What red? What horrible things did you do? Tell me!

The worst thing about this whole thing is that both Loki and Alexander Pierce made references to places Natasha did horrible things in and we never got an explanation (except Budapest & Dreykov's daughter)

(What are those suppossed to mean?)

[cleabellanov]

Fighting for good, one widow bite at the time: Black Widow's cultural impact

Critics scoff when I call the Black Widow movie a favorite, but hear me out. It deserved a better release window, maybe at an earlier time, when things would've been viewed differently. Sure, it doesn't rise up what it could've been, leaving so much lingering dreams in the hearts of us, fans. So much potential remains untapped, so many questions unanswered... but Natasha Romanoff? She rises above it all. If you doubt her power, think again, and as I said, hear me out.

Black Widow, the assasin with steely eyes that hide and protect a heart of gold, has transcended the screen to become a cultural icon. From her first appereance in the MCU in Iron Man 2 (2010) to Black Widow (2021), she truly went through a lot, took us with her, and thaught everyone some lessons on the way.

Shattering the mold of the damsel in distress: She's no sidekick, she's a strategist and a fierce fighter. She is a vital member of the Avengers, that's a fact we saw in the 2012 movie. After all, how many characters can you name that tricked the God of Mischief? Nat didn't only do it exceptionally, she is the first we saw doing this on screen.

Reclaiming Narrative: Unlike many superheroes defined by singular origins, Black Widow carried the trauma of a dark past, manipulated by the Red Room, a notorious spy program. Her movie explored this narrative, acknowledging the exploitation and abuse she endured. This resonated with survivors of violence and abuse, offering validation and representation. Her journey of breaking free from her past resonated on a broader level, highlighting themes of resilience, empowerment, and overcoming hardship. Furthermore, she hasn't always been a hero, an avenger. "Regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that, I'm russian" and "I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out" show how she's not just using the power she already has, but has the power to change as well. This isn't about brute force, it's about internal struggle and choosing to become a better version of herself despite her history.

Sisterhood and Solidarity: Black Widow's story wasn't solely focused on herself. In "Black Widow," she teams up with other women who share similar experience, even if at first this doesn't seem to work, indoctrinated as they are in the Red Room programme. This depiction of female solidarity resonated with audiences, particularly feminist movements advocating for women's support networks and collective action.

Representation Matters: Black Widow's portrayal as a skilled leader and strategist challenged existing portrayals of Russian characters in Hollywood. They are often depicted as villains or stereotypes, but her complex identity sparked conversations about diversity and representation within the superhero genre.

Defying stereotypes: As the sole original female Avenger, Black Widow carried a unique weight. She didn't need superpowers or a revealing suit — her determination and arsenal spoke for themselves. That's true power. I mean, in some situations she only had two cool firearms, but did better than Captain America with a vibranium shield! I also love how her costume evolved over time, prioritizing functionality over sexualization. Ditching the impractical neckline in her solo movie? A much-needed win! It shows that Black Widow commands respect through her actions, not her body.

Her impact and importance punches like her combat skills, if you ask me.

So, the next time you see the Black Widow, remember, she's more than just a character. She's a symbol of strength, resilience, and the unwavering human spirit. Thanks for being a constant source of inspiration, Nat ❣️

[csolarstorm]

Thoughts on Agatha All Along - Finale!

Well, I've managed to piece together a post from the notes I took after that awesome two part finale. I enjoyed it a lot, so this is gonna be a long one! So follow me, my friend, as I give my thoughts on Episode 8 and 9 of Agatha All Along.

Now this is one of the most interesting character redemptions I've seen in young adult/family media, because it isn't really a redemption! 

Agatha's redemption goes just as far as her motherly bond with Billy, but other than that, the show is less about redemption and more about retribution.  We thought when Episode 5 said "Punish Agatha", that would be an outlier, a temporary obstacle to the coven coming together.  Nope.  There's too much red - I mean, purple - in Agatha's ledger.  Agatha is who she is, and the show never rewards her for her treachery.  In fact, her cynical, callous worldview costs her everything…even her death.  Agatha is literally reduced to a ghost because she rejects the literal embodiment of the life cycle.  (And she can't face Nicky.)

