#i was thinking of editing it before posting it

[dxmedstudent]

Also, I'm often in a space with other people - for example family or a partner, or on public transport, and don't want to expose other people to a cacophony of random noises/the latest tiktok music craze or whatever. But also let's be honest - most of these videos are 90% waffling and filler words and could easily have fit within a tweet but are now like 5-10 minutes of someone drawing out the conclusion. It's the video equivalent of those cooking blog posts that give you their entire life story before they get to the punch. I think part of it is because it's harder to edit videos compared to, say a word post. For example, before I post this, I'll glance through, look for typos, check it's not TOO repetitive or meandering, and then hit 'post'. Whereas with videos, it's a bit easier for them to be kind of...waffley. I don't want to hear someone say "Uh now the other day... i was kind of thinking... and when I was thinking... I realised that I thought... you know, like you think sometimes... and I was thinking about this one thing. Wait for it guys...because this BLEW my mind, and I told my mum, and it blew her mind too. Anyhow I was thinking about this thing that happened, and you will NOT believe how it went down!..." etc. I get that a lot of people who are trying to do and say interesting things on the internet have no formal media training but I just can't. There's no problem with being wordy, or occasionally repeating yourself for emphasis, and sometimes when we talk there's a natural rhythm to presenting a story. Filler words aren't actually bad. But if you're struggling to get to the point, you don't actually need to film it all in one take. It's perfectly normal to stop filming, think about how you're planning to phrase it, and record your video from the top, a little more cohesively if you find yourself tripping up over it. It's also a reason I just can't listen to some podcasts. If I'm expecting fun and jokes for 30 minutes and I find the hosts funny, then they are awesome. But if the podcast is meant to be about a particular topic but a good 15 minutes of it is the host talking about the glass of wine they just drunk, then I'm a lot less interested, because I went into it hoping for something different based on how it was advertised.

Anyhow, text posts rule.

I am slowly losing my mind over the shift towards video as the default media format.

I do not find this to be an efficient way to absorb information. I am bored and distracted by the time the largely unnecessary introduction is over. I can't use ctrl+f to find the specific information I'm looking for. If there are instructions to follow, I don't want to have to constantly pause and back up to the part I need.

At least give me a fucking transcript.

[wordsofwhimsy]

ᴄᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ, ᴋɪꜱꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ʚ♡ɞ - Brunch Edition!

Pairing: Lenless [No Goggles]!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: More smuttt for my people!!

Tags: More of that fucked up toxic bullshittt but we love it don’t we? Mark makes reader jealous, lots of juicy brunch drama

Word Count: 2,664

Chapter Synopsis: Next morning brunch with the girlies! Only make it unhinged, make it hot 👏

a/n: i literally had this wrote up last night after i finished the first part & was dying to post it this morning lmaoo. had so much fun writing this

Part One

The air shifts before you even see him.

You don’t know how—maybe it’s the way Sadie suddenly stops mid-sentence, mimosa halfway to her mouth. Or maybe it’s the pit in your stomach that drops like a stone.

And then—

“Oh my god,” Maya whispers. You turn, already knowing. And there he is.

Mark.

In a black tee and dark jeans like he didn’t just threaten murder and make you see stars less than twelve hours ago. Hair a little messy. Bite marks still faint on his neck. He smirks when he sees you—like he planned this.

“Hi, besties,” he says, sliding into the booth next to you like he belongs there.

The silence is deadly.

Lauren stares like she’s watching a car crash. Sadie physically recoils. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Mark says, reaching across the table to snag a piece of bacon from Maya’s plate. “Figured I’d stop by. Catch up.”

You’re frozen. Mouth open. Praying to disintegrate like dust in the wind. And then—he does the worst possible thing. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Missed you, baby.” Lauren chokes on her coffee.

You can feel the tension spike. It's so loud you swear someone at the next table over flinches. Lauren mutters, “What in the actual fuck…” under her breath, stirring her coffee like it's laced with poison. You elbow Mark in the ribs, whispering,

“What are you doing here?” He grins, unbothered.

“Thought I’d meet the people you’re willing to throw scissors over.”

Sadie slams her fork down. “You’re joking.”

“Oh no,” Mark says smoothly, picking up a menu he clearly doesn’t care about. “Dead serious. Though, between us?” He leans across the table just slightly, smirking at her. “I dunno why she acted like that. I mean, you’ve clearly already made up your mind.”

Sadie blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t like me, Sadie. I get that. You think I’m dangerous, manipulative, unpredictable—”

“You are all of those things!”

Mark raises your glass of water like a toast. “Exactly. And yet…”He tilts his head, eyes dragging down her face—slow, deliberate. “You stare at me like you want me to prove it.”

The table goes silent.

Sadie’s face flushes so fast, you swear steam rises from her mimosa. “You’re disgusting,” she spits, crossing her arms. “You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

Mark shrugs. “Why would I? You think about me when you’re alone, don’t you?” You kick him under the table. Hard. He winces—but doesn’t stop smiling.

“Jesus Christ,” Lauren mutters. “He’s like if a red flag gained sentience.”

Maya—completely unbothered and already two mimosas deep—leans over to you and whispers, “Okay but like… he is kind of hot when he’s being evil.”

“MAYA!”

Mark raises a brow, absolutely delighted. “See? At least someone at this table has taste.”

Sadie’s glaring at him like she’s two seconds from launching her croissant at his head. Mark’s just sitting back, arm draped behind your chair, sipping water like it's champagne. His eyes never leave her.

“You know,” he says, casual as hell, “I used to think you hated me because you were such a good friend to [y/n].”

Sadie scoffs. “Used to?”

“Mmhm.” He sets the glass down slowly, like he’s warming up for something. “But now I think maybe you just wish it was you I had pressed up against the wall last night.”

You choke on your drink. Lauren’s fork clatters to her plate. Sadie turns bright red—rage red.

“Excuse me??” she says, voice low and incredulous. Mark leans forward slightly, all fake innocence and devil-smile.

“You’re always looking at her like she’s in trouble when I’m around,” he says. “But I see the way you look at me. Like you’re trying to figure out what it’d feel like if I bent you over a table and made you scream my name instead.”

The table goes silent. The kind of silence that rings in your ears.

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut—half rage, half something you don’t want to name in front of the bottomless mimosa crowd.

“Mark,” you hiss, gripping his arm. “Shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I bet you fantasize about it,” he says to Sadie, voice lower now, silkier, dangerous. “About what it’d be like to give in. Just once. Let someone wreck you and not say sorry after.”

Sadie’s hand slams down on the table.

“Say one more word,” she hisses, eyes glassy and full of murder, “and I swear I will gut you right here with this butter knife.”

Mark grins. Like she just made his entire week. And you—sitting there between them—feel like you’re about to explode. Jealousy is clawing up your throat, bitter and burning, but so is something else. Something worse.

Desire.

Because watching Mark push Sadie like this—filthy, unbothered, completely in control—it’s doing things to you. Things it shouldn’t.

He turns back to you, finally, and sees it in your face. Oh. He knows. His eyes darken.

“You mad at me?” he murmurs, dragging a knuckle down your jaw, completely ignoring the others. “Or just mad you weren’t the one I was talking to like that?”

You could slap him.

You could also drag him into the back alley and let him absolutely ruin you.

You’re not sure which you’re going to do yet.

But either way—

He’s winning.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until the bathroom door slams behind you, hands gripping the edge of the sink like it might save you from a public breakdown.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Lipstick slightly smudged. Hair wild from your hands combing through it with pure anxiety. Your face is flushed—and not from the champagne.

You're furious.

Not just at him. At yourself.

Because no one should be that turned on by watching their maybe-psycho not-boyfriend flirt graphically with one of their best friends.

And yet…

A knock on the door. Lauren peeks in, arms crossed tight, eyes sharp. “Okay,” she says. “What the hell is going on?” You sigh, still avoiding your own gaze.

“I know it’s insane.”

“Oh, do you?” she snaps. “Because I just watched that man talk about bending Sadie over a table while your fucking mimosa got warm.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I didn’t think he’d come here!”

“But you knew he was like this.” Lauren’s voice softens, just slightly. “And babe... I know you like danger or whatever, but this? This isn’t just hot anymore. This is toxic. This is red-flag city.”

“I know,” you say, voice cracking.

“So then walk away,” she says gently. “Right now. Don’t go back to that table. Don’t let him sink his claws in deeper. You deserve better.” And for a moment—you almost believe her. You take a deep breath. Straighten your dress. Numb yourself.

You’re ready to let go.

Until you step out. And you see him.

Mark. Now sitting next to Sadie. Closer than necessary. Elbow on the back of the booth. Whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh—real, flushed, flustered.

His hand is on her thigh and damn if Sadie didn’t look like she was enjoying the attention. Something snaps in your chest. You walk back to the table calm. Collected. Smiling.

You slide into your seat and grab your water. Take a slow sip. Mark glances over. And you look right at him. Then, under the table, slowly slide off one of your heels.

His brow lifts. Your foot drags up the inside of his leg, slow and shameless.

His smirk dies.

You press your toes higher—just enough pressure, just enough suggestion—and keep sipping your drink like you’re bored.

His hand tightens on Sadie’s thigh. But he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s looking at you.

You mouth one word:

“Outside.”

One minute later

The alley behind the brunch spot is warm, reeking of dumpster grease and sin, and the second the door swings open—

Mark’s on you.

“Fucking crazy,” he growls against your lips, hands yanking you in by the waist. “You’re gonna touch me under the table while I’m with your friend?”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t putting on a whole show in there,” you snap, grabbing his collar and dragging him down to your mouth. “You wanted me to break.”

“You jealous?” he smirks, teeth scraping your throat.

You shove him against the wall. Hard.

“Seething.”

He groans like it turns him on.

“I love when you snap,” he breathes, hand sliding up your thigh, under your dress. “Love when you act like I’m the only thing that matters.”

“You are,” you hiss, nails dragging down his back. “And I hate it.”

“Then take it out on me.”

Mark's mouth is on you like he’s starving—teeth scraping your jaw, tongue dragging over your pulse point, breath hot as his hands grip your thighs and lift. You don’t even pretend to resist—you wrap your legs around his waist, back slamming against the brick wall, your dress hiking up around your hips like it wants this to happen.

“You’re so fucking messy,” he growls, grinding against you. “You storm off like you’re done with me, then come back and pull that little under-the-table foot trick like a fucking slut.”

Your hand fists in his hair, yanking his head back to look at you. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Oh, baby,” he pants, grinding his hips harder into yours, “I haven’t even started.”

He yanks your panties aside with one rough pull—no teasing, no games, just access. His fingers slide through your slick like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’re so wet,” he snarls, eyes dark and wild. “You liked watching me touch Sadie, didn’t you? Liked getting all jealous and filthy under that table like a little freak.”

You gasp as he slides two fingers into you, curling just right. Your head slams back against the wall, breath stuttering.

“Fuck you—”

“You wish.”

He presses his forehead to yours, mouth inches from yours as he starts working you open, fucking you with his fingers like he owns you.

“You gonna cum like this?” he murmurs. “With my fingers in you, in a back alley, while your friends sit inside wondering where the hell you went?”

“Mark—”

“I bet you want them to hear you,” he hisses. “Want them to know you’ll always choose me.”

You cry out as he crooks his fingers just right, and he groans, pulling them free.

“Turn around,” he growls.

You don’t hesitate. Hands hit the wall, legs shaking, your breath fogging the brick in front of you.

You hear the sound of his zipper, the rough drag of denim, and then—fuck—he’s inside you in one harsh, unforgiving thrust.

You both gasp.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice ragged, “so tight—like your pussy missed me.”

You moan, high and wrecked, as he starts to move—deep, punishing strokes that send your body slamming against the wall with every thrust. One of his hands fists in your hair, the other sliding around to your throat, fingers pressing just enough.

“You’re mine,” he hisses. “Say it.”

“Y-You’re—fuck—Mark—”

He slaps your ass, hard.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours!” you cry out. “I’m yours, I’m—fuck, don’t stop—”

He loses it.

Thrusts getting rougher, faster, his mouth dragging over your shoulder, biting down like he needs to leave every trace of himself possible behind on you. You can feel yourself unraveling, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your stomach, and he knows.

“You gonna cum on my cock out here like a dirty little slut?” he growls. “Do it. Show me.”

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart around him, body shaking, eyes screwed shut as the orgasm rips through you. And he follows seconds later, buried to the hilt, groaning against your skin like you just saved his fucking life.

Silence.

Just your ragged breathing. Your body still trembling. His hands holding you up. And then, softly:

“…Think they’re still on dessert?”

You wheeze out a laugh and smack his chest. “I was dessert.”

He grins, teeth wicked. “Damn right you were.”

The second you step back into the restaurant, the air feels different. Or maybe that was just you.

Your hair is a wreck. Your lipstick? A memory. Your thighs are still trembling and you can feel the heat between your legs like a living thing. Mark’s behind you, looking completely unbothered—shirt rumpled, hair wild, lip definitely bitten.

Smug. Glowing.

The man has never looked more pleased with himself in his life.

You’re halfway back to the table when Maya sees you first. She stops mid-sip of her mimosa. Her eyes flick to your flushed face. Then to Mark. Then to the way you're walking like your soul just got pounded out of your body.

“Oh my god,” she chokes. Sadie looks up. And stares.

Mark slides into the booth again, reaching for your water like this is just another Tuesday. “So, what’d I miss?” Lauren is frozen. Fork in hand. Horrified.

You take your seat like you’re not dying inside. “...Someone pass the syrup.”

“Are you serious right now—” Sadie starts, voice sharp.

“Oh c’mon,” Mark interrupts, eyes sparkling. “Don’t act surprised. You wanted her to go after me, didn’t you?” Sadie goes silent, jaw clenched.

You stare at him, voice low. “You’re an asshole.”

He leans in, grinning. “You love it.”

Maya just fans herself dramatically. “Okay, but real talk? That was the hottest exit and re-entry I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”

Lauren finally breaks. “You guys seriously just—in the alley? Like a couple of feral raccoons??”

You pick up your drink and sip it with a completely deadpan expression. “I mean, I wouldn’t describe it like that...”

Sadie slams her napkin down. “You’re insane. You let him humiliate you in front of us and then—then you go and just—!”

“What?” Mark cuts in, eyes locking with hers. “Get fucked so hard she forgot why she was mad?”

Pin drop silence.

You don’t look at her. You don’t have to. You can feel it clear as day—the tension, the heat, the way her nails dig into her thigh under the table. Like maybe, just maybe, she wishes it was her.

Mark smiles like he knows it too.

You finish your mimosa in one slow sip, set the glass down, and say, “Check, please.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, but this is actually insane,” Lauren says, standing now, arms crossed like she’s about to launch into a TED Talk on Red Flags and the Girls Who Love Them. “You can’t seriously leave with him after this. He’s manipulative, he’s inappropriate, he literally—you had sex in an alley!”

Before you can even open your mouth, Mark cuts in.

“Oh my god, can you shut up already?” He doesn’t even look at her—just leans back, arm resting on the booth like he owns the place. “You’re so annoying. This is why I like Maya better.”

Maya chokes on her drink, a loud pfft sound spurting past her lips.

Mark points at her casually. “You at least support your friend’s slutty decisions.” Lauren makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

Sadie is just staring at you. Like she can’t decide whether to pity you, strangle you, or beg to be next.

You snap, grabbing Mark by the wrist and yanking him out of the booth. “Okay! We’re going! Brunch was so fun, love you all, gotta go—bye!”

He’s laughing as you drag him toward the door.

“Aw, we’re leaving already?” he says over his shoulder, waving. “Bye, besties! Don’t wait up!” You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re too busy trying not to let your knees give out from sheer humiliation and adrenaline.

