#i'm aiming for ambiguous truth

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Don’t know if you’re taking requests, and if you’re not I completely understand. But if you are then I have an idea that I just had to say and see written, I love your work and just had to ask.

So! Scenario; Rando demon gets jealous that MC and Beel (or even Diavolo) are together so they throw cake on her and when he’s walking over to handle the situation she starts laughing, not bothered by what took place. With a smirk she asks Beel (or Diavolo) if he’s hungry. Pointing at her chest with cake all over it, staring at him teasingly.

❤️🧡

I'm always down to take requests but I can't promise I'll get to them quickly lol. I'm in my final year of university so things are pretty hectic plus I have a job so please be patient :'3 (/general to anybody, not specifically aimed at you)

Also, I write all reader inserts as gender neutral.

Suggested NSFW, MDNI, suggestive, Angry! Beel, gender neautral! Reader, racially ambiguous! Reader, reader gets something thrown at them, mild food play, made up lesser demon, kind of short

Look at you over there all cute. Your pretty hair worked into your signature style, sweet smile painted onto your perfect lips, your eyes glimmering with admiration as that oaf rambles on about whatever through each bite from his mountain of food. The poor demon across the way in the RAD dining hall couldn't stand it. Darthalax was your partner in potions last semester and ever since then he's been obsessed. Your beauty was wasted on such a muscle headed idiot like Beel when you could be with someone as intelligent and devoted as him. He sneered across the way at the two of you.

You reached up to brush some of the custard away from Beelzebub's mouth with the napkin you picked up from your lap. His surprised face flushed a bright red at the action then relaxed into an expression of pure love and devotion. You were Beelzebub's world and he would do anything for you. Is that mountain in the way of your sun? Don't worry Beel is on his way to push it. Beel took a spoonful of the custard and held it out to you with bated breath. This wasn't something he did often and you needed to take his offer quick or else he'd end up eating the spoonful himself. You met Beelzebub halfway, taking the spoon into your mouth and looking up at him through the top of your eyes. You made sure to take longer than necessary to lick the custard off of his spoon, even going so far as to let a little of the thick white pudding dribble out of your mouth so you had to clean it up and lick it off of your finger. The whole time making eye contact with a very flushed Beelzebub who couldn't help but breath through his mouth at the suggestive sight to gave him.

Apparently, Darthalax couldn't help but watch as well and decided that enough was enough. When you had gotten up to grab some more water, a pink flash flew through the air landing in a cold wet lump on your shirt that slid down your torso onto the floor. White icing mixed with pink spongecake and pink sprinkles made its home as a sloppy mess on the shirt of your RAD uniform. You could only look down at your disorderly clothes with a shocked expression then up at the direction you saw the cake come from. There he sat with a fuming red face. You remembered him your potions class last semester. While Darthalax had enjoyed his time with you in potions class, it was a one sided relationship. The truth was that he was a pretentious asshole with enough ego to the grand ballroom of Diavolo's palace. His constant correcting and manhandling of your assignments made him an insufferable prick in your eyes and you were glad to be rid of him at the semester's end.

"You wooden-headed strumpet!" Darthalax called at you, "stop flaunting your abhorrent eros when there are those of us trying to enjoy our repast!" The way he spoke was insufferable. You were sure he had a thesaurus under the table he was sneaking peaks at in order to make himself sound smarter. Who even used the word repast anymore? Hell, who used the word strumpet?! You were about to respond but your mouth quickly closed when a dark shadow slid over you. Beelzebub was making his way to Darthalax in his demon form. The insect wings on his back buzzing like an agitated colony of wasps about to strike. While you hated the poor lesser demon, you didn't want to see him killed and devoured.

"Beel!" You called making your boyfriend stop with fists clenched to turn his head to look at you. The dark shadow of anger that was cast over his face lightened when he saw your eyes half lidded and your finger tracing over your chest. "Beelzebub, " you said in a soft seductive tone, "I got a little dirty over here." You scraped some of the white frosting off of your shirt and licked it off of your finger. "Wouldn't you rather come clean me up?"

Beelzebub's eyes went wide as his face flushed red. No longer did he care about Darthalax's cowering form when you were standing before him so willingly offering him two of his favorite things; you and food. "Come, " you said sauntering off, "meet me in the bathroom when you're ready to help me clean up." Beel eagerly nodded his head and trailed behind you like a puppy. His wings beating like an eager cicada now.

[veintrry]

a generals woe.

scaramouche x gn!reader, harbinger!scaramouche, ambiguous/romantic/platonic, readers features not specified (anyone can read), angst, no fluff, death,

an: this is whilst scaramouche is still in the fatui!

ac: @/kitukoto_so on twt

Have you ever heard the saying, "If you want to kill a General, aim for his horse."? It is a piece of advice that holds much truth, however, there are exceptions. For not all leaders will take kindly to having what's theirs be whisked away from them and may turn a fight into a war.

The experience of death wasn't something most would retell, however most do experience it but not many feel it. There is haziness to everything around you, like your head has become too heavy for your body to bear the weight of. Your knees buckling as you feel dots spot your vision, and a heat rises into your mind. What was it that got you here?

Despite your awareness lessening you can tell someone has joined your side, sat on their knees, you can see them reaching to touch you before abruptly stopping, hesitating, and then seeming to swallow their nervousness as they shook you. It felt like your body was not yours. Yes, you were still somewhat conscious, but it was like you could not feel your body, you could not think despite being sure you could hear your own thoughts. It's like nothing was functioning as it was meant to.

The touch on your body is cold, thin fingers can be felt through your stained clothing. You can hear your name being repeated like a broken record, but it sounds like it's so far away. It's spoken with urgency and concern, you pity the person who's reaching for you, but you can't answer. You are far too tired, your body far too heavy and so were your eyelids. What was this agonising pain you felt within your abdomen? Why did tears well up in your eyes? You didn't understand anything, and that made you more… alone, scared, worried? It's hard to say or explain, but you felt abandoned. Because all this worry is being spent on your physical being, and yet, you, the voice on the inside can't seem to be heard despite your cries.

He could feel your temperature dropping, he could feel it. It's fucking torturous; Yelling your name, touching you, watching you slip away from him, leave him, be stolen from him with nothing he can do as he pathetically attempts to cover your wound with his hands. Tears fell down his cheeks and despite the usual shame he'd feel for letting his emotions seep out, for letting the thing that caused his abandonment be brought back once more, he could not refrain himself.

He began to wonder, what had he done to lose you, what had he done to lose the people he's known? What could he have done to stop it, to stop these betrayals. You wouldn't turn your back on him, you pledged to be with him, you did, so why is it that you can't even seem to recognize him? Was his very own birth a sin so grave to be punished throughout his lifetime? If so, he wished that you having ever cared for him was a sin too, that way you can both burn, and though he might not find a heart within those flames he will find someone who can offer them theirs and bear it like it was shared.

He picked up your face by your chin, raising it to look up at him, yet your orbs held nothing within them, even if they were staring at him he wouldn't find you in them. "Look at me. I'm telling you to look at me, do you not hear me?!" He manoeuvred himself to meet what would be your field of vision, but all he found was nothing. It was as though the holes in your eyes were a pit that swallowed him whole. It was like your pupil was no longer a small hole in the middle of your iris but it was a gape in your eye that reflected the hollow darkness inside.

His shaking of you roughened, had you been conscious you would have noticed how his entire body seemed to quiver, jerking occasionally as he sobbed. Contrary to his paralysed composer from before he was now unable to stay still, his body swaying as the world around himself seemed to turn, as memories that haunted him only came back to taunt him, to mock him. Why did you wish to torment him? Why would you do this?

He knew you were dead, he was no moron. He knew, he always knew that he wouldn't have enough time. He knew and that's why he hated himself for ever thinking he could enjoy your being for longer. He hated you for ever making him want someone around, for making him trust a damn human again. When did he become so naive, so gullible as to believe your damn lies? There was no way you would've stayed, you are nothing but a mere mortal, a fragile pathetic human. You were nothing since the beginning. So why did he fall for you, and why does he still find himself yearning for that idea of you now?

He wept, taking your hand and raising it to his face, placing it on his cheek, finding that you both shared the same temperature, and at that realisation, at the shudder that ran down his spine, he choked out unintelligible sounds and mumblings, "I hate you…" His tears flowed down his face, pouring down from his chin onto you. Scaramouche hated crying, and he hated the fact it resembled the warmth you supplied him with even more.

Bringing his forehead down to meet yours, he muttered many things, all contrasting one another, all filled with regret. Asking you questions as though you'd answer, telling you things as if you'd remember, insulting you as if you'd been to blame. But there was a query that rang out louder in his mind more than any other,

"Why would you leave me?..."

What had he done to you? What had he done? Please tell him. Please tell him and he'll fix it, he would've fixed it. His breath began to hitch, getting stuck at his throat as breathing became less of a want and more of a need. Had he done wrong by keeping you with him? But you wanted to, you both wanted to, so why is it that the universe must interfere with his desires? Why must everything come and stand in his path?

He didn't care for those people, for those who tried to pose a threat to him. He had always had them slayed without a second thought, had their world collapse before them. He knew they wanted him dead, he knew that many people wanted him dead. But to go for you, to hurt you, to kill you. What sort of idiotic plan was that, what people would think they should ever play such a game with him? Had they not known who he was, what he was capable of. To take his heart from him, they had asked to die a thousand times. Not only would they suffer but everyone they knew, all their people. Let that be a lesson to everyone who hears of him.

Secretly, he knew doing so won't bring you back. But if he wouldn't avenge you, who would? Teyvat shall crumble for this occurrence and the Archons negligence shall be punished.

[unionizedwizard]

so i like the meta post a lot but could you give me a lil rundown on what the difference is between metanarrative and metapoetics? the latter is a new word to me and i can infer the gist but i wanna know what specifically you're getting at

oooooooooo hehehehe woooohoooo <- normal about literary theory

so, Poetics is the matter of theorizing about poetry (its rules, aims, effects...) (which implies all the allagan tomestones we've been grinding this whole time are copies of allagan aristotle & cie which i find both very funny and very. foreshadowing-inclined. but anyway). It's literally the english word for "ars poetica"; it is a set of methods and rules meant to direct the writing of poetry. Sort of like a practical textbook with a philosophical setting. Metapoetics would be the question of writing and thinking and theorizing about poetics, and the impulse generally started around the early 20th century (with the russian formalism movement in particular). This is the impulse that eventually led to the creation of structuralism and post-structuralism (Barthes & cie) - as a whole it's a matter of examining the methods and bias and beliefs we hold wrt literature (what Barthes called "the text"), eventually leading to the concept of reception theory for instance.

Nowadays i'm pretty sure that the concept of "metapoetics" encompasses a lot more than poetry, strictly speaking, though each field has its own specific meta- (metadramatics for theater and so on); as long as it's about language itself ("the text"), i think "metapoetics" is a valid concept to invoke (invoking concepts. heh. just like in- okay okay i'll shut up now). Which is a very long-winded way to say that there are subtle differences between metapoetics and metanarrativity because a narrative is not necessarily a text in itself (movies have narratives, tv shows and video games too, and they don't have "a text" in the way that a novel does for example). So, metanarrativity would be the act of a narrative commenting on itself, using dramatic irony, and/or having characters who somehow realize they're in a story. It's a very broad approach.

