#character: red on my ledger

[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)

[dreadbornesaint]

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.”

[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.

[salem-witch-slut]

𓇻MASTERLIST𓇻

LEDGER: RED=NSFW, GREEN=SFW,

Ellie Williams (TLOU) 𖤐 Shotgunning(Kinktober/xReader), 𖤐 I Don't Need You(Don't You Leave Me) (xReader)

Abby Anderson (TLOU) 𖤐 He Doesn't Know (Song fic/xReader)

Ellie+Abby (TLOU) 𖤐 Unrequited(Ellabs), 𖤐 Farewell Our Future Days (Preview)(Ellabs), 𖤐 Behind Closed Doors(Ellabs), 𖤐 Of Bartenders & Bodyguards(xReader), 𖤐 Keep The Pressure Up (Overstimulation/xReader)

Sevika (Arcane) 𖤐 Prostitution (Kinktober/xReader), 𖤐These Trembling Hands (xReader)

Kara Danvers (Supergirl 2015) 𖤐 This Is What I Know Of Life(xReader), 𖤐 My Kryptonite(xReader)

Vi (Arcane) (Coming soon...)

Carol Danvers (Coming soon...)

Kate Bishop (Coming soon...)

Yelena Belova (Coming soon...)

Natasha Romanoff 𖤐 The Madness In Me(Sex Pollen/xReader)

Other Characters Coming Soon...

[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

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 5)

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. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Part 5 -

After brushing his teeth, he roughly tossed a towel in my direction. The fact he even owned a toothbrush surprised me given that his teeth honestly looked yellow, but then again, the amount of chain smoking he was doing probably had something to do with that. Plus, red lipstick was notorious for making stained teeth look worse - I guess red paint was no different.

He seemed to find it amusing that I dragged a chair from the kitchen into the bathroom to jam under the door handle. I didn't care what he thought of it; I wasn't crazy enough to trust him. Not one bit. What if he took it upon himself to faithfully recreate the iconic shower scene from psycho? I didn't want my blood spiralling down the plughole as I breathed my last.

Once I was barricaded in the bathroom and under the hot water, my tense muscles began to relax a little. My black eye still stung, tinged purple and the edges turning sickly yellow as my body began trying to heal it. Thankfully my scraped up feet were faring much better, one of the few positives of being stuck here was that I hadn't been on them much as they were healing. I let the water wash over my body, seeping into my scalp and over my face. It felt as though it might wash off some of the strangeness of the last couple of days. I closed my eyes and imagined this was all just some sort of break from reality, one that I could snap out of and be back in my own apartment. Maybe I was just in the shower before going to work - but then again, part of me was still relieved that wasn't the case. Nothing could make me miss that job.

I grabbed the cheap 3-in-1 bodywash, shampoo, and conditioner, laughing a little to myself at the ridiculousness of men's shower products being like this. I missed my own separate counterparts, but at this stage anything would do. Despite the havoc it would probably wreak on my hair, it did at least smell nice. I did my best to comb it through with my hands and rinse it all out.

Finally satisfied with my efforts, I turned off the water and stepped out into the cold. Hurriedly drying myself down and getting dressed again, feeling very vulnerable in my nakedness, I threw my head forward and gathered my hair up into the towel. I twisted it and tucked it in. Then I pulled my socks and boots back on, my feet already feeling the cold. At least there had been hot water. Removing the chair and stepping out of the cloud of steam, I made my way back into the main living space.

I was met by the sight of J hunched over a mirror at the table. His back was to me as I approached and I coughed to announce my presence. He turned in his seat, revealing his half painted face for a moment. His surprisingly tanned skin was peppered with patches of white paint.

Part of me felt disappointed to see his real face vanishing. Although, maybe to him, this was his real face now... I approached the table slowly, chair still tucked under my arm. I set it down and sat on it facing the wrong way - so that the back of it was against my torso, and my arms folded against the top. Propping up my head with one hand I watched him as he continued to rub the white paint onto his face.

"You need something?" He grumbled.

"No, I'm just observing. I figure no one else sees this..." I gestured.

He gave me a look, which I found difficult to read (maybe that was part of why he put the makeup on in the first place.)

I couldn't deny the part of me that felt drawn in by the spectacle. I knew it was fucked up, but it was like morbid fascination again. I watched his every move as he put down the white and picked up the black. How fitting that the smile would be the last part... He was using his fingers and a grubby little paintbrush to apply it all, leaving white and grey smudges on his hands. In a sort of trance-like desire for understanding I reached out a hand for the cracked white paint. The logo of any brand had long since rubbed off, leaving a broken disc of chalky paint with a cracked lid. I absent-mindedly traced the cracks with my finger tips, not realising I was now the one being watched.

