#a guard may tell lies or truths

[hanayoyo-art]

There are two doors. Behind one door, certain...

Saddle up comrades, we're writing riddle yaoi now!!!

Inspired by

by @microsff and @hb-not-the-pencil

[whateversawesome]

Do you know that kind of people who...

...ask newly married couples: "When are you having a baby?" Or if you already have a kid, "when are you having a second one?"

The kind of people that say: "You should kiss your wife more! I never see you two kiss. I kiss my wife all the time!"

You know...the kind of people who would make a fake marriage nervous 😏 ...

Somehow Anya's grandparents make me think of these kind of people.

But only time will tell...

I'm so happy Anya has more people to support her and protect her. She's slowly getting a whole family! She has a mom and dad, a pup, two uncles, one godmother (Handler) and now grandparents. Good for her! (Maybe a baby brother or sister one day? 👶)

So about the Authens...

They seem to be the real deal; meaning not spies, but a real couple, who have gone through tick and thin together. My view is that in this SxF universe, the Authens may represent the truth.

And what does truth do to lies? It exposes it!

It's not a coincidence that the Authens are an old couple. It makes sense: they have seen a great deal, they know the world, they have experienced it, so they also probably know a lot.

The fact that Mr. Authen has memory problems is typical of someone his age, but it's also a metaphor of the truth: With time (age) it gets murky, truth starts to be forgotten, humans get a "bad memory" of past events and are doomed to repeat them. Sounds familiar?

Now, going back to the dynamic of the Authens with our dear Forgers. My guess is that this elderly couple is going to see right through them. After living for so long, they probably know people do crazy things to stay safe from authoritarian regimes like the one Ostania is living in. That includes entering a fake marriage.

Nevertheless, just like they could probably figure out Loid and Yor are a fake couple, they will also see that the love and care between them is real. Hence all the uncomfortable questions that could or could not happen.

It's all part of exposing the truth and the truth is that even though those two are not together for real (for now) they do love each other.

I can't wait to see Twilight and Yor getting extremely uncomfortable!

Also, since neither Twilight nor Yor grew up in a family with a healthy marriage (we don't know anything about Yor's parents and Twilight's parents didn't get along), the Authens can be that example for them.

It'll be nice for them to know what a good marriage looks like, how nice is to have someone who supports you, loves you and is with you through thick and thin. And this could be the way Mr. Authen pays back Yor and Anya: by helping them keep their family.

If we enter specifics (and since a public display of affection was shown in the last panel), Yor could see that physical affection is not something to feel embarrassed about, but something to cherish and to show love to her spouse. Twilight, on the other hand can learn it's okay to let your guard down with the person you love and that it's okay to lean on Yor. Look at all the Forgers already learning from this lovey dovey couple 😆

One more thing, SxF is full of foils and I believe this old couple is a foil of what Twilight and Yor could be in the future (if they do things right). After living a long life together, they still love each other. Wouldn't it be nice for them to see themselves reflected in the Authens? Wouldn't it be nice for them to start wanting exactly that?

[punkrockvalkyrie]

During an RP heavy session...

Y/N, as the DM: Your party has been walking on this path for a good couple of hours. Adam, could you please roll a perception check for me?

Adam, playing as a ranger: Alright. *Rolls dice* I rolled a 14, and with my +2 that makes it a 16.

Y/N: With a 16 you are able to see that the path splits into two different directions with a guard standing in front of each path.

Adam: I relay that to the group.

Y/N: Okay. As you all approach the fork in the road, the two guards stop you. The one on the left speaks, "One path will take you to the citadel, while the other will lead you to the UnderDark. And between the two of us (they gesture to themselves and the guard on the right), one speaks only the truth; the other nothing but lies. You may ask only two questions." So players, what do you do?

Beetlejuice (instantly): I WANT TO SEDUCE THE GUARDS!!

*cue various groans from the Maitlands and giggles from Lydia*

Barbara (out of character): Beetlejuice, please don't.

Y/N: Uh, not so fast Beej. You already seduced the shopkeeper in the last town you were in. Remember our deal?

BJ: Yeah, yeah, yeah. (Mimicking Y/N's voice) ' You can seduce a NPC or villain one time each session, no more, no less. Deal?' You're no fun babes

Y/N: Okay, first of all, rude. I don't sound like that. Second of all, having fun doesn't mean trying to seduce everything with a pulse ALL THE TIME. *clears throat* Anyways, Lydia, Barbara, Adam! Any ideas?

Barbara, playing as a cleric: I'd like to cast Detect Good and Evil to get a sense of which one tells the truth.

Y/N: Interesting. Roll for it please.

Barbara: *rolls dice* Aw, I got an 8; and with my modifier of +1, that means I got a 9.

Y/N: So, with a 9, you get the faintest inkling that the guard on the right is the liar, but you're not entirely certain.

Lydia, as her rogue: I got this. I go up to the guard on the right and slap him across the face.

Barbara & Adam: LYDIA!

Y/N: *blinks* uh, okay. Roll to hit.

Lydia: *rolls dice* HA! Natural 20!

Y/N: That...that definitely hits. The guard's eyes begin to water as he gingerly holds his cheek after your palm cracks against his face.

Lydia: I then ask them, "Did I just slap you?"

Y/N: Still wincing from the slap, the guard mumbles a "...No"

Lydia: *smirks* Alright, I turn to the guard on the left and ask, "Which path leads to the citadel?"

Y/N: The guard looks at their companion, and then turns to you. "The path on the right will take you to the citadel. The road behind me leads to the UnderDark".

Lydia: Okay, let's take the path on the right.

BJ: *grinning* Wow Scarecrow. I didn't know you had it in ya. Well done.

Y/N: ... That wasn't what I had in mind, but good job nonetheless Lyds.

[curekibouka-writing]

Analyzing the lullaby motif in book 7 (+translation of lyrics)

MAJOR SPOILERS for book 7 chapter 1-5

I hope everyone remembers the lullaby Malleus sang for everyone when he overblotted because that motif came back FOUR times in chapter 5 and I am going to analyze them all because they make me way too emotional 😭

Please feel free to find the lullaby motifs in this post and this post if necessary (although one of them is not included).

Translated lyrics of the lullaby:

A warm cradle

Starlight and joy

My eyes are watching over you still, let's be together

With no fear, even if we wake from this dream

Sleep, sleep, my beloved child

In dreams, I pray you would be guided to walk toward the light

(Analysis begins under the cut:)

The melody of the lullaby has been used 5 times at least in the story, they include:

When Malleus hummed it to everyone he put to sleep during his OB

When Meleanor sang it to Malleus

When Lilia sang it to Silver

When Malleus sang it to Silver

In the bgm when Sebek was helping come out of the darkness

The themes of this piece of music are love and farewell.

Motif use 2 is chronologically when the lullaby was first sung, it’s a song of love from a mother to her child when she knows they must part. I believe that when Meleanor sang this lullaby, she had already made up her mind to fight and let her guards escape with her child. She was taking the last moments she had with her child to name him "Malleus" and sing him this lullaby (7-75). Lyrics include sth like “I will be watching over you even if we wake up from this dream” and “may you be guided and walk towards the light”. But the beauty that comes with the theme of farewell is the theme of legacy. Because even though Meleanor is now gone, her song, and thus her love, never died.

Because Lilia remembers it. Motif 3 is Lilia singing it to Silver, and he’s also sung it to Malleus before. In a musical story, even if the characters lie or don’t have perfect information, the music never lies. Even if Lilia once doubted whether he could love Malleus and hatch him properly (7-77), and even if Lilia may still doubt whether he could love Silver, a human, properly (7-81), the motif symbolises love which tells us the truth — Lilia is capable of giving love. And the legacy is not just that Lilia passed the song to Malleus, it’s that Lilia internalized the song and sang it to his own son. He has seen what kind of mother Meleanor was, and he’s learnt from her kindness, her pride, her love and he has put that into how he raise his own child. Lilia has Meleanor’s legacy too.

And then to address the two Malleus motifs. First of all Malleus never sings it with lyrics, which would imply Malleus himself doesn’t fully know the true meaning of the song. However, he knows that he’s felt happiness and protection from hearing this song, so he sings it to Silver when Lilia asks him to as motif 4 (7-81). When he sang it to Silver he sounded confused, it must’ve been a long time since he’s heard the song. But he still remembers it, which means Meleanor’s love never died because Malleus remembers it all the same. It’s still in Malleus. It’s still there.

But when Malleus overblots, the song gets twisted a little bit (motif 1). However, in Malleus’s mind, it’s still a song of happiness and protection, because he overblotted trying to protect everyone’s happiness forever. But the music sounds creepy to show you the true nature of the song is not like this. The nature of the song is that "even though I cannot be with you always, I will still love you and wish for your happiness". This is the part that Malleus did not understand and did not cope with. It’s also interesting to note that Malleus sang motif 1 with a smile and no hesitation, he was completely confident and sure in what he was doing. Meanwhile, in all other three sung versions, each singer had their own different emotions in their singing, and those emotions were a lot softer, a lot less certain.

And the fifth and final use of the motif is used in the bgm when Sebek yells at Silver for him to get a grip (7-86). The song is arranged into a victorious piece with certainty and assurance. The use of the motif reminds us of the themes: love and legacy. It calls attention to these themes and entrenchs the truth that Silver IS Lilia’s legacy, and that’s only possible because of the love that Lilia has given him. The exact part where the bgm starts playing was when Silver said "Even in the darkness, I could always hear it. 'Stand up' 'Don't give in' 'Live'... it's father's voice. [...] All that he taught me, that's the proof that he had loved me. It's not a dream and not an illusion... it's true love." (I'm serious he really said "true love" for real this IS a translation T^T). When Silver saw Lilia's memories of the song, he denied the love, he said he should not deserve it. The motif had to come back because this is the moment when Silver can finally realize “Ah. This song is full of love and father sang it for me.” The motif HAD to come back because Silver has to come to accept it.

But the bgm arrangement is also made for Sebek. The bgm is full of certainty because Sebek has no doubts in what he’s telling Silver. Sebek, who has grown up alongside Silver, has witness all the love between Lilia and Silver. He KNOWS Lilia’s love is true and he’s conveying that to Silver with certainty. This bgm summarises what Sebek was doing so well, Sebek sees the love Lilia has for Silver and was literally blasting it in Silver’s ears.

As Disney's Sleeping Beauty (1959) puts it, "true love conquers all". And we've been shown that there's love in every direction among our Diasomnia found family. Let's hope that, soon enough, Silver and Sebek would wake Lilia up, and they can finally show Malleus the true meaning of his mother's lullaby and the wish she entrusted to it — that he would walk towards the light, even if she cannot be the one guiding him...

[dragon-ascent]

The Prank

Rex Lapis thinks he's the subject of a prank. Centuries later, he learns the truth.

★彡use of 'wife' but gn reader, april fool's special except it's more heartwarming than funny

Rex Lapis is taking a stroll through the harbor when it happens.

A cloud of dust followed by a beam of light, and then he sees you running toward him almost at the speed of sound. At first, Rex Lapis is on his guard, but when he sees that you are weaponless and wear a huge grin on your face, his brow furrows.

You are dressed funny, your somewhat tight clothing a stark contrast to the loose hemp outfits the people of Liyue like to dress themselves in. A foreigner, perhaps? You don't look like you are from around here.

Coming to a stop mere inches from him, you gaze at him with the light of a million dancing stars in your eyes. Mirth, pure mirth at the sight of him. "Hi Zhongliiiiii!"

Rex Lapis turns around, assuming you must be talking to someone behind him, but notices how your ecstatic gaze is fixed on him alone. Who..?

"Oh, that's right! Silly me! You're Rex Lapis!"

"That I am," the archon affirms, relieved that he wasn't standing between you and someone he had failed to see. How embarrassing if that were the case. "Is there any way I may help...oh-!"

You're circling him, oohing and ahhing at everything about him - his attire, his horns, his tail, and you make a comment about his hairstyle and face remaining largely unchanged. He doesn't understand it, but this kind of attention on him makes him feel slightly...flustered.

"Oh my gosh, you are so cool!" you exclaim when you're done appraising him, bouncing on your heels excitedly. "I wanna put you in a jar and shake you around!"

Rex Lapis blinks, unsure how to respond. Finally, he says, "While I may be able to change my form at will to be able to fit in a jar, I doubt I would like being shaken around violently."

You giggle, and Rex Lapis feels slightly warm inside. Something tells him you should feel familiar to him, but his photographic memory tells no lies - he has never met you before.

"Well, that aside, do you want to know who I am~?" you ask, leaning close so that your face is a breath away from his. This proximity is ballsy on your part, but the archon, curiously, doesn't mind it one bit.

"I do, please enlighten me."

He didn't think your smile could get any wider, but he was wrong. You beam. "I'm your wife, silly!"

Wife..?

Rex Lapis opens and closes his mouth, wondering how on his green earth this could be. Clearly, you are mad. You are mistaking him for someone else, surely...but how many other Rex Lapises are out there?

He manages to form some words. "I...I am afraid I do not follow."

Laughter erupts from your lips. "It's quite simple really! You and I got married, so we are husband and wife!"

"I am aware that is how marriage functions," Rex Lapis says slowly, "but I do not recall ever binding myself to such an important contract with anyone, mortal or not."

You snort. "Well, like it or not, we do share a bed and live our lives together! And we are suuuuuper in love! You'll see! Bye, I love you!" And with that, you pat his butt and skip away.

He is still processing the fact that you patted his butt to notice that you've disappeared completely. Shaking his head, he assumes this is what mortals must call a 'prank,' one of their many ways of making merriment.

*****

Zhongli awakens from an unexpected nap one afternoon, and calls to memory that incident all those centuries ago... yes, something interesting had happened that day.