She's literally "mommy Voldemort"!  That is one of the weirdest things I've ever written!

The only thing Agatha doesn't lose at the end of the series is her bond with Billy - and that's even a close one.  He almost banishes her! That's a fun inversion of the beginning where he deliberately seeks her out. But in mentoring Billy, Agatha has a sort of second chance at parenthood after losing her son. So she is given that grace.

Okay, technically the show does kind of give Agatha the anti-hero treatment, or else she wouldn't end up Billy's mentor.  Clearly Agatha has something to teach Tommy about the nature of power and ruthlessness of the world.  Billy's chaos magic is unfathomably powerful - like his mom, he was bound to accidentally hurt people at some point.  And Agatha was absolutely right about this: "get used to this feeling if you're going to be a witch".  That's unfortunately what being powerful is like.  Think of all the collateral damage the Avengers have caused.  Heck, Wanda at Lagos.  Billy really does take after his mother.

It's the same way in the real world. Any decision a politician makes, money a billionaire invests, has ripple effects the victimize somebody, a shadowy cost to match the reward.

It's one thing to trample others on accident when you swing around your power, but hurting others on purpose actually does actually hurt you, and I think this show expertly portrays that.  It doesn't fall into this trap of making Agatha some amoral badass that people idolize for giving them permission to be assholes.  The power of virtue is not a metaphor, not just a moral gimmick meant to promote societal adhesion.  The callousness of treachery actually affects your ability to form meaningful relationships, which is part of living a satisfying life. Under that facade of bravado and villainy, Agatha is suffering deep inside.  Of course, your mileage may vary, only the good die young, yadda yadda.  There's plenty of happy monsters and sociopaths in the world.

This show has some really interesting parallels with Loki.  You can even argue that Agatha ended up with a parallel but also opposite fate to Loki: a ghost to the world, cut off from life and death.  Only unlike Loki, she can still interact with others.

Agatha All Along DEFINITELY follows Wandavision's footsteps when it comes to flipping audience expectations.  Only this time it's not as simple as Ralph Bohner or those "devils in the details".  Agatha All Along is deliciously character driven, so all the devils in these details are character-related.

The Coven and Sisterhood

Let's start with the biggest "twist": around the middle of the show, the story was about sisterhood: four wayward witches and one familiar setting aside their differences and learning to work together as coven. 

That all goes to hell with Agatha kills Alice and Billy yeets everyone into the mud.  (In retrospect, that's definitely part of why I was disappointed with Episode 5. I could feel the change in direction in the awkward writing.) Sure, Lillia embraces the coven before her death, but Jen definitely does not find kinship with Agatha in the end.  In fact, Agatha screwed her over a hundred years before the show began, and Jen's final challenge is getting away from Agatha's toxic influence. 

And then the whole coven plot definitely goes to hell when it turns out that not only was the road not even real, but the legend of the road itself was just Agatha's lie to lure witches into her coven to murder them over and over again!  Granted we knew that Agatha wanted to kill the coven from the beginning, but this is a whole other layer of deception.

I know this pisses some people off, because obviously it feels like Alice and Lillia died for nothing now - or at least died for a cause they never signed up for.  This was all about resurrecting Tommy, not working together for sisterhood!

Even though the coven didn't last, I think it still matters that it was part of the show, and it was explored. The theme of sisterhood is there. And like Vision said, something is not beautiful because it lasts. 

But I know a lot of people wanted to see this conventional story where everyone survives, and Sharon learns analog witchcraft and her skills come in handy in the last trial when she saves everyone from a sticky situation, and the newfound coven of sisterhood teams up to defy Death and save Agatha and Billy.

That's why we have fanfiction.  *sigh*

Defied Expectations

Speaking of fan disappointment, there's no moment where all is revealed about Agatha's relationship with Rio, at least not all that the fans wanted to see.  Instead, we get an admittedly cute and emotionally compelling flashback to Agatha raising Nicky that shows us exactly how she started the legend of the Witch's Road, and how the ballad started as their song as mother and son.  I'm not disappointed that they went this route instead of a more Rio-centered flashback - I think it brings the story full circle.   

