#✨method acting✨

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

BTS Memories of 2020 Daechwita MV Making Film cr. 0613data

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Erhm sorry about the poor lighting quality on this batch. Kinda spur of the moment conjured them up, but the downside is no natural sunlight available due to it being night hours so everything is very yellow tinted. But depending how you look at it this might help enhance the retro old fashioned feel lol

Also gotta include the online photo inspiration for this Leggy & Mr. Puzzles one. Kinda a strange idea but figured it would be comedic enough concept to warrant some art…and perhaps I think it’s just a little bit cute too. In general I just wish they had more bonding screen time together :3

[salemlunaa]

❀˚܀stop stalling and admit you’re afraid ❀˚܀

it’s okay to be scared but you gotta know how to deal with it.

❀˚܀ ACT I | Admit to yourself you’ve been stalling

no you’re not being productive while scripting every single detail, i get that can be satisfying but when are you gonna lock in. Do you feel accomplished when you sit back up for the fifth time “before i induce let me script this ONE LAST thing”, just to wake up in your unfavourable story? again?

Although scripting puts so much joy in creating and shifting awareness to your new story, you need to admit to yourself that spending more time scripting trivial stuff than actually trying to induce pure consciousness can be harmful.

܀˚❀ ACT II | Look at the law

at this point we all know the law of assumption tells us to “assume as if to be that which you want to be”.

so assuming you have your dream life, are you sitting there upset about your circumstances, begging for an instant method of you were there. Would someone who’s just baked a cake sit there and script what the cake would look like and what flavours it would have, would they cry and get desperate for an instant cake-baking method?

Would someone who has successfully manifested blonde hair be binge watching “i hAvE bLoNdE hAiR ✨✨” subliminals, or would they spend time gushing over their hair and how beautiful and blonde it is, which is basically reaffirming what’s true: they have blonde hair.

Instead of stalling and being miserable, gush over your new story, actually apply the new fact that you’re in your dream life, apply he fact that you are a master at inducing the “I AM” state. Use what you know to reaffirm what’s true.

܀❀˚ACT III | It’s okay to be scared, how do we deal with this?

Sure it’s comforting to reduce yourself to a “failure” even after barely trying. You fell asleep one too many times so you run back to stalling, you don’t wanna let yourself down again. You “failed” and woke up in an undesirable state. You don’t want to go through that again so you stall and tell yourself that doomscrolling on tumblr and adding “one more thing” to the script is way more important, and that you’ll “do it later”

But I must warn you, this will lead you down a path where more time is wasted. And although time is a concept do you really want to spend a day more in your unfavourable environment? you could’ve have everything, an hour ago, yesterday, a few minutes ago, IF YOU APPLIED.

“But it’s not that easy…” according to who? who is assuming that?

“But I always fall asleep and fail it’s not that simple…” according to who? your subconscious doesn’t know that so who is perpetuating that assumption over and over again?

“scripting feels so good tho lemme just try tonight” TRY? the operant power doesn’t try! and yes scripting is so fun, but more fun than living the dream?

i thought so.

as you can see you can flip these thoughts, you don’t have to be afraid of failure if you know failure doesn’t exist for you. you don’t have to stall when you succeed at everything you do, there’s no point in it.

so get off your ass and apply loves, this community is lovely but don’t stay here longer than you need to

🐅🌀 don’t be afraid and apply what you know

[22ayla21]

I have two Idea now about amphoreus male husband

I love your writing! 🤭✨

This is the first one :

How trio amphoreus husband( separate) react to their wife get Flirted by a man who don't even know she is already married, the man just thought the ring in her finger is just a accessories.

You are very brave... but not very smart

The reaction of the men of Amphoreus when a stranger decides to flirt with his wife, not knowing that she is already married

Mydei notices immediately that someone has dared to flirt with his wife. His eyes instantly become colder, and his gaze acquires a predatory focus, as if he is assessing the prey before striking. He does not make a scene, does not intervene immediately, but first watches how his wife will react. If she coldly brushes off the impudent man, he will only smirk and mentally praise her.

If the man is too persistent, Mydei approaches his wife and simply stands next to her. He does not say a word, just stands, towering over the situation, his arms crossed over his chest. The very fact of his presence is more pressing than any warning.