[northern-passage]

what have i been up to?

i decided to do a little check-in type post just to let you all know what i've been working on. i know things have been quiet here, mainly because i'm just not as active on social media as i used to be (but especially here)

i have been working on tnp, though. i've been rewriting chapter 2 (what was previously chapter 1) and i know a lot of people complain about rewrites but the fact was simply that i had written myself into a corner; when it comes to IF, when you have a lot of stats and branching and variations to track, you get to a point where it simply does not make sense to try and force it, and i really needed to go back and fix my coding and cut a lot of variables. which is what i've been doing, and many of you have seen how that's changed the game so far with the rewritten prologue (now chapter 1).

with that in mind, i've also done a lot of worldbuilding. again, you've seen some of this if you saw the pantheon post i made a while ago (though some of that has changed already, too, along with more edits to chapter 1 😅) and i've put a lot more thought into the setting, how the world "works" and the different relationships between countries and cultures, etc.

i will be yapping about all of that under the cut if you're interested, but if not, just know i am still working on the game. i do not have an estimated timeline for an update, but i am trying very hard to get chapter 2 out this year.

anyways, my rambling:

one of the main changes will be how Gael and Adrania function. Gael and Adrania remain similar in essence but the relationship has changed, as has the source of their hostilities. i've also put a lot more thought into the way gender roles would work in this world, something that i've previously been a bit wishy-washy on. reading more fantasy and studying lectures on the craft and understanding the way oppression works in the real world has allowed me to brainstorm a better, more realized world with tnp.

that being said, i still stand by my original goal with this project, which is that i'm not really interested in writing violent/graphic misogyny, transphobia, or homophobia. but i am interested in exploring the way empires hold power, and for tnp, that has always been through money and trade. even in the very first iterations, the major cities like blackwater and king's harbor are designed with very clear and purposeful class divides, i've just put a lot more thought into how this would actually work.

and there is also the influence of the gods; when your major religious figurehead is revered as a "mother," as well as the enforcer of justice, what does that mean for the world and the women in it? when you have gods that are genderless or genderfluid, how does that change societies perception of trans people, and gender as a whole?

i struggled when i started tnp about how to depict gender in this world, and originally i simply chose not to give it much thought, and i used a lot of anachronisms rather than actually trying to explore what transness and gender within the context of tnp would look like (i think this was my biggest mistake with Lea at the start. if you remember that you're a real one lol). and i think that's a cop out and simply not how any society would work. Adrania is an empire; people will be forced to comply to various roles and expectations in order for this empire to retain control.

so this led me to 1. reimplement the tolls, something that was present in my very first draft but got scrapped before publishing for the first time. it's easy to control people when you have papers and tolls to track them (or restrict their movements if they don't have the "correct" papers). 2. expand on the relationship between Gael and Adrania. where did these two countries come from? when did they split? how has Adrania managed to grow in power while Gael has not? and how has the plague exacerbated the hostilities? etc. we'll see a lot of this explained in the next chapter (as well as some edits made to chapter 1 again), with Adrania's trade agreements and how they exclude Gael specifically.

and finally, what gender roles are people expected to play within society? if Adrania's main god is a woman (okay, a wolf, but you get it) and a mother and also known to be a ruthless dispenser of justice, what does this mean for Adranian men and women? if their god of death is genderless and also commonly represented as a god of dreams and transitions (from life to death and wakefulness to dreams and from one gender to another or beyond) how does this impact the trans people in this world? if the god of war and harvest is sometimes a woman and sometimes a man, who benefits from elevating one depiction over the other?

lots of fun questions! which i think has led to some interesting changes in the game which makes the world feel more real. it also gives me a reason (not that i "needed" one but, ya know *gestures vaguely*) for all of the women i have in combat leadership roles: Keres, Hadrien, and Merry, just to name a few, and why someone like Redwine would be disliked and challenged as a political, landowning leader instead (and ultimately replaced by a man). while all the warrior gods are women (Wolfmother, the Moon, Stormbringer), Adrania emphasizes the male depiction of the Sun, which leads to this divide of men seeking landownership and more administrative political roles, versus women who, outside of motherhood, make careers as generals and captains and knights.

with trans people, there are similar expectations, of course, but they are also pushed towards more spiritual roles due to their perceived kinship with the death god as well as the Sun (and this also means that while motherhood is revered in this world, there is a looser definition here than in our world, due to transness being acknowledged, accepted, and an integral part of society. what "motherhood" is and what it means to people will be explored heavily in game, you just have to trust me on this one!) obviously there is a real history of trans people being seen this way, and it's something i've turned over in my head for a while. beyond the spiritual, though, trans people are seen in every other role as well, and we'll see some trans people who have little to no relationship with religion or the death god (like Merry, Lea, Clementine, Rodrick, and Rafe) and others that have an actively hostile relationship with it (Noel. lol) and including the potentially trans mc, we see a diverse depiction of trans people, as hunters and watchers and captains and healers and bards, etc. i'm hoping this still gives a well-rounded, multi-faceted look at how trans people live in this world without pigeonholing them solely as "divine oracles," or othering them from their cis counterparts.

overall, i feel that i've matured as a writer since i started tnp and i want that to reflect in the world as well. rereading the original demo made me cringe and a lot of it just felt very childish and flat, and i feel like i really didn't have a strong enough grasp on the fantasy genre, nor the skills and knowledge required to do proper, intensive worldbuilding at the time. now i think the story and setting and characters have grown a lot and i'm more capable and confident to do the things that past me couldn't. anyways thanks for reading all this, this post was just an excuse for me to talk about everything because i'm dying keeping it all to myself LOL. i look forward to catching back up to chapter 3 and finally sharing it all with you eventually!

[painsandconfusion]

Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

[eringobragh420]

── .✦ SICK LOVE SONG pt.1

➔ Pairing — CM Punk ♡ f!Reader ♡ Seth Rollins ➔ Summary — On their one year anniversary, Reader remembers how she and Punk became she, Punk, and Seth. ➔ Word Count — 2.6k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Mention of stalking/attempted kidnapping, threesome, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v, cum. 18+ ➔ Notes — Reader has a name, but no other descriptors. ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here!  ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST

It's been a while since I've written/posted anything. I don't believe this is my best work, but I'm proud that I was able to write it and edit it and now post it. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you so much for the continued support! ❤️

It started because Lena had left the hotel room alone, Punk snoring on his side of the bed, to retrieve her forgotten earbuds in the rental vehicle.

It started because she’d let her guard down, thinking nothing could happen to her in the parking lot of a hotel.

It started because she never even made it to the SUV, a pair of huge arms capturing her, yanking her feet from the ground.

It started because, as she was flung through the air and manhandled toward a dingy black van, she’d spotted a mess of blonde hair in the distance.

It started because she’d bit one of the fingers of the hand covering her mouth, inflicting enough pain for it to loosen its grip, and she’d screamed, at the top of her lungs. “Seth!”

It started because Seth had spun around, the blood-curdling scream splitting his eardrums.

It started because he’d dropped his bags, even his phone, which shattered upon glancing off the pavement, and sprinted toward the scene.

It started because Seth had thrown a punch at her attacker’s face, yanking her roughly by the shoulder and then shoving her out of the way before climbing onto the man’s back, one thick arm around his neck, the other hooked around his wrist to apply even more pressure. “Call the police,” he’d told her, the assailant throwing them both to the ground, Seth losing all his air in a loud whoosh as the big man landed on top of him, but he never once relented his grip.

It started because Seth had held her attacker until he’d passed out, until the police arrived, until Seth was positive he wouldn’t be able to get at her again. And then he’d held Lena as they’d both answered questions despite the pain in his chest and back.

Her memory from a little over a year ago was interrupted by a shuffling Seth Rollins. She turned to look at him, eyes having adjusted to the darkness long ago, and he’d rolled from his side facing her to his back. The sheet threatened to slide off his bare hips any moment, the Vs at his waist on delectable display, and she followed the trail of dark hair from his belly button to his beard. She pressed a soft kiss to his exposed neck, nuzzling the skin behind his ear with her nose, and her smile grew as his hand lifted, then fell, resting atop hers on his chest. 

“I love you,” she whispered.

Seth mumbled something that sounded like I love you, and she kissed his cheek. Untangling herself from the same sheet barely covering Seth, she maneuvered her way toward the other side of the bed, toward the other man sharing the space with her. The man she was sleeping with long before Seth was added to the relationship—CM Punk. He was stretched out on his stomach, face scrunched into the pillow, hair sticking up in every direction, and if it was possible, her grin broadened. 

“Go to sleep,” Punk suddenly mumbled, eyes still closed. 

“Is that a threat?” Lena giggled.

Punk sighed, lids lifting. “Why are you awake?” 

“Because it’s our anniversary.”

Punk’s brows rose and he nodded, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he rolled onto his back, sliding his arm under her and pulling her to his chest. “But we’re not celebrating until tomorrow,” he rasped, shamelessly groping her bare ass.

She pressed her face into his sharp, salt-and-pepper beard. “But it is tomorrow,” she argued. Her small, soft hand caressed the firm planes of his chest, fingers dancing along his tattoos, flicking his nipple, snickering when he shied away and covered it with his free hand.

“Are you really horny at—” Punk turned his wrist, maintaining a shield over his nipple while he read the digital display of his smartwatch. “—four o’clock in the morning?”

Lena glared at him. “Come talk to me when you have to sleep between the two sexiest women in the world every night.” 

“Is that an option?” Punk feigned excitement.

“I’m switching places with Seth.”

“No!” both men exclaimed.

She threw her head back laughing, her heart swelling, aching, even though both these beautiful men belonged to her in every single way possible—heart, mind, body, soul. Never, in a million years, would she have imagined she’d end up with two men who loved her as she loved them. She wanted Seth just as much as Punk—her heart occupied with equal parts Visionary and Saint. She had no idea where any of it would lead—the three of them avoiding, like the plague, conversations about the future and what it might be like—but none of that seemed more important than the present. 

It started because Lena had wanted to thank Seth for saving her life, though both Seth and Punk—for different reasons, she imagined—had told her it wasn’t necessary. 

It started because she’d gotten her way. She and Punk had dressed up—him in a crisp, black shirt, black pants, and sneakers she’d done everything in her power to get him not to wear; she in a black dress, hair, makeup, and jewelry pristine as always, and as she’d stepped out of the bathroom, pulling on a pair of lacy, elbow-length gloves, Punk held up a finger. “Alright, I'm having a hard enough time with the dress. I draw the line at the sexy gloves,” he’d said. She’d gently squeezed his mouth between her lacy fingers, kissing his puckered lips before saying, “You’re so cute when you draw imaginary lines that mean nothing.” She’d grabbed a handful of his balls with her free hand, Punk’s eyes snapping shut, an audible mmph resonating in his throat.

It started because Seth had also dressed to the nines in a starched white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, black suit jacket, black slacks, and, thank god, black, shiny dress shoes. His hair had been in a sleek brown and blonde bun near the crown of his head. She’d expected him to treat this dinner as a joke and to show up in one of his more ridiculous suits and spend the entire evening cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West. But he’d looked absolutely beautiful and he’d presented himself like a true gentleman, and she’d stared and admired, openly, for longer than she’d liked.

It started because Seth had chosen a beautiful booth all three of them could comfortably sit on, Lena in the middle of course, and she’d become so lightheaded by the men’s imposing frames, by the colliding of their respective musks and colognes, of the sheer heat they threw off, that she’d nearly passed out.

Punk yanked her on top of him until she straddled his hips, her soft, bare pussy resting on his equally soft, bare cock. Smirking, because if it hadn’t been Punk to snatch her up, it would have been Seth—she’d be the first to confess she was utterly spoiled by these men and she enjoyed every single moment and she would never do anything to disrupt this very important aspect of her life. Her hips rolled lazily back and forth, folds separating, Punk’s stiffening cock grazing along her already slick clit. Punk groaned under her, her hands planted on his unforgiving chest, his grabbing handfuls of her breasts, kneading, thumbs flicking her nipples, and as she threw her head back with a cry, she felt a third hand on her thigh. Just a comforting squeeze, a caress of Seth’s thumb—I’m right here, sweetheart, but I’m still not awake—her hand leaving Punk’s chest to clutch Seth’s hand. 

“Sorry,” she lied. “I’m impatient and … I’m just so happy.” She leaned down, pebbled nipples brushing Punk’s warm skin, and his hand was on the back of her head, pulling her the rest of the way for a searing, excruciatingly slow kiss. Her hips picked up the pace. 

“Annoying,” Punk rasped between kisses. “Don’t forget annoying.”

Lena disconnected their lips with a wet smack. “Seth,” she whined. 

“He’s not wrong,” Seth mumbled in the darkness. 

“You guys suck,” she scoffed, moving to climb off Punk, though she was in no hurry, and she didn’t put up much of a fight when Punk flung an arm around her and flipped her onto her back in the middle of the bed. She felt Seth’s heat again as Punk sat up and spread her thighs, smacking his thick cock against her already soaking pussy, orchestrating a nasty soundtrack that echoed off every surface. 

“Fuck,” Punk stammered, abandoning his original plan of stuffing his cock inside her for the one where he fucked his tongue inside her instead. 

Eyes falling closed, Lena’s back arched inches off the bed, one hand grabbing tufts of Punk’s already wild hair, the other gliding along Seth’s sculpted body as he climbed to his knees beside her head. Punk’s tongue was busy, experienced—lapping desperately at her free flowing juices, at her clit, her smooth lips, her thighs—revering every inch of her body that was within reach of his strongest muscle. 

“Oh, my god,” she whimpered. “Baby, please.” 

“Just relax, sweet girl,” Punk cooed, his beard scratching her exposed clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves sending a jolt throughout her body. 

“And open your mouth,” Seth added.

Having complete trust in both men, she didn’t need to open her eyes before opening her mouth, happily accepting the familiar, fat head of Seth’s cock as it settled on her tongue. She closed her lips and sucked tenderly, cheeks hollowing, moaning at the tangy, delicious flavor of his precum dancing along her taste buds. 

“There she is,” Seth sighed, one hand on the top of her head, the other cupping a breast, squeezing, and her groan vibrated along his dick, her hips rolling uncontrollably against Punk’s still working mouth.

It started because Lena and Seth had shared a few drinks at dinner, and following the drinks came a few seemingly innocent touches to his bicep and her shoulder. A gentle whisper into one ear, the soft response into the other. A tingle in her stomach that spread to her heart—a feeling incredibly similar to the one she’d had the first time she’d locked eyes with Punk.

It started because she’d turned to Punk, pupils blown, virtually gasping for oxygen, and she’d opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Punk had smiled, brushing the backs of his fingers along her burning cheek. “You wanna invite him back to the room?” he’d asked. After a moment, she’d nodded, always honest, and Punk had leaned closer, his lips grazing her earring. “Do you wanna fuck him?” She’d pulled away from him then so she could meet his gaze, so she could look into his gorgeous green eyes and know for certain that he wasn’t pissed or jealous or offering her a good time at the expense of his own sanity. “I wanna fuck you both,” she’d divulged, “at the same time.” She pressed her forehead to his. “Is that okay?”

It started because Punk’s eyes had met Seth’s over his girlfriend’s head. “I give her everything she wants,” Punk had told Seth, and Seth had nodded. “I don’t blame you,” he’d said. Punk had stood then, taking his girlfriend’s hand and helping her out of the booth. “It was the gloves, right?” Punk had asked Seth, and Seth’s eyes had rounded as he’d tilted his head. “Dude,” he���d agreed.

Seth clutched her wrists above her head as he fucked into her searing mouth, free hand now caressing her sunken cheek. After swallowing Lena’s first orgasm, Punk had finally buried his cock to the hilt in her still-pulsing pussy, coarse hands at the backs of her knees, spreading her legs until her hips screamed. 

“Fucking look at her,” Punk breathed. 