Metapoetics, on the other hand, would deal more specifically with textual clues. it would be the act of reflecting on the text itself, having the text question its meaning, symbolism, repeat and be modified. In this case, the difference is tenuous at best because the narrative is construed (and understood) as an epic poem, pretty much since the beginning, and particularly in the case of Heavensward; i'd say it's somewhere between a play (Amon's understanding) and an epic or saga (pretty much everyone else's understanding). Which makes the aristotle references in endwalker more meaningful, since aristotle wrote the Poetics about poetry AND theater (the ancients called everything poetry, dramatics were just a subsection of poetry as a whole)

I think the case of ffxiv is ambiguous at best when it comes to assigning a frontier between the motifs and callbacks and dramatic irony that could fall under the "metanarrativity" or "metapoetics" categories specifically because the text itself as well as the overarching narrative are very rich and precise, and feed into each other. Because one of the key aspects of the entire narrative is to put the right words and spin the right narrative (cathartic and awe-inspiring like epic poetry should be) out of real actions. Finding out the truth about the dragonsong war, writing new contracts with the local tribes.... It's always a matter of putting the right words onto everything. if that makes sense? So there's always this aspect of being mindful of speech and remembering it too, that blurs the frontiers of metanarrativity and metapoetics. in my opinion at least

GOD i've been typing for a hundred years and this all reads like mostly bullshit i'm so sorry. I hope it makes sense. like every other literary theory concept tho it's a very flexible and fluid one so mostly it gets used as an analytical lens to examine specific aspects of a text very closely which makes it a bit difficult to "grasp" (in the sense of "grasping at something to keep your balance")

[vxxxb]

DEPRIVE ME [4] - Miguel O'Hara x Reader

[Synopsis] - After an incident that jeopardizes your position at HQ, Miguel O'Hara becomes a constant reminder of the high expectations and zero tolerance for mistakes within his ranks. Everything takes an unexpected turn when Miguel sees the potential in your abilities and decides to enlist your help for a more personal endeavor. [Notes] -Slow burn, strained relationship in the beginning, slight angst, eventual fluff. Reader is ethnically Hispanic, with race not specified. Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 3.49K words

The cafeteria was lively as you sat across from Peter, every other Spider-variant within the premises also aiming to appease their hunger. Eagerly, you bite into your empanada, relishing the combination of its crispy crust and velvety melted cheese.

Peter chuckled, nudging you from underneath. "Easy there, kid." 

You playfully roll your eyes. "As if you didn't devour your burger just moments ago. Isn't that right, Mayday?" Your voice turns affectionate as you address the adorable little redhead crawling behind you.

Mayday giggles, the feeling of her tiny hands and feet creating small ticklish sensations around your neck. You can't help the snort that escapes you, hand scooping her up from behind and bringing her to the front with a mock stern expression. "Alright, that's enough crawling for today." You let out a chuckle. 

"Like that will stop her," Peter snickers as he places her in the carrier, fully aware that it won't contain her adventurous self. Which becomes true, as she manages to climb over him instead. 

Peter remains unfazed by her antics, shifting the conversation to a different subject. "So..." He begins.

"So?" You raise an eyebrow curiously, prompting him to continue.

"Alright, there's no easier way to say this," He says between bites of his fries, "but it's weird."

"What is?"

"You and Miguel."

"Me and Miguel?" You repeat slowly, trying to grasp his point.

"Yeah, you and Miguel," He confirms, fully devouring his fries. 

You rest your weight against the table, your hand propping up your face. Peter's remark about you and Miguel piques your interest, and the look you give him leaves no room for ambiguity; it's clear that you want an explanation.

Peter clears his throat, his hand rubbing nervously at his neck as he searches for the right words. "Listen, it’s just…you don’t have to force yourself to work with him, kid." 

His concern catches you off guard. Peter had always looked out for you; He was a great mentor despite his occasional childishness, but this was the first time he explicitly expressed worry about Miguel. Normally, he'd dismiss Miguel's personality as mere brooding, choosing not to dwell on it.

Your eyes soften. "I'm fine, Peter," You reassure him. "Trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust," He points out. "Look, I like Miguel, he's my friend-"

You choke on a laugh, finding amusement in his assertion.

"He's my friend," Peter emphasizes, teasingly raising an eyebrow. "And I know he hasn't done anything personal to me," He shrugs. "But when it comes to you… there's too much risk."

You contemplate his words, responding with a soft hum. You can't deny that there's truth in what he says. Miguel’s temper was unpredictable, and his actions were often headstrong. But things had taken a different turn in the past three weeks.

For one, you now reported directly to him. No more relying on Jess, Peter, or even resorting to bribing Hobie - That fucker - into delivering your reports. The excessive missions, which left you sleep-deprived and struggling to balance your academics and hero responsibilities, were no more. Even the constant paranoia about your time at HQ vanished, along with the fights and threats that used to overshadow your days. It was simply... No. More.

And yet, you couldn't shake off this persistent feeling whenever you were around Miguel; This feeling was different. It was a mixture of curiosity and unsettled nerves. Finally, you were getting to know Miguel beyond the role of your antagonizing leader -- Not that his personality was any better.

During the short time you worked together, you came to observe his behavior closely. Miguel became easily irritable, seemingly insistent on having everything run smoothly; Promptness and discipline were non-negotiable. He sought competent recruits and had little tolerance for the younger Spider variants, particularly Hobie and occasionally Gwen. Pavitr seemed to be the most favored among the three.

As a leader, he exuded authority and demanded respect from those under his command. However, it was hard to ignore that he could be overbearingly uptight in his approach — a characteristic that was hardly surprising to anyone familiar with his leadership style.

Yet, he also displayed moments of serenity — a side that still felt foreign to you. These glimpses intrigued you, especially since they seemed to occur more frequently due to your arrangement. But you knew better than to let your guard down. After all, Miguel was a paradox that you were still trying to understand.

Mayday's gurgling brought you back to focus, you taking notice of the look Peter was giving you. You sigh as you sit up, "I'm fine, Peter." Seeking to steer the conversation elsewhere, you inquire, "Anyways, where's Gwen?"

Peter relents at your response, though you sense he wants to say more on the matter. "She's back in her universe, doing her usual patrolling," He answers. "You know, typical friendly neighborhood Spiderman duties."

"Right," You nod, feeling a pang of realization that it's been a while since you patrolled your New York. "Gotta work on that," You mutter, pursing your lips.

Your dimensional watch then lights up. With a brief groan, you throw away any remaining food, quickly ruffling Mayday's curls and flashing Peter a sheepish smile. "Duty calls," You roll your eyes. 

"Take care, kid."

"Not a kid!" You call out as you web away. 

------

You grumble as you glance at the clock on the wall for the third time. "Where is he?"

You have been waiting for the past fifteen minutes, and Miguel was still nowhere to be found. Bouncing your leg impatiently, you call out to the only thing that keeps track of him. "Lyla!" You shout. "Where is he?" You narrow your eyes as the AI pop.

"He should be here soon." 

"You said that last time."

"Okay, okay." Lyla concedes, summoning a small hologram screen. "He should be here in... three, two, one."

On cue, a portal opens up, your eyes following the tall figure that propels himself forward, his formidable claws acting as both anchor and propulsion against the resistance of the floor. You wince as the grating sound of his claws scrapes against the surface that echoes through the room. 

You raise an eyebrow, hip jutting to the side by his lack of acknowledgment. "Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance," You murmur under your breath.

"What was that?" He snaps. 

"I said how great of you to be here," You respond, forcing a smile.

"I'd lose that tone if I were you."

"Or what?" You taunt, sauntering over. "You'll kick me out again?" You suggest with a small smug smile on your face. "I thought we were past that, boss."

"Miguel," He corrects you with a firm tone.

"Right, of course," You reply, feigning an apologetic tone.

You catch him out of the corner of your eye, taking a deep breath as he tilts his head to the side, seemingly attempting to regain his patience; you snicker. Testing Miguel's patience has somehow become a source of amusement for you. Part of you knew it was a bit of retribution for the problematic months he caused you in the past -- Small payback for the frustrations endured. On the other hand, doubt also played a role; You couldn't help but wonder when or what would disrupt this unusual balance between the two.

"Do you understand?" His voice prompts your attention back to the present.

"Hm?" You look at him confused, inwardly cringing as you realize you've zoned out once again.

Miguel sighs, running a hand down his face while murmuring a mantra under his breath, "Paciencia, paciencia..."

With a swift motion, he opens a portal, indicating for you to follow. "Just follow my lead," he instructs.

You follow Miguel through the portal and find yourself in a bustling cityscape. It's a different version of New York, one unfamiliar to you. The building you stand on is sleek and futuristic, with holographic advertisements flickering around every corner. The coloring in this universe is oversaturated with warm yellow undertones, reflecting a tropical and dry climate that matches the city's appearance. As you take in the sights, you can't help but fan yourself to combat the heat.

"So, what's the plan?" You ask, attempting to focus on the mission. "And why are we here?"

Miguel glances at you, noticing your efforts to cope with the weather. "We're here to meet a friend of mine," he explains, brows furrowing at the word 'friend'. "They've gathered some intel for something I need."

"Which is?"

"Not worth mentioning," He replies curtly.

"So what? You brought me along to keep an eye on me?" You retort, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

"Would you have preferred working on catching the Lizard with Jess?" Miguel counters a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

"Shutting up now." You mutter, not willing to argue any further.

"Glad to agree on something." He remarks with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, the two of you diving off the building and swinging through the city. Several blocks away, you finally land in an alleyway, your eyes scanning the surroundings before fixing on a figure leaning against the wall. It doesn't take long for you to recognize that distinctive black ensemble. You purse your lips, casting a sidelong glance at Miguel.

"Seriously?" You remark. "You consider her a friend and not Peter."

Miguel lets out an exasperated sigh, removing his mask as he strides toward her, with you following closely behind.

"Felicia." He addresses with a nod.

The woman smirks, her fingers playfully curling around her hair as she chuckles. "Que paso mi rey? No kiss this time?"

At her remark, you raise your eyebrows in surprise, realizing she speaks Spanish -- Of course, she does -- but the mention of a kiss catches you off guard. Once again, you cast a sidelong glance at Miguel.

"Felicia," He warns, brushing off your inquisitive stare. "Did you bring the drive or not?"

Felicia nonchalantly pushes herself off the wall, her hips swaying as she walks over to you, seemingly disregarding Miguel's presence. "And which variant are you?" She asks, her finger tracing down the exposed area beneath your mask, an alluring glint in her eyes.

A wry smile plays on your lips. "The one with boundary issues," You quip, hands firmly grabbing hers by the wrist to snatch away from your face. Irritation surges within you, already vowing to give Miguel a piece of your mind after this.

Felicia hums, her demeanor exuding confidence. "Feisty," She purrs, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I can see the appeal." She gives you one final glance before shifting her attention back to Miguel. "And I did," she says, holding up a silver drive between her fingers, her other hand resting on her hip as she grins.

"Now for your end of the bargain," She adds, her movements fluid and seductive as she approaches Miguel, lingering hands pulling him closer by the neck before abruptly kissing him.

"I'm gonna be sick," You groan, unable to bear the display before you. You turn away, shielding yourself from the awkwardness unfolding. Despite your best efforts, a small gag escapes you as you hear Felicia moan during the kiss. The whole situation leaves you feeling thoroughly impatient to get this ordeal over with.

The distinct sound of Miguel clearing his throat snaps your attention toward them. Every aspect of this situation bugs you; Nothing was more disturbing than witnessing your boss engage in flirtatious banter with a notorious burglar. 

"Was that necessary?" You click your tongue.

"Of course, mi reina," Felicia smirks, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her other hand raises a small transparent vial for you to see. 

You study the object in her hands, realizing the implication of what she did. "You extracted his venom?" You look back at Miguel. "And you let it happen?" 

Miguel doesn't offer a direct answer; instead, he's already in motion, utilizing his web shooters to swing back to the initial building you both had arrived at. You're left alone with Felicia, her curious eyes trying to decipher your thoughts.  

She folds her arms across her chest, her confident stride carrying her as she circles you. "You don't even realize, do you?"

"Realize what?"

She chuckles, her head tilting back in what is both alluring and unsettling. "Please, if I can smell it, you don't think he has?" Her question is sharp and perceptive.

You feel your muscles tense, your mouth opening to say something but unable to form the words. Instead, your hands clench at your sides, the weight of her words sinking in.

"Ay reina," She mocks. "It never occurred to you that the only other spider variant with a keen sense of smell would eventually pick up on your condition?"

She leans closer, her lips near your ear. "Friendly advice," She chuckles, "at the rate you're going, don't fight it."