When the man finally understands that this terrifying crown prince of Kremnos is her husband, Mydei only smirks. Without malice, but with a clear subtext: "You're in trouble, buddy." He does not make scenes of jealousy, because he knows his wife and trusts her. But if the man continues to pester, Mydei will step forward and say something like, "You're very brave. But you should be smarter."

In extreme cases, if the man doesn't get the hint, he simply puts his hand on his wife's waist, pulling her toward him. Or, even better, he takes her hand and lazily plays with her ring, showing that it's not just jewelry.

He doesn't raise his voice or threaten, but his posture, tone, and icy gaze do the trick. Even the most self-confident suitors usually quickly realize that it's best to retreat.

Anaxa does not make a scene, but his expression becomes stony, and his gaze becomes piercing and appraising. It is as if he is calculating whether it is worth wasting energy on eliminating this misunderstanding or whether it is better to wait until his wife sorts everything out herself.

If the man goes too far, Anaxa casually mentions something like, “How interesting your method of communicating with other people’s wife's is” or “It’s amazing how careless some people are in choosing an object for flirting.” He does not make any sudden movements, but simply comes closer, standing behind his wife or next to her, creating an invisible but tangible comfort zone around her. His height and posture alone can make another man think.

Anaxa does not give in to emotions, but steel appears in his voice. If the man continues, he asks something like, “Are you this persistent with all married women?” - and in a voice that makes it clear that it is better to answer correctly. If a man considers a ring on his wife's finger to be just an ornament, Anaxa can calmly remark: "I wonder if your jaw is just an accessory, too?" Depending on his mood, he can hug his wife around the waist, kiss her temple, or simply call her by an affectionate nickname so that the rival has no doubts.

If he sees that his wife herself cheerfully and confidently puts the man in his place, he simply stays aside, watching the situation with a slight grin.

But if the flirting goes too far. Then the voice becomes icy, the smile disappears, and the man feels that an unknown weight is suffocating him. Even if Anaxa does not say a word, it becomes clear to everyone: it's time to apologize and leave.

At first, he watches. Phainon does not immediately intervene if he sees a man trying to flirt with his wife. He evaluates the situation, her facial expression, the tone of her voice. If she is clearly annoyed, he acts faster.

If the suitor is too persistent, Phainon approaches and calmly places his hand on his wife's waist or shoulder, while casting a silent warning glance at the stranger. He does not immediately reveal his identity, but rather asks with a slight grin: "Well, I hope you at least asked her husband for permission to flirt with her?"

If she laughs or enjoys the situation (knowing that Phainon is nearby), he only smirks slyly, allowing her to "deal" with the suitor herself. But if she feels discomfort, this is a reason for quick intervention.

If the suitor persists, even after hints, Phainon may feign indifference, but say something like: "You know, you're not the first one to mistake her ring for an accessory. But the previous one was smarter - he realized his mistake in time." He does not make a scene or behave aggressively. He simply takes his wife by the hand or puts his arm around her shoulders, leading her away, leaving the suitor to digest what happened.

Despite the outward calm, if someone has gone too far in flirting with his wife, Phainon will not forget it. He will not do anything right away, but the person who crossed the line may feel invisibly "pushed away" from Amphoreus's society in the future. Phainon knows how to make unpleasant people cease to exist in his world, without even realizing why.

[glowettee]

✧˖° the identity shift: start thinking like an A+ student

post 1

💭 before you even touch your notes, before you highlight a single word, before you drown in exam stress. change how you think about yourself.

most people study with the mindset of “i hope i do well” instead of “i am the kind of person who excels.” and that’s the difference. if you want to start acing your exams, your first step isn’t flashcards or practice tests. it’s shifting your identity. because an A+ student doesn’t just work hard, they think, act, and exist differently.

this is the second post to the final exam survival series. the last post, was focused on how to actually enjoy learning and using that to motivate yourself for school. this post will focus on shifting your identify, which can also work great for manifesting and law of attraction/assumption. i will try to give you the best possible tips to help you shift your mindset to already have the A+ mentality. love you guys <3 - mindy

disclaimer: please don't think i expect you to be perfect, i use 'A+ student' as a way to help you when using loa or manifesting. YOU ARE A HUMAN; DO NOT THINK YOU NEED TO MEET STANDARDS TO BE PERFECT! i love you all and wanted to make sure you know i am NOT setting an unrealistic standard. this post is to help you with manifesting good grades and to inspire you. not for toxic motivation or unrealistic standard setting. - mindy