He looks down at you, his wife, sleeping so peacefully in his arms.

Smiling, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

[pazziville]

Can I Be Him — A Pazzi Fic

Wherein Paige Bueckers, UConn’s prolific point guard, has been in love with Azzi Fudd, her longtime best friend and current teammate for the longest time. The persistence in scouting the girl to the huskies was not for nothing. But of course, Paige kept this fact to herself. Yet, even after all these years, behind the basketball star’s confident and cocky-like attitude, lies insecurities for seemingly not being enough for Azzi.  Azzi constantly reminding Paige of the reality that she may never have feelings for the girl the same way the girl has for her when she repeatedly talks to Paige about her boy problems, deflates the latter’s self-esteem, while Azzi remains unaware. With the next season around the corner and Paige’s newfound courage to move on from Azzi, what would become of their relationship?

CHAPTER 2.

word count: 1,548

Chapter 1

“You have got to stop pacing around, Az. If it’s not making you dizzy, it definitely is making me.” Ice annoyingly tells off Azzi and goes back to munching on her popcorn while watching a TV show from the bed.

Azzi flops herself back first on the bed, covers her face with both hands and screams.

Ice flinches causing some of her popcorn to fall to the bed, “Girl what is wrong with you?!”

The girl gets back up and goes back to pacing, earning a ‘what the fuck’ look from her roommate who is considering calling 911 at the sight she’s currently witnessing.

“I messed up. I messed up. I messed up. I messe–” Azzi chanted while pacing before being held and stopped by Ice who was forced to now stand alongside her if she wanted her much wanted peace and quiet.

“What did you do?” Ice sternly asks her as if she was an interrogator trying to get the truth out from a criminal, which in this case was Azzi.

“I swear I didn’t mean to do it–” Azzi found herself avoiding the topic altogether.

Ice grew impatient, tightening her grip on Azzi’s arms, “Spill or none of us are gonna shit done here.”

It was Azzi’s turn to hold on to Ice’s arms as if it was a call for help, “I called Paige stupid and reckless.”

The two stayed in the same position for quite some time while keeping their eye contact intact.

A laugh from Ice breaks the silence between them and Azzi whines, “Ice, this is not funny!”

“It might not be for you but it for sure is for me.” Ice’s laughter grows louder as she further thinks about the situation.

Ice’s laughter fades slowly as she lets out a question, “Were the insults justified at least? To be fair knowing Paige, she can definitely be stupid and reckless sometimes.”

Azzi stomps her feet in regret as she recalls what she did, “That’s the thing, Ice. I think I definitely went too far with what I said.”

“Alright alright, let’s sit down first and get the whole picture. For sure you had your reasons. Now, tell me. What happened that led up to you saying those words to Paige?” Ice sits down and taps on the bed, signaling Azzi to sit down with her.

Ice knew Azzi had the tendency to be extremely sensitive to the people around her, making her confused as to why the girl could have uttered such insensitive words to someone, let alone to her best friend Paige. 

Heck, at times when opponents would say even the slightest dirt to the girl, Azzi would take it personal, as if she was the one talked trash to, immediately doing her best to distract Paige. Usually it didn’t take much for Azzi to get Paige to smile. Paige needed as little as Azzi looking at her with concern to make her smile from ear to ear.

Something didn’t add up. Seeing how stressed Azzi currently is, Ice knew there was more than meets the eye and she was determined to get whatever this is out of Azzi’s system.

Azzi was hesitant and Ice realized this, caressing the girl’s shoulder as a means of assurance that whatever is said in the room stays in the room, getting her trust and getting her to finally talk, “I don’t know what got to me. I saw Nika and Paige playing King of The Court. Even by then I was already pissed at Paige and I don’t even know why myself. My anger elevated the moment Nika got hurt. Then I saw Paige taking care of Nika. Then the words just slipped out my mouth and I just…” Azzi covered her face with her hands once again but this time in relief that she finally got that out her chest.

“So let me get this straight…” Even though there was nothing straight about what Azzi just told her. Ice thought. “Nika and Paige were just playing King of The Court, you were mad at Paige for no apparent reason. When Nika got hurt and you saw Paige taking care of her you got even more angry and let your emotions talk. Am I right?”

Azzi nodded, now looking at Ice with puppy eyes, desperately looking for advice. 

“Yeah, uhm. Have you maybe thought of the fact that you could be jealous of Paige being with Nika?” Ice suggests, eliciting quite a violent reaction from Azzi.

“What?! That’s insane! Why would I be?!” Ms. Curly Hair becomes defensive.

“Hey hey, calm down. When I say you’re jealous, I don’t mean romantically. Maybe you could be jealous your best friend is caring for someone other than you. You know, the platonic kind of jealousy.” Ice explains herself, earning an “oh” from Azzi.

“Unless…” Ice teased. It obviously worked on Azzi as she playfully hits Ice’s arm.

Azzi stands up with an enlightened face, realizing Ice is probably right. She rushes out the room, eager to fix things between her and Paige, “Thank you, Ice! I owe you one big time! Love you!”

Ice shakes her head and sighs, “At this rate they’re gonna hurt each other immensely before realizing.”

Azzi had no idea where Paige currently was. The girl had gone radio silent. Not a single annoying text and random call popped up from the blonde on Azzi’s phone. But despite this, she thinks she knows her best friend enough to trust her instincts. Paige, when not preoccupied in bothering Azzi, always turned to basketball. She’s also had enough fights with Paige to know she beats herself up with practice right after their fights.

Azzi’s guess was proven right while she was walking down the UCONN gym hallways. The sound she heard coming from a single person’s shoes was enough to confirm it. She knew Paige doesn’t like practicing with other people when she was getting her personal practices in. Of course team practices were a different story. Maybe that’s why the sight of Nika practicing with Paige a while ago bothered Azzi? She brushes this thought away and proceeds to enter the indoor court.

A sweaty and out of breath Paige is what Azzi met the second she entered. But despite Paige looking like she just finished a triathlon, the UConn point guard still showed no signs of stopping. The girl was doing everything. Shooting from everywhere on the court, grabbing her own rebounds, then running up and down the court whenever she failed to make a shot.

Paige was so locked in she didn’t even notice Azzi’s presence on the court and Azzi couldn’t help but feel even more guilty as she recalled a memory of her and high school Paige.

“Why are you so worked up in these personal practices of yours for the past few weeks?” High school Azzi innocently asks the hard-working senior from Hopkins.

Paige looked at her with a vulnerable expression, something only reserved for Azzi, “If I can’t get you to commit to UConn, that must mean I’m not good enough as a player for you to trust me.”

Azzi connects the dots, “So you’re working extra hard so you’ll earn my trust and hopefully play for UConn?”

“I care about what you think.” Paige sincerely says in a soft tone, making Azzi’s heart beat slightly faster, “So if me being good enough is what it takes to earn your trust, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

So if me being good enough is what it takes to earn your trust, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. Paige’s words repeat in Azzi’s mind like a tape loop, affecting her after seeing Paige go back to doubting her capabilities because of her.

Azzi slowly makes her way near Paige who was currently attempting a three from the top of the key. Paige’s shot attempt clanked at the rim and went straight to Azzi’s direction, forcing her to catch the ball.

As Paige turned around to try and retrieve the ball, she was met with the shorter, curly haired girl, and brown eyed girl she was so desperately trying to run away from, mentally and physically.

“You’re doing it again.” Azzi worriedly says, receiving a weak chuckle from Paige.

“In a heartbeat.” Paige gets closer and Azzi swears she stopped breathing the moment the first step was made.

“I’m sorry.” Azzi apologizes, waiting for Paige’s reaction or response, but once she said those two words, Paige stopped getting closer.

“If that’s all, you can go now. I’ve already forgiven you since you said those words.” Paige says, slowly grabbing the ball from Azzi’s hands.

Azzi feels a pang in her chest when Paige seemingly wants to scoot her away, “You know you can just say you want me to stay away from you, Paige.”

“But I don’t, Azzi.” Paige says, “I don’t want you to leave me here but I’m assuming you’re the one who doesn’t want to see me and is just forcing yourself to apologize to me and I just don’t know what to do–” She addedly rambled but then gets cut off by Azzi suddenly hugging her.

“I fucked up, P.” Azzi tightens her embrace around the older girl, “Let me make it up to you.”

a/n: here's chapter two for everyone! hopefully the pacing and understandability's still alright by this point. suggestions and feedbacks are highly appreciated. please do know that english is not my first language and the chapters are mostly not proofread, so any part of the story that may need revisions, kindly tell me. thank you! hoping everyone's having a great day so far! much love. <3

[missglaskin]

Yandere (HOTD) Targaryen/Velaryon/Hightower family (together) HCS part 2 

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Mainly Platonic, but there are some possible romantic pairings; Spoiler warnings 

Note: This starts with episode 3 to episode 5. Also part 3 will come up soon 

While the realm celebrates Aegon's second naming day, Daemon and Corlys are engaged in a battle with the crab feeder. To their dismay; Daemon and Corlys were unable to take you with them as you must remain in king’s landing. Viserys was the one who demanded you stick by his side; Rhaenyra and the Hightowers all agreed for once. 

Rhaenyra still feels betrayed by Alicent’s marriage to her father. It doesn’t help that everyone anticipates Viserys to name Aegon his successor. Often, she would cling to you and turn to you for solace. She argues you side with her in this matter and avoid Alicent as she is. 

As the queen, Alicent has several advantages. One of them is persuading Viserys to create time for you to spend with her since she is now your "mother"; Otto supports her argument, but in truth, it is his method of making time for you as well. You'll be pressured by the two to get close to and spend time with Aegon. They introduce him as your "brother." Otto believes in forming a bond with Aegon; you’ll back his claim in the future. 

Otto is always cautious when dealing with you in front of Viserys. The king is still your "father" at the end of the day. However, he makes no attempt in front of the Velaryons, Daemon, and Rhaenyra. His plans are known to them. Though Otto is aware that by hastily proposing to marry you to one of his sons, he may have crossed a line and aroused Viserys' suspicion. Viserys, as predicted, rejects the proposal. 

When Rhaenyra had to depart for a while to look for a suitor, she tried to convince Viserys to let her take you with her. However, Otto argued it would be better for you to stay with your father, and Viserys reluctantly agreed. Otto finds any means necessary to keep you in King's Landing, even suggesting that you take part in the small council. With Rhaenyra gone, Alicent and Otto had more time to spend with you, and Alicent made arrangements for you to spend time with Helaena and Aegon as well. 

However, that period of time is shortened when Daemon and Rhaenyra both return. In spite of his delight at seeing you once more, Daemon is enraged to see you so near to the Hightowers. Daemon has made it known how much he despises Alicent and her children, more so her father. He nearly feels the want to act recklessly when he sees you acting so pleasant with them. It appears that you fell victim to their deceivement during his absence. 

But for the first time, it appears like Alicent and Rhaenyra have reconciled and are on the verge of rekindling their friendship. You can tell by the way they have positioned you now, sitting between them. Unfortunately, things are called into doubt when word gets out to the court that Daemon and Rhaenyra were discovered at a brothel. Even so, there was some hope when Alicent decided to believe Rhaenyra. 

Having been exiled once more, Daemon asks to see you one more time. To just say farewell. Viserys, however, rejects it. There's a small chance Daemon may use this chance to take you with him to Vale, and what can a lot of guards do against a dragon?  

When Rhaenyra persuades Viserys to dismiss Otto, she not only points out that he is self-serving but also that he is attempting to take Viserys’ place in your life. All of this convinces Viserys, and he dismisses Otto. Even though Otto intends to leave after being dismissed, he first speaks to you and Alicent. With Alicent, he demands that she prepare Aegon to rule, and with you, he implores you to pick a side in the future. 

Upon your travel to driftmark with the rest of the family to propose marriage to Laenor and Rhaenyra, you saw two dragons flying up high; Meleys and Seasmoke. At the driftmark, Laena is there to greet you with a bear embrace. Likewise, Laenor is delighted and greets you like his sister. You are enthusiastically brought by the siblings to the parents, who immediately give you a warm welcome as well. 

As Viserys and Corlys finalize the details of Laenor and Rhaenyra's wedding, Corlys makes a special offer: he'd want you to come to visit the driftmark from time to time. He even adds that to make matters simpler, he might have Rhaenys ride you back and forth on her dragon, as it is one of the swiftest. Viserys accept, desiring to bring the houses together. 

Before Criston's startling charge at the wedding ceremony, mayhem had already broken out. There was some debate over who you should sit next to, but Viserys and Rhaenyra demanded you take a seat in the middle of the two of them. However, every now and then Corlys and Rhaenys would come to your side or make you come to their side so they could speak to you. Even worse comes when Daemon shows up and asks you to temporarily sit next to him because he hasn't seen you in a while. 

Rhaenyra, Laena, and Laenor all dance with you alternately, and occasionally Daemon does too. Anyone else who attempts to approach to you will be sent away before they can even utter a word. Laenor may even take the time to introduce you to Joffrey. Alicent, who doesn't participate in the dancing, attempts to persuade Viserys to have you sit them instead of dancing; at this point, she can't bear Rhaenyra and watching you dance and laugh with her enrages her.

Chaos breaks out when Criston strikes Joffrey. Everyone is now concerned about the princess and you. Those at the table will shout for help in locating you and the princess. And when Laena reaches for you, she is knocked to the ground. Harwin is the one who carries Rhaenyra to safety, while Daemon carries you. All of them hurry to check on you, but notably, Alicent and Rhaenys, who look to see whether you've been hurt. Upon the dispersal of the crowd, Laenor can be seen sobbing over Joffrey's lifeless body. Alicent grabs hold of you to shield you from the sight.