With a final, knowing wink, Felicia turns on her heel, leaving you to process everything until now. Her words linger in the air, and you're left to grapple with the implications of her revelations.

------

Back at HQ, you find Miguel in the control room, fully engrossed in his work. Upon hearing your entry, he swiftly glances back, his expression unreadable, making it difficult to decipher what's on his mind.

"What?" You ask, genuinely curious about his thoughts.

"I was wondering when you'd arrive," He admits, though his face remains composed, revealing little.

You can't resist the chance to tease him, a small smirk forming on your lips. "I'm growing on you, aren't I?" You quip, propping yourself casually on an empty panel beside him. "Glad you finally caught on."

Miguel scoffs, but you catch a hint of a smile trying to break through his composure. "Let's not get carried away," he says, though there's subtle amusement in his voice.

A beat passes, then two, and an awkward silence ensues, leaving you both contemplating the unspoken words that linger. 

You sigh, mostly frustrated with yourself — Why was this hard? — Why was it that anytime there was some evident shift within your dynamic, everything shut down?

There’s some hesitation on his end as he turns to face you. "I was skeptical," he admits. "About this partnership."

You hum.

"I get it," You reply, attempting to maintain the conversation. "I kind of branded myself with that mission."

Determined to steer away from any trip down the lane of guilt or regret, you quickly perk up, summoning a sudden burst of energy that takes Miguel by surprise.

"I have to ask," You begin, your curiosity getting the best of you. "But Felicia?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the connection between the two.

At this, he breaks into a full-on chuckle, his deep and resonant laugh filling the room. His infectious laughter catches you off guard, and you can't help but join in, the tension between you momentarily dissolving in the shared moment of amusement.

"Felicia, she’s…" He trails offs, unsure of how to respond. 

"Tempting? Charming? A mutual you can fu-" You start to say, but his hand quickly covers your mouth, silencing you with a warning glare. You roll your eyes, partly amused by his reaction.

"Are you done now?" He asks, tone a bit bored.

You give a single nod, your eyes locking with his. He removes his hand from your mouth, adjusting his body slightly as you're still perched on the panel. Despite the casualness of the situation, you can't help but notice the newfound proximity between the two of you. You study his expression, finding it far more relaxed than before.

"She told me you knew," You say, gaze never wavering.

Don’t do that, you think as you watch his forehead crease with evident concern. Your thoughts race as he tilts your face in his direction, a gesture that feels uncomfortably intimate — Don’t do that either — silently admonishing yourself for noticing it.

His eyes narrow, softly inhaling as he scans your face before ultimately pulling back. 

"Lyla, scan her," he commands, and you instinctively object. "What? Lyla, don't—"

"Scan complete," Lyla chimes in, casting you an apologetic virtual glance.

Miguel crosses his arms, and you feel a mix of indignation and frustration at the abrupt intrusion. "Diagnostic report," he demands, and you can't help but furrow your brows in irritation.

"And directly asking me wouldn't have sufficed?"

"You'd lie," He replies bluntly, reviewing Lyla's assessment. With a swift gesture, he amplifies the screen, sliding it over for you to see.

You don't bother looking at the report, already well aware of the issues plaguing you; The migraines, the weakening of your physical state, the occasional nose bleeds. Nothing about you was right after the glitch with the dimensional watch, and your condition only worsened with your increased use of abilities -- For him. 

"It stops now," He declares firmly. "I don't need your help."

You jump off the panel. "Now look who's lying," you accuse. "Please tell me you don't simply believe that I'm under the impression of just helping ease your grief," You look expectantly.

But he remains silent, and the lack of response only fuels your frustration, pushing you to let out a chortle of sarcastic laughter.

This time, it's you who catches him off guard. Without a second thought, you stride purposefully toward his computer panels, pulling back a drawer and forcefully slamming the object in your hand against his chest.

"This is why I'm here," Your gaze is stern. "To help deprive you of this addiction you have with this thing," You withdraw yourself from him, leaving the Rapture device in his hands.

You let out a deep exhale, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. "I'm just trying to help."

"We can't help anyone," He snaps. "You're at the brink of death, and I'm on the verge of losing any semblance of humanity within me."

"But we can try! We can always try," You reason with a sense of exasperation. "Isn't that purpose of this whole thing?" You assert, referencing the society he created.

Miguel's calculating gaze remains fixed on you, his chest heaving slightly as if he's internally struggling to contain his anger. He lifts his finger as if to say something but abruptly closes his eyes and turns away.

"Dejame."

His dismal aggravates you, making you refuse to let the conversation end. "No, you don't just get to stand there and tell me to leave when we're both at fault here."

He continues to walk past you, his shoulder bumping against yours as he approaches the exit, seemingly intent on walking away from the confrontation.

"Miguel!" You follow him. "I'm talking to you," You persist, undeterred in your pursuit. "Dammit, listen to me-"

Before you can fully grasp what's happening, you feel his firm grip on your shoulders, back forcefully slamming against the entrance frame. He effectively traps you in, and you find yourselves glaring at each other with such intensity. The moment hangs heavily between you, and it's clear that neither of you is willing to back down.

"Tu..." He growls out. "Tu me matas de rabia."

"Feelings mutual," You grit, eyes unyielding. 

"Fine." 

You expect him to pull away, to break the tension between you, but he doesn't. You both remain locked, neither willing to back down from your controlled fits of anger. And as you feel the air around you crackle with unresolved emotions, the silence between you grows heavy with anticipation.

But you're the one who leans forward, closing the distance between your lips and his. And before long, you feel his hands moving to grab you by your hips, the hunger in the kiss evident, with the sound of his soft growls escaping him as you nip at his lips for entrance.

It was all so contradicting, the way you both clung to each other, with a mixture of lingering animosity and newfound desire fueling the moment. Miguel couldn't comprehend why he reciprocated, why he hadn't let you go. But he couldn't deny the pleasure he felt from listening to your soft gasps.

But the sudden interruption of Lyla's voice breaks the spell, jolting you both back to reality. Instinctively, you push Miguel away, your mind racing to process what just happened as you catch your breath. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, his mouth closing in a resigned expression.

You want to explain, to find the right words to address what had impulsively occurred between the two, but Lyla interrupts again, drawing Miguel's attention. 

"Miguel," She calls out urgently, "requesting backup now."

Miguel acknowledges his AI, sending her away with a nod before looking at you. With a heavy sigh, he retreats, putting a silent end to whatever had transpired between you both.

The words Felicia had spoken earlier now echo in your mind. She had been right about one thing — you didn't fight it, and now you were screwed.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

[Translations]

Patience, patience

What's the matter love (Literal translation is king, but its a form of saying, love)

Leave

You fill me with rage

Tag list:

@digipaw2-0 @alexisabirdie @keenzinemugstudent @dirtydiavolo @saturnknows @judeslostfinger @joyhdh @myconglomerateromance @lady-necromancer @envyjmoney

[yuseirra]

**Onk ch 160 spoilers**

I'm really sorry about talking what's not been brought up in official yet, I got SENT stuff and it just...bugs my head so much because I've been having so much brainrot regarding this series lately, my mind keeps functioning on its own and I can't stop my head from running. Please dodge what's below if you wish to keep from it.

You know, I've thought it through last night after having met up with my friends and had a blast(we went to karaoke and Fatal was added in the available songs!! It was so fun trying to sing it~)

If what Kamiki claims IS all true(and I think it is?? There is no reason for him to lie about those and everything makes sense and clicks together, it also does align to how he used to be)

I GOT EVERYTHING RIGHT ABOUT HIM. I GOT LITERALLY EVERYTHING RIGHT. I kept saying this guy can't hurt Ai. He doesn't have it in him. I GOT SO MUCH OF EVERYTHING RIGHT, I just see this actually being the truth really well, that should be how he is. It makes total sense.

And it turns out he really didn't take part in the murders either (except for Yuras which is still left ambiguous but didn't Aqua and Akane say Nino's responsible for it?;; what if he thinks he's to blame for that but it actually isn't? Then he isn't responsible for any of the murder cases that's happened onscreen at least)

Regardless of whether he's good or bad at this point, I feel like this guy is CURSED!!!; Weird things happen around him and I don't think the events that happened regarding Ai's death were intentional at least, if it were to be so, Aqua's reactions wouldn't have been like that. He didn't accuse of what happened regarding Ai, I think he's talking about what Kamiki's tried to do after that. Aqua believes he's after Ruby now and aims to stop him. Anyhow something's out to get this guy bad. His life is so unfortunate, it'd be hard not to grow insane at this rate. Aqua looks seriously on edge but the same should be said about Kamiki too

I analyzed this character's psychology all July~August, right? I don't know whether if he does want to hurt Ruby or not but if what this guy's said regarding what's happened to Ai is really the truth (and that's literally. Literally how I thought things would be all along?? I got 99% of things right except for the details that'd be impossible to predict on my own accord & only the author would know!!!) I think he really DOES love his children that Ai's left behind as well. I don't see him being any other way.

You have to see the little things people say that have no particular reason to be there and wasn't told after an inquiry but was just put out there on a whim. Those are what's usually the true feelings. He said he loves Ai from the bottom of his heart, he wanted to sacrifice his life for hers, and that he does have fatherly feelings, those, in my opinion, ARE what's really there because no one asked him to tell of these stuff and he just. Throws those ideas out there.

In that case, Kamiki's life is true suffering. He can turn out to be evil. I'll just.. Sit back and watch this series with a popcorn if that happens but if that isn't it and my interpretations of him are true(and with my perceptions of how he'd act.. Just matching up so perfectly at this rate I think I'm on the right track?) this guy would BREAK. What's happening to him now is too much. Ai would want to save him from his misery, she loved him, so I believe he's worth it. It's just ridiculous just how much he has to put up with. It's such an unfortunate life he has, how can he still smile when it's like that?

So yes..I have to see more eps to see just what will unfold,

But Kamiki's life is so cursed to the extent it feels weird. I think my theories about him can REALLY be it. Something is ruining his life and that's the black star, read over the lyrics in Fatal, there IS a star that's doing that to him if that's his song which I think it is.

Hsggkfjk um..yeah. That's.. Personally how things are going to make sense for me. Unless the author has some more plot plots they hid to overturn everything and prove what I felt about this character is wrong. I'm pretty confident about reading character emotions though. Those are things I end up getting right with pretty good accuracy.

[dont-look-up-at-the-sky]

Something I find amusing about C.C. & Lelouch's relationship (spoiler: it's not amusing at all) As a premise, despite everything I'm going to say, CluClu is my otp and will ever be, so this is not intended as a hate shitpost, even if who doesn't like them as a couple is also absolutely welcome to give their take. Furthermore, the topic of my discourse is just their relationship regardless you see it as romantic or not.

Now, to get to the matter, let's take a look first at the other two girls. I've always felt that Lelouch relationship with Shirley and Kallen were somewhat unbalanced, since they clearly had deep, sincere feelings towards him, but as much as he reciprocated them (as friends or almost-lover it doesn't matter here), it's always been them to give the strongest evidence of these feelings. He obviously cared a lot about both, and if I'm being honest I think that Shirley could have been his first love, but he only shows how much important they are to him under dramatic circumstances or if solicited, in response to some showing of "affection" from their part.

In Shirley's case, when he kisses her back after her father's death, when he wipes off her memories, when he blushes because he was expecting her to kiss him and then, sadly, when she dies. As for Kallen, the strongest example that comes to mind to me is when he says "you have to live" after he lied so that she didn't sacrifice her life for him. (I won't take into consideration when he made a move on her, for the following reasons: because he was at his lowest point and was only looking for something to numb himself, sex was the same as drugs at that time, no less self-destructive, and definitely not an act of love; moreover, because he didn't show her any affection AT ALL—what he said to her was straight up insulting and degrading (I state this as a matter of fact, but I'm not judging him here, I could talk about this another time), not something I would proudly bring as a proof of his feelings for her. Lastly, because my point now it's not to demonstrate which girl he had ROMANTIC feelings for.)