I became aware of it when he reached out and his fingertips brushed against my temple - the place where the metal plate was holding my skull together. Involuntarily, I recoiled at him touching such a vulnerable spot.

"Sorry," he muttered.

This shocked me more than anything else had yet and I blinked in confusion. Had he just... apologised to me?

"It's just a reflex," I responded flatly.

He said nothing as he continued to black out his eyes. I carried on tracing the broken mosaic of the white paint.

"You know..." I began, "in Japan there's a long history of repairing broken pottery with precious metals..."

I put the white paint down and carried on my little monologue.

"I'm pretty sure that they used medical grade titanium on me, and given what that's done to my health insurance prices, it may as well be a precious metal," I chuckled a little under my breath.

"Mhm, and why'd they do that?"

"I think, because they find new beauty in it. The pot is changed forever, and instead of tossing it out, they embrace it. The metal really highlights the cracks. I like the idea."

He turned to face me.

"I meant why did they put a metal plate in your head, and why does that mean you pay more to live? Don't you see, that's crazy..." He said slowly.

"Oh." I blushed feeling kind of stupid.

He grinned.

"But, I like the other thing," he said, leaning forward with the black paint brush.

He began to apply paint to my face, tracing my scars. Despite his animated body language, he had a surprisingly steady hand - something which was probably useful when you dealt with explosives, I thought. It was strange to see his face, so close to my own, and missing the signiature splash of red. His dark eyes looking down the bridge of his nose at his handiwork, his tonge sticking out a little in the left corner of his mouth... If I didn't know who he was, I would have found it endearing.

He leaned back in his chair with a pensive hum in that rumbling voice which had become so familiar to me now. I couldn't see what the result of his artistic exploit was, and was a little afraid to find out. He manually turned my head to the side as he returned with the paint brush.

"You know you could just ask rather than cranking my head around like that. I'd like to keep it attached," I muttered, a little pissed off.

He found this very humourous, bouncing around in his seat with laughter.

"Stop it, I'm serious!" I snapped, irritation rising.

He stopped laughing fairly abruptly - becoming very still in a way that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"You should never be serious, doll, it's so boring."

Before I could come up with a response, he put down the brush and turned the mirror towards me. My eyes fell on my reflection and the web of black cracks he had highlighted for me. My reaction was visceral, a mixture of self-loathing and yet, somewhere in there, an appreciation for the artistic look it gave. It really did make it look like a fork of lightning.

The idea of drawing attention to something I so often tried to hide, or at least shrink, to blazenly emphasise something I attempted to distract from, often for other peoples' comfort more than my own... I felt a surge of emotion and my eyes stung with tears. He watched my body language intently.

"You don't like it?" He asked.

"I, I don't know how I feel about it..." I shook my head.

"I think, it makes you even more beautiful... And you are beautiful," he urged with an intensity that scared and thrilled me in equal measure.

No one had ever really told me that, not even before the accident. I always thought I was unremarkable, in every way. I felt overlooked for my intellect and any asethetic value I did have. It felt just as gut-wrenching as when the kind shop girl had said she thought I was pretty.

My world was so quiet these days, and so devoid of any kind of praise. Hot tears begin to brim in my eyes. It was hard sometimes not to feel so angry at the way people treated me. Sometimes I felt like i'd died that day, the me I knew certainly had. As much as I'd struggled to like whoever that girl was, I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I felt like a ghost. No one even knew I was here, and that was painful... but also oddly liberating.

I laughed a little hysterically, as I picked up the red paint pot. The negative words of my co-workers, people on the bus, random men in the street, all flickered through my mind. Ordinary people could be so cruel it astonished me sometimes. And here I was. Sat opposite a man who was supposed to represent the worst of the worst. And he was telling me I was beautiful. It's a funny world we live in...

He watched me with a kind of intense fascination as I wrestled my inner thoughts. It struck me that perhaps I was hard for him to read.

Suddenly, something clicked. I let go of my panic and confusion, resigning myself to acting on impulse instead. I didn't weigh up the risks for once: constant calculation was exhausting. Sometimes I wanted to just do things - I decided I could deal with the potential fallout later.

I grasped my hand under his jaw and forcibly turned him to face me. His eyes flashed with a kind of fire, though whether it was rage at me returning the favour of manhandling him like that, or something else, I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure I needed to know which.

I dipped a finger into the red paint and began to put the missing smile back on his face. Turning him this way and that, I felt giddy with the feeling of power it gave me, however fragile that power might be. Somehow, knowing just how dangerous he was only heightened the feeling...