✧˖° ➼ 01. stop identifying as “bad at studying”

you will never outperform the identity you attach to yourself. if you keep telling yourself: ➝ “i suck at this subject.”➝ “i’ve never been good at exams.”➝ “i’m just not a naturally smart person.”

then you’ll stay stuck. why? because your brain is wired to prove yourself right. but when you shift to: ➝ “i am fully capable of mastering this material.”➝ “i am becoming an A+ student.”➝ “i study in a way that works for me.”

your actions start aligning with that belief. the way you approach studying changes. and suddenly? you’re not “bad at it” anymore.

✧ homework: rewrite every negative academic belief you’ve held about yourself into a new, empowering one. read them before every study session.

✧˖° ➼ 02. start acting like an A+ student right now

not when you feel “ready.” not when you’re already good at the subject. right now.

✨ an A+ student doesn’t: • cram the night before and hope for the best • avoid studying because it feels overwhelming • rely on last-minute motivation to get things done

✨ an A+ student does: • plan their study sessions like an actual strategy • break down material into small, digestible pieces • work consistently, even when they don’t “feel like it”

✧ homework: take one small action today that your A+ student self would take. even if it’s just organizing your study space or making a realistic revision schedule.

✧˖° ➼ 03. use strategic learning, not just memorization

most students study to remember. A+ students study to understand. if you keep forcing yourself to memorize facts with no deeper connection, you’re setting yourself up for forgetting everything under pressure.

🖇 better study strategies:• teach the material → pretend you're tutoring someone who knows nothing about it. if you can explain it simply, you truly understand it. • apply what you learn → don’t just read about a formula, actually use it in practice questions. don’t just memorize historical dates, understand their impact. • switch up your methods → your brain loves novelty. use diagrams, study cards, summarization, and active recall instead of just rereading notes.

✧ homework: find one concept you’ve been struggling with and try teaching it to yourself out loud as if you were giving a TED talk.

✧˖° ➼ 04. start believing you deserve high grades

subconsciously, a lot of people don’t actually believe they’re the kind of person who gets top marks. they might think: ❝ i’ve never been a straight-A student, so why start now? ❞ ❝ my past grades weren’t amazing, i probably won’t do much better. ❞

but what if you let yourself believe otherwise? what if you fully accepted that you deserve to succeed just as much as anyone else? because you do. and the moment you believe that, you start acting in ways that make it true.

✧ homework: visualize yourself receiving your dream grade. feel the confidence of knowing you earned it. then ask yourself: what would my future self tell me to start doing right now?

✧˖° ➼ 05. control your environment like a top student

your surroundings play a huge role in your academic identity. A+ students set themselves up for success by designing an environment that makes focus effortless.

🖇 small shifts that make a huge difference: • keep your study space clean & minimal (no distractions) • use a dedicated study playlist to trigger focus mode • have a go-to beverage (tea, coffee, water) to make studying feel like a ritual • wear comfortable but put-together clothes to signal to your brain that it’s time to work • remove your phone from your workspace entirely (or use app blockers)

✧ homework: make one intentional change to your study environment today. observe how it affects your focus.

✧˖° ➼ 06. stop waiting for motivation

A+ students know that motivation is fleeting. they don’t rely on feeling “in the mood” to study. instead, they: ➝ create systems (set study times, routines) ➝ make studying automatic (habit, not a debate) ➝ use momentum (just start. five minutes can turn into an hour)

✧ homework: set a 10-minute timer and study right now. no overthinking, no debating. just start.

✧˖° mindy’s personal tips

💌 your identity is everything. if you don’t believe you’re an A+ student yet, start acting like it anyway. your mindset will catch up. 💌 make studying feel aesthetic. wear cute study outfits, light a candle, make it a whole vibe. enjoyable studying = effective studying. 💌 romanticize the glow-up. your academic transformation is a story. imagine looking back and realizing this was the moment everything changed. 💌 you are not behind. you can reinvent yourself as a top student at any time. even now. even today.

xoxo mindy

[krystella-shifts]

Okay y'all this might or might not be serious 💀 but it worked for me so ???