Then we have C.C. The only one among the three whose feelings for him were ambiguous to say the least. For the most part of the story, she manipulated and used him for her purposes by encouraging him towards the path that was most convenient for her. She knew from the start the truth about his mother, she watched him struggle and never said a word because that could have made him falter in his determination. She was aware of Charles plans, which she had been complicit with in the past, and also that he had a geass, but never shared these informations with Lelouch, again because that could damage her aim. She was the person who more than anyone else saw how much he was suffering, and I believe she started to care about him even early on the story, but still this wasn't enough to stop her.

Obviously she was conflicted, she often looks torn between what she wants to gain from him and a genuine feeling that she can't allow herself to have. Also, we could argue that, had she really wanted to go all the way with her plan, she could have done so already by trying to kill him, in order to push him to accept the code as the nun did with her (we know from Charles and V.V. that's not necessary to wait for the geass to evolve in both eyes). But she never does this. Deep inside she's not as selfish as she pretends and would like to be, and at a closer look it's lecit to wonder if at some point her decision to stay at his side wasn't for her purposes anymore, even if that was what she kept telling herself—but this doesn't make her actions towards Lelouch any less wrong, any less selfish and manipulative.

As I stated before, among the three C.C. is the only one who, even if she truly had feelings for him, never prioritised them over herself. Even the scene where she comforts him after Euphemia's death is ambiguous, since those words and that gesture came from a person who was taking advantage of him all along.

What about Lelouch though? To me it's always been even shocking how open his feelings for her were (whether you intend them as romantic or not, again, it doesn't matter!). We know him as a person who always acts quite cold (even if he's not), but then we have "I don't know why snow is white, but I think it's beautiful", "If you're a witch then I shall become a warlock", "I promise you the smile you never had", even that snarky "I cannot be friends with a goddess, I've made a contract with the devil". He worries that she could get hurt or die even if he knows she's immortal. To not speak about how he allows himself to be vulnerable in front of her and just her.

So, to refer to the title, what I find "amusing" is how the girl he shows most openly his feelings for is exactly the one who apparently reciprocate less and, for a fact, the one whose reasons for being at his side have always been not totally genuine.

That could open another matter of analisys which I find interesting about Lelouch, namely how his relationship with Suzaku is an ulteriore example of how he clings the most to the people who somewhat reject him and don't give him any assurance that they won't leave him. From a psychological point of view, it seems in line with a young man who in his childhood has suffered from severe trauma bounded to loss and abandonment. It's common in these cases to have the strongest reactions to real or imaginary threats of abandonment, while unconsciously re-enacting the trauma by being emotionally driven towards those who show they could leave at any moment unless you make efforts to hold them back. But this could be the subject of another topic one day, a topic that I would probably call "why I think that Lelouch shows many symptoms of borderline personality disorder, despite the more popular fan-diagnosis that I feel are sometimes dued to a general misunderstanding of personality disorders". Well, that's it! I'm curious to read your opinions, if you like to share :)

[starboundsingularities]

tbh it's really always bothered me a bit that they never actually get into the consequences of misusing the magatama. sure, sure, they say your soul shatters, and like, yeah that's ominous and all, but what does it mean? obviously we never get to see that in-game but i've been thinking about it a lot and i would like to present these thoughts because oh boy there are a lot of them. long post under cut but it's a fun little au as well

alright so before getting into it all, obviously there are some things we're aiming to explain, in some sense, with this.

for one: what is a soul, even? most depictions of souls portray them as the very essence of one's self, as the "culmination of your being" or as some similar nebulous expression of an entire person. but... well, if a soul was the entirety of a person, what would that soul shattering entail? it would just kill them. which is a valid reading i guess but not very fun to mess around with and is also a reading that comes with some... troubling implications.

most notably, the meter on how close you are to that breaking point while using the magatama is the same meter as your penalties in court. not just in the asset used, which wouldn't be worth bringing up, but in the sense that once the magatama is introduced, that same value that meter is held at is shared between court trials and the magatama. before the introduction of the magatama, that meter refilled automatically between trials, each trial starting with it completely full, but after the introduction of the magatama, it was only ever refilled by successfully breaking psyche-locks. this is concerning, because it implies a direct connection between phoenix's soul and his performance in court, which probably wasn't intended but is very fun to mess around with and i love the idea of your soul being tied to your passions. however i don't love the idea of him Straight Up Dying if he does too poorly in court so. uh, no insta-death for soul shattering. anyways this whole side tangent never comes up again. thumbs up emoji.

anyways, if a soul shattering doesn't entail simply death, and if a soul isn't just someone's essence or personality or whatever, well, what is it? well, one compelling answer is that it's merely a container. it holds someone's essence or being or personality, but it itself is not that.

thus i present:

Soul Shatter AU

a soul is just a container. one that holds everything in. someone's passions, ambitions, personality.

someone's secrets.

if it were to shatter... without a container, everything would come spilling out. whoever was involved would be unable to keep anything contained within themself. sure, their physical self might be enough to hold in some of the more ambiguous, nebulous aspects of their "self", but it would prove rather difficult to hide something with nothing there to keep it hidden inside.

a fitting punishment, really, for abusing the power to reveal what others have kept hidden.

the fun part, of course, is what comes next. who's used the magatama? who's had the chance to fall to such a fate?

off the top of my head i can think of two people. phoenix wright and miles edgeworth. (i think mia used one too? my friend says she did but i haven't gotten to that part yet i'm only on the third game)

and both of them, despite their focus on finding the truth, are very ironically prone to hiding things themselves. their feelings, their troubles, their emotions.

what if we opened them up a little?

[notsosilentsister]

Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet, 2023)

I find myself wanting to talk about this film like the characters in it are real people, which can be the mark of a story that has accomplished its aims. So the question is, did she do it? What do I think, what are we supposed to think?

I think we're supposed to think it's ambiguous. The climax is all about the son making a choice - it's clearly not an easy one for him. He isn't just telling the truth. He's - if not inventing entirely - embellishing, at least. The testimony might not provide much admissible evidence, but emotionally, it's too neat of a resolution, fits too well with the lawyer's characterisation of the husband. So well that at first I thought, sure, this has to be true, how could a kid have come up with this? But of course this is the kid of two writers. He cannot know if his mother is innocent, but he decides to save her anyway.

Sandra herself doesn't agree with her lawyer's characterization of her husband. She tells him right in court, where others might hear, when that's the pillar of his defense, undermining her own best shot at being exculpated. (Are we supposed to think she is at a real risk of being found guilty? I don't know enough about French courts to evaluate that, but I would normally assume there's not much of a case, the accusation is based on too much conjecture. But that's not truly what's at stake here, isn't it, the real stakes are about losing her child's trust and love. The suspense of the court's verdict might be taking artistic licence to dramatize the suspense of the child's verdict.)

Sandra has enough of a self preservation instinct to lie about the bruise, but she hesitates to support the suicide theory. She still doesn't seem to be entirely on board even after she herself has disclosed her husband's first suicide attempt. She's muddling her own story, and it does seem like a mark of counter-productive honesty. It could be manipulation - maybe making her lawyer think she's innocent is just as, if not more, important to her as proving her innocence in court? But it does seem genuine to me. Sandra is presented as someone who almost can't help her honesty. She's straightforward, blunt, she won't smile at her husband's friends, when she's not feeling it, she's showing her true colours, even if it costs her.

I declared Sandra innocent in my mind pretty early in the proceedings, I just couldn't buy the motive. A fit of rage? I kinda never buy that as an explanation, killing seems often like a fairly drawn-out-affair, where you have to commit to see it through, and it certainly does seem so in the scenario presented, where she would have to lift his legs over the windowsill. Like, I could sometimes see someone inadvertently killing a victim they just intended to scare, because they misjudged their power, but it's also hard to see that as a strategy Sandra would use in this scenario. My guess is that fatal domestic violence (without financial motive) is usually either habitual intimidation with miscalculated impact, a honor killing, or the last resort of a cornered animal. And those other options also don't seem to fit Sandra, whose honor doesn't rely on controlling her husband and who always seems to have plenty of agency - if she's unhappy in her marriage, she speaks her mind, she takes a lover; if she's unhappy enough, why wouldn't she just get a divorce?

But isn't that just the textbook mistake? To believe that a strong woman like Sandra would not get trapped in an abusive relationship? (She always seems to have plenty of agency - except when he's ruining her interview with his awful music, and she can't just tell him to shut it off..). Because that husband sure is a piece of work. I'm immediately predisposed against him, before he's even shown on the scene, with his first aural emantion. I grieve for him, when I see the grief of his child. And then he's on my eternal shitlist again, when he accuses his wife of always forcing others to meet her on her own territory, when he's just roped her into moving to his home-town. Because he has to speak English with her instead of his native tongue French, when she doesn't get to speak her native tongue German to him either! The gall of it! Shit's so transparent, it's adding insult to injury.

So the husand certainly _tries_to trap her, in isolation, in guilt, but doesn't she see through it, when she reads him for filth in that climactic altercation? Shouldn't that be enough to break the spell? Would she have to resort to violence to escape?

For what it's worth, I think the laywer's theory is much more likely. Husband tries it, and fails, and sees that his guilt trips won't work on her much longer. He's the one who's cornered. And I wouldn't put it past him to pull a Gone Girl and choose his exit in a way that frames the wife he blames for all his miseries. Vindictive self-destruction. Also fits well with the injuries to his knuckles and the holes in the walls, for which we do, after all, see objective evidence. But maybe I would believe any theory presented by Swann Arlaud (who, since we're talking about imagining animals' heads on people's bodies, obviously looks like a stoat. A beautiful stoat. I've been keenly waiting for Sandra Hüller to say it in that last scene they have together, when she cradles his head and looks deep into his eyes. But this film is really all about witholding resolution.)

[xxsycamore]

—𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘈 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

► SYNOPSIS:

Jin has a point to prove to his brothers, so he shows up at the Christmas party with you by his side, introducing you as his girlfriend - an actual, serious relationship for once!

With complicated feelings forming in your heart, you consider being the main reason why his plan fails.

UPDATE: Part two of this can now be found here! - Yours For New Year's Morning

▍jin x reader (not belle!) ▍rating: G ▍tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship; Christmas Party; Reader is not Belle; Drama; Ambiguous/Open Ending ▍wordcount:  1,732

▍masterlist

▍a/n:  Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates! Regardless if you do or not, I'm wishing you a great day today and I hope you can enjoy this fic! ❤

Written for mine and @voltage-vixen’s ‘Tis The Season For Love challenge!

PROMPT: Being the MC/LI's fake date for a Christmas party/ball

"Oh, this? This is my girlfriend. Be sure to treat her well."

Jin makes a show of casually getting himself a drink from the nearby table, his curiosity about his brothers' reaction barely hidden as he tries not to eye them from the corner of his eye. You free yourself from Jin's (too tight) grasp in order to do a curtsy and introduce yourself to them more properly.

"Girlfriend? Is this how you call your one night stands now?"

"Jin, don’t fool the poor girl. She seems like a decent one."

"Whatever, I'm going to the dessert table."

Jin's previous posture reeking of triumph is quick to deflate as a vein protrudes on his forehead.

"C'mon, you don't have to be assholes on Christmas. She's my actual girlfriend! You're being awfully disrespectful towards her!"

Seeing that even his closest brother Leon shrugs as he lifts his own glass to his lips, Jin feels defeated. He's tired of playing the role of the supportive big brother for everyone but then they apparently feel free to turn their back on him. And here he was, thinking that he'd prove a point - thinking that they'd finally change their opinion about him, seeing that he is in a serious relationship for once.

He clicks his tongue as you ignore him for Luke, who is currently assigning you a dessert judged on what you told him about your preferences for sweets. Truth to be told, the young prince is doing a better job at entertaining you than your actual date - and he has his cheeks stuffed half of the time while talking to you! It should be clicking for Jin already that you're not very impressed of the little show he put up, and you're done playing your part.

Jin forgoes getting himself a dessert for the time being, even if his expression is turning sourer and sourer  with each passing second. As an answer to your uninterested glare, he removes himself from your sight.