“I know,” Seth huffed. Her tongue undulated against his huge, weeping cock, gentle, rhythmic whimpers in the back of her throat matching Punk’s thrusts, and the Visionary wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” Punk went on, releasing her legs, hands becoming vices on her tits, thumbs grazing her nipples. She threw her legs around his waist, squeezing, lifting her hips to meet each thrust, jaw aching as she sucked Seth. “Taking your boys at the same time.”

Her boys. She would never get enough of them referring to themselves as her boys. Even in a rather filthy position, and on the verge of cumming a second time, she still felt tears of love and joy pricking the corners of her eyes. 

“You gonna take our cum, too?” Seth breathed. She nodded wildly, for the first time fighting against Seth’s restraint of her wrists so she could touch her boys. “Look at me.” 

Her eyes popped open, instantly breaking the suction on his cock to cry out as she came without warning around Punk. Gazing up at Seth Rollins and his six-pack, the Vs she adored on both men, his hair barely held in place by the elastic tie, eyes fixed on her as he forced his dick as far down her throat as possible was more than enough to shove her over the edge. 

“Fuck,” Punk hollered, “that’s it. Cum all over my dick, baby.”

Her eyes slid to her first love, and she couldn’t tell if she was cumming again or just still cumming, but her muscles quaked, watching Punk’s sweaty hair bounce against his forehead, biceps flexing as he fucked her onto his cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” Seth whimpered, “oh, fuck …” He held the obscenity for as long as he shot his load into her mouth, easily filling the cavern to the point of overflow—tiny, pearly  rivers seeping out of the corners, dripping indecently down her chin. 

“Don’t you swallow,” Punk ordered, and she was suddenly a lot more careful to hold Seth’s cum in her mouth as he slowly removed his softening cock. “Don’t you swallow until I cum in this pussy.” She whined in the back of her throat, nodding nonetheless, quickly becoming overwhelmed by all the sensations suddenly being thrown at her—her pussy was hypersensitive and screaming more more more and to also please stop I can’t take it, her tongue was coated in sticky salt, mouth sore from the previous blowjob and now the responsibility of holding too much of something inside it, wrists screaming from an unrelenting grip Seth probably didn’t realize he was still inflicting.

But she wouldn’t trade a single fucking second. 

“Fuck, you ready?” Punk asked. “Are you fucking ready, baby girl?”

Lena nodded, squirming, desperate now for him to finish, desperate to get away, desperate to feel his cum drip out of her cunt as she fell asleep, desperate to swallow Seth’s gift. 

Punk wrapped a hand around her neck. “Swallow.” 

She gulped, Punk’s thumb following its progress along her throat as he emptied his balls deep inside her pussy. His hips stuttered against her, watching Seth scoop up his cum from her chin to deposit it back into her mouth, and she swallowed once more. Eventually, Punk pulled out, gently pressing her legs together and laying them delicately on the bed as she rolled onto her side. He kissed her shoulder before heading to the bathroom, Seth touching his lips to the top of her head before following, and Lena’s eyes narrowed as Punk flipped on the bathroom light. The men were running water in the sink and gathering washcloths when she passed out from utter exhaustion and complete satisfaction.

The three of them had no idea the hell that awaited them only a few hours later.

Taglist: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @Missbmc94 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @the-whatever-22 @jeypunkk @madhatterbri @atomicskincareeyelinerkid @deansimpala @there-goes-thefighter @themarvelousmaks @xkittypunkerx @sarlaccussy @infamousvampcx @espresscs @persephoneinbloom @rk-ho @hollydreamwood @princessesareforsuckers @happelu970 @nesiamenick

[crystallizedtwilight]

Hello! This is not meant to be rude or pushy in any way, but why don't you like for your art to be reposted to other platforms? Any time I’ve seen it they always give proper credit. It’s your art and obviously I respect that you don't want it but like why not? It gives exposure to the really cool drawings and art you make.

Many reasons.

1. 9/10 times my artwork is NOT credited. Seeing it credited is truly an anomaly.

2. I’m already on all the social media platforms that I want my art posted on. People on those platforms can share it from there, where the credit stays attached to my account. I don’t want my art on certain platforms for various reasons.

3. I don’t want exposure. I’m a hobby artist and I don’t do this for money or numbers. I want the people who discover my art to find their way to my accounts because they already had an interest in the subject matter. I’ve had my art exposed to large groups/go viral before and found that it attracted people who didn’t understand it and who wanted to be mean.

4. Accounts that “curate” art sometimes take brand deals, and then other artists' work is being monetized against their wishes, with the funds going to the "curator" (reposter). Credit is not enough, artists' permission must also be given and most curating accounts don't bother to ask for it.

5. I’ve had people sell my art before.

6. I've had people repost my gallery and impersonate me before.

7. I've had people edit / trace / re-color my artwork and think that made it theirs.

8. When art is reposted, the artist's comments that originally accompanied the piece are removed, sometimes removing valuable context. Worse, sometimes the reposter adds their own comments/take on the piece, which changes the meaning.

9. In this growing world of AI and theft, I think it is harmful to take the power away from artists by divorcing the content from their accounts against their wishes.

10. I like having control over where my art posted because one of my greatest joys is knowing where I can check for the interactions of those who did find it by way of their passion for the subject, and I love being able to read all of those interactions in the places I expect that art to be.

At the end of the day, I know I can't stop my art from being reposted. And it feels like now, more than ever, artists are fighting to be treated with the simplest respect. If you want artists to keep creating, please do not repost our without our permission. Thank you.

[crystal-wingeddragon-spikes]

So, you are telling me, this is not just a massive scientific misinformation, but is now an excuse to actually kill real endangered animals.

You are telling me this start-ups science company stunt is used by Trump regime to destroy long-standing public science that had made positive realistic impacts because making a world a better place is inherently opposing to the imaginary infinite-growth capitalism.

I feel so, so bad for Julie Meachen. Extracting genome from 10,000+ yaers old bones is genuinely impressive, and I was a fool to think some tech start-ups did that itself.

From Pfizer covid vaccine, to SpaceX, and now Colossal Bioscience. They all use public science knowledge, staffs, and resource for profit, never mind who they had to kill and what they had to destroy for money.

The Washington Post with pay wall removed. 8 Minutes read, I beg you to read it.

Text extracted from the article:

The Trump administration is trumpeting a biotech company’s claim of reviving a long-lost wolf as an argument for slashing endangered species protections.

Dallas-based Colossal Biosciences said Monday that it used gene editing to create “de-extinct animals” in the form of three pups with the light-colored fur and musculature of a dire wolf.

Many scientists expressed skepticism that the pups could be classified as part of a canine species that went extinct over 10,000 years ago. But Interior Secretary Doug Burgum said the achievement demonstrates that it is not government regulations but innovation that will save species.

(Video could not be played, per nature of webpage capture)

“It’s time to fundamentally change how we think about species conservation,” Burgum wrote in a post on X. “Going forward, we must celebrate removals from the endangered list — not additions.”

He has already met with the company about using its animals in federal conservation efforts, as well as for potential species restoration.

“If we’re going to be in anguish about losing a species, now we have an opportunity to bring them back,” he told Interior Department employees during a live-streamed town hall Wednesday. “Pick your favorite species and call up Colossal.”

Even before the dire wolf announcement, the administration had begun moving to upend the protections regime that has been in place for five decades, since the passage of the Endangered Species Act in 1973.

On Monday, the Fish and Wildlife Service — which falls under Burgum — sent a proposal to the White House to redefine what it means to “harm” a species under the act. Although no details have been released publicly, environmentalists expressed concern that a rule change would allow for greater habitat destruction.

“If that’s what they intend to do, it’ll just fundamentally undermine the Endangered Species Act,” said Noah Greenwald of the nonprofit Center for Biological Diversity.

Meanwhile, Republicans in Congress are preparing sweeping cuts to protections for bears, bats, lizards and still-living wolves. They say unnecessary and overbearing rules hamper economic development and infringe on the rights of states and private landowners.

The Endangered Species Act is a “very well-meaning bill that had great objectives,” said Rep. Bruce Westerman (R-Arkansas), chair of the House Natural Resources Committee.

But he added: “It’s been a bit of a failure.”

The revival of the ‘God Squad’

In less than three months in office, President Donald Trump’s team has shown few qualms about overriding endangered species protections that threaten to block his energy agenda or other policy goals.

On Inauguration Day, Trump signed a memorandum declaring that he was “putting people over fish.” The president directed water away from a Northern California river system, which supports a tiny protected fish called the delta smelt, to parts of the state facing wildfires — even though a lack of water was not the reason for the historic fires in Los Angeles.

In February, the Interior Department rescinded guidance from under President Joe Biden that the oil and gas industry should slow ships in the Gulf of Mexico to avoid striking a species called the Rice’s whale. With fewer than 100 remaining, the Rice’s whale is one of the most endangered marine mammals left in the ocean.

Burgum also issued an order asking deputies to consider economic factors when deciding habitat protections.

During his confirmation hearing, Burgum lamented the “weaponization of federal rules meant to actually protect wildlife.”

“It’s used for groups that are just trying to block our nation’s progress,” he told Congress.

Perhaps Trump’s most sweeping action so far involves restarting a long-dormant committee that can override protections for endangered species. Environmentalists give it an ominous nickname: “the God Squad.”

The committee, which consists of Burgum and five other high-level officials, can approve projects even if they result in the extinction of a species. The panel, officially called the Endangered Species Committee, has rarely been convened.

The panel“has long been called the God Squad because it has the power of God over the fate of species,” said Andrew Wetzler, senior vice president for nature at the Natural Resources Defense Council.

With control of both the House and Senate, Republicans in Congress hope to go further by cementing changes to the Endangered Species Act in law.

Several Republicans are pushing bills to delist a menagerie of animals. These include the dunes sagebrush lizard, which lives in Texas oil country, and the northern long-eared bat, which lives in forests that the timber industry wants to log, as well as populations of gray wolves and grizzly bears, which ranchers say prey on livestock.

Westerman, the congressman, notes that of the hundreds of protected species, only 3 percent have ever recovered.

“It’s almost like some people think Moses wrote the Endangered Species Act on stone tablets, and we can’t touch it,” he said. “But we’ve got to be honest about the results we’re getting.”

With that record, Westerman is pushing to amend the act to give more power to states and limit courts’ ability to review decisions to remove protections for plants and animals.

The moral hazard of ‘de-extinction’ work

Ahead of the dire wolf announcement, Burgum met with Colossal’s leaders in March to discuss the concept of “de-extinction” and the use of the technology in conservation, according to company CEO Ben Lamm.

The company has big aims to bring back versions of the dodo, the mammoth and a carnivorous marsupial called the thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger. Colossal says it is not trying to create replicas of extinct animals, but functional equivalents that can fill the ecological niches of vanished species.

In addition to modifying 14 genes to produce the trio of gray wolf pups meant to resemble the ancient dire wolf, the company recently also cloned four red wolves, a critically endangered canine.

Fewer than 20 still live in eastern North Carolina, while approximately 240 more are kept at captive breeding facilities. Colossal discussed with Burgum the possibility of using the company’s cloned red wolves in recovery efforts.

“It’s really important to have a seat at the table regardless of your political views,” Lamm said in an interview with The Washington Post.

Even though many conservationists distrust Trump, Lamm added, “Is it really the right thing just to put your head in the sand and ignore the rest of the world?”

The company emphasizes how its gene-editing technology can help conserve existing species. For instance, Colossal wants to fix mutations in endangered pink pigeons, which suffer from inbreeding, as well as make a vaccine for a herpes virus that kills elephants.

The technology, company leaders said, should not be misconstrued as a substitute for protecting existing species.

“What we’re doing gives us the ability to help accelerate recovery, but recovery still is dependent on the conservation of wild habitats,” said Matt James, Colossal’s chief animal officer, who added that the Endangered Species Act is “a monumental piece of legislation.”

In a statement to The Post, Interior spokeswoman J. Elizabeth Peace said Burgum “values collaboration and dialogue with a range of partners.”

“We remain committed to exploring all science-based options that can help strengthen the recovery of the red wolf and other endangered species,” she added.

Among skeptics of “de-extinction,” there has long been a fear that attempts to use biotechnology to revive extinct species would give license to regulators to water down needed protections for existing plants and animals.

“The moral hazard in this work is gigantic, as its support by the Trump organization shows,” Stanford biologist Paul R. Ehrlich said. “Effort put into re-creating dire wolves only makes the threat to our civilization more dire, especially in view of the administration’s large-scale assault on our life-support systems and on science.”

Julie Meachen, a Des Moines University paleontologist who helped unravel the dire wolf genome but was not involved in the creation of Colossal’s three pups, does not consider the three canines to be “true” dire wolves.

But she is worried the Trump administration will use the idea that animals can be brought back from the dead “as a carte blanche to delist all the endangered species.”

“This technology does not replace protections for endangered species,” she added.

Carolyn Y. Johnson and Maxine Joselow contributed to this report.

Ahhh, there’s the obvious conclusion.

If we can de-extinct* species, surely there’s no point in worrying about endangered species anymore! We can bring them back anytime!

*depending on your definition of de-extinction.

[siriuslysmutty]

Impending Doom - (J.P) Part 1

Summary: oof. I don't even know. Accidently posted it instead of saving as a draft, not edited. Wtf why not.

Warnings: Angst, John's bleeding out, smooching, implied-age gap, rank difference (breeding kink if you squint.

John Price was not a man to be trifelled with. Not one to cross. You'd been grinding for years for some grand purpose waiting for someone to notice. To appraise you. To give you value that felt right.

And John Price was someone you looked up to. He'd brought you onto the task force, molded you, trained you, brought you to the brink of death and you'd gladly take it for him again and again. Because he valued you. As a team mate. Someone to have his back. To impress him when you could down two enemies with a single sniper shot. To earn his chuckle at a well time joke.

Like a pup, eager to listen to their owner. A work horse eager to be hooked to the plow. A bull ready try to buck a rider.

You'd happily be a tool, a weapon for him if it meant getting that chin tap he gave you and smiling at you with a gentle warmth. That was the high.

It comes with lows just as bad.

Like trying stop a stab wound of his from bleeding.

The hot, sticky fluid clings to your hands, spills from his side into the dirt and soaks his clothes - your clothes too. He groans blurrily and lights his cigar as you frantically try to pack the wound with the last of your gauze.

"Cap! Is now really the time for a damn cigar!" You snap, a rare occurrence. You've never spoken out of turn with him. He chuckles up at you, eyes softer than they should be of Captain John Price.

"Yeah, love, think it is," he admits. He's bleeding a lot. Both of you know it.

"MedEvac is inbound! Don't-... don't say that, youre gonna be fine." Your voice trembles, both of you well aware of how much of his guts your covered in.

"We've all got to face it sooner or later," he hums casually and alarm fills you, turns your gut.

"No, Price, no, please..." and tears are springing to your eyes.

"It's alright, dove," he promises, hooking a hand around the back of your neck, dragging you close to his own face. "There are worse ways to go-"

"Shut up, youre going to be *fine*!" You sob and he smiles at you softly, stroking his thumb over your head.

"Let me kiss you," he rasps out.

Your heart stops, ears ringing in the silence that follows his words. "Wh-what?"

"Please, just... humor, Sergeant." He pleads softly. You struggle for the words. Disbelief filling you as John's blood floods him. But what are you going to say? No? You can't even tell him 'no' when he's tugging you closer, nose butting yours.

You press your weight into the bullet wound and he groans and wince before dragging you down to his mouth.

It feels wrong in the best of ways. Bittersweet knowing that your not supposed to be doing this but doing it from circumstance. The certainty that could only come from mortality, and your own impending doom.