Krystella's Dramatic method™

DRAMA-MA-MA-MA with my girls in the back-

So this method.... Is pretty self explanatory ig. You gotta be dramatic and my dramatic self probably have been using this since forever but I just gave it a name and now I'm making a post 😃. This can be used for anything: manifesting, shifting, void, even lucid dreaming.

Tested and proven y'all 👏🏻 manifested a bunch of Pokémon cards with this 💀 and Lucid dreamt. I'm gonna use it for all these things too so goodluck to ya too <3

Slay Ning 😭👏🏻

Manifestation steps ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚

Decide what you want ofc

Be dramatic about it 👽 eg. "OMG I have my df what do I do?? I'm not ready for suddenly being the centre of attention duh 😩💅🏻"

If doubts or circumstances or whatever comes up.... 🥁 BE DRAMATIC AGAIN! "Ugh I can't believe this doubt is so blinded by my df beauty that it can't even see that i already manifested it smh 😔✨ but whoever does see it is blessed tho"

And if you have ANY QUESTIONS-, like literally think of it, any questions that you have....... Done? So the answer to that is be dramatic 😌

Shifting steps ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚

Decide a DR cuz my ahh keeps switching them but I'm telling you deciding one is good

Be dramatic about it 😃 while doing the method (or throughout the day idk do whatever you want) so during the method of your choice visualise your dr and be dramatic like idk cry that you finally shifted and then while you were crying you hear a knock on your door and you quickly wipe your tears and brace yourself for meeting your dr people and think of dramatic scenarios ig. so feel the emotions

And you've shifted!!!!! OMG congratulations and i need a storytime IDC if you have a blog or not. And in case you wake up back in your CR/OR (possibility: super rare cuz you a master shifter bish- biscuit) just be dramatic again like "OMG tch the 3d is so slow like why am I SO good at this? I'm so good that the 3d haven't even caught up yet. Smh" and persist 😌 you're already in your DR remember 4d is more real than the 3d

Void steps ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚

This is kinda same as shifting except when you're lying down to induce the state, tell yourself how good you are and how fast you get in the void it's insane "bruh i always wake up in the void state and wonder why's everything pitch black 🙄💀 like duh I'm a master at this. But yk sometimes everyone forgets, okay? it's not my fault i suddenly became conscious and saw nothing but blackness. But anyways now that I'm going again, i'mma decide what I wanna manifest today. Another day another SLAY"

And while doing whatever you do just talk to yourself like you're already in the void or distract yourself while also being dramatic like scenarios or just thinking and forgetting you're even entering cuz you already have.

Lucid dreaming steps ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚

"bruh i always end up lucid dreaming like stop i just wanna sleep! 😩 but fine I can't deny it's fun 🤭 i always lucid dream it's crazy. I can't believe people do all those WBTB, reality checks and what not methods and here I am just lucid dreaming every night as if it's second nature to meh 💅🏻✨"

Act like a lucid dreaming master you are. 👽✨ It's that simple y'all.

[txrully]

COOKING W BLLK BOYS!

chars: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, hiori yo, chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, alexis ness x gn! reader

a/n: absolute chaos

isagi yoichi

he’s super serious about making the perfect dish, like he’s in a World Cup of Cooking.

somehow burns his toast while watching a “how-to” video.

if you walk in, he’s muttering to himself about “optimizing flavor potential.”

bachira meguru

adds random ingredients for the ✨fun✨ of it.

“what if we add chocolate to the pasta? i think it’d be awesome!”

chaos incarnate. you taste it, and it’s somehow not terrible but still... concerning.

itoshi rin

looks like he’s planning to fight the stove.

surprisingly good at following recipes but will argue with you if you question his method.

you ask if he needs help, and he deadpans, “do I look incompetent to you?” ( yes, rin, yes you do ).

hiori yo

sweet boy is great at baking, not so much at cooking.

“i read that adding basil to everything makes it better!” ( hiori, no ).

ends up apologizing for the kitchen mess while you reassure him it’s cute.

chigiri hyoma

looks like he’s in a cooking commercial the entire time.

perfectly chops veggies like he’s a Food Network star.

BUT the second he burns something, he’s done. “this is why I don’t cook. it’s bad for my image.”

will dramatically sigh and say, “let’s just eat salad.”

mikage reo

knows the fanciest recipes but can’t cook without nagi reminding him not to overthink it.