I could tell people were going to be disappointed when Agatha didn't end up in a fulfilling relationship with Rio/Death.  Their relationship had such rich chemistry and it was so intriguing - but to me, the writing was on the wall that it would not be a particularly positive relationship.  I don't imagine Marvel would show a relationship between a serial killer and the embodiment of death and make that a happy, healthy relationship.  My condolences to shippers who wanted this to be a positive representation of lesbian relationships.

And on that note: I'm not sure why Agatha tells Rio that the truth about Nicky's death is too terrible.  Was she absorbing life to keep Nicky alive, and once he refused he finally died? Is that why she says to baby Nicky "You like that? I think we're going to work together just fine."  If this is what they were going for, then yeah that truth is terrible enough for me. Obviously Agatha isn't going to tell the coven she needed to kill other witches to keep Nicky alive.  There's no use trying to rationalize serial murder, even if it's to support your son.

I like how Agatha's name for Nicky follows the "Namor" rule. Since they changed Namor's origin, instead of his name being "Roman" backwards, they made him "N'Amor - the one without love!" So sure, sure, Nicholas Scratch isn't named after Nick Scratch, an old name for the devil, perish the thought! Agatha names him Nicholas Scratch because she made him from scratch. Aww, that honestly was adorable, name retcons aside.

We don't flash back to Agatha's first coven.  The Salem Seven and Evanora originally seem like they're going to be a bigger part in the story, but they're a footnote by the finale.  And although I'm glad they chose the story of Nicky and the origin of the Witch's Road, it would have been nice to commit to actually explaining some of Agatha's actual origin. 

Did Jen's trauma bind her magic?  Nope, Agatha did it.  I mean it doesn't exactly rob us of Jen's trauma narrative - it was still there, implicitly, it's just funny that everything in the series really is Agatha All Along, except for that one big time it was Billy All Along.

Oh, and I guess that one time it was Lillia All Along.  But that's different, that's Patti LuPone.  You have to get Patti Lupone in on the fun.

There are always some editing mistakes in TV shows, but it seems like Marvel needed to go back and tweak some (alleged) discrepancies in the story that don't match the final version of the series, or at stop and clarify things more often.  (For instance, how was Rio "torturing Agatha" throughout the years?  Was she responsible for all the disasters around Agatha, hoping to break her into finally accepting her death?) 

This lack of clarity is a problem with the series overall, to the point that Jac Schaeffer had to keep explaining things that the narrative didn't make clear.  But I have to say, the fact that we were so on the edge of our seats wanting to know means that the story was doing its job.

All Roads Lead To...

So in the end, I think that just like Wandavision, the show went in a direction that a lot of fans weren't expecting - but unlike Wandavision, in some ways I think that's to its benefit.  The coven may not have lasted, but damn that is a richly emotional character study of Agatha Harkness, and I am excited to see "The Ghost and Billy Kaplan" return in Vision Quest, or maybe Young Avengers. 

There were some (alleged) plot holes from Marvel's trademark editing process, and they should have been clearer about some things - but holy triple goddess was this an amazing series nonetheless.  Pound for pound, I think it's the best series Marvel has to offer right now.

Follow me my friend, to glory at the end.

[sasheneskywalker]

Weekly Batman/DC Fic Recs (1)

This week I've read two delightful character studies, one focused on Barbara Gordon and the other on Jason Todd. There's also a hilarious SI/OC fic from the perspective of Tim Drake and two fantastic fics where Lonnie Machin/Anarky plays a major role. Apart from that, two delicious smutty fics got an update: Bruce/Dick/Jason college au and Slade/Jason western au. We also have an amazing DCU, MCU and X-Men crossover oneshot! Hope you enjoy the recs <3

Delta T by Havendance In one universe, mere seconds stop Barbara Gordon from sniping Black Mask. In another, she takes the shot.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman (Comics) | Helena Bertinelli & Barbara Gordon

this city is the place to be by Jezebunny Gotham city is going to be destroyed in twelve hours.

Jason doesn't see any point in stopping it.

What does he owe anybody, anyway?