It's shocking how intimate it is to kiss a man while desperate to hold as much of his blood in him as possible. It's not sexy. It's terrifying and nerve rattling. Your kiss cant be good. Not when you're shaking like this. Not when you have tears streaking your face. Not when you both taste like sweat and ash. Not when you're blubbering over him spilling all over the ground.

And yet he groans into your mouth like your heaven in breath. "Christ," he murmurs, "should of married ya-" the bloodloss getting to his brain now apparently, it's hard enough to keep up with him. "Should of put a few babies in you before I kick the bucket." He spits it out like a curse as his hand, bare, the glove chucked into the grass, cradles your face.

Its so hard for you to catch up with what he's saying to you, to come to terms that your Captain is saying these things. But then Humvees are flying in and its more chaos.

You chalk it up to a grown man having lost 30% of his blood volume.

That is until you get called back as 'Mrs. Price' when your cleared to see him after surgery.

[accio-victuuri]

today is 04/16, the anniversary of the Untamed’s booting ceremony and start of filming. i will be sharing an essay and story of their fandom journey by one of the OG bjyx fansites - 限時狂想丨0805x1005.

you all know how much i appreciate fansites and everything they do for the fandom. it’s also interesting to see the thoughts of someone who had been a cpf even before the drama was out. a person who was there from the beginning and is still here and active. their love for the boys is so inspiring 💛 this site is pretty popular cause they funded wuji road among other things.

personally, reading this really made me reflect on my time in this fandom. i have evolved from posting about cpns sparingly & answering fan questions to being an update account then archiving and constructing timelines. to editing and focusing on their careers with bits of political discussions as needed. to now, what i’ve been doing lately, is bits of things i have done in the past. it made me think about why i’m here and still am. that it’s not solely because of the candies and the proofs. although it started with that, it’s not why i stayed for years. it’s truly because there is something about GG and WYB that i connect with. them as individuals and moreso as a pair. in the past months, there were a lot of noise and distractions that made it hard for me but reading this was the perfect reminder that i needed to recalibrate.

i also think this piece answers the usual hate comment of so/os who tell us to “move on”.

the flowers are the same year after year, but the people are different year after year, fortunately there are always people who stay with each other and remember each other in their hearts — so this memory will always have weight and will never disappear.

let me just cry 🥹🥹🥹🥹

anyway, the full post is below. enjoy! and cheers to all cpfs. 🥂

"Yibo taught me two dances yesterday"

By chance, I was browsing Weibo and saw a video of GG at the airport.

In the video, GG mentioned that DD taught him two dances, which was amazing. That night, the names of the two boys kept coming to my mind, and I got up and stayed up late to catch up on many of GG and DD’s materials.

I have to thank a few fan-made clips that I happened to see at the time, which made me see the infinite magnetic field and huge possibilities between these two names, and the attraction that was like fate to me.

"I want to hunt with you at night all my life"

This was the first Weibo post after the website was launched. The picture was of GG and DD leaving get off work at night. Although there was only their backs under dim lights, they still tried to share the light captured in the corner with everyone, so I had a limited-time fantasy.

Before that, I had hesitated about other website names, and the process of finally choosing these four words was also full of many uncertainties, whether it was the suspension of work caused by some changes in the crew of The Untamed during that period, or some bad speculations and comments about The Untamed and my brother and younger brother on the Internet. Now recalling that time, I was standing at the starting point with fog in front of me, and there were too many unknowns ahead that I couldn’t see, but I’m glad that I chose to move forward, holding hands with you, and walking through the fog to see the distance.

I often see people joking in the comments that I have hidden a lot of good things. Indeed, there are some photos of the crew that have not been released, because many scenes in the same frame are similar, the clarity of the photos is not enough, and the requirements for the photos are usually high, so they will be carefully selected before they are released. If you are willing to see it, you can catch yourself and shake it when you have the chance in the future...

"Xiang Mei"

I remember that in the beginning of 2018, the fans all called me Xiang Mei. After the filming of The Untamed was completed, the circle that was originally lively during the filming began to gradually become deserted, so I made a tacit agreement with everyone that I would post some Weibo stories on holidays, either holding hands or standing side by side. I want to tell everyone in this way that brothers and sisters are very good, and stay with them for a little longer, a little longer.

Actually, 2018 was a very meaningful year for me. Every time I shared GG and DD’s activity pictures and videos on Weibo, I would read the reposts and comments back and forth. At that time, the number of reposts was very small. I would be happy for a long time when the number of reposts exceeded 100. I can still remember the Weibo IDs of some of the people who often reposted and commented. Sometimes I would chat with everyone in the comments and answer some questions. After a long time of ordinary days, I was surprised by the increasing number of comments, reposts and private messages after the show started, and sometimes I was in a trance. How did I suddenly become everyone’s "Xiang Mei".

Now there are tens of thousands of people following the footsteps of GG and DD ( she is talking about fansites here ) . Maybe everyone has some special feelings for the 18-year-old station, but Limited Time Fantasy has always maintained the mood at the beginning, as pure and passionate as everyone else. If there is any difference, it is just that I am a little luckier than everyone who came later, and I saw GG and DD earlier.

Everyone in the big family of BJYX supports them in different ways, output, charity, support... It is really a blessing to like the brothers and sisters with everyone, and I will work hard to live up to everyone's higher expectations in the future.

"No. 85"

In May last year, the DD participated in the official motorcycle race for the first time and won the first place in the qualifying. I was already looking forward to seeing DD standing on the podium. Fate still played a little joke. When DD started, his car had a problem and went back for repair. After catching up with the player in front, the car gradually slowed down at a bend.

The stubborn little lion got off the car and pushed the motorcycle to run, but finally had to terminate the race. There are always regrets in the cruel competitive sports. The 22-year-old rookie racer still has a long way to go. Later, another race came in August. Zhuhai was scorching hot in midsummer. Driver No. 85 changed into a new racing suit and raced round and round. Although I was holding a camera, every time you whizzed past me, I was behind the camera screaming for you and happy for you from the bottom of my heart. "Congratulations to driver No. 85, Wang Yibo" The audience burst into cheers and and applause. Champion driver No. 85, you deserve all the glory.

"Satisfied"

In the autumn of the year before last, GG released his first single in the true sense three years after his debut. He sang it for the first time at the concert the day before his birthday. You were red on the stage, and the whole sea of red in the audience was for you. On the night after the Hangzhou concert, I was sorting pictures in front of the computer, and suddenly I saw a screenshot of Weibo sent by a friend. It was the first Weibo interaction between the GG and DD after the filming was completed. I was so happy that I couldn't sleep in the middle of the night. It turned out that they didn't stop contacting each other after the filming was completed. DD would also celebrate his birthday with GG.

The first solo performance of Happy Camp, parting with Wei Wuxian who always holds his fan, the summer sun in Hengdian has made GG who has returned to modern dress look much thinner, from the small round face with a little flesh on the cheeks to the sharp features and the belt that is always tied to the last hole. You chew a piece of bread 37 times, which gradually shows everyone the strict self-management of a mature male artist, but I still want to tell you in my heart that it is not excessive to eat a few more small breads.

The first real red carpet, the look on GG’s face when he said “Hello everyone, I am the young actor Xiao Zhan” still often comes to my mind. The boy who said “The power of growth is my satisfaction” in the secret garden became more and more confident and free under the flash, completing one adventure after another of growth. I have always felt that GGis the most gentle boy I have ever seen, and he has given me a lot of strength.

“2018-2019”

In the New Year’s Eve of 2018, GG transformed into Zhang Xiaofan and filmed in the crew. Even in the deep mountains, he told himself with a sense of ritual that 2019 was going to be a good year. On the other side, the Hunan Satellite TV New Year’s Eve concert had passed midnight, the finale guest ended the performance, and the audience left one after another. DD, as the host of Hunan Satellite TV, also had a performance song. At that time, his fans were not as many as they are now. When shooting the stage, the little sister behind me was also wondering, “Aren’t there only hosts on the stage?” Looking at the empty seats and the ribbons scattered all over the ground, I thought that more people would come for you in the future and stay for you after midnight.

In the New Year's Eve of 2019, on one side, the three stages of GG performed at midnight, and on the other side, the whole audience was screaming for the water stage and motorcycle ring of the younger brother. In different cities, more people shouted for you with full love, and you brought an extremely shining halo to end the past year.

However, there will be regrets in a perfect story. The expectation of spending the New Year together at the end of the year did not come true after all. I hope you will spend the New Year's Eve this year.

"The Untamed"

I saw all kinds of news on the Internet before, and I felt that the broadcast of The Untamed would be far away. When the news came out before the broadcast, I still didn't believe it until the double Bazaar cover. I thought maybe it was really going to be broadcast. I saw the news on the morning of the official announcement and felt that it was going to be broadcast.

From Tianjin to Beijing, from Bangkok to Nanjing, the pot was boiled for a long time, and the young man was sacrificed many times. At the end of the Nanjing scene, the brothers said "goodbye" as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, and the big screen showed "see you later". The scenes from the filming of The Untamed to the subsequent activities flashed through my mind, and tears flowed down in an instant (of course, the hand holding the camera was still steady).

The story of the brothers and sisters about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji has come to the final chapter. Everything this summer is so unforgettable. I don’t know when and where we will meet again, and what the scene will be like... The mountains remain unchanged, the water flows forever, and their story is yet to be continued.

From 2018 to now, there have been many hard and tiring periods. When there are many activities at the end of the year, I am in a different city almost every day when I open my eyes. Sometimes I have classes the next day, and it is common to fly back and forth between two or three cities on the same day. I have made a lot of efforts and attempts to balance my three-dimensional study and life.

Like everyone else, I often feel stressed, but every time I think about seeing GG and DD soon, every time I check Weibo and see everyone's dynamics and encouraging words, I feel that there are still too many things in this lovely world that are worth my efforts.

A lot of stories have happened in the past two years. These days, I have been looking through the records and recalling them bit by bit... It has been years since the start of filming. Thank you Chen Qing Ling for letting GG and DD meet again. This drama is of great significance to them and too many of us.

A few years ago, I went back to the filming location of The Untamed and walked around again. The pillars of Cloud Recesses have been painted with other patterns, the familiar figures have long disappeared from the woods of Baifeng Mountain, and the Mianmian House has changed several waves of residents... Walking along the track of memory, I sighed that as the saying goes, the flowers are the same year after year, but the people are different year after year, but fortunately there are always people who stay with each other and remember each other in their hearts, so this memory will always have weight and will never disappear. Every important day in life is like a box of canned food. Love is the best preservative. Beautiful memories do not deteriorate, allowing us to fantasize about them repeatedly from time to time, and the shelf life is forever.

It's time to chatter again, and I start typing and writing down the stories of the past year. I often count on my fingers on the "Boxiao Calendar" in my phone. How many days are left until the next anniversary? I flip through my phone and recall what kind of mood I was in at this time of year in the past. Excited, nervous, moved, sad, year after year, past and present, all kinds of fragments always come back and forth in my mind on this day, and the sense of ritual in my bones always drives me to do something.

I often see everyone's various team-building activities and envy them. I have always been chasing stars offline alone and wanted to participate in a turtle carnival, but unfortunately missed it due to personal reasons. Later, I heard from my friends that everyone sent a lot of gifts. I was really flattered.

Thank you for your support and love. I often see people commenting about cooperation with other sites. In fact, I also sigh that many pictures or videos are very beautiful. I also have a lot of pictures and videos saved in my mobile phone that I don’t want to delete. The stories told by everyone together are more complete and moving. However, I have very few people who share the same responsibility in the three-dimensional world. Most of the time, I run around alone. So I am very happy that I have met many new painters in the circle online this year, as well as Xia Xiazi and Xi Xizi, who have fed me a lot of cute peripherals. Here I would like to say thank you to everyone again.

There will be more anniversaries of all sizes in the future. Some people say that it is difficult to keep the original intention, but memory and love are always the best preservatives.

In my opinion, charity is a way to convey love, and it is also a very precious part of this circle. GGvisited Wei County without anyone knowing in advance to help with poverty alleviation. I also squatted on Douyin to grab charity shirts for a night. Later, I continued to see various promotions for agricultural products. While supporting charity, I can also understand and taste various high-quality and low-priced agricultural and sideline products.

At the Hunan Satellite TV's charity event to help farmers, while filming the cute little brother with Chibi Maruko-style hair, he was also busy grabbing agricultural products. Everyone in the family said that the oranges were so delicious! After work, my brother participated in the free clinic. Even though he was very tired and took a long car ride to arrive in the early morning, he personally helped the patients who came for treatment.

A trickle of kindness lasts a long time. On weekdays, I will learn and check a lot of information, hoping to follow my brother and younger brother as an example and do more practical charity. At the beginning of last year, I was worried every day under the cover of the epidemic. The fragility of life was in front of me, and safety became the most important wish. At that time, I thought in my heart: I hope that every blessing of charity can return to GG and DD, and I will be safe and worry-free.

We have received feedback from the charity work we did before: Hope Primary School is being built step by step, the AED equipment donated with the help of Chongqing Red Cross Foundation has been put into use in my brother's alma mater, the hearing-impaired children have successfully undergone surgery, the Love Classroom has been put into use, and the action of helping students has received many thank-you letters from children... I feel very happy when I see these. Love makes every charity warm, and openness also makes every love traceable.

In my eyes, 2020 is also a year of hardship and harvest. Due to various reasons such as the epidemic, various activities this year have not been so smooth. There are true and false news about my brother flying all over the place. I have run to a city several times to wait in vain for several days. It is really sad to feel that my expectations are not met. Whenever I think of that period of time, I feel wronged and distressed for everything he has endured, but I can't do anything about it. Fortunately, he came back, step by step through the fog, and tried to stand in front of us.

When we said goodbye, he had a neat short hair. As I watched the figure gradually become clear under the spotlight, all the emotions came up in an instant. I couldn't tell what kind of mood I was in. I tried to look more greedily, but I couldn't control it anymore, and let the tears blur my eyes. He was still smiling and singing under the spotlight, and it seemed to become brighter. Every word of the lyrics pierces my heart. I will run to it with all my strength. Even if it is far, I will definitely reach it. The screams of the two events separated by a year are endless. Everything seems to have changed and it seems to have not changed. I will cover my face quietly when I am shy, look around and gesture the numbers half a beat behind when counting down, and I will still be scared by the popping fireworks... Every familiar little action made up the vivid him in front of me. If DD in the past was described as a bamboo, then he is now a pine tree. He has cut his hair short but has become more resolute and proud, and he is still upright. It is no exaggeration to describe DD as a model worker in the past year.

After a full schedule, he coughed lightly to avoid the microphone on the show and his foot injury was occasionally discovered. I dare not recall the most anticipated competition. I was ready early that afternoon, wondering if the light would be too dim, and which copywriter would be more suitable if I won the first place... Suddenly, there was a scream from the crowd, and the girls around me began to sob. I couldn't see the broadcast screen, and I could only hear the voices around me, "Fall" and "Last lap".

At that moment, my mind was confused, and the first thought that came to my mind was: I hope I'm safe. I don’t remember how long I squatted on the roadside with my camera. Later, when the crowd was almost gone, my tears slowly fell to the ground. I ran back to the podium unwillingly to take a few photos and stood there for a long time. The kid in street dance returned to his stage, and he could light up the whole audience every time, dazzling the audience.

Looking back on the time when Captain Xiao Wang was there, it was the big and small injuries on his legs and the compressed sleep time. He said that the superpower he wanted most was invisibility, so that he could do what he wanted and go out to play. So I really liked the summer surf shop last year, which gave my brother a chance to breathe in his busy work. Sunshine, beach, waves, the boy with sparkling eyes, the vigorous vitality all over his body, and the happiness on his face that could not be hidden, is my favorite look of him.

That year's meeting was particularly difficult. Every moment before the Starlight Awards was over was full of unknowns. It was not until I stood on the familiar roadside of the Youth Olympic Games and walked along the long path by the river that I felt it was real.