“why isn’t this soufflé rising?! i followed the michelin-star guide perfectly!”

you make a grilled cheese and tell him to chill.

nagi seishiro

lazy king doesn’t even know where the pans are.

“why can’t we just order takeout, babe?”

somehow burns instant ramen and says, “cooking’s too much effort.” with his infamous " :x " face.

shidou ryusei

starts a fire. that’s it. that’s the headcanon.

“babe, i burnt the water!”

“shidou, HOW TF DO YOU BURN WATER?!”

he grins and says, “talent, baby.”

itoshi sae

acts like cooking is beneath him.

“do you know who i am? i don’t cook.” but secretly knows how to make a mean omelette.

if you tease him about it, he just glares but ends up cooking more for you.

michael kaiser

tries to make cooking sexy. “let me show you how a real man handles a knife.”

ends up being decent but gets distracted flexing his skills for you.

if it fails, he orders food and says, “That was my plan all along.” ( yeah right 🤨 )

alexis ness

follows recipes to the letter. he’s a baking pro but struggles with timing for cooking.

“it says to stir constantly, but how am i supposed to prep the sauce?!”

it’s so cute watching him panic that you end up helping him out.

© 𝘁𝘅𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 :: 2024

𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

[carlyshifts111]

Breaking the Cycle of Trying Without Succeeding: RAS and Shifting ✨

If you’ve spent years trying to shift but haven’t fully succeeded yet, it’s likely because your Reticular Activating System (RAS) has learned to associate staying in your CR as the norm.

The RAS controls what you notice and filters out what it deems unimportant. Think about it, if you’re constantly looking for angel numbers, you’ll start seeing them everywhere. It works based on what you repeatedly focus on. And here’s the thing: the RAS can’t decipher between imagination and reality, much like your subconscious.

If you’ve been trying to shift for years but haven’t done it yet, it could be because your brain has learned that staying in your CR is what’s expected. The longer this pattern continues, the more your brain associates shifting with trying but never fully achieving it, creating a subconscious cycle.

If you believe shifting is hard or far away, your RAS will block out experiences that prove otherwise. And if you’ve been shifting for years without success, your brain may start to doubt it’s even possible, which makes shifting feel unrealistic. The RAS just affirms those doubts and keeps them going.

The issue isn’t just that you’re trying, it’s that your RAS gets stuck in a cycle of trying to shift rather than actually shifting. Your subconscious can become attached to the act of trying instead of succeeding.

And if you’ve been repeating affirmations for months without results, your RAS may have turned those affirmations into background noise, especially if they aren’t emotionally connected to you.

Here’s the kicker: when you put too much effort into shifting, the RAS doesn’t respond well to pressure. If you’re in that “I HAVE to shift” mindset, it’s likely not going to happen. It’s natural to want to experience your DR, but when you focus too much on effort, the RAS sees it as a “problem” rather than something already done.

The longer this cycle continues, the harder it feels to break out of it. But there is a way.

Instead of forcing it, try this: Trust and Allow. The cycle has to be broken, and that starts with shifting your mindset.

Here’s how you can do that:

• Acknowledge and Reflect: Notice how far you’ve come.

• Celebrate Small Wins: Even the smallest progress counts.

• Take a Break: Hear me out! It sounds counterintuitive, but sometimes stepping back is the key to shifting forward.

And for those of us who hate taking breaks and still want structure, I’ve created a method I’m excited to share, and I am experimenting with a RAS Reprogramming Subliminal to help break the cycle and start shifting successfully. I will be posting the subliminal later on carlyshifts111 on YouTube

[theshiftingwitch]

The Shifting Challenge:

✨Reprogram your subconscious mind in 21 days✨

Disclaimer: as you read this, whether you decide to participate in the challenge or not, know that you do not need anything to shift. You do not need methods, subliminals, routines... Nothing outside of you can make you shift.

Hello shifters, and welcome to the shifting witch's first reality shifting challenge! If you're reading this, that means you have been on your shifting journey for quite a while. Congratulations, most people don't even know about shifting, so you're already doing great!

Now, the most common thing I see in my asks, or posts here on Tumblr, is shifters wondering why it hasn't worked for them yet, and how they can finally shift for longer than a few seconds. Well, that's because of your subconscious mind.