What was supposed to be a ceremony with days of feasting and celebration turns out to be an empty hall with only a small group of individuals present to witness the culmination. Alicent is still holding you the entire time, as the Vaelyrons can do nothing but glare at her. Since she pardoned Criston and not only made him her sword guard but yours as well, Laenor and Laena in particular have grown to detest her even more.

There's a possibility that Criston will develop tendencies for you. You are not only cared for by Rhaenyra, but also by Alicent, who he believes saved his life. Criston begins to feel a sense of responsibility to defend you. Criston could even view you as someone in need of saving, as someone decent and compassionate in such a harsh world. As Alicent did, he will try to portray Rhaenyra in a negative light. 

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Technoblade had his guard up the moment they stepped foot on Unseelie territory. 

The rumors he had grown up with rang true. As a fae himself, Techno could tell a difference in the magic that ran through these woods. Any creature encountered here could not be trusted.

And that was kind of a problem considering he was pretty much traveling blindly. All they had given him was a vague set of directions and his precious cargo that Techno had to get there. No pointers on how to get across Unseelie land untouched. The guards he had brought with him were capable and Techno wasn't humble about his own skills in a fight. The issue wasn't a threat to their physical safety. But he didn't want to cause an all-out war if he provoked any hostility. 

The last time the two courts had a serious conflict, too many lives were lost. As the leader of this envoy, it was Techno’s responsibility to prevent that from happening again. 

It hadn't been long before he heard something up ahead. It sounded like a lute being played, and the humming of a tune that ran underneath. They continued down the road, until Techno spotted him. A young fae around his age was sitting on a branch that curved over the path. His feet dangled off as he played his instrument.

But Techno wasn’t fooled. He had expected they’d be keeping an eye on the road.

The Unseelie knew about his mission. And they’d do anything to get their hands on something so precious.

Raising a hand to signal his men to stay back, Techno stepped forward. As much as he loathed the intricacies of diplomacy, Techno knew his way around words very well. He’d rather do the talking himself than risk one of the guards misspeaking and getting them into trouble.

“Hullo,” he greeted the man politely enough.

The other fae looked down at him with vivid brown eyes, mouth pulling up into a wicked grin.

“Oh, what’s this? Lost wanderers?” He dropped himself down from the tree to land nimbly on his feet, brown curls bouncing. “Can I have your name? I don’t like talking to strangers.”

“You may know my name,” Techno said, trying not to grin at a slight twitch of the man’s brow in annoyance. Did they really think he’d be that stupid? “It’s Technoblade.”

“I suppose you may know mine too then. Wilbur.” Techno ignored his outstretched hand.

“I need to get to the other side of these woods,” he explained. “You wouldn’t be so chill as to grant us safe passage for free, would you? That’d be pretty pog.”

This time it was Wilbur’s turn to chuckle. With the Unseelie, nothing came without a price.

“Depends on where you need to go. Can I have your map?” Wilbur asked.

“No,” Techno said while handing it to him. “But you can look at it.”

Wilbur unfurled it with a light laugh. “I’m not going to steal your shit.”

“I’ve heard your sort is quite prone to doing that.”

“Nah, we only take what’s interesting to us.” With that, Wilbur’s eyes briefly flicked towards where Techno’s guards were waiting, the paladin with his cargo.

“Safe passage,” Techno reminded him.

“Right, right.” Wilbur bunched the map up into a messy ball and shoved it back at him, starting to walk ahead and gesturing for them to follow. “My family can take you. I’ll bring you to them. And I guarantee no harm will come to you or your shipment.”

“Liar.”

Wilbur froze. The expression on his face was comically confused.

“Fae can’t lie,” he said slowly, almost as if he was testing the water.

“Seelie can’t lie,” Techno corrected - ironically also because Wilbur was right. Seelie couldn’t lie.

Unseelie, on the other hand.

“How did you know I was lying?” Wilbur asked.

Again, Techno found himself unable to speak anything but the truth.

“It’s a talent I’ve had since birth. No clue where it comes from, I can just tell when I’m being lied to.” It was no wonder Techno had been chosen for this mission.

“Interesting,” Wilbur muttered. And when Techno looked at him, Wilbur was staring right back at him, golden-brown eyes even more ablaze with an uncomfortable sort of fascination. “You’re… that’s very interesting.”

Techno shifted on the spot, trying not to instinctively reach for his sword. “Your family?”

“Yes!” Wilbur snapped out of it suddenly, blinking a few times. But he never really looked away from Techno again, his smile that much more unsettling. “Right this way, they’ll be thrilled to meet you. We so rarely get visitors here, I think they’ll really enjoy having you stay.”

And oddly enough, Techno could tell that those words were not a lie.

[shadeysprings]

OxyTOXIN - Epilogue

—Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader

Summary — The truth about Lloyd's change breaks you in more ways than one.

Warnings — implied n0nc0n, violence, Lloyd being very mean, and some other dark themes.

A/N — Still on my break from this site but I thought I'd give you guys this one tonight. Unbeta so may be sloppy.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

It’s been days since Lloyd came home, days since he almost killed you.

Since returning from his work trip, your relationship with Lloyd has changed drastically. No longer does he look at you with love in his eyes, instead, his stares are intimidating, and menacing, making you walk on eggshells around him for fear that if you make a wrong move he would once again try to attack you. 

And his touches, gone are times he would hold you as if you were a delicate flower. Now, he paws at you greedily and when you would object, he would get rough, leaving bruises on your skin with the harsh way he would grab you.  

You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, why he’s treating you as nothing more but a toy to play with. At nights, after he’s finished taking you, you’d rack your brain trying to think of reasons he would suddenly make you feel as if you meant nothing to him. 

You’ve never cheated on him, never lied to him, he knew all your secrets despite you knowing so little about him. You trusted him with your life and most of all, loved him with all your heart. You thought he felt the same, he showed you he did—made you feel like he did, but now, you don’t know. 

So you made your decision and packed your bags, a letter left on the side of his bed. He’s not the Lloyd you fell in love with, you’re not even sure if he would ever come back but one thing you’re certain of is that this is not the life you envision yourself having, not the life you wish to die in. 

It’s already midnight and he still hasn’t come back from when he left that morning, a sign you take as a relief but also one that breaks your heart. Grabbing your bag, you tiptoe down the hall, still cautious not to make a sound; the living room is still dark after you’ve cleaned up the house. 

You double-check your phone, rereading Riley’s last message. She’s still at your old apartment and your old bedroom still vacant. She’s more than happy to have you back and without you even realizing it, you missed her terribly. Maybe she could help you understand why Lloyd has been acting in such a way, maybe she can help you move on. 

Slowly, you make your way to the front door, ready to say goodbye to the life you’ve learned to love but before you could even take hold of the knob, a lamp flickers on and you stand in shock to see Lloyd sitting on the armchair, a bloody gash decorating his cheek and his hair disheveled. 

Your first instinct is to go to him, to ask what happened but you stop when he asks, “Just where do you think you’re going?” There’s ice in his voice, anger boiling deep within, and immediately, the concern you felt earlier recoils and is now replaced with fear.

You take a step back when he stands from his seat, your hand slackening and dropping your bag with a thud on the marble floor. You try to speak, to tell him that you’re done enduring the pain he continues to bring you but you don’t get the chance when he lunges at you, his hand grabbing your arms and pinning you against the door, the back of your head hitting the wooden surface. 

“You think you can leave me?” He snarls, eyes dark and unloving. “As soon as you step out that door, you have nothing. Nothing but me.” 

“I’d rather have nothing than be with you!” You shout, eyes brimming with tears as you struggle against his hold.

But his reaction takes you off guard, the rage in his eyes dwindling down and his lips twitching to a frown. His hold on you softens, completely releasing you but keeping his hands pressed against the door. 

“What?” He asks, voice soft and uncertain. “You’d rather not have me?”

“I’m just confused, Lloyd!” You cry, covering your face with your hands as you do. “Since you came back, it feels like you changed. You keep hurting me and you always look at me like I’ve done something wrong.” You sniff, unable to compose yourself any longer with how your emotions continue spilling out of you. “As much as it hurts me to leave you, I cannot take this anymore! You’re not the man I fell in love with.” 

You did it. You let your heart out and you only pray that Lloyd would truly release you from your misery. But his hands move and press gently against your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that spill non-stop. He frowns and breathes out heavily before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight against him. 

The confusion takes you back but it dies out almost instantly. You clutch him tight and sob against his shirt, keeping him close as your heart blooms upon feeling that gentle touch once more. 

“Little Doll—I’m so sorry.” He mutters against your hair, his hand caressing your back and then cradling the back of your head. 

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” You mumble against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. 

But the peace that cocoons you is disrupted by a laugh, sickening and taunting, and you pull away only to look up at Lloyd who gives you a playful smirk, wincing when the hand around the back of your neck tightens. 

“What made you think I did?”

“Wha—” You’re once again pushed against the door, harder this time and the fear only floods back tenfold when you see the devilish smile on his face. “Lloyd—I don’t understand.”

“Oh come on.” He groans. “Did you really think someone would fall in love with you?” He looks you up and down, disgust etched on his face. “You’re holes are the only thing good about you—maybe your cooking too but that's it. I never loved you. I was bored so I played the role of the perfect boyfriend to see if I can fool some floozy and it worked.” He laughs once more but you can’t hear it against the deafening shatter of your heart. 

He fooled you. He used you. And you were stupid enough to fall for it. 

“But I got bored of that too and now, I’m back to doing things how it should be.” He snickers and gives your head a pet, moving your face away when he tries to place a kiss on your forehead. 

You feel nothing but anger and pain, your vein seering in rage as you stare up at the man who you once thought was the love you’ve been searching for. You try to pull away from him, intent on pushing on with your plan of leaving. Yet such an attempt is fruitless when he slaps you across the face, shocking you once more and you gasp and claw at his arm when he grabs you by the neck, your head getting heavy when he squeezes. 

“But I’m not done with you yet—in fact, I might keep you for a while. Play with you a little longer.” He then gropes your tit through your shirt, giving it a hard squeeze before his hand trails down your stomach and to your dress, lifting the skirt up your waist.

“And guess what time it is little doll.” Another gasp is pulled from your throat when he rips the fabric of your skirt, the sound of his zipper filling your ears. “It’s time to play.”

[withered-blossoms]

Obey me scenario...

WARNING: this is a very long ramble so if y'all don't like rambles, skip this uhh post. Also it's quite self-indulgent. Actual ramble under the cut. Also this is not proofread so there may or may not be typos.

Where the MC goes by a different name depending on who they're introducing themself to.

Like for example, the MC obviously has a birth name right? (Like one assigned to them by their parents and is used by family and human classmates). But what if they chose to use a nickname/alternate name to introduce themself to future/current acquaintances?

Like if I were to use myself as an example, let's say that my "actual/parent assigned name" is Blossom. And so my human realm classmates and family call me "Blossom". But for online friends and acquaintances/friends I make in future, I go by "Bloss"? (It could also be because they don't speak my language and usually pronounce it slightly inaccurately which IS NOT their fault but it would make their lives easier to have them refer to me as "Bloss").

And MC gets so used to using their "other/nickname" that when they get kidnap transported into the Devildom and they gotta state their name, by habit their nickname slips out of their mouth? And technically speaking it is indeed a name they go by? Maybe because they feel more comfortable using this nickname instead of their "actual/real name"?

Now we know that Diavolo hates being lied to and has the power to tell lies from truth to back it up, so do you think he'll think the human is lying deliberately? Or would his aura turn more threatening and serious and ask for their real name? I personally feel like I'll piss all of them off if I were to meet them for the first time. Why? Take a look below to see how the convo would've gone:

Diavolo: Welcome to the Devildom. I am Diavolo, the Crown Prince. How should we address you?

MC: Please call me (insert nickname) (absolutely natural but debating whether or not it would count as a valid answer)

Lucifer and Barbatos: ...

Diavolo: ... That is not your real name now is it? It would not do you any good to lie. (Aura probably turns threatening but his customer service smile is still present, most likely assuming that MC has a dishonest purpose for concealing their "real name" aka name given by parents)

MC: Your Highness, with all due respect, that is indeed a name. I have fulfilled your request, and it is indeed one that I go by and have gone by for quite a while now. ("You only asked for a name to refer to me by, you never asked for the one I was given since childhood." Would probably be added in their head. It would not do for them to spit something so...snarky and potentially rude out. They are in unknown territory and an unfamiliar environment after all. Holding their tongue here would be more advantageous)

Now assuming that they accepted, should MC decide to reveal their name.later, would it bring a lot of trouble paperwork-wise? They've been writing this name on all of their assignments, their Devildom ID displays their nickname, and all of the official documents are signed with this alias. Or perhaps when they've grown fond of the sacrificial little lamb, they will allow them to suddenly change their names via a short notice to all academic lecturers? As for their Identification Card and personal documents, the card will be updated/changed (either via magic or by getting a replacement) and the documents will have a note/update stating their real name?

Of course, if the MC is comfortable with only their newfound family (the constituent characters are naturally chosen by you, my dear reader) using their real name, then those with said honour will guard it with their lives. For those that are prone to slipping up, they will perhaps flounder a little and give the excuse of confusing the sheep with someone else (yes Mams my darling I'm looking at you). For Levi I think he'll continue to refer to MC as Henry anyways but then again it depends on your personal HCs.

For those in the cast but are not chosen to be the MC's super close ones, perhaps they'll be a little confused should anyone slip up while they are around. Cue more floundering until perhaps it gets out, but you know the cast's mouths are shut, so tightly they'll put gorilla glue to shame.

So worry not, your real name won't be slipping out to the RAD public. Despite what I mentioned about Mams earlier, you know he will guard your precious name like dragons with treasure. And he'll do admittedly one of the best jobs out of the cast.

Now assuming that they do not accept that reasoning, it could go two (for what I can think of now) ways.