You spot him flirting with some girls on the terrace, and strangely enough, it bothers you. It must be because, well, opposed to what he might have thought, you actually took your role as his date seriously - so much, that the scene hurt a little. No, it's not your heart that hurts, but your pride - at that moment, you're even worse than those girls that surround the eldest prince.

At the end of the night they might get something out of it - something you're definitely not interested in - while you're left on your own in a world you don't belong to, filled with glamour and uncomfortable shoes and polite laughter muffled behind a gloved hand… You're never doing this for everyone again, be it the most loyal customer of your tavern, a royalty, or even the damn future king of Rhodolite.

You only accepted this humiliation because, in your eyes, Jin was humiliating himself more than you do right now, that one night some time ago. He had his eyes on you, but interestingly enough, he didn't aim to get you in his bed - at least that's what he says - claiming that, instead, you'd be perfect to play his pretend date. You offered him to finish the rest of the ale barrel in exchange for you attending that Christmas ball as his girlfriend, granted that he can pay for it, too. You knew he'd fail. The more he drank, the more he opened up - and his purple-haired buddy seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

You came to know that Jin is wealthy enough to propose paying for the tables of the whole tavern.  You also came to know some spicy details about his life after midnight that you didn't ask about.

Oh, and, that he is a prince.

This guy is hopeless you thought back then, hearing him babble something about noone else being fit for the job of being his pretend date, because all of them would come back running to him the next morning with demands. For someone who is such a player, you didn't expect him to send girls home after one night. But, whatever, it has nothing to do with you.

You agreed out of pity. It was getting very late and he truly almost downed everything; he even left enough money for you to close the tavern for a week without significant financial losses.

Now that you see him flirting to his heart's content at the terrace, visibly having forgotten all about your existence, you're not feeling a tad of pity towards him. You didn't care who his brothers were, you wanted to do something and you wanted to do it now.

You made sure they're all present when you called for Jin in a feigned sweet and polite tone. Out of curiosity in your change of tone, they actually came closer - the most drama-loving ones way closer than others who kept their distance.

For a moment, they might've wondered if they're going to witness a reveal of an engagement or something, between you and Jin. It made your grin wider.

Looking at a puzzled Jin, you raise your glass as if in a toast - then splash the contents all over Jin's clothes.

"I'm sorry to whoever is left disappointed, but between me and the first prince there is nothing. I thus sincerely hope your brother learns how to treat women right. Thank you for your time."

And then you turn and leave, getting yourself one last mini pastry from the dessert table.

As much as you wanted to see Jin's defeated expression one last time tonight, you give up after you witness the one who introduced himself as Nokto giving a pouch of gold coins to the purple haired one, muttering something about losing a bet. You knew this whole family was filled with assholes, with small exceptions.

You walk out of the hall and down the stairs that lead to the exit, and the music grows quiet behind your back. Finishing the pasty in two bites, you sadly discover that all the sugar in it isn't enough to wash down the bitterness in your mouth. Hugging your arms to yourself, you brace yourself for meeting with the freezing night's weather outside and you curse the piled up snow that gets in the way between you and the opportunity to finally kick off the annoying high-heeled shoes.

"Hey, wait!"

And you bet you could've run away from this jerk way faster without the heels, too!

"What do you want, Jin?"

"I'm sorry, I know you probably never want to see me again." Jin starts, huffs of warm breath escaping his mouth as if he's ran a mile. For someone as careless as he is - at least that's what you thought - he is being actually considerate of not overstepping the boundaries of your personal space, removing himself from it with a step backwards when he notices he's too close. You might as well listen to what he has to say before you two part ways.

"Thank you for coming here."

"Your plan was a total failure and I helped for that."

Taking another step away from him and closer to the exit, you realize what's hanging above the doors.

"You asshole! I knew you weren't so kind to simply come see me off-"

"Wh-" Jin follows where your gaze just darted to, a mistletoe hanging above the doors, and his eyes widen, blush suddenly coloring his cheeks. "No, you got it wrong, I wasn't intending to-"

As you crossed the threshold, Jin mindlessly followed you outside - but then you turn around and hold him at the entrance. The warmth of his cheeks is as evident in color as it is evident to the touch, as your lips plant a kiss on his side.

"Here, now you have no reason to chase after me. I know you normally go all the way, but you only get a kiss from tonight's catch. Now you can cross me from your list."

Jin stands dumfounded, unable to do anything at all if you were to run away right this instant, anything more than simply watch you go. But you linger for a little longer,  your lips stupidly curling in a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Jin. I hope you learn how to treat women right."

Snow crunches under your feet, and you promise yourself not to look back - at Jin, or at the palace that you likely won't get to see so close ever again. But just as you thought he had no comebacks for you, you hear him shout.

"I told them we'll be together for New Years!"

"What?!"

You do a half-turn before Jin strides to your side, and you practically fulfil your promise of not looking back… but that doesn't make things any better. Jin and you walk side by side towards the lined up carriages and you simply stare at him, waiting for answers.

"My brothers. I told them we simply had a fight and that they are going to see you again on New Year's… I don't know if they believed me, though." He opens the door of one carriage for you, gesturing you in as he sees that you're frozen in place, "What, do you think I'm going to let you go home on your own at this hour?"

"Jin, there is no way they're going to fall for it twice-"

"Is that a yes?"

Once inside, you gaze at him, his face hidden in the dark part of the carriage where lamplight doesn't penetrate. Yet his reddish-brown eyes seem to shine as they stare back at yours with the optimism of a fool. You note that Jin almost seems…pretty, up this close. No wonder why women fall for his tricks.

"You might as well take shifts at the tavern at this point.

"Alright, Boss. I happen to be free tomorrow morning, I'll come around."

You watch his exchange with the coachman and slump against the window settling for the ride, seeing that it has started snowing outside. You can't believe you kissed this guy a few minutes ago.

"What, aren't you a prince? You must have every morning free."

"Oh please, you have no idea what it is like! You met every one of my brothers, right? Let me tell you how we rank from most to least likely to slack off."

"I didn't ask."

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[deadendtracks]

Why does Lizzie accuse Tommy of not let her in..ever? Imo he lets her in the most, even more then Grace tbh, that line kind of threw me off. Is she referencing to the fact she knows he is hiding something grave but refusing to tell her or it's a recurring theme that I somehow did not clock?

I think this is more about Lizzie's feelings than it is necessarily about reality; Lizzie takes some things personally that Tommy's pretty consistent across the board about with his family/everyone he knows. This is one of them.

That said, yeah, specifically in this case it's my interpretation that she knows that he's sick and hiding it from her. It's basically canon -- she tells him the sanitarium is trying to get ahold of him, she gives him the letter, she is there when the doctor leaves.

This isn't something Tommy tells anyone at all (and in my book, Lizzie's the one who tells Arthur), so it's not something he's aimed personally at Lizzie. But Ruby just died and he's her husband and she loves him, so it's completely understandable for her to react this way.

On a larger scale, this is something of a recurring theme for her -- at least as far back as 5.01 when she's upset that he's told Polly about the Chinatown plan but not her. And it's ambiguous from what we see at the end of s5, but it's also possibly she wasn't told anything about their plan to assassinate Mosley given she wasn't at the family meeting. Those are two examples where Lizzie specifically isn't in on something that other people in the family are; her asking him in s5 to let her into his head sometimes stands out.

The bit about him having told Polly something he hasn't told her is a direct parallel to Polly knowing about the Russian business when Grace doesn't -- my guess is this is more about keeping his immediate family out of things he thinks are dangerous, with a side of not having to deal with their objections. Not specific to Lizzie personally so much as specific to her role as wife, maybe. In the Shelby family business the wives are generally left out of the plans, and Polly isn't a wife.

On the other hand, there are also examples where Lizzie takes some of his behavior personally that is just about his own coping mechanisms, not any intentional keeping her in the dark: in 6.02 when she corners him at the hospital and gets frustrated at his flat affect, for example, what she says to Ada about "no more Polly, no more Tommy" -- this is just Tommy shut down due to trauma and anxiety, he's not deliberately keeping things from her here so much as he is unable to express them period.

Another element to this whole dynamic is how much Lizzie actually wants to know versus what she says about wanting to be let in. In the scene in the hotel where she expresses this idea that he's never let her in, he'd just asked her if she wants to know what comes next in his planning. And she says that she knows enough. So there's a real push-pull thing happening here where she gets upset about not being let in but signals there are things she doesn't want to know. I feel like I've written about this before more articulately. And the thing she doesn't want to know, the thing that's next, is most likely the fact that he knows he's going to be propositioned by Diana Mitford. Would he have told her about it if she'd said she did want to know? I don't know, probably not, but it's an open question.

I'm not really someone who thinks Lizzie constantly compares herself to Grace in her marriage; but it's notable to me that the truth is Tommy *didn't* particularly let Grace in any more than he does Lizzie. Part of that is most likely due to her betrayal in s1 -- he never trusts her the same again. Part of it is that like Lizzie, Grace expresses some opposition to actually knowing what's going on. This not wanting to know is definitely a sign to Tommy to not let them in fully -- it's something of a two way street here. You can't expect to be let in to someone's head fully if you push back when the stuff there is ugly.

On that note-- Lizzie's own reactions to Tommy's suicidal behavior contribute to all of this. And I'm not saying she's a bad person (her reactions are very human and have context) but it's another signal that she doesn't really want to know what's in his head.

It's a complex relationship for a lot of reasons and not all of those reasons are on Tommy's end.

[danpuff-ao3]

Tacky, @tackytigerfic, hello new friend! What a lovely human they are! (They are a Libra after all. And a Leo rising?? Everything makes sense.)

We first met on Reddit, bonding over a love of character flaws. 🥰 Quickest way to my heart. Outside of yummy snacks, that is. This person also has a big big love for Drarry...They love their OTP as much as I love my Snarry, which I have big respect and admiration for. It brings my heart so much joy to see such passion and devotion for one's ships! They're such a soft, warm, lovely presence in the community and I'm so glad to know them! And to have read some of their works, which are so full of color and joy and care, that I simply must share!

Aim For My Heart

Draco/Harry/Ron. Rated: E. 3,471. Polyamory negotiations. Developing relationship. Jealousy. Possessive Harry. Falling in love. Self-discovery.

I wanna note how gorgeous this was. Soft and feel-good, while also acknowledging some darker realities. Such as feelings of jealousy and possessiveness even in polyamorous folk. Polyamory isn't the absence of those feelings, but the desire and willingness to work with and/or through them. And that little bit was so meaningful to me to see, that nod to something so often considered ugly or a failing, and recognizing it as a simple truth and human nature that it is. And that it doesn't have to be a bad thing, nor does it have to spell doom.

Harry's in love, Ron's in control, and Draco just wants a nice lunch. They say three's a crowd, but Harry doesn't always agree. Not when he gets to be in the middle, anyway. - In which Harry's in love with Ron, and Harry's in love with Draco, but they're not in love with each other. Not yet, anyway.

Between the Power Lines

Draco/Harry. Rated: M. Words: 3,261. Road trips. Vacations. Friends to lovers. Falling in love. Very sweet.

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.

Or: this is not an AU! It's just Harry and Draco meeting by chance in an imported food shop in Connecticut and going on a road trip together. Featuring motels, cacti, Americana, and a hefty dose of pining.

Buttercup

Harry/Scorpius. Draco/Harry. Rated: E. Words: 2,814. Revenge sex. Hate sex. Moral ambiguity. Open/ambiguous ending. Angst.

The first of their fics I read! I came for the Scarry, ngl. (Hot pool boy Scarry vs my husband Snarry...🙈) and the "morally dubious everyone" tag really sold me. What a delightfully screwy mess this is!

Scorpius shoulders his way through the crowd, making for the bar just behind Harry. He's waiting for something—anything—but it's still a delicious shock to feel Harry's fingers against the skin of his wrist, dipping maddeningly slow under the cuff of his robe. Scorpius half-turns, raises that pale eyebrow exactly as the mirror had shown him, and lets the sneer drip from his mouth like a curse. 