As I covered the last of his scars with the red, I moved my finger to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as I carefully applied that part more like I would my own lipstick, keeping it neater and mostly within the lines. I felt him let out a little rumble of approval, the vibration of his voice through his lips against my index finger.

I withdrew and looked him over, smudging out both his smile and the dark circles with my other hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Blending is your friend," I joked in a sing-songy voice.

A strange kind of smirk crept into his features.

"You surprise me," he purred.

"I know," I said back, with a smirk of my own. It was true, I had worked out that much.

When I was satisfied at the job well done, I wiped my hands on some paper towel, removing the worst of the paint residue. He was still watching me intently, like he might burn a hole right through me.

"You got a staring problem?" I chided, crossing over to the kitchen area.

I opened the cupboard which I had found the vodka bottle in and perused the various other old dusty bottles. I pulled a couple out and set them on the counter trying to read what they were.

"What are you doing?"

"Well I figure, since i'm stuck here... and shit is getting increasingly weird, I'm gonna need a drink," I shot back.

Some of the bottles weren't even labelled.

"What is this... moonshine? Drain cleaner?" I chuckled.

"Well, you could always do a taste test: everything is drinkable... some things only once," He erupted into laughter.

As much as I hated to admit it, he'd made me laugh too. I opened one of the bottles without a label. The smell was so strong I wondered if it was pure ethanol.

"Whoah, I feel like this one could burn my eyeballs out just with the fumes," I exclaimed.

I picked up another bottle, this time one with a label in Russian. He grabbed the bottle from my hand and held it up in the light.

"Overproof, not legal but, uh," he gestured melodramatically to the various other less-than-legal apparatus strewn about the place.

"It's not even open, I wonder why," I said sarcastically.

With a flourish, he pulled out a butterfly knife, cut the metal foil from the neck of the bottle, and popped the stopper.

"Are you actually going to drink that?" I asked in horror.

He sniffed it and screwed up his face immediately.

"No."

I took the bottle from him and felt my eyes water at the vapour. Overcome with impulsive curiosity I put it to my lips and took a swig. J's eyes widened in amusement and anticipation.

For a split second I thought it would be fine, and then it started to really burn. I coughed and choked for a moment before managing to regain a little of my composure. My face was red hot. It definitely was vodka, the strongest I'd ever tasted.

"I think you might have a few screws loose, doll," he grinned.

"Maybe," I spluttered out, between more coughing.

"Careful, they might ship you off to Arkham," he teased.

"Well, I think you could use that as drain cleaner, even if it's not meant to be," I said finally as I drank cold water straight from the kitchen faucet in a desperate attempt to stop the burning.

He laughed again at my antics.

When I had recovered I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My stomach growled, reminding me again how hungry for some proper food I was. I decided to test the boundaries of the little bond we seemed to have made.

"I'd like some real food, and a toothbrush," I blurted out.

"Oh you would? Is that a demand or a request?" He asked placing a hand in his pocket.

For a moment I thought i'd fucked up and he might be reaching for the knife, but much to my relief he pulled out a mobile phone.

"A request. Please, I need a square meal and something other than vodka for mouthwash," I urged.

He looked me up and down for a moment, that calculating look on his face again. I was being scrutinised and shifted a little on the spot. His gaze was so intense at times it was almost like I could physically feel it.

Finally he punched in some numbers and let the phone ring. When the line clicked and someone answered he turned away and paced by the window. I couldn't make out the conversation other than the odd snippet on our end. I took a seat at the table.

"No,"

"Don't ask why, just do as I tell ya,"

"Just get some different options..."

"Oh and I want a toothbrush."

"Are you hard of hearing?" He growled the final line as the guy on the other end seemed to be asking too many questions. After hanging up he sat down opposite me, elbows resting on the table and his hands forming a steeple.

I was looking again at my face in the mirror with the same mixture of conflicting emotions as before. I was starting to feel a little sad and it showed in the eyes of the girl staring back out at me.

Suddenly, a deafening crack rang out and the mirror exploded into a pile of fragments. An involuntary shriek escaped my mouth. He had six shooter a pistol in one hand. I was frozen in shock and fear for a moment, trying to get to grips with what had just happened.

"You... shot the mirror?!"

"We have a winner" he said mockingly.

"But, why?"

He rolled his eyes as though it should be obvious to me.

"It made you frown, problem solved".

"What the fuck? You could have hit me! I thought you said you didn't want to kill me!"

My heart rate was still pounding away in my ears and chest.

"I'm a very good shot," He said, waving the gun around all too casually.