1) MC continues debating.

Given Lucifer's displeasure, he would most likely chide the MC for their rudeness and Barbatos would, with a chilly smile, advise them not to use up all their chances. The brothers on the sidelines may whisper a bit between themselves but will not interfere since it's not like they'll save a random human stranger from their Prince and risk being on the receiving end of the wrath of the Fantastic Trio (if you know where this is from, you know *wink wonk* sorry, couldn't resist using this .... Interesting group name.)

When it gets to a very bad point where MC is perhaps dishing out their reasoning with possibly an annoyed tone by now, they will have to bet or hope. Hope that Diavolo would be magnanimous enough to allow them to use their alias down here and accept their alias as the name they go by since he can confirm the genuine discomfort they have with using their "actual name" and spot nearly no lies in the reasons they offered.

But if Lucifer and Barbatos happen to get a little iffy before their Prince gets mad, MC will have to bet that they would not jeopardise this exchange program by hurting them in any way or exchanging them for another human.

Or for those beyond the fourth wall, get rid of this exchange student they've selected, either out of rage or annoyance or for convenience and success, reset the timeline or make another timeline the sole reality and pick another exchange student. Basically MC will have to bet on their value and importance to the exchange program and bet that Diavolo would care enough about having stains or guilt/reminders on what he had done to the MC (if he were to smite them or wipe them out for the safety of his kingdom cuz he suspects that they have ulterior motives for hiding their name) because most royals don't.

But then again they have magic so should things come down to it they may just erase MC's memories and send them back to the human realm unsuspectingly, choose another human and move on.

Also, who's to say that Diavolo didn't have Barbatos look through the timelines and pick the one which goes most successfully before bringing MC down? (Yes, fanfictions expanding on the aftermath of Lesson 16 have been getting to my head and giving me a lot of ideas and scenarios)

Diavolo is the Crown Prince. Acting ruler of a whole kingdom. There is no way he would be willing to toss an uncertain factor into the equation without knowing the future. If I had the power / someone with the power to look into the future freely without much repercussions (on my kingdom that is and preferably the person but the priority is on the kingdom), I would use those powers to see how my plans go, especially since my citizens and my kingdom, my responsibility and the burden I have to shoulder alone, albeit sparingly.

But ultimately as a ruler, one's responsibilities come before one's emotions. It's the price they have to pay for the immense wealth and safety they were born with. With so many lives resting on his hands, there is no way a ruler as benevolent but also smart, intelligent (terrifyingly so), cunning and manipulative (I mean that as a compliment cuz those are what a ruler should have, to use it for good ofc don't get me wrong) as Diavolo would not take "cheat a little" and look at the answer to the question (like those reference/practice question books that yall's parents buy for you when huge examinations are near. Just me? Aight then—)

Anyways, the route honestly depends on what y'all choose/think/headcanon. I'm just adding a drop into the ocean in hopes that any writers will write a piece on this or perhaps expand on my idea or something. I would do it but I don't trust myself to serve or deliver, not when I know some in the fandom have repeatedly left absolutely no crumbs. (Yes I'm a Gen Z I just don't use slangs often don't @ me—)

2) MC begrudgingly accepts the use of their real name.

That's all for now, may add more/ a Part 2 of inspiration decides to pull a Truck-kun and isekai me somehow.

[senpiecakes]

A Love Not Meant to Be: Childe

Notes: I saw this in my drafts, and I haven't posted anything in this series for a while so I was like 'fuck it, I'm gonna finish it.' (lowkey this made me cry while I listened to the song)

Summary: Hated by everyone, loved by you.

Theme/s: GN!Reader, Angst No Comfort, the world hates you both

Warning/s: Some very mean words from the world. That's about it.

Once More to See You by Mitski

5.5k Words

“I’ll protect you.”

Childe is known to be protective of those he loves. He goes out of his way to spin elaborate lies for his youngest brother to protect his innocence, he makes sure to keep his whole family out of harm's way because of his job, and he will strike down any enemy that dares to threaten his loved ones. In all of that, there was you. You loved Childe dearly, and it was clear he had the same feelings for you. Childe shows you off to his subordinates, pampers you with his wealth and makes sure you’re top priority always. That included your safety. Everywhere you went, bodyguards kept a close distance, if you were out with Childe, he’d keep a secure arm around you, even at home he’d make sure you’re safe- especially when you’re alone. All that you could trust him in. Childe only sees threats in the form of enemies, never in the common folk that walk with you in the streets day to day. 

‘There goes that Fatui’s hound.’

‘Can you believe they’re actually WITH a Harbinger?’

‘I bet you they’re kidnapped or blackmailed.’

Everyday, hushed voices would throw scorn at you and Childe as you passed. You knew of the world’s disdain for the Fatui but you also knew Childe. He was sweet, caring, protective and you knew in your heart he would never hurt you. But you were also aware of his reputation; his strength in battle, his ability to harm warranted or not, his sworn duty to an Archon planning to rid the world of Gods. It was only fair of people to have their opinions about Childe. But you knew deep down how much the man can love- if the rest of the world saw him through your eyes, maybe their opinions of him would change. People feared him, but they had the gall to throw their cowardly vices towards you.

Some days, you tell your bodyguards to lay back for a while, that you can handle yourself while you grocery shop. Despite your commands, they follow you. On those days when you appear to be alone, people made it clear how much they truly hated the man you loved. They would be more vocal about their jeers, going as far as to tell you directly that you should be ashamed for being with him. You’d defend Childe with all that you can and that usually results in many unsavory exchanges.

People refusing to sell you things in fear that Childe may target them, some barring you from their business with the most ridiculous reasons, others even outright mocking you. That’s when your bodyguards step in and you fear that it only escalates things further- that you had to be kept within a wall.

‘I knew you’re a coward, hiding behind that Fatui freak.’

You don’t really think much about these encounters, never speaking a word about it to Childe until your bodyguards inform him of all that’s happened.

“Do you want me to deal with them?” He asks you one night.

“What? No! I can handle myself.” You say.

“Well, alright. Just tell me if anything else happens, okay?”

In truth, you knew if Childe stepped in it would make things worse. You didn’t want him to shoulder all the weight and responsibility of keeping those he loved safe. He already has so many stresses happening at once, one more problem could send him over the edge. And so, you bore through it because you loved him. It was all that you needed.

It was until strange things started happening around your home- the place where you felt the most secure. Rocks thrown at your windows, strangers standing only a few feet away from your doorstep, light acts of vandalism appearing on your property. Only then did you start fearing for your life. You brought the issue up to Childe who kept guard throughout the night, but miraculously, nothing ever happens when he’s at home. It’s only when you’re by yourself that people seem to go out of their way to take out their frustrations of Childe onto you. You didn’t think that people could be so cruel. Then again, they had a reason to hate Childe- but they had no excuse to show their hatred through you. 

Childe always noticed your fears. As much as he tried to relieve it, the world always seemed to push his efforts away. Even as he volunteers to deal with the problem himself, you hold him back. As much as it angers him to see you look so vulnerable, he knows it’ll only make things worse. 

Things came to a boiling point when Childe suggested you two take a walk together around town to take your mind off of things. You were reluctant to be seen with him, which was silly but reasonable. In the end, you agreed and Childe was more observant in his surroundings more than ever. His head was held up high, scanning the crowd who turned away as they met his cold gaze. You on the other hand kept your eyes low on the ground, fearing that someone would be brave enough to cross Childe’s wrath. He noticed this, noticed your shying away as if you were embarrassed to be seen with him, and he could do nothing to ease you of your worries.

It’ll only make things worse.

As you walked, Childe led you away to a place with little to no people- a place where you can breathe. He savors this moment with you. He never really has time to be at home so Childe always makes sure to spend as much time with you as he can, pouring out his heart when he’s absent during the night when you sleep.

“You know, you’re the realest thing I’ve had in a while.” Childe says, taking your fingers in his hands. “Thank you.” He looked at you and was surprised to see your face. Quick was your change of expression- a look of fear as you glanced down at his hand, then back up at Childe. Your eyes, wide and worried, wandering around the near-empty streets as you took your fingers away by impulse and smiled awkwardly.

“Ah… well, let’s get going before it gets too dark.”

It was clear how much of a toll the fear had on you. You barely went out to shop anymore, spending your days and nights locked up in your house, counting down the days for Childe’s return from a mission. He worries about you, even more so when you start acting differently towards him. You’re silent, shrinking away from his touch, never wanting to go out for dinners and always afraid of seeing him off- even if it was just at your front door. You worried about your long term future with him. You wanted life with Childe to be normal- that one day if would just be the two of you living a mundane but peaceful life. Childe was angry and heartbroken; angry at the fact that he is powerless to change the minds of people, to stop them from seeing his infamy through you. Heartbroken at the fact that you drift away because of the very same people that convince you that loving him was a sin. Childe needed to take you out of there.

And so, you move. He takes you to his missions and you find temporary housing in whatever nation his job lands him in. You thought you could handle it, that starting fresh would be what’s best, but it seemed that this lifestyle was far more exhausting than the one you had before. You never had a home; whenever you felt comfortable in your new living space, Childe always finishes up his mission before you even get the chance to look around the place. You don’t get to stay for long anyways; the longer you stay, the more people recognize Childe and soon you are back in the cycle of hate. As much as Childe tried to keep you from harm's way, it never felt safe. It was draining, but you held on for Childe’s sake. He just wanted to keep you safe.

“Let’s go back home to Snezhnaya.” Childe suggested one night. “I think it’ll be good for both of us.” You knew why Childe wanted to go back home. He needed peace away from the dangers of his duty and you were more than happy to be there with him. Still, you can’t really shake off the paranoia you’ve acquired after running away for so long.

“What about your work?” You ask.

“I’ve requested a time off. I’ve been doing great anyways.”

“We can’t stay with your family.” You say silently, looking down at your hands. “We can’t risk it. After all the places we’ve been, people are bound to recognize me now.” 

“I know.” Childe responds. “I rented us a cabin in the forest. Just the two of us.”

Soon enough, you found yourself in the winters of Snezhnaya, in a little wooden cabin surrounded by tall trees, blanketed by snow under the dome of endless sky. It really was just the two of you. Childe watches in adoration as you feel yourself feeling free for the first time in a while. He smiles as you do back at him, bounding through the snow and into his open arms. 

Childe hasn’t felt you this close in so long. He’s gone on nights and on days you’re withdrawn. He wants to get carried away with you. Your comforting embrace was almost enough to send him over the edge.

“I missed you.” He whispers in your ear, tone mirroring that of a desperate man waiting to be satisfied.

He wants to devour you like a wolf; caught between your teeth and tongue like a ravaged, hungry animal waiting for the warmth that comes with death as soon as he takes the first bite. And all that Childe has ever known was hunger; to hunt and to take what was never given to him. He will kiss till you are breathless, till your skin burns with desire and lips shed the blood he once ravaged others to get- to release the tension built up in his bones when he failed to protect you from the world. But he is in your hands. He’d let you tame him if it meant he’d get to feel your love like the way he used to.

Tonight, as you spare him a fluttering kiss, sweet like candy and warm like the blood he craves- Childe falters. You barely have your lips on his, but as soon as he feels the delicate brush of your skin, the slight exhale through your nose on his cheek as if to say you feel secure, Childe is at the mercy of the prey that was once in his control. He will not bite the hand that feeds him, and so, he simply closes his eyes and sinks into the innocence of your willingness to be in his grasp. His mind races with all the things that had happened to the both of you. You endured so much for him and the thought of that makes Childe feel guilt like never before.

The world slows to let Childe’s heart thrum madly in his chest. He feels you inch in closer, fingers interlocking with him as he feels the tension leave your shoulders, the weight of fear from the past now gone. You’re with him. You’re both alone. You’re safe. 

Childe will not be the monster the world portrays him to be- not especially around you. But even if you see him in his prime- blue waves crashing into violent lighting- how could you kiss him like he’s a man fit to hold the beauty of the world? He’s shown you how childish, immature, selfish and brash he could be, all the while he stubbornly wants to keep you at his side for his sake. Even then, you chose to stay. You didn’t want to push him away. Childe feels as though he doesn’t deserve this.

Tell me, he thinks. How could you love me for who I am?

“How could you still be with me for all the things I’ve done?” Childe mumbles, voice breaking as he pulls you in. “The blood on my hands, the lives it took-“ You stop him. Childe falls silent and your response nearly makes him lose his composure.

“You were just a kid.” You whisper, taking his face in your steady hands. “You were never given a choice.” Childe breathes hard as he studies your hardened eyes, scolding him almost. He wasn’t the type to show weakness, not with you, not with gentle scolding. But this- you’re giving him a choice- a choice of freedom. To be unshackled by the consequences of his past and allow him to be vulnerable, even for just a second. 

The snowfall was quiet, and so were you. You knew what you had to say and Childe knows what it was. He just didn’t want to accept it.

“You know we can’t keep running away, Childe.”

Childe doesn’t answer and instead looks away, his eyes darting back and forth, refusing to look at you. His jaw was tight and his hands were clenched into a fist. You soften at the sight. You know that looks all too well. It was Childe’s way of showing fear. He wasn’t really afraid- only frustrated and fearful of the consequence of his actions. He knows deep down that he can’t keep running. He can’t take you with him and he refuses to let you go. You’re tired, he knows that, he just doesn’t ever want to lose you.