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman - All Media Types | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Domestication Protocols for Nocturnal Fauna by rozaceous, vermillion_crown It’s been years since Tim's thought about the secret identities of Gotham’s winged wonders. A chance encounter while searching for college roommates that won’t burn the place down gives Tim a lead and the hope of new accommodations. The only thing he has to do is pretend that he doesn’t know anything.

Easy.

("—and they were roommates!" SI/OC edition)

T | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Batman - All Media Types | Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Tim Drake/Original Male Character(s), Dick Grayson & Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) & Original Male Character(s), Tim Drake & Original Female Character(s)

The Assassination of President Luthor by the Radical Lonnie Machin by NiteWrighter "Hi. I’m Lonnie. So I guess I should start out by saying, I don’t believe violence is a sustainable tool. It’s not. It’s a reflection of our ugliest, most base instincts. But it is the current language of the state, so I apologize for bringing my voice to the conversation."

President Luthor has been brutally killed by a magical weapon, and Anarky has claimed responsibility. The Justice League is struggling with the ensuing fallout, instability, suspicion, and speculation, while a power vacuum opens up in the world of the Rogues. What does a world without Lex Luthor look like? Is he truly gone? Has a greater chain reaction been kicked off by this single death?

T | Major Character Death | Superman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) | Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Lana Lang/Pete Ross, Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin

The Half-Life of Sixty Seconds by sunnymusings "The problem with thinking like a detective is not actually that thinking like one is too strict or structured. There’s organization on a document, but Tim’s mind is not a bullet journal. It’s not a legal form, it’s not a spreadsheet, it’s not a ledger.

It’s messy and human and creative. Loose, unstructured, instinctual. Detectives aren’t good at solving cases because they work like machines; it’s much the opposite. It’s that creative mess which aids in seeing between the structure of presented facts, reading the code, and then cracking it. It’s like tracing a spider web back to its center. There’s an observable track leading exactly where one needs to go— a veritable method to the madness— but it’s still art, all the same, even to the broom that ruins it.

So, when Tim is presented with a countdown, it’s not just a mechanical, factual understanding of time that pushes hard against the inside of his ribs; it’s a too-clear visual of a digital clock-face, neutral and unyielding, counting down from sixty in his neocortex. Artistic and messy and emotional.

There is only one place to go once one is caught in the web."

Based on Red Robin #16. Missing Scenes and Relationship Building.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) | Tim Drake & Lonnie Machin, Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin

Making The Grade by MelodramaticMrTails Jason partners up with the rich and beautiful Dick Grayson and quickly finds out the Wayne family secret- and that Dick wants him to join in on it.

E | No Archive Warnings Apply | DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Nothing to Nobody by Jae_Cillian The kid—Jason—stared at Slade with wide, alert eyes. Big and round like a doe—startled in its grazing, frozen in the sights of a predator. He leaned forward, one hand still gripping the pistol but the other anchoring his weight against the floor as if to stand and chase after Slade. But with Slade’s eye on him, Jason didn’t dare move an inch. All tense lines and silent shudders of breath that Slade could see quake along the kid’s ribs, Jason reminded Slade of a stray dog. Snarling and snapping its canines when he got too close, but whimpering and whining when he walked away.

Slade wondered how long it’d take to tame the kid; and, thereupon, realized he might enjoy the challenge of it.

--

In which Slade, while chasing after the Joker gang's bounties and stolen payroll, finds Jason—battered, beaten, and abused at the gang's hands—alone in the mountains. Intrigued by the kid's feral tenacity, he offers Jason a chance at revenge.

E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics) | Jason Todd/Slade Wilson

Five Supersoldiers Walk Into a Bar by bittercape He spots him through the binoculars, far away and disappearing fast. Logan is, more than anything, a hunter. He knows how to watch, and he watches the sniper moving away, after a single well-placed shot. He moves just like Barnes did. Everyone has a particular way of moving, if you know how to watch. And Logan, as mentioned, knows how to watch.

Logan knows it cannot be him, knows he died, falling from a train. No normal human could survive that. And yet …

He drops down from the watchtower. He’ll catch hell for this, sure. But he has to know.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Comicverse), DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics) | Logan (X-men) & James "Bucky" Barnes, Logan (X-Men) & Natasha Romanov, Logan (X-Men) & Slade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Slade Wilson, Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Slade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Slade Wilson