I was dumbfounded, with nothing else to say as my brain scrambled to keep up.

"You don't trust me?" He urged, leaning across the table.

The habit he had of his tongue flicking out to the corner of his lip made me think of a serpent. Even when he seemed docile, there was always the threat of a strike. I still couldn't find the words.

"Doll, I didn't shoot you. Have I harmed a single hair on your pretty little head?"

"Well no, not since I got to the apartment, but -"

"See?" He cut me off, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head as if to say 'I rest my case'.

"Well... won't someone have heard that? What if they call the cops?"

"On this side of town? No. Besides, pretty much this entire neighbourhood is abandoned," he shrugged.

I frowned, still returning slowly from the startle response.

"Look," he slid the gun across the table to me, "you can shoot that in here and nobody will know."

He was testing me again.

I shakily reached out a hand to touch the gun. I felt like it had to be some kind of desperate hallucination but no - I grasped it and slid my finger over the trigger. It was cold to the touch. There was no way he would have handed me a loaded gun, I had to see for myself and checked for bullets.

"You... you just handed me a gun with three bullets in it?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Question is, what are you going to do with it?

Could I shoot him? Maybe non-fatally? And make a run for it? My head was reeling. If I did it, I could finally get out of here.

He watched eagerly, soaking up the moment of crisis I was experiencing.

"This really makes you tick doesn't it?"

"I'm a dealer of simple choices," he grinned.

I felt compelled to talk it through to myself.

"I guess you think i'm either too afraid to shoot you - maybe that I don't have the guts to do it - or, that on the slight chance you've made a terrible miscalculation, I do shoot you, and prove you right about us being the same."

"You're right on the money, I can't deny it."

I snapped the chamber back into position and took aim at him, trying my best to recall what little practice I had with guns. I'd shot a rifle once or twice as a teenager, but only the kind used for sport. I lined things up the best I could, squinting while I did.

I watched his reaction carefully. If he was afraid, it didn't show in the slightest. My finger felt heavy against the trigger as it hovered there.

"So what's it gonna be?"

I figured if the shots were heard and anyone cared, maybe they would send the GCPD to investigate. Or, if no one heard or no one cared, then it didn't matter if I fired the gun. Could I actually shoot another human being though? Even one this twisted? I thought about his unpainted face and at the last second, I let my hand drift so that my mark was less than a metre to his left. With a squeeze of the trigger I fired a shot straight past him and into the wall. I didn't flinch. He did with a laugh.

For good measure, I offloaded the other two bullets into the wall as well: better not to hand him back a loaded weapon. Then I slid the empty gun back across the table. I hoped the point I was making was understood well enough. The point being:

'No. I can't - or I won't - shoot you. Not right now, but that could always change.'

We stayed locked in a stare-off as I waited to see what he would do next.

"Did you mean to miss?" He asked, sounding strangely excited.

"Of course..." I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it rather than pleased I hadn't accidentally fucked up and painted the wall with the contents of his skull.

"Well, consider me grateful you didn't accidentally shoot me then, you don't seem the type to have have had much practice with firearms."

I shrugged, hoping he wasn't secretly holding it against me that I had somewhat endangered his life. In my mind, it was more than fair at this point.

Suddenly the electronic factory setting ringtone of a phone cut through the air and he stood up to answer it, peering out of the window. By now it was rapidly getting dark again, and raining heavily outside. He cut the call and slid up the old sash, latching it in place. Before long, one of his men appeared on the fire escape and handed him through several plastic bags.

"You forget something?" J asked sounding unamused.

"Oh yeah!" He exclaimed, patting down his pockets and withdrawing a packet with a toothbrush inside. He handed it over sheepishly and quickly retreated down the ladder again.

J shut the window again and put the bags on the table, setting the toothbrush down in front of me pointedly.

"Thank you," I said inspecting the toothbrush inside it's little plastic prison.

I began to rip open the plastic bags and was met with the smell of chinese takeout. There was a pretty obscene amount of food in total, but I figured if i'd been the guy tasked with getting it, I'd have gone overboard too - and he was told to 'get some different options'. I decided to turn on the old tv set again, to see if there was anything good on it.

It flickered to life part way through an old movie, which I recognised after a while as Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. From what little of it I could recall, it was almost at the final sequence. I left it on as we sat and ate. Since he wasn't likely to care, I deliberately abandoned my own table manners.

One thing I could say about his company, was that it drew attention to all the unwritten little rules I followed without question. Maybe there was a less extreme way in which letting some of the rules of 'civilised society' go could be a good thing. So many of the smaller ones were objectively pointless.