Let me paint you a picture: for 16-17-18-19-20 ... Years of your life, you didn't know about reality shifting. Then you learned about it and filled that pretty head of yours with an abundance of misinformation, doing anything and everything to shift.

It didn't work, did it?

I can help with that!

First of all, according to the law of assumption, the second you decided to shift, you did. You already shifted, it is done. But your 3D is not conforming, and you feel discouraged, and you're on the verge of giving up.

Try this first:

Step one: reprogram your mind:

Research shows that it takes between 20 to 30 days to reprogram an unconscious belief and switch it around. So for the next 21 nights, listen to this Subliminal before you fall asleep. I designed it specifically to rewire your brain and instill in it the belief that you are the most powerful shifter in the world. It is filled with affirmations to reprogram your subconscious and to convince it that you have already shifted multiple times already.

Step 2: Act as if

Every day when you wake up, act as if you have shifted. You're not in your CR room, you're in your DR. You're not having breakfast alone, you're surrounded by your DR friends. You're not going to school, you're at Hogwarts, taking magic lessons. Act as if.

Step 3: journal

So you've spent the day in your DR, how wonderful! What did you do? How did you feel? Any stories you have to share? Journal out your day from the point of view of your DR self, talk about the life you've lived, because guess what? You did live it. Imagination is the true reality.

Step 4: You have shifted

Congratulations! It's all done! You have shifted to your desired reality every single time you tried. How does it feel to be such a powerful shifter? Amazing right?

The point of this challenge is to convince your brain that you have shifted already, because you have. With these tools, you're turning shifting into a fact of life, something you have been doing for eons, your second nature.

Remember, only you can make you shift (and you already have).

Good luck on your shifting journey, and I'll see you back here in 21 days with your success stories ❤️

[manifestmagnets]

𝗙𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗶𝘁 !! ✨🧿 ˚ · .˚ ༘🦋⋆｡˚

Manifesting is so easy but some people like to complicate it so much ,i don't even know why. You just need to be delusional and have belief in the UNIVERSE you have to embody what you want. Act as if its already yours or it's true you ;you want a $10k , YOU HAVE $10K !! no doubt on that. And this way the universe has no option but to give you what want because you believe its going to happen for you. 🎀🎀🎀🎀

╰┈➤You want your dream job , you're already working your dream job.

╰┈➤You want your dream car , you're already driving your dream car.

╰┈➤You want your SP to like you back , you guys are already dating.

╰┈➤You want a glow up , what do you mean.. you're the most attractive person in your friend group.

''fake it till you make it ,'' but you've got to believe its already yours. Your mind and body and soul needs to believe its already yours and there is no there option.

this methods will also help you if you want to be confident !!

''delulu is the solulu'' - but it actually is!!

[callmelitlesunshine]

CHRISTMAS CREW.

Merry Christmas to everyone who read this post! Wish y'all the best!🎄✨🧡

I worked with this render several days and here it is <3 Just wanted to make something with all of them, cause i feel they are all like a family now <3

The whole idea for the render came to me after a video from Karen David (Sevati) where she and the rest of the voice actors acted out a scene as their characters👀 It's on her instagram!

I also made some interesting references in the characters' sweaters!👀👀👀

Adler has bells (hehe, guess why) and cigarettes, because we all know he smokes!

On Marshall's sweater, I just made Christmas patterns and weapons refering to his work at CIA and in Rogue Team👀

On Sev's sweater, you can see a sniper rifle (after all, she works stealthily and sniper weapons are related to her methods of operation)👀

As for Woods, I assumed that he would not wear a sweater this Christmas, but would wear one of his shirts, but with a Christmas pattern!

And Felix has a sweater related to his hacking things hehe👀 Also, if you ask why Felix is ​​holding a spatula in his hands, my answer is simple - he was pulled out of the kitchen for a photo, and he was very passionate about cooking in that moment😅🧡

Taglist [in/out]: @that1avian @gerdi-mitchell @mutantthedark @adlerdaduck @carlosoliveiraa @adlerboi

@tommyarashikage @alexxmason @hehehuhu490 @violetflavia @courtana

@iamcautiouslyoptimistic @sergeiravenov @pricescigar @ladysouthpaw1213

@drug-overdose @guigz1-coldwar @kings-out-of-pocket-hell @lordskellington003

@fw-priyanshu @kylezkie4adler

[neunnnnnnn]

SLEEP PARALYSIS IS YOUR BEST FRIEND+ LONG STORYTIME OF HOW I SHIFTED WITH IT ✨

Okay here me out as someone who has been "traumatised" during sleep paralysis ( I felt a hand go up my legs and I was wearing a night dress mind you) it's not actually as scary as you might think.