After going around in circles, I returned to the familiar place and met again in the place where "See you later" was once written. I couldn't help but sigh that the fateful fate is really wonderful. Sitting in the venue, watching the familiar light signs light up one by one, screaming and shouting with all my strength, telling them all the thoughts of the past year, telling them that we are still here, always here; it is another Weibo Night of the year, and I can always find them at a glance among the crowd, and witness their growth and glory together.

It is not easy to meet among the countless people, and I am very grateful to be fortunate enough to witness the node where they meet on the road of life. They are on the stage and we are off the stage. It's great to be the same as before. During this period of time, people, things and objects are undergoing tremendous changes all the time, but everyone has not gone far, and they are as determined as when they first set out.

Like everyone else, I can proudly tell everyone that my idol is Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo. Their positive attitude and qualities are my confidence, and they are also the driving force for me to take off and land again and again and run forward. For me, Bo and Xiao are a piece of moonlight that I stole by chance in this ever-changing world. "The moon is far away, and the moonlight is close." I work hard to collect moonlight and illuminate a small inch of the world. We have followed them, felt the bright sunshine, blown the sticky sea breeze, seen the ribbons fall on their shoulders, and looked forward to seeing them again with tears in our eyes.

Love is as common as breathing, taking root and growing, and entwining every summer. Time has no end. In the hustle and bustle, love is eternal, and memories are immortal.

At this moment, the sunrise and sunset in Hengdian, the ebb and flow of the tide in Beihai, the years are still long, slowly becoming romantic, slowly becoming brilliant.

"I hope it will be good news from now on"

-END.

[astroellies]

˚༄࿔ more singer ellie (ft. actor reader) headcanons

warnings! happiness and fun.

⭐︎ you know that one video of oscar isaac and jessica chastain? yeah ellie likes doing that when you two are on red carpets together. she’s shameless and lovessss to show you off, especially when you’re feeling hot.

⭐︎ likes to take 0.5s or other unflattering photos of you during commerical breaks at award shows. she likes to post them for your birthday or anniversary (to keep you humble of course).

⭐︎ she likes you to star in her music videos. especially if they’re short films or otherwise telling a story. if you’re fem(me) she loves when you have a hyper-feminine vibe or if you’re more masc she thinks it’s so hot to butch out with you. her videos are essentially thirst traps but she’d never admit it.

⭐︎ AND the fans absolutely eat up the bts of the music videos. you like to bring a camera to set to film her. cute videos of her getting her makeup touched up and smirking at the camera saying hi baby. or silly ones of her talking in a thick southern accent dressed as a cowboy saying something like howdy, partner.

⭐︎ pre-eras tour ellie says that she isn’t a swiftie but you drag her along to the concert and catch her doing a frat-flick during we are never ever getting back together. (also she heard champagne problems live she became evermore’s #1 fan!)

fans see her too and definitely give her friendship bracelets and post videos of her dancing to tiktok. the masses are saying that ellie and taylor need to collab (no matter how different their music styles are).

⭐︎ speaking of ellie liking taylor swift she loves to hype up the other music girls. she was definitely spotted at chappell’s gov ball set wearing heart sunglasses and screaming after midnight. i feel like she’d dream of collabing with sabrina carpenter and being freaks together. ALSO megan the stallion is her biggest celebrity crush like watch out if she ever meets her it’s over for you two. specifically loves big ole freak.

⭐︎ sings with joel all the time. whether he’s famous or not (nepo ellie?) he’s featured on at least one of her songs. they’d definitely do a cover of like country roads, take me home or something.

⭐︎ you two would somehow end up doing like a wired autocomplete interview together and they have to cut the footage because you two are flirting or just being silly together. like pedro pascal and oscar isaac’s but romantic.

⭐︎ there are definitely some paparazzi photos out there of her looking just straight up silly lol. i’m talking one of those i’m not a gynecologist but i’ll take a look shirts, huge ass adam sandler shorts, mismatched socks, and crocs. and she’s like on a grocery run or walking a dog or something.

⭐︎ has done calvin klein or perfume ads that have people going crazy. close ups of her eyes and her tattoo. in a sports bra. hair slightly slicked back.

⭐︎ your biggest fan ever when you win awards. full standing ovation, kissing you all over before you can actually go on stage and collect the award. will post a picture of you two at like dennys or some 24/7 diner post-oscars. your hair and makeup messy. you’re wearing her blazer. the trophy sat next to you on the table. and the caption is like so proud of my girl.

⭐︎ if you kept your relationship private before getting married the internet would lose their shit. like you post a singular picture of her, tattoo peaking out from under her suit, ring on full display and hand wrapped around your waist. saying something like best day of my life with the best wife(!!).

⭐︎ i think she’d love sending edits of you, herself, or both of you to you. she’d be like babe we’re so hot. (if you have opposite aesthetics people definitely edit you to style by taylor swift!)

⭐︎ she’d probably get her instagram password taken away after posting like it was her spam account. like maybe she unintentionally spoils a new movie you’re in by posting a bts photo of you in her photo dump.

⭐︎ no matter how famous she gets, black converses will always be her go-to performance shoe. and she wears them to the DEATH. it doesn’t matter if you buy her a new pair she will wear the old ones until the sole is falling off and then she will wear the new pair. her fanbase definitely jokes about this similarly to how the tlou fandom does. like tiktoks of the most fucked up shoes and they’re like this is so ellie williams core.

⭐︎ she goes on like jimmy fallon or some late night show and they show a clip of her after getting her wisdom teeth removed (or some other procedure that makes you loopy)…

and she’s crying because she called you really pretty but she has a girlfriend and she feels so bad about it. but you’re behind the camera telling her you’re her wife. which makes her cry harder because you’re so so beautiful and perfect. and joel’s in the front seat, driving, and laughing his ass off.

⭐︎ you two get to go on snl together, you’re hosting and she’s the musical guest and you two fuck up every skit you’re in. like as soon as you make eye contact with her you’re bursting out laughing (how could you not when she’s dressed like an 80’s rockstar or a stereotypical nerd).

[psformybss]

The Secret is Out II

part 1 | series masterlist

warnings: emotional intimacy, social media chaos, cast group chat energy, soft couple moments

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

They posted just after 10:00 p.m. Late enough to feel casual, private—intentional in its quiet. But not late enough for the internet to sleep through it.

Within ten minutes, screenshots had landed in group chats and fan accounts. By twenty, Twitter had caught fire. The puzzle pieces that the internet had been putting together just hours before—prom photos, birthday posts, the glint of a ring in the paparazzi pictures— was now complete.

Fan reactions poured in like rain after drought.

“HELLO YOU ARE TELLING ME DREW STARKEY IS MARRIED AND THEY KEPT IT A SECRET”

“she’s been right there the whole time. like actually THERE. in his life. in his photos. in his little smiles. IM NOT OKAY”

“she’s not tagged. she didn’t even drop a location. she’s so off-grid coded i’m obsessed.”

“what do you MEAN they’ve been married for a while? what does a while mean?? 3 months? a year?? five???”

“me, a hater at 10:21 p.m. me, in love with her by 10:54 p.m.”

Drew had tossed his phone onto the coffee table without ceremony—face down, screen dark. No buzzing notifications. No refreshing the app. No second-guessing. Just one quiet decision, released into the world with a simple tap.

Y/N had curled into the corner of the couch beside him, her legs tucked close, one hand resting lightly on the blanket draped over both their knees. The other held her phone, the soft glow of the screen painting her features in quiet blue. But she wasn’t scrolling. Wasn’t reading comments. Wasn’t in the app at all. She just stared at the home screen, like maybe, if she looked at it long enough, the world might pause. Or rewind. Or slow down.

“You’re sure?” she asked after a long, careful beat. Her voice was barely a whisper, like asking it too loudly might undo everything they’d just done.

Drew didn’t hesitate. He reached out, brushing his thumb over her knee, the touch gentle but grounding. “I’ve never been more sure,” he murmured.

It wasn’t fear that sat in her chest. Not exactly. It was more like that first step into wide open air—the hush after the leap, before you hit the water. The moment when everything feels too big and too still at the same time. Like walking out into a clearing after months of moving in shadow. Vulnerable. Exposed. Real.

Not hiding anymore.

By morning, her phone was a blur of numbers and notifications. Her follower count had tripled. Strangers combed through every quiet, forgotten post she’d ever made. The photo of Drew half-asleep on a plane, hoodie pulled over his face. Teddy bounding through fresh snow. A blurry snapshot of the two of them sitting on a cabin porch, backs to the camera, heads tilted toward each other like they were mid-laugh.

They said it hadn’t been a soft launch after all. It had always been loud. Just not in the way they expected.

That night, long after the initial wave had crested and people had stopped tagging her in edits every two minutes, Drew came back from the kitchen with a second blanket and a fresh cup of tea she hadn’t asked for but gladly accepted. He handed it to her wordlessly and sat down, lifting the blanket and tucking it around her as if it were muscle memory.

She set the mug on the coffee table, untouched for now, and leaned into his side, her head finding the curve of his shoulder. He kissed her temple, then rested his cheek against her hair.

“I think your sister texted me eight separate crying emojis,” she mumbled.

“She also sent me a wedding meme,” Drew replied. “But like, a really bad one. Glitter font and everything.”

Y/N snorted, the sound soft and real against his chest. “How is it that the worst part of going public is the group chat?”

“Because they have material now,” he said, smiling. “They’ve waited years for this.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Are we crazy for doing it?”

Drew didn’t answer right away. He just studied her for a moment, the way her eyes searched his, the way the shadows from the lamp curved softly across her skin. Then he leaned in and kissed her. Slow. Intentional. Like it wasn’t just reassurance—it was a promise. When he pulled back, their foreheads stayed pressed together, breath mingling in the space between.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re not crazy. We’re just done hiding.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “It’s gonna feel strange, not covering, not ducking out early or standing five feet apart in photos.”

“It will” he agreed. “But it will also feel good. Like breathing.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in quiet and fleece and the kind of warmth that doesn’t need explaining. His thumb brushed slow circles against the inside of her wrist. Her leg slid over his, anchoring them together under the blanket.

“Still ours,” he said at last, voice low and steady.

She nodded against his shoulder. “Even if they all know now.”

“They don’t know,” he said gently. “They just saw. And what they saw? That was real. But the rest?” He kissed her hair. “That’s still just for us.”

And she believed him.

The world could keep spinning, keep wondering, keep piecing together their story from photos and guesses and grainy screenshots.

They had already built the quiet.

And the quiet wasn’t going anywhere.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

an: and the secret is outtttt. im running out of ideas y’all so plssss send requests also it doesn’t have to be just for this one it could be any drew or rafe requests :)

also ignore any mistakes there might be in the smau's i did them last night while half sleep

[keiiaq]

things to script: soft beauty ˚.🍨༘⋆

hey lovelies!! I have some good news coming up, so I thought i’d share it alongside a small apology.

i’m so sorry I haven’t posted as frequently as I normally do, I haven’t had much motivation on posting and I don’t want to push myself cause i’d most likely get into burnout which sadly takes long for me to recover from 🙁

now, for the good news.. i’m finally getting an ipad !!! i’m super happy about this cause I can now introduce some of my drself art on this account and it’ll be more accessible for me to use rather than having to keep everything on my phone! after this does happen, i’ll also probably change my theme too.

I actually have this for one of my dr’s so I thought i’d share it rather than gatekeep it since I know a lot of you guys enjoy the series :)

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

“but I still love you babe. I know I shouldnt, but.”

✿* 🎼 : there’s a softness in you that makes the world hush without even realizing. you feel like quiet meadows, like the breath before a baby animal falls asleep. your presence is tender, warm, and doesn’t need to be loud to be felt. you calm the world like dew on petals or lace-filtered sunlight. your energy is like a forgotten lullaby — gentle, beautiful, and lingering. there’s something rare and comforting in the way you exist. people feel safe near you. they feel like they can rest.

✿* 🍨 : you move like a warm memory, like the scent of something familiar and loving. you’re not fragile, but delicate in a way that makes people want to treat you carefully. you are the kind of soul people don’t forget—not because you asked them to notice you, but because your softness stays in the room even after you leave. your presence makes people speak softer, move gentler, feel deeper. you make chaos slow down. you feel like early morning rain, chamomile fields, and lullabies without words. you remind people of kindness that doesn’t need to be spoken.

✿* 🩰 : you don’t demand anything — you just are, and that’s enough. people lower their voices around you out of respect for how sacred your softness is. your kindness isn’t something you perform. it’s something you radiate. and that softness has gravity. the kind that makes hearts lean in. you’re calm in a loud world. people feel fluttershy in you — not because you mimic her — but because you naturally carry that same sacred gentleness, that same quiet strength. your energy feels like a forest glade where nothing bad can reach.

✿* 🎼 : people don’t just think you’re sweet —they feel held in your presence. your vibe feels like early spring, like a trembling fawn standing up for the first time. you remind people of the warmth of holding something small and alive in their hands and knowing they must be gentle. you have fluttershy’s courage — the soft kind, the kind that stands trembling but still stands. your presence feels like satin wings, like sunlight through lace curtains, like whispering to animals who understand.

✿* 🍨 : your aura is like a love letter written in sparkly gel pen, like the hush after a lullaby, like bedtime stories whispered with too much heart. you remind people of old books with pressed flowers, of honey in warm milk, of whispering “thank you” with a voice that cracks. you are the kind of beauty that doesn’t shout — it glows. people want to protect you without knowing why. you’re the girl who wears lip balm more than lipstick, who says sorry to plush toys when hugging them too tight.

✿* 🩰 : you move like an edit in motion. like an anime lullaby on a rainy day tea party with stuffed animals. your softness doesn’t need to explain itself — it just wraps around people and makes them feel safe. you are vanilla-scented fur and cherry blossom wings. people don’t just see fluttershy in you — they feel her in the way your presence holds them gently. your energy is a whispered wish, a warm blanket, a soft tear from too much love. you're sacred, delicate, unforgettable.

✿* 🎼 : you remind people of whispered dreams, trembling hearts, and warm rooms full of quiet love. you are a flicker of pink in a gray sky, the hush before a vulnerable truth, a pause in someone’s chest that says “this is safe.” you make people want to believe in things again — guardian angels, love notes, and magic in the quiet. people don’t just notice you — they feel softened by you. you’re not loud, but you change the room. you are sweetness that still matters. the kind that heals. the kind that saves. you are this energy. you are this softness. you are this sacred.

✿* 🍨 : this isn’t just “you’re sweet” energy. it’s “you’ve been blessed by something ancient and gentle and people don’t know how to look at you without softening” energy. it’s forest-that-remembers-your-name energy. cottage-wrapped-in-fog energy. you feel like fluttershy if she were real and people accidentally fell in love with her soul.

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

thanks for reading!! this was a little lengthy but I just have a super specific mind when it comes to this aesthetic since I luv it sososo much :) the aesthetic and music just resonates with this so well.

happy shifting my lovelies!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

She Blooms At Night

summary: fanboy’s crush on you comes to a head when you let your hair down post success– yours does too.

pairing: mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia x f!reader (call sign is juniper)

contents: suggestive language, pining, yearning, alcohol mention & consumption, bar/club hopping, PDA/kissing (truly making out)

wc: 1,621

an: after seeing SEVERAL fan edits with danny’s characters to dandelion by ariana grande i couldn’t stop thinking about scandalizing sweet baby mickey on the dance floor!! (mickey being shy & respectful is just MY take on his characterization, if you don’t agree that’s okay friend 🫶🏾)

danny ramirez character masterlist

Every single one of them had warned him. Phoenix, Rooster, Bob, Coyote—even Hangman, who usually only cared about himself. They had all warned him from the moment you walked on the scene.

It makes Mickey wonder how poorly he was doing at hiding his crush on you.