“Ajax,” you say, your hand landing on Childe’s cheek. He nearly flinches away from your touch, but instead he relents and allows himself to melt into you- his kiss finding home in the warmth of your palms. “What are you so afraid of?” Truth be told, Childe wasn’t as brave as he presents himself to be. He was just a person like everyone else; he had his own fears, worries, doubts and regrets. Many of those he did on his own, but now they’ve caught up to him, and he is more afraid of consequences now than he has ever been. All because of you. Childe ran away from all those problems before, but if those consequences catch up to him, they’d cost him you. You who fought with him so bravely- never afraid of him and his tainted past. You who stuck by him even when the world seemed to treat you like an outcast for even associating yourself with him. You who had sacrificed everything for him, defended him when he refused to do the same for himself. He was given a glimpse of the risks that came with his dangerous job. Soon, people would find the courage to test his strength. By all means, it would always cost you your freedom.

“Of you.” Childe says finally. “I’m scared of everything because of you.” It was hypocritical of him to think this way, especially since he was the one who put your life at risk and your reputation hanging on by a string. But you were braver than him in a way that was sane- and you still had the courage to look at him as if he were just any other person in the world. His dream of normalcy, you never took it away.

“Then why don’t you leave me?” Childe scoffs

“It’s not that easy for me to do that, you know?” He says with a weak laugh. He can’t leave you alone. He doesn’t want to, he would never want to.

“Then I’ll do it for you.” You say. “I’ll go far away and things will go back to normal.”

Childe looks at you surprised. He knows you’re doing this for his own sake and yours, that you’re doing what’s best even if it hurts. But why does he feel so betrayed? Why would you of all people leave him that quickly with all those promises and hopes and dreams for the future? Why would you be the one to crush them? Did any of it mean nothing? Why was it so easy for you to abandon what you had with him? Childe wanted to fight, argue and win you over again and again even if it meant you both had to go through heartbreak together. He needed you. He wanted to battle- but instead you calmed him with a look. A look he knew so well, so pleasant, that Childe’s sea of emotions ebbed and he gave you space to talk.

“You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.” He says incredulously. You don’t answer. “Y/N, come on-”

“I love you, Childe, but this isn’t healthy for either of us.” You say. Childe shakes his head in protest but stays silent, allowing your words to penetrate him painfully as he lets the gravity of your situations sink in. You were right, he can’t keep running.

“You can protect me all you want, but we can’t live like this. You have jobs to do, places to go where I can’t, and I can’t keep fearing for my life when I’m with you. I love you, but I can’t… we can’t escape this, we can’t run away.” You say. “The best thing we can do is to get away from each other.”

“No, don’t do this to me!” He begs, almost angry. Childe doesn’t look at you and instead looks down at his feet, his teeth gritting and jaw tight as you hold his face and will for him to look.

“If you love me, then you wouldn’t do this, you wouldn’t leave me.” He argues. You shake your head but he continues. “You’ll just be like everyone else if you do. You’ll betray me by leaving because you’re just like everyone else!” Childe was guilting you into staying. He knows how wrong it was, how selfish he was being, but he thought it would be the only way to keep you by his side. It was the only way he knew how. 

“You and I both know that isn’t true.” You say. Childe balls his fists a shadow looms over his already darkened eyes. 

“If you really loved me, you would stay.” His voice was a silent, forceful anger that made you pity him. But this, whatever you two had, was destructive; it hurt you both and you knew well that Childe would destroy himself and a million more just to get what he wants- just to keep you with him.

“I do love you, Childe,” You say and a hopeful shine appears in his eyes. “But not enough to make me want to stay.” And in a flash, it’s gone. Despair washes over Childe’s expression, soon replaced by anger and desperation. He towers over you, a dark aura emanating from his gaze. 

“You’re a liar.” Childe spits out, venom lacing his tone. You stand your ground- you knew well Childe would never hurt you. He never had space to deal with his emotions in a healthy manner, and you knew this tantrum was to mask the true feelings of hurt he had inside. He didn’t want to be seen as weak and vulnerable, even if it were you. 

You were lying. You loved Childe so much it hurt- but this relationship between you two had terrorized you far worse. As much as you loved him, as much as he meant to you, you needed to save yourself. You sacrificed so much and risked everything in your life to be with him. You knew him better than anyone and saw him in a light that nobody else was willing to. You loved him as Ajax- the loving caring brother and family man that would do anything to protect those he loved so they would never have to go through the same thing he did. At the same time you loved Childe- the powerful, cocky and reckless Harbinger loyal to the Tsaritsa and even more loyal to you. But even that wasn’t enough. The world saw how much you truly loved Childe and decided to take advantage of that by pitting itself against you. It really was just the two of you against the world- but you had your limits, and Childe couldn’t be the person to fight alongside you if he tried. He tried, you tried, but nothing was enough.

“Please, Childe, look at me.” You say. “It might be the last time I’ll see you.”

“No!” He yells. “It’s not the last time! There won’t be a last time! You’re not leaving, I’ll see you again tomorrow and I can look at you all I want because you’re not leaving me! You would never do that to me!” Childe hugs you tight, his body trembling against you and choking sobs escape his throat. “Please, Y/N, I don’t want to be alone.” 

You never thought you would ever see a Harbinger in this state- walls crumbling and image shattered from fear of all things. You thought the Harbingers were never afraid, that Childe would be the last person you’ll see look so distraught after all he went through. Then he looked at you dark blue eyes filled with tears, his brows furrowed and suppressed sobs making their way past his lips. You envision the young boy within him; robbed of this childhood, his innocence, still carrying the fear and trauma of the days he was taken away from his safety. Childe found his new safeplace in you, and the fear of losing it, losing you, the hope and dreams he so precariously planned with you, coupled with the loneliness and isolation that would come after you leave- of course he was going to be afraid. But you feared for your life- you didn’t want to risk Childe’s to save yours. And so, you turn away to leave but Childe grabs you.

“Childe, let me go.” You assert, tugging your wrist away from his tightening grip. He stares you down, wishing that it wouldn’t have to come to this.

“No, you can’t leave me.” He says. “You need me.” His tone was menacing, the same he uses against his subordinates to make them submit. This annoys you for some reason- to think that Childe had the nerve to see you as someone as lowly as those men and women under him- you thought you were both way past that. You angrily take your wrist away from him and start yelling- a version of you that Childe has never seen before. You didn’t know why you yelled, you didn’t understand why a red hot anger surged through your chest. You released every form of frustration you had on him; your fears, your regrets, the way you hated how he was so stubborn, the way you hated how he never admits he was wrong, how every bit of your life was stripped away the moment you told him you loved him. Everything. Tears well in your eyes with each word you say, and even more so when Childe decides to fight back. You thought that you trying to push him away like this would prompt him to let you go, not spiral into this form of chaos. You knew well that Childe would never give up an opportunity to fight; there’s no turning back now.

This was like any battle Childe would have trained to fight. It wasn’t like anything he had ever experienced from those before- the thrill, the excitement, his heart racing for more, more, more. Not tonight, not with you. You two were in war- fighting each other with the harshest words, sharp tongues, insults and arguments thrown so carelessly at the others deepest fears and insecurities. You were someone that knew Childe better than anybody, so this, the ache in Childe’s heart almost felt agonizing. He’s never seen you look so defeated. It’s as if it hurts you to even say these things to him out of anger. He hated the way your voice echoed the words his own mind would tell him; he hated the way your hands restrained themselves into fists by your side; he hated how tense your shoulders were, how your eyes looked so sad. He hated the way you mirrored those who tried so hard to break you in a pitiful attempt to make him feel what you felt.

Even from before as strangers berated you for even being with him, your life turned upside down for even being associated with him, you always put up such a strong front. Childe admired that, even more so now as he felt that he could shrink at the sheer magnitude of emotions that flooded out of you all because of him. Childe listened to you rant, your words becoming warbled as his head pounded with the strength of his own voice. He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point- only watching you cry and shout- wishing for nothing but to pull you in his arms and comfort you even while you’re still furious at him. Even if you beat, kick and punch your way out of his arms, just stay, he thinks. 

Stay with me.

If it meant he’d lose everything else, Childe was willing to let this be the first battle he’ll lose. And what greater reward was it to lose against someone he loves?

“I can’t do this anymore, Childe,” you cry silently, your voice barely making it past your strained throat. He hears you, loud and clear. “I love you, but I can’t.”

Childe is silent.

The fallout was devastating, comparable to the collapse of a dying star. It was explosive and angry and destructive beyond what you could have anticipated. It was dangerous on both ends- the freefall of the damage reaching far beyond the ground zero of everything that surrounded the two of you. The echo of the forests that surrounded you two in the silence of winter felt the weight of you and Childe’s booming voices yelling louder above one anothers- shouting words you both would have never expected to hear the other say. It was painful, to you, to Childe and to the universe that knew of the relationship you had in secret- how the world watched your love bloom and beautify like a flower- and like a flower it wilted into the cold. It was ugly and it shouldn’t have been in the first place.

But at the same time, it was colorful and beautiful and bright. Twin flames bursting with far more hues than the searing red you saw in fury, the gentle blue of his tearful, empty eyes- a kaleidoscope of colors springing to life once the initial flames died down to a spark from where they’d started. The whispering, hushed voices, exhausted and only realizing the gravity of your situations. The once harmful words full of spite and venom now replaced by half-hearted apologies that carry the weight of your entire hearts, the words Childe cannot say. Like a star flickering out of its last few breaths, it explodes, furious and catastrophic, but it’s wonderful all the same. The rebirth of a new galaxy, the start of life anew. But for the both of you, it was still in the in-between; the slow, gradual explosion of a supernova, not yet ready to start over. That would be far, far into the future; right now, Childe stares into your tired, reddened eyes, seeing nothing but sadness and pity, and a glimpse into what could have been your future with him. That was the moment he calmed down, the star finally settling within itself to wait another million years of stasis until it could start over. The way Childe loved you was sincerely heartfelt, but the world was not ready to allow him to be happy.

Childe needed to make a choice. His hands tremble and fall to his sides, steeling himself for the moment you would look at him, finally seeing him for who he really is. Childe looks down, refusing to even glance at you, unable to confront the fact that his delusional want of hopes and dreams would just be that; a hope and a dream. He’ll just bear through the pain in silence, only listen when you would eventually turn your heels and walk away. Instead, Childe feels the lightness of your grip around him, your arms wrapped around his frame so surely, and the delicate plush of your kiss on his lips. In that moment, when he feels your shaking body against his beginning to hesitantly pull away, Childe breaks. His composure weakens as he sobs against your lips, shaking fingers not knowing where to touch you- wanting to reach for you so badly- but he doesn’t know how. He felt like he couldn’t, it would hurt too much, but if he didn’t, he would regret not wanting to when he had the chance. And so, he pulls you in, so close, so tight, that he feels he can never ever let you go. Childe hears your muffled sobs against his lips, your hands placed on his chest not knowing if you should push him away or pull him even closer. If he could live in this moment, he would for a million years; he would freeze time and let it be so that the two of you could live on happily. 

When you break away, still feeling the need to gravitate towards each other, Childe smiles dumbly despite the situation. You follow suit.

“Gods…” You mumble, wiping away your own tears. “Will it always be like this if we fight? We kiss and make up?” Childe chuckles weakly.

“I wouldn’t really mind that.” 

Silence again, and the snow begins to fall. Your gaze wanders ‘round the now still forest that cushioned your arguments and your eyes fixate on the sun beginning to set.

“It’s getting dark.” You say, and Childe nods in agreement. Tentatively, he takes your hand and leads you both back into the cabin, the fire now long gone, but the heat never leaving your skin. 

You two went about that night in complete silence- never once uttering a single word to each other until it was finally time to sleep on your shared bed. Only then, when you decide to sleep on your side and fully expected Childe to stay in his, did you feel the relief of comfort when he wrapped you in his arms and pull you close. You nestled yourself in his warmth and breathed in the frost of the night. Silence was broken by Childe once more.

“You’re free to make a choice, Y/N,” he mumbles. “If you choose to leave, just know I’ll never be mad at you for it.” You feel Childe’s embrace tighten as he says it. You nod and hold his roughened hand, kissing his knuckles and burying yourself under the covers.

“Goodnight, Ajax.”

Childe didn’t sleep that night. He listened to the whistling breeze from outside and the occasional movements you’d make. He thinks about all the events that led up till now; how life snowballed into this catastrophe of a situation you both were in. He thinks about how different life for him would be if he hadn’t met you. He won’t be happier then; Childe loves you too much to imagine a life wherein your absence would be his downfall. At the same time, your life would ultimately be better without him in it. He pictures your smiling face amongst the crowd, everyone happy to see you’ve arrived because he isn’t there to taint your reputation. How different things would be for you both if you hadn’t met.

Childe had a choice, you’ve given him one. As much as it pains him to do this to you, to do it to himself, he knew in his heart he had to do it. 

Silently, before the sun breaks out into dawn, Childe prepares himself for the inevitability of loneliness once he steps out the door. He watches you for a moment and ultimately decides that staying for a second longer would be far more painful. And so, he left silently in the sunrise, in the snow where he’ll be in the far, far future. When you woke that morning, you braced yourself of the dread that came with Childe’s absence. You knew deep down he’ll leave. He never wanted to be the selfish one, but tonight, he needed to be- for your sake. You breathed in the cold winter air and willed yourself to look at the note he left on the side that was once his. So little words, yet it had been enough to have you shatter.

‘Please forget me.’

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)

“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” 

Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can. 

But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality. 

“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in. 

“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”

And he’s right. 

You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved. 

Punishment, you convince yourself. 

Comfort, your better mind argues.

Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense. 

Even though he does.

“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”

And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive. 

“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”

You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.

And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down. 

But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.

Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself. 

“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will. 

Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights. 

Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite. 

Again— he likes being held down.

And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.

This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.

He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild. 

Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same: 

You always have an ulterior motive.

“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.

Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.

And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either. 

You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square. 

He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.

His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.

“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon. 

Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this. 

“Crap, that felt so fucking good.” 

Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it. 

But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling. 

This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.

But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:

“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

Oh god.