Because Sleep paralysis is when a person transitions between sleep stages, particularly from REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, during which the body is naturally paralyzed to prevent acting out dreams, into wakefulness.

It is harmless and I'm sorry to say this but those "shadows" that you see are actually a projection of your subconscious mind. What is it that's actually scaring you?

Is something that you should seek to discover or else you might be stuck and keep on waking up every time you feel an intense symptom or feeling. Journal it or whatever method you use and tell yourself that it's all in your head and that you are more powerful than that and most importantly you are safe.

Storytime

Okay so I was planning on doing an awake method and I decided to lay on my back since I sleep when I'm in a comfortable position. Anyway I got my subliminal and started counting. I counted till 100 then I started affirming I felt the usual symptoms; twitching, feeling really hot etc but then nothing was happening and was starting to get impatient. I told myself lemme just count the last time till 50 then I'll just go to sleep because I was also starting to get sleepy. I started counting then when I reached 15 I felt a pressure on my chest like something was pushing me down like aggressively but I told myself that I'm not going to get scared cause I thought I was shifting so I continued counting. I reached around 35 when my eyes opened on its own , I was so excited but when I looked around I was still in my room and I almost crashed out because I was so done atp 😭✋🏽. I tried to move but I couldn't and I could still hear the subliminal that's when I knew that I had sleep paralysis. Since I've never seen any "demons/shadows" I wasn't scared and I thought lemme try shifting to my Dr but I didn't specify which one and it still pisses me off to this day!!!

Anyway I started affirming that, " I'm in my Dr" over n over when suddenly my legs started floating and my eyes like shut themselves and I couldn't open them I started being scared because wth 😭. Anyway I just kept affirming and then I saw flashlights, it was like there were cameras flashing around my eyes . When suddenly everything stopped and my eyes opened by itself.

I noticed that I was in an all white room with white sheets and there was a woman next to me. I sat up because I was confused on which reality I was in and I looked at the woman and saw that it was Aurora ( the singer, I luv her sm😭) she was seated on the bed and was reading a book , she glanced at me and I immediately asked her which building are we in and she looked at me like I was fucking crazy and started saying that my jokes are turning to be pathetic, like huh?!?😭 Y'all I was so offended I had even forgotten that I had shifted for a second. I just decided not to argue with her and I looked outside the window on my left and it looked like the medieval times? I'm not sure and the buildings were like the old times designed . I looked down at myself and I saw that I was white ( I'm mixed) and that's when I was like, "Did I shift to a reality where I'm a white person?"( Oh and I was wearing a grandma nightdress 😭it was cute tho it was in baby pink) Immediately I stood up wanting to like know where the hell I was but then I couldn't move my legs like I couldn't lift them so I was just awkwardly standing there trying to lift them and Aurora sighed saying " How do you expect to walk after the night you just had?"

WHEN I TELL YOU MY JAW WAS ON THE FUCKING FLOOR I LITERALLY SCREAMED AT HER"WHAT?! " and she told me to shut up 😭. Anyway she said that 'he' told her to come up to check on me because I wasn't waking up!!! I was shocked and I just kept thinking " Did I just get fucked a few hours before I shifted here? What if I had shifted in the middle of it?!" My mind was so chaotic and I couldn't even think of anyone that could have been 'him'

Anyway Aurora came and pushed back on the bed telling me that I have to rest because I haven't really slept much but then I started feeling like my body was being pulled down and I knew that I was shifting back and started pleading to Aurora to help me up because I was not sleepy but she insisted and told me to sleep and that she'll be right back and then I woke up here.

I was in shock for like 5 minutes and I couldn't even leave the bed, I was feeling a little disoriented and nauseous, I also noticed that my body had moved positions to me laying on my side.

Hope this motivates you n that you don't need any genetics to shift that's a load of bullshit🚮, your cat can even shift if it could who knows . And this was to also show you that sleep paralysis isn't scary or bad and can actually be useful. I'm still not sure if you can manifest through it but I'll try next time and see✨.