"Potter."

Call Me Friend, But Keep Me Closer

Harry/Neville. Draco/Harry. Rated: M. Words: 4,164. Cheating. Angst. Jealousy. Moral ambiguity.

Messy and screwy and I LOVE IT.

"Neville Longbottom had always loved plants, but he loved Harry Potter more."

Neville's got a good thing going with Harry... or so he thinks.

Dreaming Skies

Co-written with @sweet-s0rr0w. Draco/Ron. Rated: E. Words: 20,572. Past: Charlie/Draco. Bedsharing. Roommates. Humor. Getting together. Boss/employee. Dragontamer Ron. Warder Draco. Magical theory.

I love me a good Dron!! 😍 And I'm forever impressed by (and envious of) people who cowrite! Especially seeing two great creators coming together on one excellent project!

Draco's life is going nowhere, so when Charlie Weasley offers him a job out on his reserve, Draco doesn't think twice before booking a Portkey. After all, it's not as if he has many other options. But when he arrives in Romania, he realises that nothing is quite what he expected... 

(a story about dragons and baking, friendship and little kindnesses, putting down new roots and falling in love)

[momotonescreaming]

For the WIP Title Game, KingSteve is Online 👀👀👀

Hello! Thanks for the ask!

A while ago I wrote a short ambiguously 90s/00s ficlet (linked here) about Steve and Eddie chatting on one of those old school chat programs like AIM or MSN. I started writing a part 2, but without a solid plan it's currently languishing in my wips folder 😅

In it Steve has gone up to college with Robin, and Eddie stayed behind with Wayne. It was supposed to be a fun little thing with a lot of chat speak but I'm sort of tempted to expand on it and explore themes like - having a long distance crush, loneliness, and the debilitating feeling that everyone has moved on except you.

I'm totally winging it haha, but here's a snip of what I've written of Part 2

He doesn't mention Steve. Not now. Their chatting feels like this private, special thing. Just for them. He kind of wants to keep it to himself, just for a little bit longer. If it mentions it to Wayne — and he will, eventually — it'll become a whole thing. And he doesn't know if he's ready for all that yet. Wayne will ask him how Steve's doing, about his classes or his sports. The same way he'll ask about Jeff and Frank and Gareth. Or maybe not like that at all. Wayne has always been able to read Eddie like a book, and maybe he'll be able to see it on his face. His debilitating, all encompassing crush. And maybe Wayne will ask him if Steve is treating him right, being a real gentleman. He's not ready for it to be real like that with Wayne. But one day, he sort of wants it. A partner that his Uncle knows about. Asks about. Something more than a fleeting hookup or a hidden crush. An actual, real, relationship. Except Eddie hasn't said anything to Steve. Doesn't know if he will. Not with the miles and miles stretching between them. Doesn’t even know if Steve likes him back. At least they have the internet. Their chats. “I need to head off to work,” Wayne starts, starting to pull away from his hold so he can look at Eddie. “You gonna be alright?” “Yeah,” Eddie confirms, smiling tightly. He thinks he's telling the truth. “I'll save you some dinner.”

Ask me about my wips!

[heelgripper]

And another shitty thing about this is that the people enforcing these standards don't like it if you aim for a gender ambiguous place on purpose.

If you're 'not a REAL man' or 'not a REAL woman', but you're okay with that, 'cause you want to be something else (like me, I'm non-binary), then that pisses them off.

That 'other' space is meant for people deemed 'failures'. It's meant to be a place of exile and punishment. You're supposed to be there because you couldn't perform 'man' or 'woman' to their standards. You're not supposed to go there and make a home there, and find other people like you, and plant a garden.

To people enforcing the gender binary, the genders are:

REAL man

REAL woman

and failure.

But, the truth is: You can't fail at gender. There is no test. There is no 'man card' for someone else to take away from you, not really. It's a made up structure to keep people in their place. And some people may punish you horribly if you fail to perform the way they want you to, but that doesn't make them right.

The biggest threat to this hierarchy is when people ignore it and be who they want to be, and support others in their identity.

Here's a key part of the transfemme experience that is very overlooked: when you don't pass, people don't actually see you as a man, or treat you like a man.

[doctors-star]

13 and/or 17 (... cowboys 🥺 pretty pls?) (but totally fine if u wanna do smthin else)

prompt list

cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

cruore - it literally means “flowing blood”

It’s a warm day out, dusty and dry under an impossibly large, impossibly blue sky. Now that it’s early afternoon and the worst of the midday heat has burned off and dissipated, the town is bustling out again into the streets, in and out of shops and ducking around riders and carriages. It sure isn’t the ideal time to unleash a room’s worth of unruly children who’ve all been cooped up since lunchtime upon the town in the vague hope they’ll make it home in one piece, but in all honesty there’s no good time to do that and they’ve got to go eventually.

Ainsel will get ‘em reading and writing, but they sure as hell ain’t some kind of charitable institution for bored youths.

Opening the door on such brightness and warmth requires serious blinking and squinting and no small amount of internal sorrow as the wall of heat hits Ainsel square in the chest and invades their cool, shaded front room. Not for the first time, they consider the merits of simply opening one of the rear windows and posting the children out of it one by one; not for the first time, the idea is dismissed. The kids would enjoy it entirely too much. Said children are presently scrambling up off the floor and making a break for the door, slates and tin lunch pans hastily shoved into small satchels, baskets, or simply jammed under one arm, and Ainsel steps neatly to one side to allow them free access to the door. For all that the kids bullied Ainsel into teaching them, they sure are always glad to get out at the end of the day.

“See you on Monday, then,” Ainsel says easily. The elder Diaz boy and Mary Wilder both twist to wave at them over their shoulders, but then they’re back to corralling their littler siblings and trying to get them to hold hands nicely for the walk out of town and up to their family ranches. The other kids pay him no mind at all - just tumble out into the street and turn their faces to the sun like little sunflowers. Little Jesse Rainey turns a little circle in the dust, swirling her skirts carefully so as to show off the new printed calico to best effect; she’s a little too used to being the saloon’s darling, if you ask Ainsel, all dressed up in pink with blonde hot-ironed ringlets, but she’s also one of the brightest kids in the class at only six years old. Ainsel reckons she could be the next schoolteacher in ten years or so, if an established schoolmaster could be prevailed upon to examine her and find Ainsel’s informal schooling up to scratch.

Two of the boys have immediately begun a small scuffle, the way young boys are apparently wont to do; Ainsel sighs, and steps forward to separate them (curse all, if one of them isn’t a loose Wilder at that) - but is beaten to the punch. There’s a sharp whistle and the clink of spurs as boots go from horseback to street, and to Ainsel’s great surprise Max Wilder jumps back and sticks his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky as his bare feet scuff at the dirty street. Were it not patently absurd, given the quantity of eye witnesses, Ainsel would say the boy was attempting to look entirely uninvolved.

Ainsel, amused, turns to raise an eyebrow at the newcomer. Will Williams catches their eye for a fraction of a second - enough for Will to roll his eyes, barely, in commiseration - and then he turns his unimpressed gaze upon the Wilder boy.

Max feigns surprise and delight well, for a nine-year-old of no particular theatrical bent; he beams at Williams with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. “Hiya, Doc,” he says through a gap-toothed smile. “How d’ya do.”

“All the better,” Will says, all dry and proper, “for knowing that you are safe at home after school and not fighting with the other boys, just like you promised me you would be. After all, we agreed on good behaviour if you were to come out to Plum Creek with me tomorrow. Didn’t we?”

Ainsel presses the knuckles of their fist to their mouth to ward off a smile as Max darts apologetically forward, spouting apologies and promises of better behaviour for ever and ever if only the Doc - that is, Mr Williams - wouldn’t tell his pa and would still take him out to the river to look for tracks. It’s more grovelling than Ainsel’s ever managed to extract from a pupil for bad behaviour, but then, Ainsel only ever promises letters and numbers, and Max seems under the impression that Williams is going to provide frogs and snakes and half a dozen other natural wonders, so.

Will scratches the back of his neck. “Well, alright,” he relents. “I - I am going to tell your pa, mind, but if he doesn’t say otherwise I don’t see why you shouldn’t come.” Max does a little victory dance and then returns to his classmates, bragging all the while about the things he’ll see out by the creek. Will himself tips his hat politely at Ainsel. “Afternoon.”

Ainsel is aware that they make Will Williams nervous. Many things do, but Ainsel reckons they do a better job of it than most folks; this is somewhat ironic, in many ways, as a fair few things make Ainsel anxious too. If they could get the measure of each other, Ainsel thinks they oughta be friends - they’d like a person to commiserate with about being thrust into a job they ain’t really qualified for, and not-a-doctor Will Williams seems like a good choice - but Williams keeps careful distance from Ainsel, even in broad daylight in a street full of children, and Ainsel ain’t hopeful. They offer a smile anyhow. “Afternoon, Williams. What can I do you for?”

Will nods gently at Miss Rainey, his own face turning gentle. “This one’s wanted at home,” he says with a smile and Jesse blushes and beams, pleased with the attention. “She’s to pick out a new ribbon at the store if she can keep tally of how much we spend and write it up neatly in the saloon books. How’s that, Miss Rainey?”

Jesse puffs up her chest with pride. “I shall have a blue ribbon like Mary Wilder’s,” she says with certainty.

Will offers Ainsel a flicker of a grin. “Jayne Rainey figures your schooling ought to be good for something,” he says, and if anyone else in the town had said it Ainsel would have winced - but Will’s got more books than clothes, same as Ainsel, so they offer a quick grin back. If only Ainsel could remember what they were doing before they woke up in Danser some years back: that way, they could say for sure if they went to college like Will, and Ainsel might feel a little less like, maybe, the local nice, nervous naturalist oughta be taking classes instead of the local amnesiac with a scary-clever horse and the books which they may or may not be qualified to own and read. Knowing that kind of thing, actually, might go a long way towards some kind of friendship with Will Williams, too.

“I figure so too,” Ainsel agrees, instead of voicing that, or anything like it. They beat down the impulse to seek answers, confess worries, force a confidence - to say hey, Williams - you wanna take a look at Edelweiss? Nah, nothing’s wrong; only, sometimes I don’t reckon she’s really a horse. You know anything about that? Only Will wouldn’t. Ainsel knows as much as they reckon they’re gonna, honestly - there was a trade, and for whatever they gave up they got Edelweiss in exchange. And maybe something else, too, but they’ll be damned if they know what.

Ainsel tries very hard to unthink that particular thought.

“Ainsel says I could keep a school,” Jesse is telling Will with pride.

“I’m sure you could,” Will replies with a little smile. Ainsel hadn’t figured Will as one for children, but then Jesse Rainey and Max Wilder are small forces of nature; if they take a liking to a person, it’s hard not to be endeared. And Jesse is the saloon proprietor’s daughter, and Will rents a room in the saloon, and Jesse is the saloon’s darling. Will shoots a glance at Ainsel. “You’re - you’re training up a replacement already?”

Ainsel inclines their head at Max Wilder, who is crouching in the dust with a stick and drawing around the hooves of Will’s square, broad-chested stock horse. Ainsel remembers Will defending his choice to Finn - Will’s horse looks more like a small draught horse than a good or fast rider, but she’s quiet and she stays still while he’s out watching animals - and indeed, though the horse is gently nosing at the boy, her hooves are staying obediently planted as he natters away at her about prints. “Should say you were, too.”

Will huffs gently at Max, who entirely fails to notice. “It was an accident. Alright, let’s get going before your parents come after me wondering where you kids are. Max, are - are you going to walk us home?”

Max bounces up, catching up the horse’s reins and bringing her over with the practised ease of anyone born and raised on the Wilder ranch. “Sure! Can I ride?”