The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea. 

He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.

But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!

But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.

When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it. 

Because it’s fucking electric. 

…

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips. 

It was good. It was a good kiss. 

Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss. 

And he fucking noticed.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’

But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.

Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. 

But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried). 

“...One more?”

You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.

There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.

But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.

“I’m just messing with you.”

And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling. 

The feeling is relief. 

Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder. 

Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.

You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.

“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”

“Aww, don’t say that…”

His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet. 

“I know I will.”

…Fucking brat. 

Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.

But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?

And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:

“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan. 

…

I won’t.

⭑⭑⭑

The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it. 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too. 

…But for who? 

A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.

He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?

But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches. 

…Huh. 

That’s weird.

Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded. 

He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder. 

…What the fuck?

It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it. 

Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!

Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?

But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops. 

And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.

Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.

A mark of your own.

“ ...Shit.”

⭑⭑⭑

[the-trinket-witch]

Trinket's TWST OCs x Reader Headcanons

(I blame @thehollowwriter for inspiring this one XD)

These Headcanons are a mix of platonic/romantic, ignoring any 'canon' pairings they might already have (Lookin' at you, Al)

His love language is Acts of Service, so when he starts trying to do stuff for you? Keep an eye out. The problem is he's usually friendly to everyone so it's the subtleties to look out for.

To this point he's one to pine after someone. He hopes his actions might speak louder than words, so there might not be an outright 'I fancy you'. The only reason he actively pursued/told Azul outright was because subtlety can be easily dismissed by a guarded heart.

He will insist on public transit if going anywhere if a car is a viable option. Likewise he could come off as obnoxious when it comes to driver/passenger safety. Seatbelt before keys, music isn't too loud, put the phone down, etc.

Oddly, if you really want to know the biggest tell you are In With Him? The mask starts coming off. His chipper, stiff upper lip attitude gives way to a more calm, almost melancholy air. He's gotten comfortable enough with you to open up about certain things, things he hasn't so much 'lied' about so much as 'omitted details to let you make your own truth'.

For as much as they give airs of 'being more mature' than their peers, there's still a 16yr old there. If they start trying to show you some of their art/music tastes, that's def a path of at the very least friendship.

If you find yourselves having a good whinge over something to drink? You're DEFINITELY friends. Being a Prefect is difficult, they gotta let things out somtime and there's only so many suggestions of 'Just Burn them to a Crisp' from Grim that they can take.

If comes a crisis and they feel need to give Grim to YOU? Congrats you now have a relationship with a Prefect.

Ya boi is awkward. He's acutely aware of his size and strength so his attempts to make friends usually has him trying to seem as unimposing as possible. But if he can't, he'll content do just stand off to the side for you

He's not writing or drawing anything lewd, he swears! Catching him sketching you or writing observations is a bit of a tightrope. Either you can make him clam up about how much of a muse you are to him, or you can open the floodgates to more information about human culture (whether you're human or otherwise) that you would have any idea what to do with.

Dates may be sparse at first, as he'd want to go to a local cultural or holiday event with you. Him burying his nose in another journal isn't him ignoring you or his way to call you boring, he's just really invested in the atmosphere (and maybe observing how you're enjoying things to note for later)

Laz is kind of a flirt, so off the bat it'll be hard to tell if he's just being him or if there's anything more.

Like a lot of guys, if he's inviting you to band practice, it's to show off. 'Mira, any requests?'

He loves the idea of being on the road for shows, but deep down he wants someone who is willing to wait for him at homebase, cheering him on. He just needs to prove it's just his music and not his heart that likes to rove.

It should be first and foremost stated that no matter what he says, he has no interest in friends or romantic partners. Less people to share his success with.

However, one can find themselves more often at his side with a few points of navigation.

How gullible are you? How willing are you to ignore the progression in things he asks of you? How much do you need to see a therapist? How well connected are you? These are a few deciding factors in how close the Python will allow you to get.

Depending on what you can give him, he has the means to pull out quite a few stops. Gifts, travel, physical intimacy, it's all in the name of dividends.

Of course, when it comes to wits and intelligence, is where you can genuinely start to 'charm' him instead of the other way around. If you can out-psychology him or evade all his attempts to crack you, while also showing off what you know but aren't willing to divulge, will make him utterly writhe.

He's a king looking for a ruling partner (that isn't going to threaten his status)

Friendships (or 'alliances') are mutually beneficial. He knows just the right balance of give and take.

He can smell a gold-digger a mile off. It's happened enough times he knows all the steps. Because of how often younger folks tend to shoot their shot that way, he tends to go romantically for those 30+.

While he doesn't want a leech on his arm, he doesn't want someone overly codependent either. He's a busy man, so someone with hobbies and a general maturity of independence would be ideal.

Friendly gatherings tend to be part of public events, but he's a busy man so compile your stories into elevator pitches.

'Dates' on the same hand, are typically in those same spaces. hearkening back to a need for maturity, he isn't going to bring someone who's going to get him in the paper for all the wrong reasons.

[ENTRY REDACTED. CANDIDATE NOT AVAILABLE FOR ROMANCE]

TAGLIST: (lemme know if you want added/removed)

@ceruleancattail @squidwen @thecosmicjackalope @vaporvipermedia@writing-heiress

@oya-oya-okay @k-looking-glass-house @thehollowwriter @rainesol @cyn-write

@heartscrypt @honey-milk-depresso @br3adtoasty @jackiecronefield @ruggiethethuggie

@hoboyherewego @achy-boo @oreoskys @oseathepebble @oathofoaks

@tunabesimpin @hamstergal @fumikomiyasaki@valse-a-mille-temps

@hallowed-delights @kimikitti @plutos-hell @thetwstwildcard @atwstedstory

@comingyourlugubriousness @ice-cweam-sod4 @twst-the-night-away @nammanarin

[chronic-ghost]

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

rating: M (just for language)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 5619

summary: you're a human lie detector-- so you tell the handsome man at the Jim Bo’s Burger Barn at 3AM. Too bad you're too drunk to catch up to his lies.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, this one is pretty tame, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my Poker Face adjacent fic and inspired by the scene where Javi so innocently flirts with that american wife in the lounge. might become a series but not quite sure yet. lemme know which direction I should take this, if I should take it anywhere at all!

🤍Series Masterlist | Next

🤍AO3 Link

You attract trouble.

You attract trouble like you put on your nicest dress, did your hair, fixed up your tits, and doused yourself in trouble-pheromones. Like you found trouble curled up on the side of the road, sad and alone like a lost dog, and you gave it a cookie and now it swings around your ankles, always moments away from knocking you on your ass. Except it’s not a dog, it’s a chimpanzee that’s finally snapped and it’s pissed–  it’s beating on the bars of its cage, it’s yowling, howling, it’s coming after you to eat off your goddamn face and–

Okay, back up a bit. 

You have a thing that gets you into trouble. No, not like a self-destructive habit or a weird twitch. It’s not drugs or alcohol or even a dumbass ex. It’s this thing you’ve always been able to do, always known, and because of your big mouth, it’s always gotten you into hot water with the wrong people.

You know when someone is lying. Don’t ask how. It’s a thing. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, if what’s coming out of someone’s mouth is the God’s honest truth or total and utter bullshit.

You know when someone is lying and generally, folks don’t really appreciate it when you a) catch them on a lie and b) call them out on it. You and your big mouth.

Okay, that’s two things that get you into trouble, but it’s primarily the lying thing and the mouth thing is more or less a fun bonus. Used for good or evil, or whatever. 

The point – the point is – you know when someone is lying. Every single time. So, sure, the audience may say, it’s a weird quirk, kinda bizarre, may or may not be difficult to prove, but trouble? Real actual trouble? How could you possibly get into chimpanzee-face-eating trouble with just this little thing?

Well, rather easy actually. If you don’t have any particular skills, that is. If you barely finished high school, and street smarts was the only kind of smarts they were selling the day your mom smacked you on the ass and told you to find your way in the world. It was hard keeping a job too. Minimum wage living is terrible, especially when the customers lie to you, or to each other, or to their children. Even worse when management lies about why there’s no cash payout this month or why they’re late with this month’s checks. Getting by is fucking hard as shit, but when you know there’s something wrong being done and you’ve got this big fucking mouth, well, you’ve never been one to not court trouble. 

Maybe trouble is easier to find because you like to wave and flirt with it when you drive by. Give a little wink.

You work here, you work there. Nothing serious. Always temporary. And then, one day, during your shift as a maid at the Economy 99 on route 10, the elderly night guard asks if you’ve ever played poker. 

Nah, you say. Go Fish, that’s really your game. 

So he offers to teach you, along with a few of the other maids and staff waiting around for someone to blow chunks in the swimming pool because you always managed to find the really classy places. 

Okay, so you barely finished high school, you don’t have real marketable skills, you’ve got a big mouth and you’re not afraid to use it and –

– and –

You’re really fucking good at poker. 

And who here would like to venture a guess as to why?

You always know when someone is lying and what is poker if not Advance Bullshit for Adults? Fuckin’ Astronomical Physics for Liars and Dumbasses. Hell, you gotta fuckin’ PhD in Bovine Excrement and it’s time you graduated to the big leagues. Sayonara community college, hello Stanford for Assholes.

Okay, maybe that’s just regular Stanford. 

You learn to hustle too. Lose a few rounds so they don’t catch onto you and can’t accuse you of anything as you wipe their clocks clean. You change your name too, in different towns, in different back alley poker halls, because unfortunately the poker and casino community in this place is too small.

This place being all of the United States. 

You can’t exactly go online and work your literal magic– you gotta at least see or hear the person to know if they’re lying. Bluffing over pixels just isn’t the same. Isn’t sexy enough. 

So, with your big mouth and exceptional poker skills, you go hunting off the coast. It was an invite only poker tournament in Florida. You hadn’t managed to burn your ‘Marlene Green’ identify just yet and she was fucking crushing it up and down the east coast. You barely blinked at the ten grand buy-in– baby money, suckers ducks, little Tikes casino royale.

This was also the last one, you told yourself. One for all the marbles. 

Because the thing about disreputable poker halls, they tend to be filled with unpleasant, disreputable, very angry characters that, like a chimpanzee, will rip your face off and eat it if they think they’ve been cheated. 

Exit strategy. Mama always said you gotta have an exit strategy. Well, Mama said a lot of things and the actual literal exit strategy was Monterey Marina with a gorgeous trawler for sale. Older than shit, but damn that baby could purr. You were gonna take the money, offer up stone-cold cash (no questions asked), and sail off into the sunset. Or, well, sunrise because you were definitely getting the fuck out of Florida. 

But here it comes, the real kick in the goddamn teeth, the real screw in the rack. This is where your mouth and your talent– gift, power, is this a fucking superhero movie?– whatever– tended to get all mishmashed with one other thing that always– and you mean always– got you in the hot seat. Got you in Trouble, with a capital T, that rhymes with P and stands for pool hall – breathing down your neck. 

You alway had shitdumb, bad, fucking luck. 

So it’s not some lowtime, grumpy townies you piss off when you win the pot, it turns out its members of a goddamn drug cartel! And they are PISSED.

P-I-S-S-E-D

You don’t wanna ask the barrel of their guns if they’re going to kill you because you don’t actually want to be sure of their answer, so you’ve got your hands up, thinking this is definitely it– I’ve played my last hand, I’ve sunk my last boat, I’ve cursed my last fuck– when police sirens go off. It’s not a relief, but a distraction.

You’ve got a big mouth, wacky abilities, and reflexes like someone who’s been running their whole life. You smash a bottle against the back of the head of the blonde one closest to you, flip the table– chips and bullets go flying– and with the case holding the winnings still in your hands, you sprint out the back door. 

To your lovely Chevy Camaro waiting for you. 

And you drive.

“And I drive and I drive and I drive, all the way down to this lovely little diner in . . .” 

You swivel on the red seat, nearly knocking over the five little plastic bottles of Crown Royal on the counter that is making your head thick and puffy. You squint at the sign that boasts the best burgers in – “Texas, yes, thank you, Texas! Lone Star State. The most hated state, of all fifty of them, for Wile E Coyote. His nemesis. His haunting. His apocalypse now . . .” 

The man seated next to you, the same man who’s been there for an hour, quietly listening to you drunkenly ramble at the counter of Jim Bo’s Burger Barn, smirks. His mustache twitches.

“Why is it the Wile E Coyote’s least favorite state?”

Your mouth drops at him. You slouch as though indignant about his very question. “Roadrunner, duh, state bird of the Lone Star State. That and blue bonnets. I mean, the flower. Blue bonnets are the state bird and the road runner is the state flower of the Looney Star State . . . wait . . .”

He laughs, softly, his elbows under him as he leans forward on the counter, his brown jacket looking like it smells amazing. Drunker than you meant to be, you eye him from his classic cowboy boots, up his hips, and to the edges of that lovely brown jacket as it hangs around his waist. He has the prettiest eyes. 

“You were saying something about driving here?” He asks, very much aware of your shameless staring. “Do you still have that money?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter and turn back to your chocolate milkshake that’s pretty much just chocolate soup at this point. You snatch up a remaining fry from your long gone burger and swirl it in the soup. “Got the keys and the money locked up tight. I worry more about someone fucking with my baby more than the money, you know. Lots of sentimental value in that car. ‘Is where I lost my virginity.”

At that, the man sputters on his coffee, his third of the night. Black, almost as dark as his hair. 

You sigh, frowning into your lumpy, ice-creamy soup. “So hard to get laid when you’re running for your life.” 

You swivel back to him as he’s patting his jacket dry of coffee. “Wait. You.”

“Me what?” You think his cheeks warm pink for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here at 3AM, listening to me babble endlessly? You don’t look shifty, but maybe you are.” 

He smirks again and tosses his napkins into the now empty coffee mug. 