The man and woman on the tv screen were locked in a struggle, climbing a bell tower. The man, having found out the woman he loved didn't exist, that the woman opposite him had been impersonating a dead woman all along, was losing it. As old and melodramatic as the film was, I was on the edge of my seat. The tension was almost unbearable.

Eventually she either slipped or jumped from the tower, to her death. I had forgotten about the food in front of me, locked in a stupor watching the action unfold.

"You like this movie?" J asked.

I nodded.

"It's not bad, I've seen it once before, but a long time ago. Do you think she jumped or fell?"

"Hmm, do we know he didn't push her?"

"Mentally sure, but he didn't physically push her, I think she panicked when that nun appeared."

"Why'd you think she panicked?" He asked between chewing.

"I think it was the guilt. She thought the woman she helped to murder was back for blood. I kinda wish that was the case, actually, I love a little bit of poetic justice."

"Isn't that a little... cliché?" He said, hitting me yet again with a raised eyebrow.

"What's so wrong with cliché?" I shot back.

"It's predictable. It's, ah, it's boring," he said, waving his fork around wildly.

"Sometimes, sure, but the way I see it, you need to have your expectations met most of the time - otherwise there would be no surprises when something doesn't play out as expected. The unpredictable would become... predictable," I mused aloud, going back to eating my noodles. He seemed to be chewing on my words for a bit.

"You are right about that. People like the predictable, it makes them feel safe, people are happy when things go according to plan," he said with that wicked sort of half smile.

"Even you and I," I added, "We all have expectations of people. It's hardwired into us I think. Human brains are all about pattern recognition and replication. It's a double edged sword for us all..."

At this he made a kind of excitable sound and pointed across the table to me.

"I like you, I like that I can't always predict what you're gonna do. So many people are just too consistent."

"But see, without the predictability would you feel that way? Can't have one without the other! But that might be the alcohol talking," I chuckled.

I caught myself smiling at him. What was I doing?

Link to other chapters below:

[epinebleue]

i can fix him (no really i can) (m) (chibs telford) | 01

“You’re not stupid, Eloise, just a whore.” Ellie looked into her mother’s eyes, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. A shiver ran down Gemma’s spine. It had been so long since seeing her reflection in her youngest child that she had forgotten how much she hated it. “Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

pairing: filip “chibs” telford x eloise “ellie” teller (original female character)

genre: angst, fluff, mature.

chapter’s warnings: a teenager (16) having a crush on an older man (35), Jax being a bit of an asshole, cursing.

chapter index | next chapter

Charming, 2000

Soft music filled every corner of the room. The cool autumn breeze blew through the window, gently swaying a pair of blue curtains.

Ellie quietly hummed to the chorus of Lucky as she doodled on the corner of her notebook, homework long forgotten. At one point in the middle of solving Math problems, her mind had wandered to places she was used to frequent lately: before falling asleep, while getting ready for school, during classes…

Not a day passed by without her fantasizing about Chibs.

Ellie couldn’t pinpoint the moment she had started seeing him in a new light, it had just happened. Suddenly, she preferred doing homework and studying at the repair shop, sitting by the window to check him out as much as she wanted.

Chibs was handsome, regardless of his scarred cheeks. How he ran his fingers through his long hair to keep it out of the way was addictive. Ellie liked the accent, yet she hated to hear him call her lass. It was a cruel reminder of the nineteen-year gap between them.

Ellie turned all the notebook’s pages, reaching the end. She pressed the tip of the pen against the striped surface and hesitated. Then, she wrote:

Eloise Telford.

She stared at her handwriting. Teller was similar to Telford, right? It fit quite nicely, even better than Eloise Ledger. She giggled at the obvious contrast between Heath and Chibs. Suddenly, that poem by Walt Whitman about containing multitudes started to make sense.

The door swung open.

Ellie, startled by the sudden intrusion, instinctively shut the notebook.

“Do you know how to knock?” She barked at Jax, who had stepped into the room as if he owned it, shirtless and with the button of his baggy jeans undone. The blonde boy glanced around. “I can see your underwear, by the way.”

Jax growled and grabbed the waist of his jeans to pull up and button them. 

“I’m looking for my red tee.”

“And what makes you think you’ll find it here?”

He scanned the room again, stopping at Ellie’s hand protectively covering the notebook. The corners of his lips went up in a wicked smirk as he pointed at it with his head.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Homework.” Ellie sharply answered, annoyed. “Your stupid tee isn’t here, so…”

And she gestured to him to go out. Jax, still smiling, nodded, and Ellie truly thought he would leave her alone.

Oh, how wrong she was.