At the end of the day, the only person’s opinion that mattered was yours. For the time being, it seemed you decidedly had no opinion—or maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as obvious as the others claimed he was.

“You’re in trouble now,” Phoenix whispered in his ear as they all celebrated on the flight deck.

“He’s gonna live up to his name tonight,” Coyote quipped, clapping Mickey on the shoulder.

“Guys, knock it off,” Bob said, giving Mickey an apologetic smile. He knew what it felt like to be the butt of the joke and wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

Hangman ignored the scolding, wagging both of his eyebrows. “Ultimate Fanboy—loading.”

“Shut up,” Mickey murmured, his eyes flickering around on the lookout for you just in case.

And pop up you do, weaving through the throng of celebrating pilots and support staff. Your presence cuts through all the noise like a sunbeam, bright and impossible to ignore.

“Holy shit, we did it,” you yell as you join the group, scooping Phoenix into a hug.

“Juniper, how are we celebrating tonight?” Hangman asks, eyes never leaving Mickey’s.

“You know exactly how we’re celebrating. Everybody’s letting their hair down tonight—even Fanboy here,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers over the short bristle of his buzz cut.

Mickey nearly stops breathing, his chest hitching. The touch is fleeting, but it strikes him, energy flowing through him like a live wire. It takes everything in him not to lean into it, not to chase the feeling of your fingers against his scalp.

He swallows roughly, gives you the best smile he can manage, and makes an excuse about congratulating Rooster before you can notice the heat rising in his face.

—

The celebration had started at the Hard Deck, uniforms still in place, the familiarity of the bar keeping everything at a reasonable simmer. Mickey did his best to mingle with everyone but you, his eyes drifting over to you every once and a while.

“It wouldn’t kill you to talk to her, would it?” Phoenix asks him over the music.”

“Kill no, but I don’t wanna make a fool of myself.”

“That would be hard— she likes you, Mick. You’re just too enamored with her to see that.”

“I’m not into taking risks, you know that. Here, I’ll go get us another round,” He grabs her nearly empty mug and starts towards the bar, effectively ending their conversation.

The last thing he needs is to get his hopes up.

But, the second he stepped into the club later that night, every bit of self-restraint dissolved.

He doesn’t know when or where you had enough time to change into this number, but you’re going to be the death of him.

Your hair is down, framing your face in a way that makes his stomach drop. The dress—if it can even be called that—clings to you like shimmering silver raindrops, catching the club’s flashing lights with your every move. It’s a little see-through. Stops halfway down your thighs.

Mickey nearly chokes on his drink.

It’s Phoenix who nudges him, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Don’t pass out, Fanboy.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he grumbles, staring down into his beer.

You make your way from the bar to join the two of them at the table. “Hey, where are the other boys?”

Phoenix nods towards the dance floor— Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote all have at least one girl on their arm, dancing under the colorful lights.

“Bob?”

“He said it wasn’t his scene,” Mickey shouts over the drum of the bass.

“Well do you wanna dance with me, Mickey?”

You’ve never called him that before. You’re always strictly professional and focused on the task at hand. He’s never seen you stray, never seen you distracted…or so relaxed. Your shoulders which are usually up to your ears are down, glowing with some sort of body oil.

It’s over for him; he feels turned to goo, unable to turn you down.

“I— uh, sure. Are you sure, because I—“

You cut him off with a laugh, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, Fanboy, it’s just a dance. Unless you’re scared?”

He swallows hard. “Not scared.”

“Good.”

Before whisking him away, you assure Phoenix that you’ll bring him back after a dance or two.

“Don’t mind me,” she calls after you two, a knowing grin on her face.

You guide him through the crowd effortlessly, moving to the rhythm of the bassline that thrums through the floor and straight into his chest. His hand is clammy, but he grips yours firmly, not wanting to mess up this moment.

Dancing with you is…it’s a problem.

You move like you were made for this—the music, the energy, the way your body fits so seamlessly against his. Every sway, every shift of your hips sends a fresh wave of heat through him. And then your hands are on his shoulders, skimming down his arms before slipping around his neck, pulling him in just a little closer.

His heart is pounding. You have to hear it, have to know how you’re affecting him this way. With how close you’ve guided him, he has no choice but to hold on to you tightly, his hands fitting like gloves around your hips.

As he grows more comfortable, you decide to test him.

Your hands skim up his arms, slow and deliberate, until they slip around his neck again. You press in just a little closer, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, your mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk.

“You know,” you murmur, “I think I like this side of you, Fanboy.”

He’s struggling to breathe. “What—what side?”

Your fingers toy with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “The one that actually touches me instead of staring from across the room.”

Mickey swears under his breath, tightening his grip on your waist. You knew. You knew the whole time, and you’re having fun with it.

“I don’t—” His words cut off as you shift, your body rolling right against him. His jaw clenches. “Jesus, Juniper.”

Your laugh is warm and breathless. “Relax, Mickey. I don’t bite.”

But there’s a glint in your eye that says you could— that you would if he asked nicely enough.

The song shifts, the beat deepening, a low pulse of bass and heat. His fingers are caressing your waist with need. With urgency. His body finds the rhythm of yours like it’s second nature, a push and pull, a slow unraveling.

It’s intoxicating and dangerous, it’s got him thinking his dreams don’t have to just be dreams. They could be reality.

You can see his resolve crumbling— his breath grows quicker, eyes hazy with obsession.

Just when you think he’s about to combust, you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Kiss me, Mickey.”

His heart drops into his stomach. Are you— could you be serious? Is he dreaming? Did he die on the mission and wake up in the afterlife to what he’s wanted since the first time he laid eyes on you?

No. You’re too real beneath his fingertips. Too warm and soft, the smell of your perfume somehow cutting through the alcohol and sweat of everyone else.

It’s the way you look at him that makes him sure this is truly happening. Eyes glittering with mischief, you have to know what you’re doing to him. The way you whisper it, like a secret, like you’re letting him have the control when really, you’re running this whole damn show.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want it—he wants it, god, he needs it—but because this is you. And this feels like something bigger than just the heat of the moment. This isn't just a kiss with some girl in a club; its you.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tightening ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. Your expression softens—not teasing or challenging. Just waiting, hope glowing in your eyes.

That glimmer of hope is all it takes.

Mickey leans in, closing the space between you with a kiss that’s hesitant at first—soft, searching. But when you respond, when you sigh with relief against his lips and press closer, he melts.

Any teasing energy you had left fades away now. All that’s left is you, your hands cupping his jaw, your body pressing flush against his as you kiss him slow and deep and unhurried like you’ve got all the time in the world.

Somewhere in the background, there’s a sharp whistle.

“Fanboy’s really living up to his name,” Hangman yells loud enough for probably the entire dancefloor to hear.

There's cheering, whooping but it can't hold his attention, not with you in his arms and the ghost of your taste in his lips.

Mickey should care. He should be embarrassed.

He can’t find it in himself to do either when you grin against his lips, sliding your hands down his chest before tugging him back in for another kiss—deeper, more insistent. It’s sensual, the way your tongue brushes against his.

And he realizes in that moment he would do anything you asked him.

He’s gone for you. Utterly, completely gone.

Judging by how you pull him even closer, how your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt and skim across the skin of his torso like you need to touch more of him—

You’re gone for him too.

lmk if you’d like to be on the danny ramirez characters taglist!

sfw danny taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct , @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl

[sarahelizasims]

Clean lines, warm woods, and moody accents come together in this striking row of three contemporary townhouses. With a cohesive façade that balances symmetry and individuality, each unit offers an open-concept layout, oversized windows, and a calming neutral palette inside.

Think sun-drenched living spaces, sleek kitchens, and tranquil bedrooms, all wrapped in a design that feels equal parts sophisticated and soulful. Private courtyards add a touch of nature, making these homes the perfect blend of city edge and serene escape—tailored for Sims with taste.

40 x 30

Residential Rental Lot

Requirements:

Turn bb.moveobjects on before placing.  *optional* TwistedMexi has a script mod that does it for you automatically, so there is no reason to always have to type it in.

T.O.O.L by TwistedMexi.

Required CC - Please refer to the included PDF document for downloading items that were not included in the zip file, as some are still in early access.

The lush red hydrangeas are a recolor; download the mesh here.

FYI - For some reason, the stairs by the false bakery shop disappear whenever I mess around with the area, like changing wallpaper or adding walls. It is a weird glitch. Whenever it gets removed, just add it back again.

My game is DirectX11, so you may need to update your images to DX11 in the Sims 4 Studio.

And of course, if anything isn't right and you need help with something, please do not hesitate to message me! Feel free to comment, send a message to me on Tumblr, or utilize my community chat! I would like to use it more. ♡

Terms of Use:

Do not re-upload my lots and claim them as your own.

You're welcome to edit or modify my builds, but please remember to credit me as the original creator!

Do not put my builds behind a paywall.

I've included some of my recolors, please refer to those posts for their TOU.

Thank you to all CC Creators.

Please let me know if there's any problem with the build. Tag @sarahelizasims so I can see your gameplay and any personal touches you've made!

📥DOWNLOAD (Google Drive)

[bluelizard100]

Here’s a WIP I had sitting in my notes app for forever that I finally got around to finishing

Study abroad reader x Soap (my beloved) !!!

Warnings: kidnapping, non-con, bondage with a belt, post TBI Soap, very little editing, obsessive & unstable Soap, poorly written Scottish accent lmao

4.1k word count

Studying abroad seemed like the best opportunity you ever could’ve gotten. You were ecstatic, packed up and ready to fly over to Scotland, knowing there was a room at the university of Edinburgh waiting for you. 

It all seemed so perfect. You got to travel without having to worry about missing your studies, and this was a wonderful opportunity to meet new people and make connections.

Just as you had wanted, everything was perfect. It would’ve stayed perfect if you hadn’t met Johnny.

“John MacTavish, but a bonnie thing like you can call me Johnny,” he’d said to you.

He was a flirt, and to you it was harmless, temporary fun. The two of you grew close fast. You ate lunch with him, hung out with him during your breaks, and you even spent the night at his place a couple times. You’d spend evenings texting or calling, unloading your stresses onto him while he cracked jokes to make you feel better.

He never talked much about his own problems with work— you understood, though. How much can he really talk about his problems with the military? He was special forces, after all— SAS. He never even told you how he got the gnarly scar on his temple. He talked about his team sometimes, but rarely ever a few words. He always just seemed happier to listen to you.

It was a wonderful thing, your friendship with him. There was an obvious connection between you two, an unspoken chemistry. You entertained the idea of something more with him, but you never brought it up; how could you? You had to leave eventually, so what was the point? What if he didn’t feel the same way, and you were just reading too far into things? He seemed like the type to flirt with his friends. If you went for it and asked him out, and he said no, you’d ruin the entire friendship. He probably wasn’t interested— you’re just a friend to him. Right?

After an entire year in Scotland, it was finally time to pack up and fly back home. You didn’t want to leave, but you missed home. It’d been a whole 365 days since you had seen your friends and family back home, and you longed to sleep in your own bed again.

When you told Johnny it was time for you to go back home, his eyes flashed with a dark intensity. You should’ve acknowledged the subtle shift, should’ve known something was wrong. You shouldn’t have ignored the unease building in your gut, but you didn’t.

He’s probably just pushing down his emotions. He’s a soldier; I bet he’s not even allowed to have feelings. You rationalized your disquiet away as you shoved haphazardly folded clothes into a stuffed suitcase.

It was the night before your flight that he finally showed you how he felt. You don’t remember much other than a prick to your neck, and then darkness.

—

You wake up in what you think is Johnny’s sitting room, sat on the couch with your wrists tied behind your back and your ankles bound together. Your head is pounding, your eyes burn, and your mouth and throat are dry. It’s too painful to think. Your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth, desiccated by whatever concoction was injected into your veins.

It takes you a moment to realize that you are, in fact, in Johnny’s sitting room, and not some random person’s house. It’s both relieving and terrifying to wake up in your friend’s home; you know where you are, you know you’re with someone who’s supposed to be safe… but you’re tied up and you were very obviously drugged.

Thoughts race through your head. Why am I here? And where is Johnny? What did he give me? Is Johnny okay? Did a terrorist capture him? Am I being used as a hostage?

Your thoughts spiral out of control with each scenario you came up with. Each new hypothetical has your blood pressure spiking and your heart fluttering. Just before you can open your mouth to scream, you hear footsteps.

Johnny emerges from the kitchen, stepping through the doorway lightly and almost calmly. You melt with relief, so glad to see that he’s okay that you don’t even notice his lack of panic.

“Johnny!” You nearly weep. He walks towards the couch, giving you a warm, loving smile. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kneels down in front of you and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Oh, baby, ye dinnae need tae cry,” he coos.

You squirm on the couch, tugging against the ropes that keep you immobile. “J-Johnny,” you stammer, “you gotta untie me.”

His expression darkens, the warmth fading away.

You’re still panicked, though. You haven’t realized yet that there isn’t any danger except for the man in front of you.

“Johnny, we have to hurry.”

The danger in Johnny’s expression fizzles, replaced by confusion. “What?”

“Before they come back,” you sniffle. “The men who took me— they’re terrorists, right? We have to leave!”

Again, Johnny smiled at you. Poor thing. So naive.

“No terrorist, baby. We’re safe, aye?”

You break down again, crying with relief. Johnny sits himself on the couch and pulls you up into his lap, gingerly untying your wrists and ankles.

“Just you an’ me. It’s okay, ye dinnae need to cry.”

You babble into his neck, blaming your tears on whatever drugs you were given. He only shushes you, rocking you gently in his arms.

You cry for what feels like an eternity, but Johnny holds you tight. To you, he’s comforting you, offering himself as an anchor to your out of control emotions.

To him, he’s holding you tight so you can’t run away. He’s the anchor that’s going to keep you here, with him.

Where you belong.

—

You wake again, this time in Johnny’s room. In his bed. Wrapped in his arms.

He’s already awake, staring at you with unnerving intensity. It disappears as soon as he catches your eye, replaced with another one of his warm smiles.

It takes a moment for you to remember what happened, and even then, your brain decides to focus on your flight.

“Holy fuck!”

You spring out of Johnny’s bed so quickly that you stumble, the too-sudden postural change making your vision spot. Johnny hurries after you, wrapping an arm around your waist when you wobble.

Then his grip tightens. You’re being dragged back to the bed.

“Johnny,” you gasp, “I gotta- I gotta go. I missed my flight!” He pushes you back into the bed, grumbling when you slap at his arms.

“I need to go now!” You shout. You’ll have people waiting for you, school expecting you. You have to at least call.

You don’t get a chance to explain any of it. Johnny pushes you down onto your back and clamps his big hand over your mouth.

“Stop fuckin’ moving,” he demands, frustration turning his tone rough and mean. He stares into your wide eyes, his face inches from yours. You freeze out of pure shock, and when Johnny’s sure you’ll listen, he pulls his hand from your mouth.

“There we go,” he hums. “You’ve got nowhere ta be, baby. Ah took care o’ everythin’ for ya.”

The fuck does that mean?

“You… what? No, Johnny, I have to—“

You’re cut off again by him clamping his hand over your mouth.

“I said nae. Yer’ stayin’ here.”

You push at his shoulders, trying to get him off you, but he collects both your wrists in his free hand and pins them to your chest.

“I cannae let ye leave.” Johnny’s voice is thick with emotion, so intense that it scares you. You’ve never heard him like this. He’s always so lighthearted and unserious, turning everything into a joke. Now here he is, so genuine that his voice is unsteady.

“I need ya. I need ye here with me, by my side. They dinnae need ye; I do. They don’t deserve ye. They— they abandoned you, let ye come to a strange country all by yerself. Who fuckin’ knows what could’ve happened if I hadnae found ye so early on?”