Will carefully lifts Jesse up into the saddle. “Ladies have to ride, Max,” he corrects. “When I was little, my brother always-”

And though Will stutters into silence, Ainsel - sort of hears the rest of the story anyway. Their cards have made their way into Ainsel’s hands without them noticing and the odd paintings are switching and shifting before their eyes as they shuffle idly, and then stop. The card is of what might be a tower, and what might be a cart, and what is almost certainly a lady; the colours twist the eye and every line slides into the next until what had started as one thing is something else entirely by the end.

If you were going to play poker with these cards, you’d probably call this one the Queen of Spades.

Do not play poker with these cards.

But Ainsel looks at the cards, and the strange, illusory lines that leave only impressions, and sees with odd and abrupt clarity a young man with Will’s face but without his glasses and with a shadow of unruly stubble. He is perhaps broader than Will, too, but the resemblance is clear. And in the card, the young man grins and sweeps a small child up into a massive bear hug. He kisses the child’s hair - once plaited, Ainsel thinks, but now entirely loose and wild after a day of playing - and places them with great care and reverence on the back of a tall, thin black horse. The child, the little girl, giggles as the boy kisses her hand, says she is a princess, and runs an affectionate hand through her loose, dark hair to tidy it away before placing his hat on her head. The girl’s hands push the brim up out of her eyes - eyes which are doubtless, doubtless, Will Williams’ eyes - and Ainsel closes their own eyes, and wishes they had done so sooner.

When he opens them again, it’s just the Queen of Spades once more. Like nothing ever happened.

“Well, I, I guess you can ride behind and keep Miss Rainey steady,” Will is saying when Ainsel folds his fingers over the painted cards and looks up once more. He doesn’t seem quite so steady as he did before as he hoists Max up onto the horse’s back.

There’s no way to tell him what Ainsel knows. They wouldn’t, anyhow - Will never said, and wouldn’t thank them for disrupting the life Williams has carefully built for himself. But Ainsel would like, somehow, to communicate that Will’s big brother had seemed nice; that Will, as a kid, had seemed happy with him; that Will didn’t have to give up on his childhood and on the nice boy who had run his fingers so gently and fondly through his kid sibling’s hair, just because he’d changed over the years.

Ainsel kinda misses the memory of their own childhood, sometimes. Maybe someone had once been so affectionate with them, too.

Will catches Ainsel staring and tilts his head in query. Ainsel shakes themself and offers a small smile. “Y’all ride safe, now,” they say. “Oh, and Max Wilder - you tell your ma you’ll need shoes for the walk before the next week is out, ‘cause it’ll be getting colder and you can’t have Will Williams carting you home every day.”

“Sure will,” Max calls back, grinning and swinging his bare feet from high up on the horse’s broad, grey-dappled rear. “Bye, Ainsel!”

“Goodbye!” Jesse says, holding firm to the pommel as she shifts to look back. “I’ll show you my ribbon on Monday.”

Will just inclines his head and takes the reins in one hand.

Ainsel fidgets the cards in one hand. “Be seeing you, Williams,” they say carefully. As the party moves away, heading for the general store, the Wilder ranch, and home, Ainsel flips the top card over and over in their fingers, and hopes against hope that they wouldn’t be seeing Will Williams at all.

--

There are days, Ainsel knows, that they don’t sit fully right with Finn Holden. It’s a different kind of discomfort to wrong-footed Will Williams, but it’s there nonetheless - sometimes they catch Finn trying to look at them without looking at all, out of the corner of his eye or in a mirror or in the eyes of someone else who is looking at Ainsel, and they know that he knows that they know.

Like now: hunched over a little table in the saloon littered with glasses and an incomplete set of dominoes, just the two of them, and Finn’s looking over Ainsel’s shoulder. Ostensibly, eyeing up the liquor behind the bar; in reality, examining the back of Ainsel’s head in the smokey mirror behind the glasses. Ainsel prods the double six morosely and tries not to let it bother them. It does seem unfair, really, that Finn doesn’t bother people the way Ainsel does. That Ainsel bothers Finn, but not vise versa.

They think maybe choice comes into it. But Ainsel doesn’t even know if they made a choice, way back whenever they did whatever it was to land them in Danser Town with a horse and cards and no recollection at all of how this came to be. They might have been totally helpless to their fate, same as Finn had said he was, when Ainsel had cornered him after two weeks and demanded to know what, exactly, the fuck had happened to Finn to make him smell permanently of clay and sawn pine planks and blood.

(If Ainsel is honest with themself, they suspect that they did have a choice. They suspect they made a deal. The knowledge that their fate has been entirely self-wrought is not helpful.)

“Hey,” Finn says, looking at the table rather than Ainsel and tacking a domino on the end of the six. Is that better? Ainsel isn’t sure. “You been...well, lately?”

Ainsel regrets that Finn has cause to have concern for him. Unfortunately, there are only so many times a person can be seen screaming blue bloody murder at a horse for being a demon in passive, judgemental mostly-horse form before people start taking that person aside and asking about how things are going at home, and that number of times is one. “Grand,” Ainsel says levelly. They’re not wholly lying, either; they haven’t found themself lost and memory-less in a forest for nearly three weeks, Edelweiss hasn’t tried to bite them for their many and varied sins today, and Johnny McPherson had offered them a friendly holler across the street that had actually done disproportionate wonders for Ainsel’s mood. But, also, Finn isn’t looking at them straight. He’s looking the way that Will says you oughta, when you’re a little too close to some creature that can kill ya but hasn’t tried yet; with the kind of caution which is always recommended in old wives’ tales about ghosts and devils and the fae.

Finn nods. “Glad.” Then, abruptly, as if bored of being careful (not unlikely) Finn slumps back in his chair and eyeballs Ainsel straight on. It’s - oddly comforting, actually. “I’m sick of dominoes. We don’t even have half the damn pieces.”

They have all bar two. Ainsel sweeps the tiles together into a pile and starts dividing them into two sets of seven and a discard pile, pushing them across the sticky table with long, pale fingertips. “You want to play that Matador game Johnny was trying to teach us?”

Finn huffs. “Tryin’ is the word. If you can remember the rules, then I’m Saint Bridget. I sure as hell can’t.”

Ainsel tips their head, conceding the point. Something about sevens, and it being annoying that their set lacked the five-two; Ainsel had been a bit drunk at the time. “Well? We’ve got to play something. I ain’t gonna just sit here and talk to ya, no-one’s got that patience.”

Finn laughs, loud and inelegant, and Ainsel grins. “Aw, you ass,” he says cheerfully, spinning his glass on the table with careful flicks. “Let’s play cards or something. I’m a demon at rummy.”

“The saloon hasn’t got any cards any more, remember?” Ainsel points out.

Finn frowns. “It don’t? Why not?”

“Jesse Rainey nicked ‘em and gave out the picture cards to the other kids as favours. And, also, as a kind of basic hierarchy system, far as I can figure it.”

“Aw, hell. Why does that kid get away with everything?”

“Y’all reckon she’s cute.”

Finn grins. “She is! It’s like being mad at the kid on the Pear’s soap ads, or a gopher.” Ainsel spreads their hands - well, there you go - and Finn laughs. “Alright. You got cards, though, right?”

Ainsel rides the sudden lurch of horror at the idea of anyone else even seeing the cards, let alone using them. But - they want Finn and Will and everyone else to see them as normal folk, they gotta Be Normal. Have a normal horse, and a normal life, and normal playing cards. Any number of things can cause amnesia - hitting your head real hard because your horse, which maybe hates you, kicked you or bucked you or something. Trauma. Heatstroke. Normal shit, which ain’t magic no matter how much you side-eye it or examine it in mirrors. Finn might’ve just - imagined it, or had a vision like some religious folks do. Ainsel could have dreamed up any number of things and thought them real - what he’d seen of Will could be nothing. Probably says more about Ainsel than it does about Will anyhow.

Be Normal. Ainsel reckons they can do that. Most all other folks seem to.

Ainsel brings out their pack from the inner pocket of their duster, shakes out their wrists with a confident movement, and manages two whole shuffles before dropping most of the pack. The beautiful cards flutter and spin as if caught by some wild, summer wind and scatter over the table and floor in an unstoppable cascade. Finn tips his head back and laughs like a hyena.

“You’re the clumsiest fuckin’ card shark I ever seen,” he says delightedly.

“I am not a card shark,” Ainsel says rather absently as they scrabble to collect up the cards on the table.

Finn snorts. “I believe it! But what else you carryin’ all these damn cards all the damn day for, huh?” He gets off his chair and drops to the saloon floor, hunting down Ainsel’s precious cards before they get trampled or lost between the boards.

“I don’t know,” they bite back rather crossly; one of the cards, the Jack of Hearts, has just jumped away from Ainsel’s grasping fingers and they have to stand and lean over the table to snatch it up from Finn’s chair. Ainsel glances at it habitually as they sit back down and briefly forgets how to breathe.

The card, like every other, is not a standard face card. The young knave depicted always seems to form out of the swirling lines upside-down, no matter how Ainsel looks at the card, with an inverted heart on his chest like a drop of ruby-rich blood. And for a moment, whilst Ainsel watches, the Jack looks out at them with Finn’s eyes that are not Finn’s eyes. The heart pulses, once, and slides away and dissipates; the eyes go dark and glazed; and Ainsel is looking at a dead man in a churchyard. Some shadow oozes into the edges of the card and at the same pace blood leaks thick and dark from the man’s chest. There is no helping him; he is gone. Ainsel knows it. And then, he sits up. Abruptly, like he’s awakening from a nightmare. He inhales hugely, or tries to, as though he had been drowning, but chokes on his own blood. The man spends quite some time on all fours, coughing and retching and hacking up blood, but this slows and he sits back on his haunches to assess the pool of blood. He wipes at his chin with the back of his hand and grimaces - not with pain, more like disgust. And then he looks up - and this time, it is Finn with Finn’s eyes who is looking straight out of the card at Ainsel.

Ainsel’s fist closes around the card, barely managing to avoid crushing it. They look up in time for Finn’s head to appear in triumph over the edge of the table, clonking his temple gently against the underside as he does. Finn brandishes a handful of cards at Ainsel with a grin, and Ainsel sees him bleed out and wake up over and over in their mind.

They take the cards. Slide the pack back together. Tuck them deep down in an inner pocket.

Finn blinks at them for a moment. “So no cards today, then.”

“No,” Ainsel says shortly.

Finn nods solemnly. “You wanna talk about it?”

Absolutely fucking not. Ainsel slides the dominoes back across the table a little too violently, sending ivory tiles skittering against their empty glasses and shoves a couple Finn’s way. Finn, who is alive and well and not all that damn normal either, so damn it all; maybe no-one in this town is normal enough to start shit with Ainsel, and everyone ought to fuckin’ remember it. Ainsel fixes their gaze on the base of a glass, in whose curving reflection they can watch Finn without actually looking at him. “Come on, Saint Bridget,” they say roughly. “Double six starts.”

There is a short pause, and then Finn’s hand closes over the glass which Ainsel is using to look at Finn without looking at him, and they can’t see Finn’s reflection anymore. “Alright,” Finn says quietly. “Matador it is.”

[randominagines]

An ouat Peter Pan X fem!reader in which you manage to trick him at his own game and you win it.

Pairing: Ouat Peter Pan X fem!reader

Warning: smut, a bit of rough touching, language

P.s. if you find any mistake please correct me, English is not my mother tongue and I want to improve. Reblog, if you can, it helps a lot, thank you💕

P.p.s. gifs belong to the creators

The greatest player

Playing games was Peter's favourite pastime; they all knew. It was impossible for him to lose, he was too smart, simply the most skilled of the players; they all knew this too. That night, the gentle spring breeze was caressing the Lost Boys and the excitement for the winning of another battle against the pirates had spread a general good mood.

-- Baby, you've been fucking amazing with that sword, tonight.-- Peter complimented his girlfriend, y/n. She grinned while looking at him and walked toward him. -- What can I say, I had a great teacher. -- she winked at him, he had helped her improving her skills. Peter smirked pulling her close for a kiss, he was totally crazy about that girl since she first arrived on the island. She immediately held him back while passionately kissing him, the noise of the boys dancing and singing creating a joyful background. She ran her fingers through his brown hair while biting his lower lip, he moaned on her lips while mischievously smiling at her; she couldn't wait for the celebration to be over to have some quality time with her boyfriend. -- Baby, just have a little more patience. -- he joked while squeezing her hips, she rolled her eyes biting her lip but nodded.