The moment she turned her back on him, Jax sneaked behind her and grabbed the notebook by the corner, snatching it away.

“Let’s see what you wrote here.”

Ellie sprung up from the chair with her heart in her throat. Jax had started to flip the pages, holding the notebook as high as he could.

The girl screamed at him to stop, arms up attempting to retrieve the object. She tried to climb him, to no avail. Jax had reached the last page and was squinting to read the words written on it.

He froze in place.

Ellie, defeated and humiliated, ran back to the chair, sitting down and folding her arms over the desk, hiding her face in them.

She could feel the bile rising, her skin covered in cold sweat. There were two possible outcomes: either Jax screamed at her and demanded an explanation or he made fun of her until the day she died, which would be soon because she preferred killing herself.

As she sensed Jax moving behind her, Ellie closed her tightly, hoping that the harder she clenched, the sooner everything would turn out to be a bad dream.

Jax’s voice reached her ears.

“He’s twice your age, Ellie.”

“Can you just fuck off?”

But Jax continued, his voice surprisingly soft.

“Look, this is just teenage bullshit. You gotta get it out of your head.”

Ellie lifted her head but didn’t turn around.

“What if it’s not?” She protested, making her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “What if I really like him?”

Jax’s chuckle made her blood boil. To him, she was a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush. To her, he was being anything but understanding.

“C’mon, Els, you can’t be fucking serious.”

Ellie lowered her head to hide her face in her arms again. She tried to control her breathing.

“But…” She whispered. “He’s nice to me.”

“He’s nice to you because you remind him of his daughter.”

Ellie’s heart snapped in two.

Deep down, she knew that he didn’t call her lass just because. He did because that was what he would call his kid if he were raising her. She knew he liked having her around because he couldn’t be around his own daughter.

And that hurt more than a rejection because it meant she didn’t even stand a chance.

“Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“I would never.” Jax left the notebook on the desk, beside her, and walked to the door. Ellie side-eyed the item. How could something so small cause such big trouble? “For your own good, rip that page out and throw it away.”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023-2024

[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.

[sgt-seabass]

Joining in on the clockwork fan train, I have a Drabble prompt if you are interested. Nick often plays fast and loose with reader’s safety, and although he’s a control freak so he thinks of everything to prevent her getting harmed (like using air rifle etc) I wonder how he might react if he goes too far/something goes wrong and she does actually get badly hurt from one of his games. Maybe playtime gone wrong or he misjudged his strength. Would he feel guilt, or shrug it off?

𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒚

pairing — mob boss!prime alpha!nick fowler x omega!reader w/c — 1.9k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. part of the Clockwork AU. listening to — ♫ sip u slowly warnings — general dark elements, smut (dubcon due to stokholm, p in v, cunnilingus), choking to the point of passing out and bruising, possessiveness, pet names (pup, puppy, omega), a/b/o dynamics, very light medical elements, reference to past minor character death a/n — i hope you like it! thank you so much for the support and interest in the Clockwork AU! written on my phone. thank you so much to @rookthorne for helping with beta and suggestions 🥺🥺💙 this was meant to be short whoops.

Nick had been insatiable, fucking you for hours and eating you out each time in-between sessions.

After a work deal had gone awry and lives had been lost, he wanted nothing more than to bury his problems in your tight heat. With your essence on his tongue, he could be absolved of his irreverence.

Nick was angry. He didn’t take to fuck ups well.

When he’d heard about an omega retrieval gone wrong that ended with the death of a few targeted girls, he was irate.

Nick had to murder his men for their actions. They were there to capture them, not kill them - professionalism was expected, mandated, in his organisation. Nick didn’t need more red in his ledger, yet it seemed to have a way of seeping in, tainting the pages and bleeding everywhere.

His temper was no more than his inner child locked in an endless cycle of self-flagellation, so he fixated on you to distract himself. He’d created you and turned you into the omega he wanted. However, the problem with manipulating is that you deny yourself the love and support that partnership provides. Nick knew he was fooling himself by thinking you were unequivocally his, so he wanted to show you how good he could make you feel.

The urge boiled beneath his skin, an unbridled need to claim you; to fuck you into oblivion.

Barely keeping himself restrained, he’d carried you to the bedroom just after dinner, and the sun had long set. His need for you continued into the early morning.

By the time the clock hit three am, you were exhausted. That much was evident by the way your eyes struggled to stay open even as you orgasmed. The little sounds Nick pulled from you got whinier and more strained the more your body tried to get its rest.

But there was no rest for the wicked, and Nick was certainly feeling sinful.

“Give me another, puppy,” Nick growled to you, face between your legs before moaning at the taste of his seed and your wet mixing.