He’s rambling, almost like he’s speaking to you and to himself. Like he’s trying to rationalize this, forcing it to make rational sense to you and ease his own guilt.

“I’d never leave ye. I’d never let ye get yerself in danger like they did. I’ll protect ye, keep ye safe and sound right here wi’ me.”

Johnny grew more and more distraught as he rambled, spilling his delusions while you tried to keep your tears at bay.

Finally, it all clicks.

Johnny— your friend Johnny, who was warm and kind and funny, had kidnapped you.

He drugged you, tied you up, and dragged you back to his house. He made you miss your flight back home. And now, apparently he’s holding you hostage.

Amidst his breakdown, Johnny notices the tears welling up in your eyes. “No, baby, no, no tears,” he coos, uncovering your mouth to cup your cheek instead. “It’s okay. Ah ken it’s a lot of feelings right now— love is a lot tae feel.”

For a moment you just stare at him. You just have to stare. Dumbfounded.

He thinks these tears are because I love him? He think I’m, what, overwhelmed with joy?

“…Johnny,” you say, voice shaky yet full of conviction, “you need to let me go.”

You watch Johnny’s face fall, see tears turn his eyes glassy. You almost feel bad.

Then he snarls, his expression turning vicious.

“Fuck no,” he growls, slamming your wrists above your head. He presses down until his nose presses against yours, until the breath he exhales is the breath you take in.

“I already said I’m not fuckin’ losing ye. I’ll no’ let ye go back to another—“

His voice cracks, and you feel hot tears drip onto your cheeks.

“…another man. I’m cannae let ye go back home. I cannae let some other lad sweep ye off yer feet and take ye from me, while I’m an entire fuckin’ country away from ye, helpless tae stop it.”

He takes a ragged breath and buries his face into your neck. “You’re mine. I said willnae lose ye.”

You don’t get a chance to even utter a response before Johnny snaps again, pressing you down harder against his mattress.

“If ye don’t want tae stay, I’ll make ye,” he snarls.

His free hand goes to his belt, and your cry of protest does nothing to deter him.

“I’ll show ye,” he mutters. “I’ll show ye how good I’ll be to ya.”

While you thrash and scream underneath him, Johnny loops his belt around your wrists and secures them to the headboard.

“Johnny stop! Stop it! Fucking let me go!”

Your shouting again does nothing. Johnny’s in some crazed state, not hearing anything— and if he is hearing it, it’s not affecting him.

Fabric tears, the sound drowned out by your screaming. Cool air hits your belly, and Johnny stuffs a ripped half of your shirt into your mouth.

He undresses you wordlessly, tearing the rest of your shirt off and then your bra. Your pants don’t get torn— simply yanked off your legs, your panties dragged along with them.

When you’re fully naked, tears streaming down your cheeks, is when Johnny finally stops. He pauses, sucks in a full breath, and stares.

God, he fucking stares. If you could, you’d curl in on yourself, hide from his burning gaze.

When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle. It almost startles you, the contrast between his earlier snarling and his current loving rumbling making your hair stand on end.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. “My sweet, beautiful wee bride.”

A shocked cry escapes you, the sound muffled by the scrap of shirt he shoved between your lips.

“Shh shh shh,” Johnny shushes you gently. “No cryin’ now. No more cryin’.”

His hands, rough with callouses, roam over your body. He starts at your hips, sliding up over your waist, feeling each individual rib, tracing the sides of your breasts, up your chest, gentle at your neck, until he finally cups your face in both hands.

“I’ll be the best husband ye could ever ask for, bonnie.”

You whimper, shake your head no, and he frowns.

“No?” He asks incredulously. “I ken what the problem is. Ye cannae turn that big brain o’ yers off. Are ye thinking too much again, baby?”

He uses his hold on your face to nod your head yes.

“Aw, I ken, baby. Ye’re always so nervous’, lettin’ that anxiety ruin everything.”

Johnny presses his lips to your forehead before he descends, making his way down your body. When he settles between your thighs, wrapping his arms around them to keep you still, he meets your teary eyes with his own intense, piercing blue stare.

“Let yer husband make it all better.”

He licks a long stripe up your cunt, from slit to clit, eliciting a sharp squeal that stays trapped behind your gag.

He’s gentle about it, laving his tongue against you in slow, gentle strokes. He’s making out with your pussy, kissing at your clit and sucking on your lips while you wail into your gag.

He pushes his tongue inside you, tasting you with an appreciative groan that vibrates around your pussy. You squeal again, and you swear he puffs out an amused breath through his nose.

Johnny alternates between those gentle licks and experimental plunges until your breath turns shallow. Your body succumbs, giving in to the desire you’ve harbored for so long even while your mind screams that this is wrong.

Against all your inner turmoil, your efforts to control your body’s responses fail. Your hips twitch and a tiny moan sounds from your lips, nearly imperceptible with the cloth muffling your voice.

But Johnny caught it.

And the air shifts.

He pauses, and you look down to see him staring up at you with a devious, excited glint in his eyes.

“There we go,” he growls, satisfaction spilling from his tone. “All warmed up.”

Your brow furrows with confusion, but Johnny answers your wordless question so quickly it gives you whiplash.

In what feels like a mere second, Johnny reaches up and rips the cloth from your mouth and returns to his spot between your thighs, latching onto your clit and sucking hard.

Intense, overwhelming pleasure shoots through your belly like electricity, ripping a startled scream from you.

He latched on tight, refusing to let go even as you buck your hips and cry out into the room, begging for a break.

Johnny releases your clit with a pop and looks up at you with a proud grin. “Told ye, baby, I’m gonna make it better— gonna take care of those racin’ thoughts. I’ll make sure ye cannae think about anythin’ at all.”

It should be a threat, but he said it so sweetly; It was like a loving promise.

Johnny dips back down, only this time he starts flicking his tongue over your poor clit, tormenting your swollen nub.

Again you cry out, unable to keep quiet. Johnny’s attacking your most sensitive spot, tormenting you with your own body. While you squirm and cry, your hips buck and roll in time with his tongue, searching for more.

Your efforts are rewarded with a satisfied grunt from Johnny, and he doubled his own. You didn’t think it was possible, but he proves you wrong— his tongue moves faster, harder, and he tightens his grip on your thighs to keep you from wiggling too much.

Your wails turn to moans, each sound that leaves you more desperate than the last. Tantalizing warmth floods your belly, along with a pressure that keeps building and building.

Each sound Johnny forces from you is taken as encouragement. Although your logical mind hates every aspect of this, you know that if he stopped now you wouldn’t be able to keep from begging. You’re too close for him to stop; the want has reached the tipping point to a primal need. Luckily for you, Johnny wants to deliver.

If you were paying more attention (read: if you were capable of paying attention), you’d have noticed that Johnny was losing himself, too. He’s rutting his hips against the mattress like an animal, matching the beastly way he devours your cunt.

Your abdomen tightens and your thighs fight to squeeze shut, cueing the band in your core to snap.

In a panic, still conscious enough to realize that you’re about to come on your friend-turned-kidnapper’s tongue, you glance down between your thighs.

Johnny had looked up at your face as soon as he felt your thighs squeeze. When you met his eyes, glazed over with need, that torturous band snapped.

Head thrown back in a strangled moan, molten pleasure rolling through your body like magma forcing its way to the surface, your body surrendering itself to Johnny.

Johnny refused to let up, lapping at your entrance to get every last taste of your release. You feared he wasn’t going to stop, uttering a breathless “please” with the last of your energy. Your plea was like music, the sweetest melody he’d ever heard, and he finally pulled away.

You let your head flop back against your pillow, muscles finally going lax. Johnny crawled back up your body, caging you in with his arms, elbows propped on either side of your head.

“There ye are,” he hums, looking down at you with nothing short of adoration. “Not thinkin’ so much now, huh?”

You don’t answer— can’t answer, really— but Johnny doesn’t mind. He smiles and cups your cheek again. Then, he’s leaning down and kissing you. Kissing you for the first time.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this before; what it would be like if you took the chance and told Johnny you had feelings for him.

You’d thought about how it would feel to kiss him. Would he be gentle, play it safe for the first time? Or would he be rough and passionate? Would his lips be soft, or would you have to tease him into using chapstick?

Every scenario you’d come up with had been domestic. Nothing like what you’re experiencing now, trapped underneath him with your wrists secured to the headboard. The taste of your own arousal lingering on his lips.

Johnny is gentle as he kisses you. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, the way you go slack and just accept it.

Accept his affections.

Accept him.

He nips at your bottom lip before pulling away and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

“The sweetest bride I could ever ask for,” he whispers.

Bride. The title has you squirming again, tugging against the belt at your wrists and using your legs to try and buck him off.

“Och—“ he huffs, pressing his hips down against yours. “Quit that.”

You stiffen. His hard-on presses down against you through his pants, which shouldn’t be surprising, but actually feeling it is enough to make you go still.

He grins at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Now he looks like the Johnny you know. The Johnny you befriended. His expression is incongruous— he shouldn’t be looking so playful right now, so unserious. But here he is, looking like this is all some practical joke.

The worst part? It makes you feel better.

His playfulness is familiar. It offers you the comfort that you so desperately need right now, acting as a subtle reassurance that— despite all of this— everything’s going to be okay.

“That’s a good girl,” Johnny murmurs, giving you a little peck on the lips.

“You’re thinkin’ again, though. Gotta do something about that before ye work yerself up again.”

He pulls his shirt off, throwing it down to the floor. His pants and boxers follow. He doesn’t take his time undressing, stripping himself down just as quickly as he did you.

Your breath hitches when you catch sight of his hard cock. It looks almost painful, ruddy at and around the tip and leaking.

He wraps his big hand around it and strokes it a few times, pumping up and down his length with a groan.

“Gonna make it official, baby,” he groans, lining himself up with your cunt. “Gonna make ye my wife.”

With that, he pushes in, groaning again as your warmth envelops him. He moves slowly, again savoring the feel of your bodies joining.

Your earlier orgasm prepped you enough to take the edge off, but the stretch of his cock was still enough to burn.

A whine sounds from your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, an instinctive reaction to the sudden burst of pain.

Johnny coos, but he doesn’t stop. “Poor thing. Ah ken it’s big, but Ah also ken ye can take it.”

He keeps pushing in, in, in, until he finally bottoms out and his hips meet yours. Johnny finally pauses, then, giving you a moment to get used to him.

You’re so full, stuffed so tight with him that he’s almost all you can think about.

Johnny practically trembles, his restraint hair-thin. “Ye feel so good, so warm,” he rasps, dipping down to nip at your neck. “My wife. Mine. Gonna treat ye right, better than anyone else ever could.”

He reaches up and, to your surprise, unbuckles the belt and frees your wrists.

“C’mon, baby, touch me. I know ye want to.”

You don’t move, your arms just laying above your head where he’d let them flop. Johnny sighs and grabs ahold of your thighs, hiking them up and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Stop thinkin’,” he huffs, grabbing your wrists next. He brings them up to his shoulders, holding them there until you finally touch, grasping his firm muscles.

“Good girl.”

You get another quick kiss before Johnny starts to move, and you feel your belly muscles flutter. That weird rippling sensation, like butterflies but better, and a moan catches you by surprise.

Just like before, Johnny takes it as encouragement. He moves a bit faster, changes the angle of his hips until you squeal. He growls like an animal, feral for your pleasure.

His big hands cup your tits, squeezing and kneading before he switches to rolling his thumbs over your pebbled nipples.

“Such a good girl,” he growls, getting lost in you for the second time tonight. “So perfect. M’ sweet wee baby, my bonnie wife.”

He zeroes in on that spot, the spot that makes you squeal, and targets it over and over. It’s too much, worse than when he went down on you. The sensitivity from then spills over to now, heightening everything he makes you feel.

The wiry hair at his pelvis tickles to your clit each time he fucks into you.

Too much.

He nails that perfect spot deep inside you over and over.

Too much.

His pinches and teases your sensitive nipples until they’re puffy.

Too fucking much.

Your jaw goes slack and sounds leave you freely, moaning and wailing without restraint.

You dig your fingernails into Johnny’s back, clawing him up like a scratching post, and he fucking loves it.

He fucks you faster, harder, twists your nipples almost meanly and bites down on your neck.

That bit of pain sends you hurtling over the edge, coming so hard it feels like the air is punched from your lungs.

Your pussy clamps tight around Johnny, gripping him tight like you never want him to leave. His hips stutter and he curses, nearing his own end.

“Oh- fuck-!”

He slams into you one last time before spilling his hot load deep inside you, filling you up.

He collapses on top of you, squishing you with his weight just long enough to catch his breath before shifting to let you breathe better.

The two of you lay quiet for a moment, too busy panting to try and speak.

Johnny gets his breath back first, propping himself back up on his elbows. He pulls out slowly, hissing when your cunt squeezes him again.

He looks down at you, spent and sleepy, and smiles again.

“Got yer head nice an’ empty now,” he says, his voice full of mirth.

Johnny slips out of the room, returning with some ice water and a damp washcloth.

He cleans you up, gives you sips of the cold water, and then crawls into bed with you.

“See?” He murmurs, his own voice turning rough with sleepiness.

“Ye belong with me.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Eternal Torment

Part 6 of the Uncaged series

A/N: guys I know I said I was taking a break, and I still am, but I just got so excited about this new chapter I ended up writing that I had to post it.

A/N 2: Ok so I’ve been doing this for a few chapters, but just to make sure this isn’t super confusing, the italics are either cage memories or when the reader thinks she’s still in the cage (or the occasional inner monologue). So (tiny spoiler) the italics are gonna be jumping up a lot and going back and forth, just to show the confusion of “is she in the cage or not”. (I have no idea why I decided this, I just decided to be weirdly literary and symbolic for no reason and I hope it didn’t turn out dumb.)

Edit: guys not me forgetting the warnings…

Warnings: mentions of torture, actual torture, guns, brief mention of s**c*de (because Lucifer’s a jerk), panic, angst, gunshots (lot of sad in this one guys)

Eternal torment.

That’s what Lucifer had promised you the first day you fell into the cage. The idea was so big, so…lasting. Your brain couldn’t comprehend eternal torment. You couldn’t even wrap your mind around 180 years of torment. So your brain sent you little bits, one memory at a time, moment after moment of torment. Your mind relived every day, every hour, every second, like it was trying to prove to you that it was real, that you’d gone through it, that you were somehow still alive.

No one should be alive after that much pain. So your brain punished you for still living every time you closed your eyes.

You were in a position you were all-too familiar with; hooked to the bars of the cage, waiting for Lucifer to decide what tool to use on you. You were shivering, partly from dread, but mostly because of the cold—it was always so cold here.

“Let me see…” Lucifer picked up a tool before setting it down and picking up a new one. He loved to draw this part out, making you think he’d chosen his weapon before changing his mind. He knew it made you remember the last times he’d used the tools; the psychological parts of his games were his favorite part.

“How about this?” He hummed to himself, picking up a serrated blade and inspecting it. “Or…” he snapped his fingers, and suddenly you were in Bobby’s house, and it wasn’t cold anymore, and your hands and neck weren’t stabbed through with hooks holding you down, and Dean was coming towards you with his arms outstretched. You found yourself reaching for him, reaching for his embrace…

And then you were back in the cage and Lucifer was sawing the serrated blade across your thigh and you were screaming and he was cackling and it hurt so much. This wasn’t a memory—he’d never shown you Dean before. This was something new.

“The Dean you’ve been seeing isn’t real. This is real—this pain. You’re never going to see the real Dean again. I’m never going to let you go.

“Never.

“Never.”

“Hey, hey Y/N!”

You sat up with a gasp, and you were back in Bobby’s house. Dean was in front of you, his hands outstretched—but not for an embrace, as he had in Lucifer’s vision, but in an ‘it’s ok’ gesture.