-- Lost Boys, I'm in the mood for a game, aren't ya all? -- Peter shouted while flying over the boys, the all started to cheer and scream his name. Y/n joined the chorus of voices. Peter waved his hand and a target appeared, surrounded by a green mist. The boys stopped cheering and looked at him. He flew back on the ground and made a bow appear. -- This is not a regular target, it disappears if you lie. The game is: someone asks you a question, if your answer is a lie the target disappears, if you're telling the truth it stays there. Let me show you: Felix, ask me something.-- he explained while taking an arrow and aiming, Felix took a step forward -- Are you the best gamer on the island? -- he asked, Peter smiled -- The hell I am.-- he answered and he shoot the arrow: it embedded itself in the exact center. Peter smiled with satisfaction before passing the bow to Felix. -- Who wants to ask a question? -- Peter asked with a grin.

The game went on for hours: all the boys participated and it was fun to see how some of them desperately were trying to protect their secrets, but the target could not be fooled. They found out that some boys wanted to come back home, some others hated Peter or Felix and some others were thinking about running away. Most of the questions were asked by Peter, so they were quite succulent, but y/n was very good to at questioning the boys too. Peter was asked a bunch of tough questions but he never lied, he never missed the target: he was winning, as always. Same for y/n, she succeeded every time she was asked something.

-- Okay, Devin's turn. -- Peter said and Felix passed the bow to him, he was a boy arrived a couple of weeks before and was always around y/n. Peter smiled while looking at him: he knew exactly what to ask him. The boy took the arrow and waited for the question while aiming. -- Devin, is it true that you like my girlfriend very much? -- Peter asked; Devin's face went white, if hehad the power to disappear, he would certainly have used it. Y/n looked at him and then at Peter, her eyes widened; she never noticed anything ambiguous in Devin's attitude, but she actually didn't even look at other boys, she only cared about Peter so she never noticed other boy's flirting with her. Peter tried to warn her about Devin's interest for her but she never actually believed he was all right. Devin swallowed his own spittle before spraking. -- N.. no. -- he simply said. He shoot the arrow and the target disappeared. The sound of the arrow embedding itself in the trunk of the tree that was standing behind the target made Peter grin. He looked at y/n as to tell her "I told you", then he turned toward the boy. -- No need to tell you that I never want to see you near her ever again, right? -- Peter asked, his arms crossed and his green eyes staring at him threateningly, the boy nodded and immediately passed the bow to y/n.

-- Last two shoots: y/n and Peter are even, if one of them misses the target the other one wins. -- Felix announced, all the boys cheering. Y/n smiled taking the bow and aiming, Peter raised and eyebrow while staring at his girlfriend. -- Would you ever go back to your old life? Would you leave Neverland? -- Peter asked, his eyes stuck into hers, she looked at him before focusing on the target. She had never a single doubt about that . -- Never. -- she firmly said and shoot the arrow: the sound of it crossing the target broke the silence. Peter smiled, he was quite relieved. She passed the bow to him while giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. He smiled, but before he could walk away from her she pulled him closer and whispered at his ear. -- Can't wait for you to fuck me later, babe. I'm already wet at the thought of it. -- her voice was so low that only he could hear her. He widened his eyes before smirking, she let him go with a wink. He was totally happy to hear such a thing of course, he was just wondering why she said it to him in that moment. He positioned in front of the target while aiming, then he looked at her. Y/n had a pleased smile on her face and her arms crossed, her expression showing confidence and amusement. -- Peter, what have I just whispered to your ear? -- she asked and he opened his mouth: that girl! She perfectly knew that he would never had said such a thing in front of the boys; he was extremely jealous of their intimacy and the idea of letting them know that her girlfriend was wet was totally unacceptable for him. He cursed inside and looked at her in sorrow, she raised her eyebrows and smiled.

He sighed and smiled before speaking -- That you really love this game. -- he lied and let the arrow fly: she smiled in satisfaction when the target disappeared. All the boys started to chat, the general surprise almost palpable in the air. Peter lowered the bow and shook his head while biting his lips: she had just tricked him and she won. No one could actually believe that Peter Pan just lost his own game. The boys were silent, expecting for Peter to kick her out of the island or even kill her; instead he raised his arms. -- Okay Lost Girl, you won, -- he said, she laughed cheering and all the boys finally felt free to celebrate as well, the atmosphere that was tensed up untill a moment before finally melted into a good mood. Peter shook his head continuing -- You won, this time, I'll have my rematch. -- he said while grinning, she nodded and hugged him. Peter immediately held her back and gave her a kiss on her neck.

The Lost Boys were back to their dances around the bonfire but y/n took Peter's hand and pulled him away from the crowd. She passionately kissed him in the moment they were alone, her tongue dancing with his while her hands were caressing his shoulders. She was demanding in that moment, Peter knew that she wanted more, he smiled on her lips. -- I'll make you beg for it, this time. I want my revenge. -- he whispered, he was going to enjoy teasing her. She bit her lower lip -- I knew that I was taking a big risk. I really want you, Peter. -- she admitted. Y/n didn't want to play games in that moment, she just wanted him. He gently caressed her back, his fingers running on her warm skin. -- I'm going to tease you a bit, you know I will. -- he said and grabbed her by her neck, his touch was not over the limits but rough enough to make her moan. She tried to kiss him but his lips barely touched hers before he pulled his head back, a smirk on his face. She smiled deciding that she was going to enjoy that game too. -- I kinda hope you will. -- she whispered, her hands caressing his chest, he raised his eyebrow before smiling again: that was going to be his favourite game ever.

[loopy777]

How is Act IV for Traitor's Face coming along? Hopefully well? I'm a big fan of the story and am very excited to see how it ends. Good luck! -C_B

Well enough. The planning was finished quickly (or as finished as it ever gets before I breathe life into it, so I’ll probably change the order of things massively just before I write the finale XD) but the writing required more rewriting than I usually do (I picked the completely wrong POV for one scene, for example). Still, things are definitely moving.

I’ve decided to aim for Late Spring as my release date, thanks to some busy weekends and some family obligations. By then my pace should be restored and I’ll have a small buffer of chapters.

Thanks for the interest! I’m dedicated to finishing this monster, but it’s good to know that people care. :)

...

So, hey, want a teaser? Here’s the opening to the next chapter. Keep in mind that this is still up for revisions.

Nightmares

"I do hope you'll pardon the intrusion," says the giant bug with the Noh-mask for a face. The voice echoes through reality itself.

Mai gives a noncommittal grunt to cover the tempest within.

She has never had the slightest fondness for insects, and certainly does not enjoy the sight of such a massive one clicking and curling around her little spot in the dark cave. Her first instinct is to lash out with her weapons, to put on the indifferent lack of expression that is her battle-face and start putting sharp bits of metal where they'd do the most harm. But the bug is speaking politely, and the firmness of Mother's hand had conditioned Mai to respond to politeness.

"Perhaps you could tell me where we are?" She know she looks the same exchanging greetings as she does shedding blood, so there's nothing to prevent her from making the transition at any moment. "And why you are calling on me?"

The creature smiles at her as it arcs to bring its white face even with her own. "Our location is a matter of some ambiguity; there is no firm border between the Spirit World and dreams." The face drifts only a bit as it talks, despite the body climbing the cave walls until it is hanging from above. The whole time, the face never stops staring at her. "As for why I'm here, I suppose we can call it professional interest, but the truth is that I also had a desire to meet you. I've heard so much about you and the Avatar, and you seem so different from the kind of company he normally keeps."

Mai wonders if she is being insulted. "In what way?"

"Well, most importantly, none of the others have been able to converse with me even this long." Then the bug-flesh around its face blinks like an eye, and now its face is that of a Water Tribe woman. Her hair is swept through the air as though by a breeze. "You are indeed a precious little girl."

Mai cannot feel any breeze. "Am I supposed to find that flattering?"

She recognizes the bug's action as a threat of some kind, although she does not understand the exact danger. Perhaps she should attack, put a blade somewhere around the face. She reaches into her sleeve for a knife-

-and discovers that the sleeve itself is made of knives.

She hadn't realized it until now, but the entirety of her clothes are interlocking blades - razors and carvers and needles and broad flat stabbers - that ripple and shift like cloth. Only the darkness of this cave keeps her from shining. Only her natural stiffness prevents her from slicing all her skin off with a casual movement.

Mai sinks deeper into stillness. She could be a statue. Mother would be so proud.

The bug laughs, skittering along the ceiling so that it circles her as it faces her. At the edge of her vision, there is another blinking shift, but it moves out of sight before she can see the new face. "How far does your confidence extend, I wonder? Can you hide your feelings for the fall of your nation? Can you hold back a smile while your Avatar seeks your pleasure? Do you refuse to shed tears, in the loneliest stretch of the night, when you remember that you've betrayed everyone and everything which ever cared for you?"

The bug's face moves back into sight, having circled around her, and now it speaks with the visage of a blue dragon. The snout extends almost to brush Mai's nose, and the hairs on its chin undulate like the sea.

Her gown of knives is cold against her skin. "I don't see how any of that is your business."

"Oh, but it is. Traitors are what I do, you see. An Avatar who betrays his duty. A soldier who deserts her nation. A bird that pushes its eggs out of its nest. Even a warrior who purposefully chips away at the pride of his Tribe for a laugh. I am an answer to those things. Not necessarily a good answer, but sometimes I am the only answer there is." The dragon face opens its mouth wide to reveal an array of teeth that reminds Mai of her personal arsenal. "Allegiance is part of identity, the greatest gift of all. It should not be thrown away so carelessly."

"So you're just another slave to the cosmic bureaucracy?" Mai pulls her hands into her metal sleeves, and runs her fingers over sharp edges until she finds a loose razor. "You're trying too hard to be frightening for me to believe that."

The bug laughs, its face making the sound into a roar that shakes the whole world. "Well, I never said I don't enjoy it."

Mai is too practiced at hiding her disgust. She slides into it without a thought. "Then try not to have too much fun with my punishment. It would be unbecoming of such a classy bug as yourself." The razor she's been working with a finger seems looser, now. Perhaps if she can get it free, she can show this talkative insect what she enjoys about her own job-

"Now, who ever said that you're the one to be punished?" The face shifts again, now to an old woman whose hair has been shaved from the front of her head to reveal a blue arrow. "The Runaway Avatar has been making some rather drastic mistakes lately."

The razor flips free of the rest of the network, but before Mai can grab it, the net of blades starts to fall apart, every slicer and carver and needle and broad flat stabber. The cold settles even deeper into her flesh, but no, there is nothing into which it can settle- her flesh falls with the blades.

At least the metal is sharp enough that she feels no pain.

And so she is able to keep an indifferent lack of expression on her face as she dies in front of the creepy bug.

The face of the Noh mask returns, and it gives her a nod. "Well done, Lady Caldera Yu Mai. I hope we see each other soon."

The creature rushes at her-

Mai snapped awake, slapping at her sheets, her sleep-sluggish mind convinced that a giant bug was sitting on top of her. In short order, she realized she was waging a war that no one else had shown up to.

Then she saw the opulent, moonlit room around her, and remembered where she was.

What had happened.

What she had done.

She was in the mansion belong to Ty Lee's family, in the bedroom of Ty Lee's mother. The woman herself was, if she was alive, somewhere in the refugee camp that had sprung up in the Royal Plaza in response to the little war fought in the Caldera yesterday. The mansion itself was serving as an inn for Mai's friends, allies, and benign acquaintances, but she herself had been given a massive room all to herself, a rare treat.

She wondered if anyone else was jumping awake from nightmares.

But then, none of the others had just murdered enemies who had once been coworkers, with or without a good reason.

Mai laid down and tried to go back to sleep. It was a while before her pulse returned to normal.