“I’m tired, alpha. I can’t.” You whimpered, sweat dotting your brow while your back arched against the silk bedsheets. “S’too much.”

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to decide that. I’ll tell you when it’s enough, omega.” Nick’s voice reverberated against your clit before he gently sucked it, causing your fingers to fist into the sheets from the unrelenting pleasure.

This was Nick’s favourite way to have you. Crumpled from the euphoria he caused you. You’d fought so hard against him, but at the end of the day, you ended up right where you belonged.

In his bed.

Nick started slow, drawing circles around your clit before replacing his tongue with his fingers. He flicked his finger while his mouth pressed kisses along your hip and down your thigh. Nick couldn’t help himself when it came to tasting all of you, so he bit into the supple flesh of your thigh as he kept working your sensitive clit.

Your wail only served to make Nick bite again, closer to your cunt this time. Fuck, your tears were gorgeous. “Does it hurt, omega?” When you nodded in response, Nick slapped your thigh. “Use your words.”

“Ye— Yes. Hurts, alpha.”

“Mm, but you look so beautiful with my marks.” Nick looked at the teeth marks adorning your skin, smirking to himself before turning his attention back to your clit. “Tell me what you want, puppy. Tell me what you need.”

Your thighs clenched, and Nick chuckled dryly as he ground himself against the bed, his erection painfully hard. He wanted to do nothing more than fuck you senseless, but it was worth waiting if it meant he got to see you shatter.

“I need…” You stopped yourself, and Nick could see the embarrassment in your expression. It was beautiful. “I need your mouth, please, alpha.”

“Such nice manners,” Nick praised before giving you exactly what you wanted.

He drank you in slowly, running his tongue over your folds and watching how you responded. You were so tense. As if each muscle was waiting for the anticipated precipice. And Nick would give it to you, but he wanted his fun first.

Deft fingers pulled your folds apart, and Nick groaned at the sight of you. Glistening and inviting. “Such a pretty pussy, pup. Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

Nick ran his flat tongue up your cunt, starting with long, languid licks that began to gradually get faster. Nick placed a hand on your stomach to stablise you as his broad strokes got shorter, turning into quick flicks across your clit.

He didn’t stop, not tiring even as the clock ticked away on the bedside table.

The tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm started to show as Nick alternated between licking and sucking, his hand running up and down your thigh as the other held you down. Your body tensed, and it goaded Nick to go faster, gripping your flesh tightly.

Nick hummed against your clit, and the dams burst. Like music to his ears, your mewls turned high-pitched as you came, your juices gushing down his chin. Nick had lost count of how many orgasms you’d had tonight, but each one was better than the last. He’d never get sick of this.

“My puppy does love playtime, don’t you, baby?” Nick watched as your glazed eyes looked at him, surprised at the new pet name. Baby. It’s endearing. Intimate. “You’re going to sit back and let your alpha do all the work now, right? Puppies are just too silly to do anything but lay down and get fucked.”

Seeing you so raw, so vulnerable, was bringing out the beast in Nick. The further down this rabbit hole he fell, the harder it was to keep his semblance of control. If you tried to make a run for it right now, he might actually kill you, too lost in the chase of his prey to realise what was happening. But you don’t run. Instead, you shuffled a little up the sheets, so your head rested on one of the satin pillows.

You knew you couldn’t escape, so you prepared yourself to be comfortable. Nick crawled up the bed, cock standing proud between his parted thighs, and he loomed over you. “Are you scared, puppy?”

Nick smiled when you gave him an odd look like you weren’t sure what response he wanted. “You should be.”

His words were the only warning you got before he mounted you, sheathing his dick in your dripping cunt with one swift motion of his hips. Nick let out a growl, pulling out the pillow from under you so he could grip the back of your neck. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel like fucking velvet, omega.”

The teasing nature Nick had earlier was long gone, replaced with a feral alpha desperate to breed. His thrusts were deep, rutting against your hips as his heavy breaths filled the room, mixed with your moans. It was a fucking symphony.

“This little cunt is mine, isn’t it? Tell me,” Nick snarled, pounding into your sore, used pussy without resolve.

“S’yours. All yours,” you sobbed into the cool air, tears streaking down your cheeks.

“That’s right. You’re fucking mine.” Nick moved his hand to rest on the front of your neck. He tiled his head back while his eyes fluttered closed.

It was a complete state of bliss. Nick didn’t look down as he let himself be free. No control, no thoughts. Just alpha.

You moaned with each plunge of his cock, but Nick didn’t notice the way your moans were weakening under the sound of smacking flesh.