“I’m Javi,” he says in a deep, soothing voice as he extends his hand across to you. You take it, with the proper amount of trepidation. “And I’m on my way to see my niece in Flagstaff.” 

You click your tongue and withdraw your hand, disappointed. “Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I mean, your name is definitely Javi.” You pick up your own coffee mug and see that it’s unfortunately empty. You pick out some fleck that’s fallen into it. “Well, almost – is that short for something? – but you are definitely not on your way to see your niece in Flagstaff. Does she not live in Flagstaff or . . . do you not even have a niece?” You gasp, mouth agape. He has the decency to look uneasy. His eyes narrow at you. You scoff. “That is fucked up, hombre. Starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.” 

“Why do you think I’m lying?” 

You roll your eyes, the coffee cup dangling loosely in your fingers. “We’ve been over this, my dude. See the court documents. Jeez, how hard is it to order a refill at three in the morning? Paragraph B, Subsection I’m really fucking good at poker. I don’t think, I know. I have this thing, always had, and when people lie to me, I . . . wriggle. Squirm. Not exactly ‘spoiled lunch meat’ but not ‘just clocked a hottie from across the bar and I like their vibes’ either.” 

He watches as the waitress, glaring, comes over and refills your mug. You immediately dive into five packets of sugar, shredding them like a racoon with a bag of popcorn. 

“But I don’t take it too personally,” you continue, flicking the sugar packet to make sure every single crystal falls into the cup. “People lie all the time. About stupid shit too. I don’t think they even mean to do it. It just happens.”

“Does it bother you? That people lie?” 

“Eh. Once upon a time. But fuck, if you could hear the bullshit firehose that comes outta people’s mouths on the daily, you’d stop shaking it off too, if you know what I mean.” Satisfied that you’d be able to see through both time and space with your sugar high, you take a sip. Needs milk. You reach across his plate, wobbling on the edge of the seat, his chest inches from your forearm, and snag the little tin milk pitcher. Your cup becomes more milk than coffee. “People lie for the best of reasons, mostly. Or at least, best for them. Either to save hurting someone else's feelings or their own. We humans don’t like pain, generally, as a rule. But rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.”

Javi, or as close to his real name as you’re going to get, is quiet. That tends to be more of his natural state, given that he had barely said two words while you recounted the past few weeks to him whether he wanted it or not. You sip your coffee again, delighted to have found the right balance of sugar, milk, and burnt coffee, when he taps the rim of his mug with his nail. 

 “I do have a niece, but she lives in Austin. Haven’t seen her in a while, actually, but I want to.” 

“Oh, yeah?” That was all true. You bend forward, eyes trying to watch him as you sip the delicate, hovering brown line that threatens to spill over the edge of the cup. “What’s stopping you from seeing her?” 

“Work.” 

Well, that was fucking ominous. 

“Wait. Fuck. What do you do for a living?” 

Javi slides off the seat and turns those slim hips towards you and, like a fucking idiot, you just now register the bulk at his waist. 

You whimper. Of course the one nice person who wanted to spare you a second glance was from the cartel. They found you. Somehow they tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, which was exactly what you wanted when you still had your life ahead of you. But now it seemed like a terrible fucking idea because there was no one around to at least make sure Baby Girl Camaro went to a good home. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck! That’s a gun. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me right here in this goddamn diner,” you whine and put your head on the counter, hands covering the back as if you were preparing for a tornado. 

He sighs. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

Truth. 

“Then what do you want with me?” You glare at him, bleary-eyed. “Because the whole cover as a kindly stranger with baby cow eyes is officially fucking blown, my guy.” 

“Let’s go outside and – wait, what? Baby cow eyes? What the hell does that mean?” 

“What? You’ve never watched Dr. Pole? TV veterinarian?” You unwind from your prone position and frown at him. “He takes care of those little baby cows, lookin’ up at their mama with those big, sweet, gentle, loving brown eyes. Cutest thing in the world. Almost made me wanna give up beef for a whole two minutes. But seriously, dude, there’s this hamburger joint in Miami that makes you just wanna lick the juices right off your fingers– hey!” 

He grabs you by the upper arms and, as casually as a kidnapping can go, hauls you out of the diner. The bell above the door rings joyfully as he pulls you through. 

The reality of your situation hits you like a sixteen-wheeler truck and tears spring up in your eyes as panic bites into your spine. His grip is like iron around your bicep. 

“Dude, I’m so sorry I rambled on like that but I swear I didn’t know who you were. Please, please don’t kill me – o-o-or hurt me. Please don’t take me back to the cartel. You can have the money, I swear, j-j-just take it–,”

His eyes widen and immediately lets you go. The neon sign and lights of the diner behind him blur his face in shadow. You wipe at your eyes. 

“Lady, look, if you’re gonna survive on the run from the Cali Cartel, you can’t be telling your whole life story to anyone who asks.” He’s got his hands on his hips as if disappointed with you. You pout with your bottom lip out.

“Wasn’t telling just anyone. Was telling you.” You cross your arms and sniff, suddenly rather embarrassed to be crying in front of a man so genuinely hot it makes you go a little cross-eyed. Well, it was either him or the whiskey. TBD. “Not that I’m encouraging you or anything, but if you don’t kill me, aren’t your cartel bosses gonna be pissed?” 

“I don’t work for the cartel. I work for the DEA.” 

If crying was embarrassing, you are going to be fucking traumatized if you puked all over his cowboy boots.

“Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” You press your knuckles into your eyes, groaning. You wander backwards. Your head starts to spin and so do you. “The fucking government is after me? Holy shit, this is not good.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

You frown and spin back around. He looks exasperated. 

“Well, how many words does it take to read me my Miranda rights?” You tick off the words on your fingers as you speak them aloud. “You. Have. The. Right. To. Remain. Silent. Anything – is that one word or two? – You. Say–,”

“Jesus Christ–,” He claps his wide hand over yours, squishing your tally between his palms. “Are you always like this or just because you’re drunk?” 

“I’m a delight, pal, okay?” You scowl up at him. “I am a barrel full of monkeys at all times. I am a waterslide with chocolate and whipped cream, okay? I am a–,”

His hands leap to your shoulders. His touch is gentle like he knows he shouldn’t scare you but he’s considering throwing you into oncoming traffic. 

“Just . . . show me the case of money you stole,” he begs with his baby cow eyes, “alright? Let’s start there.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “If I do, what’s to keep you from knocking me out and throwing me in the trunk?” 

“I’m not going to do that.”

No tingle. You purse your lips and wiggle out from under his palms. “Say it. Say, I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

“It’s not exactly your money, is it?”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” He says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

Still nothing. No tingle. Well, no tingle about him lying anyway. 

“You passed the test. Now come here.” 

Hesitantly, he nudges towards you, those thick eyebrows dipping down as if expecting you to pull a bazooka out of your bra.

“C’mere, c’mere. Good.” You clap a hand on his shoulder and lean into him. You shift your weight onto one leg and wiggle off your other boot. You get a whiff of his cologne – dark, woodsy, a little too much, as if to cover for a lack of deodorant. “Now, as you so annoyingly identified earlier, I have had a little, insy-tintsy bit to drink, and if I tried to take off my shoe by myself, I would, as the kids say, eat shit. And once you’ve fallen on your ass in front of one cop, you’ve fallen on your ass in front of them all.”

His warm hands find your waist, steadying you, just as you pop your heel out of your boot. “I’m not a cop,” he grumbles.

“And I’m not a walking lie detector.” You shake your boot and your car keys tinkle as they hit the dirt. “Ah, ha! Got ‘em.”

You shake them in front of his baby cow eyes, grinning, before spinning back to your car and popping the trunk, hopping as you went to slide your boot back on. 

“Do you work out?” You ask as he rounds the edge. Half of you is buried in the trunk, feet in the air. 

“Uh, yeah, when I can. Why?”

“What do you bench?”

“256. Why?” 

“Oh, then this should be easy for you.”

You groan, struggling with something and he dives to help you – and his knees buckle. 

“Why the hell do you have a tire for a sixteen wheeler in your trunk?”

“Same reason you’re sweating, toots. Heavy as fuck and hard to move. But now that we have . . .”

You pull out a slim silver case. You pop the handles and sigh.

You haven’t moved a single bill since that night. You haven’t even breathed on it, as if doing so would set off a series of alarms, bells, and whistles.

“So small for so much trouble,” you whisper as he crowds in next to you. “Fifty thousand dollars. Make or break a life. Well, at least, a life like mine.” 

Javi makes a face. “Should be one hundred, but those fuckers switched it out.” 

“Wait, how do you know that?” 

He sighs and slams the lid of the trunk shut. You snatch up the case before he does and hold it tight to your chest. Javi stands there for a moment, with his hand on Baby’s trunk, head down, thinking.

“Look, I want to help you . . . and I can. But you’ve gotta start being honest with me. How did you really get into that poker game?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, frowning. “That little party trick you do. The human lie detector thing. What is it? How did you know Veracruz had that shit hand?”

“Uh, because I asked him and he said he didn’t have a shit hand, and I knew he was lying.” 

“Yeah, that. How did you know he was lying?”

“I just did.”

“Bullshit.” 

“That’s my line!” You glare up at him, very much aware of his height and very much aware how hot he is. “I’m not lying to you. I just know when people are lying. If you believe it, I’ll know.” 

Javi rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real thing people can do. Have you done forensic work before? Studied body language somewhere?” 

You scoff and step back, showing off your black fringe vest, dirty jeans, and combat boots. “Do I look like I’ve studied anything anywhere ever? Where would I even have gotten the money to go study somewhere? Oh right, the forensic fairy, just beating the shit outta people with a bag of cash.” 

He puts his hands on his hips and you match him because you can do the scary cop thing too. It’s not that hard. 

“I broke my arm when I was seven on a bike ride.” 

“True.” 

“I had a dog named Benji.” 

“Dog’s right, but not named Benji.” You grin, rubbing your hands together, then putting them on your thighs. “C’mon, gimme something you’ve never told anyone. This is exciting. Your mustache does this little twitch thing when I’m right.” 

“When I was twelve, I cheated off my friend’s math test.” 

You frown, dropping your shoulders. “That’s your big secret? Whoof, buddy, and here I thought the big scary man gunning for me was mean and lean, when he’s actually just an All-American—,”

“I need your help to arrest the men who are trying to kill you.” 

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth click.

“That’s what all of this is about.” He crosses his arms and leans against Baby. “Aren’t you curious how I found you so fast? Faster than the cartel who's been on your ass for two weeks now?” 

“I’d like to think it was just kismet that we found each other,” you grumble. “Serendipity. Movie magic. Lady Luck doing me a fuckin’ solid for once.”

“That case has a tracker in it. We had a plant in that game who was supposed to win, but not before he could distribute the cash out in the pot. We’d be able to follow them back to their stashes and track their movements.” He bit his lip, disapprovingly. “And then you showed up. Cleaned their fucking clocks like it was nothing. Had their goddamn numbers from minute one and none of us could figure it out. Steve was probably relieved when you knocked him out with that bottle.”

“Oh, shit, the blonde was your partner?” You grimace. “My bad, dude, my bad. Is he, uh, okay?”

Javi nods, eyes distant, as if subtly trying to work something out in his brain. Like testing to see if you could read minds or something. “He’ll be fine. His wife Connie is thrilled to have him home for a few weeks.” 

“Ah. And that means you pulled the shit straw to go after the girl who ran off with all your government money . . .” It was finally all coming together. “Shit, should I add your wife to the list of people I’ve pissed off? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about any of this.”

His jaw works, as if he was chewing on something, eyes dark, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds one out to you.

You stay where you are, hesitant. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a smoker.” He spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t bite.”

You scowl and trudge forward. You snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers and wait your turn for the lighter.

“What gave it away? I haven’t had a smoke in hours.” 

The shadow of the flame flickered in his palm as he held out the lighter close to your lips, his hand blocking the wind. His brown eyes looked black in the absence of light. 

“Chain-smoking and playing poker with idiots is a combo deal. Two vices for the price of one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You match his lean against Baby’s trunk, the pair of you watching the occasional car or truck go by on the interstate in the distance. The paper crinkles when you suck in the smoke. God, there really is nothing like the first bite of a cigarette. 

“So, what’s the play here?” You ask, after a moment. “You have the money. Why do you need me?” 

“You won’t have to worry about kindly strangers with baby cow eyes for starters.” You scowl at him. Maybe it’s the orange light of the flame, but you swear you see a twinkle in his eyes. “But you tell me. You seem smart. What would the government want with you?”

He likes a chase, you realize. He likes to play, to tease. He likes to be in control. Something inside you knots up, threatening goosebumps on your skin, but you shake it back. Down, girl. 

You take a sip from your cigarette, thinking. 

There is nothing else around except the highway and this diner. Seemed like such a good idea at the time. Who’d ever find your ass all the way out here? You lick the bottom of your lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“I’m your only witness to the mountains of coke being produced out in the open when they brought us in. Everyone else at that table was cartel or DEA. You want me to testify. 

He nods slowly. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it.

“We didn’t know who the hell you were when you showed up and planned to arrest you before everything went tits up.” He taps the ash onto the gray dirt and you watch his fingers. “If you do this, you’re out from under the cartel. We can give you a new identity, and you can start grifting again across America. All of this’ll be a bad dream.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark, just at the edge of the light from the neon sign. You follow suit a second later. The keys to Baby are still in your pocket. 

“And if I don’t? If I don’t do this, then what?” 

His answer is a single arched eyebrow.

You dart to the left, trying to get around him, but he’s there first, arms outstretched like he’s guarding a goal. He frowns at you. Seriously? 

You lunge again, this time to the right, and he’s again in front. 