But then he was reaching to cup your face and his fingers brushed the back of your neck where the hook was and his hand gripped yours where the hook was and it was all too much and was that a chill? and where was Sam and where was Lucifer and—

“Y/N, calm down!” You heard Dean’s voice but you couldn’t calm down because he wasn’t real.

“Dean, move.” And then it was Sam in front of you and you felt your body shake in a sob of relief because it was Sam and Sam was real.

“Sam,” you whimpered, reaching out for his hands, which he wrapped around your wrists and started to brush his thumb back and forth, grounding you.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s ok, we’re at Bobby’s.”

“No.” you sobbed, collapsing into your brother and grabbing at him, trying to bury yourself in his protective embrace. “Not real.” Forcing each word out was like spitting up razor blades, and your eyes were dancing around, waiting to see Lucifer, waiting for him to punish you for speaking. But you had to tell Sam; he deserved to know. “It’s all fake and he’s messing with us and we’re still in the cage—“

“Shh, hey it’s ok.” Sam rubbed your back. “It was just a dream, you’re awake now.”

“Feels the same.” Your voice was muffled against Sam’s shirt, but he understood.

“I…” Sam’s voice cracked. “I know it does.” It all felt the same to him, too—Lucifer, Dean, Bobby—there was no difference.

“How do we know what’s real?”

“That pain sure felt real, didn’t it?” You didn’t have to look to know that Lucifer was once again perched at the edge of the couch. “Can’t fake that. Can’t fake this, either.”

And suddenly you were shivering with a bone-numbing cold, and you felt Sam shudder against you, too.

“What’s going on?” You looked over Sam’s shoulder and Dean was still there, but he wasn’t shivering; how could he not feel that?

“It…it’s not real.” Sam’s arms tightened around you, and you weren’t sure if he believed what he was saying. “It’s not real.” He pulled away suddenly, and the cold bit into you harder without Sam’s heat next to you. Sam grabbed onto your hand, squeezing it once and ducking his head to your level. His eyes were boring into yours, imploring you to believe him.

“It’s just our hell memories screwing with us, ok? We gotta believe it’s not real, we have to.”

You slowly uncurled yourself, sitting up straight and trying to ignore the devil sitting next to you.

“Ok,” you whimpered, forcing the words out even though you weren’t sure you believed them. “Ok, it…it’s not real. Bobby’s is real.” You squeezed Sam’s hand back twice.

“Good,” Sam breathed. “Good.”

“Hey um…” Dean swallowed hard, looking indecisive. “I’ve gotta head out on a lead, but I want you two to stay here with Bobby.”

“What?” Sam turned. “We should help you, we can help you,” he argued.

You couldn’t find it in you to care about Dean’s decision to let you tag along or not.

You’re out of the cage, you told yourself. This is real, it is.

You wanted to believe it more than anything. But nothing outside the four walls of the cage had mattered to you for a very long time. When you’re promised eternal torment, not much seems to matter anymore. Nothing around you except for Sam’s still-shivering form and Lucifer’s red eyes really felt real.

“Not like this.” Dean shook his head, suddenly more sure of himself, and you tried to focus in on his voice. He’s real, Dean is real. “You two need some recovery time. I’ll be fine alone, but I can’t be worried about you out there.”

“But…” Sam had no suitable defense, so he let the argument trail off.

“It won’t take long,” Dean assured you, lingering awkwardly for a moment before turning and heading out the door.

…

It wasn’t long after Dean left that Bobby got a call from a friend needing help. It was clear he was uneasy about leaving you and Sam alone, but Sam managed to convince him you’d be ok.

“Sam?” You spoke up once you were alone. “What are we gonna do if…if this really isn’t real?”

Sam sighed, an exhausted sound that made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know.”

The silence lingered like a thick fog.

“And…and what are we gonna do if this is real, but Lucifer never goes away?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are we crazy?”

Sam’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours. His were bloodshot, with dark bags under them. You were sure you didn’t look much better.

“I don’t know.”

…

The Impala’s headlights flashing through the window were a surprise.

“Dean,” you mumbled, dropping the lore book you’d been pretending to read. He’s not supposed to be back yet.

“Maybe something went wrong,” Sam said before rushing to the door.

“New lead,” Dean announced, barely taking two steps in the door. “I need you guys for this one.”

“What?” Sam asked. “But I thought—“

“I could really use you on this. If you wanna sit here, then fine, but I’m asking you to help.”

Something was itching at the back of your mind, but you ignored it.

“O…ok. Ok.” Sam glanced at you. “Kid, get your gun.” He didn’t need to get his; he’d been field-stripping it for the past hour, taking it apart and putting it back together over and over. You would’ve called him out on it if you didn’t think he’d bring up your nervous tick of picking at your fingers.

You reluctantly tucked your weapon into your belt and followed your big brothers out to the car, still trying to ignore the feeling that something didn’t seem right.

The feeling grew during the ride with Dean. He was talking to Sam in the front seat, and you forced yourself to pay attention, hoping listening to your big brothers would ease your racing mind.

“Maybe we should try to get you…I don’t know, some professional help,” Dean was saying. “I mean, remember Martin? Went nuts, starting shooting at nothing.”

“I’m not Martin,” Sam insisted. “And neither is she.”

“No, but you are crazy.” Dean’s answer came out so casually, so natural, but the words made your breath stop. “That don’t wash off, you get that right?” All you wanted was for Dean to stop talking, but he seemed to be on a roll, like he’d been dying to say these things. “You are never gonna be ok.”

Dean’s words seemed to echo around in the car and in your head.

“You are never gonna be ok.”

Why was it so familiar?

“You are never gonna be ok.”

The memory came to you in full force; Lucifer was dragging you away from Sam by a fistful of hair.

He’d been ripping into you with his bare hands for what felt like days—he liked his toys, his torture devices, but once in a while he also liked to get his hands dirty. It finally felt like he was going to take a break when he’d tossed you on top of Sam like he was throwing away a dirtied and bloodied rag. Sam had grunted in pain when you landed on him, but he wasted no time in wrapping you in an embrace.

That was when he’d made his mistake.

“It’s ok, you’re gonna be ok.” This memory was from the early days in the cage, back when you still bothered to use those empty words like “ok” to comfort each other.

Lucifer had heard Sam’s words, and he didn’t appreciate them.

He started muttering to himself as he stomped towards the two of you. You weren’t sure of what he said, but it sounded something like “I didn’t rip her ribs out of her body one at a time to hear you call her ok, Sam.”

And then his fist was wrapped up in your hair and you were being yanked out of Sam’s arms and you were already whimpering and Sam was pleading for mercy from the merciless.

“Hey!” The same voice that sparked the memory snapped you out of it, and you realized the Impala had stopped. “You two need to keep it together. I mean if you’re seeing Lucifer, you could be seeing all kinds of things.”

“Ok…” Sam mumbled, stepping out with Dean. You slipped out too, and you heard Sam mutter, “how is that helping?”

“I’m just saying, you two are out of control,” Dean snapped. He led the way towards the door into an office building, and you tried to force yourself to focus on the task at hand. It was hard to think about fighting monsters when Dean was calling you crazy.

“We’re trying to deal with it, ok?” Sam sounded exhausted, and sick of Dean’s comments.

“Dealing?” Dean scoffed, his voice cruel. “How can you deal? I mean you think this is an office building.” He opened the door, stepping to the side to allow you and Sam to go in first. The minute you stepped through the door, glass windows and pristine desks were suddenly replaced by concrete walls and wooden pallets. “Sorry, wrong.”

The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, like someone had dropped a wet blanket over your face. This was wrong, it was all wrong. You found yourself reaching out for Sam’s hand, but he’d already stepped out of your reach, looking around the building in utter confusion.

“Where are we?” He demanded.

“Oh, you think I’m Dean.” The grin that crossed your oldest brother’s face chilled you to the bone. “Right…” the face suddenly shifted, and you let out a sound that was half gasp, half whimper.

Lucifer.

“You poor, clueless little kids,” he scoffed.

“Stay away from me!” Sam snapped, turning and striding away from Lucifer, but you couldn’t force your feet to move.

Because that wasn’t supposed to be Lucifer, it was supposed to be Dean and you were supposed to be fighting monsters and it was supposed to be real.

“Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?!” Lucifer yelled after Sam. Then his eyes were on you, and it was all you could do to keep yourself upright. “She understands.”

“Leave me alone!” Sam spun on his heel, yanking his gun out of his belt and firing it at Lucifer. You flinched as the sound echoed through the empty warehouse—Lucifer was gone.

“Now we’re getting there.” Lucifer appeared just behind Sam. Finally you forced your feet to move; you couldn’t let Sam be alone and so close to the devil, you wouldn’t. “Pinnochio is seeing his strings.”

Was he right? Was it all fake?

“Shut up,” Sam snapped. How was he always so brave? You’d reached him now, but all you could do was cower next to him while he yelled at the devil.

“It’s the big crescendo,” Lucifer sing-songed.

“I said shut up!” Sam fired again, but Lucifer disappeared again.

“Wanna fire that gun at someone useful?” You flinched when Lucifer’s voice came from behind you, and Sam whirled around, moving to stand in front of you—always the protector.

“Try your face,” Lucifer said. He was advancing on the two of you now, but neither you nor Sam moved. “Or hers.” Lucifer pointed to you with his chin. “You wanna see the ending? Skip to the last page of the book?” Lucifer shaped his hand like a gun and pointed his finger at his neck. “You know where to aim.”

Sam swallowed hard, and you saw his hands shaking.

“It’s the only way to know what’s real,” Lucifer said. “Look at her.” And suddenly both Lucifer and Sam’s eyes were on you. “She doesn’t know what’s real, and it’s killing her. Your hurting her, Sammy, by letting her stay like this. Put one right between her pretty little eyes, and then she’ll finally be out of her misery.”

“Sam? Sam!” The door to the warehouse opened, and Dean stepped in. But was it really Dean?

“Oh look, another me.” You turned your head at the sound of the voice, and now it wasn’t Lucifer next to you, but another Dean.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, stepping further into the warehouse.

Sam lifted his gun and aimed it right at Dean, who lifted his hands and took half a step back, exclaiming, “Whoa, whoa!”

“I thought I was with you, Dean,” Sam insisted. You couldn’t decide which Dean to look at—which one was real.

“Ok…” Dean’s brow was furrowed, and he spoke slowly. “Well here I am.” His eyes flicked to you, but you stayed rooted to the spot, too scared to believe it was Dean but also too scared to fight him if it was Lucifer.

“No no no, I can’t—“ Sam looked to his left, and you followed his gaze; the devil was standing in the corner, watching the scene unfold with a grin. “I can’t know that for sure, understand me?”

“Ok, we’ll start small,” Dean said.

Amidst the dozens of questions floating in your mind, you managed to grab one.

“S-Sammy…” you felt Lucifer’s eyes on you while you spoke, but you forced yourself to continue. “Who drove here?”

“I did,” Lucifer said. “Or, you thought I did.” He did, didn’t he? But if that Dean was really Lucifer, then the Dean standing in front of you had to be Dean, right? You couldn’t take it anymore, it was all too much, but Sam had told you to believe this was real, so you had to try.

You took a few cautious steps towards Dean—was it Dean?—ignoring the fear twisting your gut.

But then suddenly Lucifer was standing a few feet to Dean’s left, and he spoke to Sam—

“She’s getting braver. Or dumber.”

Sam’s eyes whipped to you before flashing back to Lucifer. He grit his teeth, turning his gun on Lucifer and firing at him; Lucifer disappeared again.

You whimpered, halting your movements.

“Whoa, hey, Sam!” Dean snapped. “This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!”

Sam was slowly lowering his gun, horrified that he might have just shot so close to his brother. But he still turned his gaze on you.

“Y/N, stay away from him,” Sam pleaded. “We thought we were with Dean, we can’t trust him!”

Sam didn’t believe it was real.

So maybe it wasn’t.

“C’mon,” Dean was pleading with Sam, but you were just looking around for Lucifer again. “You don’t know what’s real? Sam, I’ve felt torture too, and it feels different. This, what’s going on? This is just regular, crappy…this.”

“No, no how can you know that for sure?” Sam pushed him. You held your breath, turning again to stare at Dean; you wanted to hear his answer, you wanted it to make sense, you wanted this to be real.

“Give me your hand,” Dean said. “The gimp hand.”

“Well take a look at Florence Nightingale.” Your whole body flinched, and you couldn’t focus on Dean—or not Dean—anymore because Lucifer was here again, and nothing felt real.

When Sam got distracted by Lucifer, Dean took a step forward and gripped Sam’s injured hand. You found yourself taking small steps toward them, because that hurt hand was vulnerability and vulnerability around Lucifer meant pain.

“This is real,” Dean insisted. “Not in hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up. Look.” Dean squeezed Sam’s hand, and Sam grunted in pain. He tried to lift his gun, but Dean—or not Dean—grabbed it, stopping him.

“This is different, right?” Not Dean pleaded—it had to be not Dean, because Dean wouldn’t hurt Sam, right?

“We’ve done a lot more with pain,” Lucifer insisted. You stepped towards them more quickly now, because he was hurting Sam and you had to make it stop.

“I’m different!” But was that Dean? Because his eyes were filled with that worried desperation that only your big brother could hold. “Right?”

“Yeah I think so,” Sam said, yanking his hands away from Dean and leaving his gun in Dean’s hand. Your steps stopped. Did Sam believe again?

“You sure about that bunk buddy?” Lucifer asked, but then his eyes were on you and they were flashing red and you couldn’t focus on Dean and Sam anymore because how could that not be real?

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lucifer insisted.

“You gotta believe me, Sammy!” Dean insisted.

“Sammy,” Lucifer taunted, but Sam didn’t seem to be listening anymore.

“Ok,” Sam said to Dean, but you had no idea why. Didn’t he see the devil right there? How was he so convinced, over a little cut? Lucifer had done so much more than that.

“Just because he wants to believe in this cute little fantasy, doesn’t mean it’s real,” Lucifer was speaking to you know, and it felt like no one else existed. “He thinks it’ll make him feel better to ignore what’s really going on, but I know you don’t. I know you know what’s real.”

“Hey!” Sam yelled, catching your attention. “It’s not real, ok? I made him go away.” Made him go away? That was impossible—

Unless this really was real.

“But he’s right there!” You insisted, pointing at the devil—who grinned and waved.

“I…” Sam looked from you, to Dean, to Lucifer—except he was looking a little to the left, like he couldn’t actually see where Lucifer was. It was the same vacant gaze that Bobby and Dean got when they tried to look; Sam really didn’t see him.

Then Sam looked down at his bleeding hand, and a look of steely determination crossed his eyes. He snatched his gun from Dean’s hand, turning and aiming it at you. Before you could register what was happening, Sam fired, and the bullet ripped right through your calf and Dean was yelling and you were on the floor and Sam was running at you.

“He’s gone, right?” Sam grabbed your face in his hands, ignoring your whimpering protests. “Pain makes him go away. You can’t see him, right?”

But you weren’t looking around for the devil anymore. You didn’t have to. You knew for sure that this wasn’t real, that none of it had been real.

Because the one thing Sam had never done—not in decade after decade of torture in the cage—was hurt you.

It couldn’t be Sam. This couldn’t be him, it couldn’t be real.

You pulled your face from “Sam’s” hands and curled your knees up to your chest, burying your face against the material of your jeans and letting out a hoarse sob.

Blood was running down your leg and pooling in your sock. Dean wasn’t real. And now Sam wasn’t real—the one person you thought you could always count on to be real, was just Lucifer screwing with you. You were still in the cage, but now you didn’t know where Sam was. You had never felt so alone.

And it hurt so much, it felt like coming home.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

Uncaged Taglist:

@redbird-tf @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @o-birdseed-o @hopefuldreamers-world @s0urw00lf @yasmin12312 @star-maker-rain-dancer