Your hands clawed at Nick’s arm, but he didn’t even register it.

It wasn’t until you went quiet altogether that Nick opened his eyes.

Suddenly, cold washed over Nick when he looked down, his hand tight around your neck and your eyes closed. Not even a squeak came from your parted lips.

“Omega? Shit. Omega, open your eyes.” Nick tapped your cheek, but you were completely unconscious. “Puppy, wake up.”

He shook your shoulders, pulling his now soft cock out of you before he placed his finger under your nose. A sigh of relief left Nick when he felt the soft blow of your breath against his skin.

Nick’s jaw clenched, guilt awash over him. He was so lost in the moment he didn’t realise he’d begun squeezing, and he’d choked you out.

Your lack of response concerned Nick, so he sat on the bed, pulling you to his chest. He cradled you, and suddenly he was like his ten-year-old self again, holding the body of his dead sister on the living room floor. “Wake up. Please. I’ll… I’ll get you even more strawberries. You love them, right?”

You didn’t wake. Still soundly asleep and unaware of your distressed alpha.

In making you vulnerable, Nick had actually exposed himself. Desperate and alone, he was nothing without something of his own. Without you.

“Beck! Bring your med kit!” Nick’s voice boomed through the mansion, a prime alpha call.

Only moments later, Beck came barrelling through the door with his doctor’s bag. His eyes widened at the sight of you in Nick’s lap, mottled bruises already beginning to spread over your neck. “What happened?”

“I didn’t realise I was squeezing,” Nick’s voice came out monotone, devoid of emotion. His heart had begun to lock down. He wasn’t ready to lose anyone else.

Beck rushed over, gently taking you from Nick and resting you back against the bed. Your alpha moved away from the bed, arms crossed and expression cold as he watched.

“She’s alive,” Beck commented. You were obviously alive, but hearing Beck’s assurance eased Nick a little. The alpha always managed to calm him down.

There was a flurry of movement as Beck checked you over, Nick watching closely, not moving from his spot. As if he were a statue, frozen by pain.

“She’s going to be fine. I think she could use an IV with some fluids, and I can do a scan of her neck if you’re really worried,” Beck sighed, standing up. “But she’s okay. We could put her in the medical bay?”

“No. She stays here,” Nick snapped back quickly. Beck didn’t flinch, not phased by the icy mood of his boss. “Do the IV here.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get the stuff from downstairs if you want to get her into bed for me. Her body is pretty run down, so I imagine she’ll wake up when she’s got some energy back.” Not waiting for a response, Beck packed his things. On the way out, he passed Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Accidents happen. It’s okay.”

Without further comment, Beck left, leaving Nick staring at you. He could have snapped your neck and not even realised.

Nick ran a hand over his face, the memories of his sister still fresh in his mind; he couldn’t protect her or his mother, but he could keep you safe. You were the only thing that had ever made him feel human.

After the loss of his family, he’d turned into a hardened shell. But something about you and your homely scent cracked his defences. Around you, his heart was exposed. It meant he could love with a burning intensity, but also hurt just as much.

Body tensed, Nick maneuvered you carefully so the sheet and duvet shielded you from the cool night air. You were covered in your slick and Nick’s cum, but washing you was an issue he’d resolve after you’d rested.

Waiting for Beck to return, Nick pulled up an armchair to sit beside you. He’d never let you see this side of him, not for now anyway. He wasn’t ready. But with you unaware, Nick leant forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry, omega.”

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

[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

[questionableratatouille00]

Red In Her Ledger

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: A very small Drabble. Natasha’s betrayal leads to an irreversible outcome.

Note: This is my submission for day four (hiding an injury/betrayal/lying) of @ailesswhumptober!

Warnings: Main character death (reader), guns, violence.

---------------------------------------------

“Don’t do this. Natasha. Please.” You beg her. Your girlfriend of nine months. You trusted her with your life.

Well, you used to.

“You know this isn’t right. You don’t have to do this. Let me go.” You pleaded. But she said nothing. “S.H.I.E.L.D. can help you. Please, don’t do this.”

“There’s too much red in my ledger for that now.” She kept her voice flat as she raised her arm at you, her Widow Bite ready to hit you. Lethally.

“Please, don’t do this. Please, don’t do this to me.” You sobbed. She lowered her arm then, frowning.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry.” She said softly, pulling the gun from her thigh holster. She walked towards you, putting one hand on your waist as she kissed you.

She kissed you with all the love she had before she pointed the gun to your heart.

Her lips were the last thing you felt before she pulled the trigger.

[aestheticbyais]

“I’ve got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.”

Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff character aesthetic.