Your brow sweating, you hook your foot onto Baby’s trunk, desperately trying to scramble over the top. You get about halfway up before those annoyingly large hands snatch you around the waist and haul you off the car.

“Would you stop it?” He plops you down between his solid chest and the car door. This close to him, air temporarily leaves your lungs. “I’m being honest when I say I’m here to help you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Am I lying?” Again, that beautiful eyebrow of disapproval. 

“No, but I’ve officially decided you’re shifty.” 

He shakes his head and steps back, allowing blood flow to return to your brain. 

“Is this what you want for your life? Driving from small town to small town, picking up bullshit jobs, sleeping in shit beds, when there’s so much more you could do? You’re smart, resourceful, funny, weirdly agile . . . but you wanna spend your life hiding from the world.” 

There’s something hot and sharp in your throat.

“It’s what I’m good at,” you croak. 

His expression softens. The gravel crackles beneath his boots as he comes closer. Javi, the DEA officer, has temporarily left the building. In his place, this Javi is smoothed out, dulled, not all jagged edges and razor burns. Maybe tastes sweeter than day-old coffee and stale cigarettes. You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with either– you happily take both– but seeing him unguarded, even for a moment, threatens to topple you over. There’s a light in his eyes when he takes in your face. Your eyes. Your nose. Your mouth. 

He looks . . . hopeful. 

One hesitant finger brushes away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

Do not tremble. Do not tremble. Do not do it, I swear, ladies, keep it together!

“I bet you are,” he says softly. Jesus Christ, his hands are so big up close. “I bet you are good at a lot of things. You seem like the type who could genuinely surprise me. And I think you might surprise yourself one day.” 

You grimace, deeply, deeply regretful. 

“Yeah,” you mutter glumly. “I do surprise people a lot, actually. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be listening.”

“Wha–,”

From your other pocket in your vest, you yank out a one-time-use stun gun and stab his thigh through his jeans. Fifty-thousand volts lights up his entire body, arched, and tensed, before the grown man collapses at your feet. 

Unconscious, Javi hits the ground so hard you squeal, landing on his face and no doubt earning a nasty bruise. 

“Exit strategy, dude! Always gotta have an exit strategy. But I’m so, so sorry!” Grabbing his deadweight shoulder, you roll him onto his back and try to get him in a comfortable position. There’s dust in his mustache. .You fold his hands onto his chest like he was casually napping. 

Then because you were in fact the nicest or stupidest person on the planet, you dig your arms under his and pull him out of the parking lot. It would be a true sin if he got run over and anything happened to that beautiful face. Huffing, you drop him off by the bike rack. “I’m sorry. You are so gorgeous but I gotta get outta here and I can’t have you following me. This hurts me way more than it hurts you.”

You bend down and rifle through his jacket. You find what you’re looking for and take his phone out of his pocket. Old, probably a burner. With a shake, you crack off the battery and throw it on the ground. The crunch is loud beneath your heel. That should give you some more time. Can’t haul you back to HeadQuarters if he can’t call them.

This close to him, you can see the bags beneath his eyes. You remember he didn’t eat the entire time he sat with you in the diner. He didn’t respond to your question about a wife. Guilt clangs into your ribs. Slowly, you loosely brush your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, curls around his neck and ears. He looks like he needs sleep. 

You had been blasting across state lines, hardly eating, barely sleeping, restless and fearful. Maybe he had been too.  

“God, I am such a fucking idiot.” You grimace as you see a ripe purple bump growing on his cheek. “I am so sorry and I am so going to hell for this.”

Over the road to the highway, the dawn rises, purple and pink and heavy.

Baby purrs, when you start the engine, welcoming and warm. Where to today, Mama?

Jim Croce’s twang eases out of the radio as you adjust your mirror and see his long legs still out by the concrete. Somebody would find him soon enough.

Uptown got its hustlers

The bowery got it's bums

42nd street got big Jim Walker

He's a pool shootin' son of a gun

Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come

But he stronger than a country hoss

You shake your head, guilt gnawing at your gut. Baby roars as you pull out onto the road and up onto the highway. Into the burning dawn.

What was it that he said? 

And when the bad folks all get together at night

You know they all call big Jim boss, just because

He called you funny. Resourceful. Full of potential. And smart. He thought you were smart.

Liar, liar. 

And they say

You don't tug on superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

[fedyaplushie]

an analysis of the fyodor breakdown scene—the truth, an act, or something else entirely?

warning: !!minor spoilers for the brothers karamazov!!

To believe Fyodor is an honest person is the way of the fool, but to mistrust every word he says and view them as lies will not put you in a better position, either.

By dismissing every dialogue of his, you are still, in a way, putting trust in him. Putting trust in the fact that he is a liar. And thus, you may miss out on important, vital information.

He could be hiding some specks of truth in his words, in his actions, and you will never know, because you already marked him as a liar. Yet he is most definitely not a truthful person, either.

So, it is hard to know... when is he lying? When is he telling the truth? When is he leading us to believe that a truth he told is actually a lie?

With Fyodor, it is very difficult to tell, and one of the moments that proves this the most, is the infamous Fyodor breakdown scene from Chapter 108.

Many people have already discussed the Fyodor breakdown scene which has led the fandom to two major conclusions: either he is genuinely being plagued by a second personality (be it via possession or otherwise), or the entire scene was an act, as Fyodor himself claimed.

I myself have thought about this scene many times, and even wrote up my own thread, in which I discussed the possibility of Fyodor suffering from a real mental breakdown after seeing the note, and then quickly coming up with a bullshit lie of having a second personality to throw Sigma off-guard and claim the upper hand, which he was in need of after showing such a vulnerable side to one of his enemies.

As of right now, I have not yet discarded that possibility, for I want to remain open-minded, no matter what curveballs Asagiri may throw at us. However, I wanted to consider other options, too. We always talk about whether Fyodor was acting or not, but what if there's more to it?

Let's break down the scene:

Sigma shows Fyodor, while holding him at gunpoint, the note he found on the ground of the Meursault hallways, the one which has the Russian translation for "help me" written on it.

Fyodor inspects the note before suddenly scooting back and screaming, leaving Sigma confused. He keeps muttering "help me" to himself, continues screaming, until he goes silent, waits a few short seconds, quickly shoots up and asks Sigma, "What year is it?"

The inclusion of that question has definitely rung alarm bells after recent chapters have revealed that Fyodor may or may not be much older than any other mortal human being—it is at least fair to assume that he was somehow alive centuries ago, if his memories are to be believed.

However, I'm much more interested in what happens next...

He speaks of a demon. The demon that is his ability, the ability that took over him due to his own weakness. He switches from using "him," to refer to the demon, to "I," implying that the demon is a part of himself.

Some have taken this to mean that he is possessed in one way or another (especially with the most recent chapters), but I would like to offer up a different interpretation.

Let's assume the entire scenario was genuine... I am not able to answer who may have written the note or why a Russian "help me" would be enough to trigger Fyodor, but let's assume it did, and his breakdown was real.

My thought was, what if this entire spiel with Sigma came as a result of his own mind?

He has allegedly lived for a long time, seeing himself as a servant of God in his quest to bring humanity to the promised land. Living so long, following such a goal so strictly, would have a toll on one's mind, no? We don't know what Fyodor was like before his ability and/or his immortality manifested, so who's to say that serving such an abstract goal for such a long time wouldn't cause one to have a distorted sense of self?

Moments ago, he was screaming and curled up on the floor. It wouldn't be unlikely that such a moment of mental vulnerability would cause his more distorted sense of self to show itself. Especially when one considers that he asked Sigma what year it was the moment he calmed down, he was clearly quite confused over his surroundings.

So, my conclusion was, that the one he calls a "demon" could simply be referring to the parts of himself that his inner self, deeply buried within, despises, or, maybe more accurately, fears the most. Someone whom he can mentally shift the blame onto, speaking of the demon and his ability as if they were one and the same. If the manifestation of his ability (which many believe is what is causing him to be potentially immortal) was what originally caused him to think that he must have been chosen to fulfill some grand quest, then that makes it all the more likely.

In short, with this interpretation, I do not believe he is possessed. I don't think he has a second personality, either. Both the demon/ability and Fyodor himself are parts of Fyodor, with this scene giving insight into what he truly thinks of himself—a feeble being who was easily overcome by his weakness, and the temptation of his ability and viewing himself as a servant of God.

And then there's the part with the Sword Kladenets (if we're to assume that he was telling the truth about their holiness and that the part about it being a simple guard's knife was a lie), where he asks Sigma to kill him, which is a whole other aspect to consider, if my interpretation is correct...

The one thing that throws me off is how quickly Fyodor came back from all of this, but I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he could easily overcome such vulnerable states and act as if it was nothing. We're talking about Fyodor, after all.

Now, I've held this interpretation for quite a few months now, yet I waited until now to bring it up. Why? Simply because my interpretation had no basis. There was, as far as I was aware, nothing to back my thoughts up, and I didn't want to talk about something I myself barely believed in. This interpretation was solely an idea, maybe a gut feeling, but it was never solid in any way.

Until very recently, when a friend of mine texted me to talk about a scene in The Brothers Karamazov... the scene where Ivan Karamazov speaks with the devil. And the scene which Asagiri himself has stated served as an inspiration for Fyodor's character.

Yet that scene is not Ivan's first encounter with the 'devil.' He strongly implies throughout the book that he has had multiple encounters with "him," yet it is not until that very scene—the scene Asagiri which was referring to—until we, as readers, are able to experience it ourselves, through his—Ivan's—lens.

In this scene, Ivan experiences a hallucination as a result of his illness (delirium tremens)... a hallucination where the devil is speaking with him.

The "devil"—whom Ivan acknowledges as an embodiment of his own "thoughts and emotions, though only those that are most loathsome and stupid."

Sound familiar?

Well, I could go on and on about the "Ivan speaks with the Devil" scene and how well it fits into my interpretation of Fyodor's breakdown scene, but this analysis is already quite long, so I may save that for another day...

But I believe I have reached my point—that my interpretation, which I developed solely through gut feeling and creativity, sounds eerily similar to what Ivan experiences, especially in the scene we are privy to... the scene which, once again, has been confirmed by Asagiri to have served as an inspiration for Fyodor's character.

Yet, despite this, I am not entirely convinced, though definitely more than I was before.

While my interpretation may be correct, it's also possible that Asagiri is pulling an UNO Reverse Card and that, while the BSD scene truly could be inspired by the TBK scene, Fyodor was only using the mention of a demon as a lie to throw Sigma off, while in Ivan's case, it was 'genuine.' It is also entirely possible that Fyodor did have a talk with the devil—a.k.a. the part of himself he loathes the most—at some point in the past, and used that experience to make his lie more convincing. Who knows, maybe I'm looking into this way too much and those two scenes have no relation to each other, whatsoever!

"People are quick to believe they are thinking of their own free will. [...] we trust that everything we discover is valuable. We're loath to believe that our thoughts are being controlled."

And thus, we start looking for meaning in panels and dialogue that are either red herrings or don't even have any meaning at all... I am wary of that. Which is why I have elected to stay open-minded, instead of believing in only "one true theory."

But I still want to have some faith in my interpretation and that is why I am sharing it with you. Even if I end up being wrong, I am happy to be able to share my thoughts!

(Forgive me, if I am not the first one to share this idea. Due to spoiler warnings, I have avoided any Fyodor analysis posts, that contain TBK in any way, therefore, I am unaware of the content of said posts.)

Thank you so much for reading this far! I appreciate it!

Shout-out to @/xKolyaMxxx (Twitter) for giving me the motivation to write this analysis by sharing and discussing a similar idea with me!

Huge thanks to @creantzy for making me aware of the content of the TBK scene, for sharing photos of the English translation of the book, and, most of all, for discussing this topic with me, and helping me out a lot!

[awideplace]

To the 15-year-old anon who wrote me asking for prayer and giving specifics of what you're facing: I won't publish your ask due to wanting to be discerning with publicly sharing the details of what you are facing and I can't write you privately due to question being anonymous. I want to tell you though: please, don't live in shame and disgust. This is what Satan would want: for your to cover and hide and believe you are worthless. This is not true. These are lies. You are not alone. What you are facing is not unique to you and you are not a terrible person for it. We all have struggles; every single one of us. Whoever claims to not have a struggle would, I fear, not be living in truth and essentially live in pride and self-righteousness. Do we stay in a place of bondage to our sin? No, by the grace of God we don't have to. I feel for you; you are not alone. Lord, please bless this young woman and speak to her very heart that she is tenderly created and cared for by You; protect her from the condemnation and lies from the Enemy we pray, Lord. Protect her mind, her heart, Lord–pour out Your Spirit on her life that she may seek You and know You and run to You. We do hide in the face of difficulty, but we hide in the shadow of Your wings, not from You. Please cover and protect her life. Show her, her worth in You. May she be humbled in that she repents of her sin to You and seeks to take steps to counteract these temptations and attacks from the Enemy, but Lord, guard her. Protect her. There are wars within and without and she is facing a battle. Please care for her as only You can; and thank You that You always make a way out. We are not left to ourselves or our own devices. In the name of Jesus we pray, amen.

Scripture that comes to mind for you, beloved (seek Christ):

"Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed." Psalm 57:1

"She came and grabbed him by his cloak, demanding, 'Come on, sleep with me!' Joseph tore himself away, but he left his cloak in her hand as he ran from the house." Genesis 39:12 (Joseph fled sexual sin, the situation, he ran; we often must run so to speak and seek refuge in the shadow of His wings)

"The temptations in your life are no different from what others experience. And God is faithful. He will not allow the temptation to be more than you can stand. When you are tempted, He will show you a way out so that you can endure." 1 Corinthians 10:13

"How priceless is your unfailing love, O God! People take refuge in the shadow of your wings." Psalm 36:7