This is what I Saw one woman wearing, not sure which time period this is.

[msbigredmachine]

The Boy Next Door: The Final Chapter

MASTERLIST ✨ harmshake’s masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine’s masterlist

Word Count: 9.2k

💥TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains DARK THEMES. Please proceed with caution💥

“A quiet Connecticut suburb, forever scarred by the horrors hidden within one of its most luxurious homes.”

The news anchor droned on, her voice steady and professional, but still laced with the brand of disbelief that accompanied covering something too monstrous to fully comprehend.

“Authorities have confirmed that Mateo Hobbs, the serial killer Florida law enforcement has been tracking for the past eighteen months, has been apprehended. Linked to multiple kidnappings and murders spanning the East Coast, Hobbs recently embedded himself in an affluent Hartford, Connecticut neighborhood, hiding in plain sight.

“Perceived as a quiet, unassuming neighbor, Hobbs, using the alias Roman Reigns, was in reality, a ruthless, sociopathic predator. With deep ties to the notorious Samoan Sons crime syndicate in California, he’s alleged to have orchestrated a string of brutal crimes from Georgia to Florida all the way up to Connecticut, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake.

His reign of terror came to a violent end yesterday when he was shot by authorities during a tense hostage standoff in the basement of his Hartford mansion.”

The scene cut to an aerial view of Roman’s sprawling mansion, its pristine exterior now marred by crime scene tape and the steady movement of forensic teams. Uniformed officers and cadaver dogs scoured the property, methodically searching the grounds, the basement, and hidden crawl spaces for any remaining evidence of his crimes.

“His latest victim, Ivy Jones, a registered nurse and a single mother of one, had been missing for nine harrowing days. Jones, who was Hobbs’ next door neighbor and rumored to be his lover, was found in his basement, in critical condition but alive. Investigators say she was subjected to severe physical and psychological torture before she was found by authorities. Sources close to the case confirm that she was not the first woman to suffer at Hobbs’ hands—but so far, she has been the only one to make it out alive.

“Hobbs has now been linked to many more unsolved murders including the brutal killing of a pregnant woman whose remains were discovered months ago in a shallow ditch in the woods in this very neighborhood. Further investigation led authorities to a horrifying discovery within the basement of his mansion—two bodies, decomposing in separate barrels. The victims have been identified as local fitness coach Bianca Belair and attorney Gemini Beaufort. Both women had been reported missing in recent weeks, their disappearances previously unexplained.”

A pause, heavy with implication and omen.

“While authorities believe Hobbs acted alone, the full scope of his crimes remains unknown. Investigators are combing through evidence recovered from the property, searching for additional victims. The case remains open, and the search for answers continues.”

The broadcast cut to a clear image of Roman Reigns, reduced to a face on a screen, forever tied to death and destruction.

“For now, the nightmare is over. But for those who suffered at his cold, callus hands, the scars remain.”

Ivy drifted toward consciousness at a snail’s pace, the world around her emerging in fragments. First came the sterile scent of antiseptic, a smell she knew all too well. Then the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled voices of nurses and doctors moving through the halls. 

A heavy fog clung to her thoughts, making it difficult to pull herself fully into wakefulness. Her body ached—deep, radiating pain that pulsed through her limbs and settled in her chest. She inhaled, the simple act an effort, her ribs protesting with a dull, bruising throb. 

She shifted slightly, and that was when she became aware of the wires. The thin, plastic tubing taped to her arm, the small pinch where an IV needle was inserted into her skin. It was wrong. Foreign. She was always the one on the other side of the hospital bed, checking vitals, adjusting drips, reassuring patients. Never the one lying there, helpless, under observation. 

Her eyelashes fluttered as she forced her heavy lids open. The room was shadowed in a pale yellow light spilling from the small lamp in the corner. The walls were the soft, muted green she recognized from the hospital ward where she worked. 

Her hospital. 

A sharp breath hitched in her throat as reality came rushing back in a cold, unforgiving wave. 

Roman. 

The basement. 

The gun in her hand, trembling, the trigger pulling back. 

The gunshots. The stunned look in his eyes. 

The thud of his body hitting the floor. 

Her stomach clenched, nausea rolling through her. Her fingers instinctively curled into the stiff white sheets beneath her, her body trembling at the memory. The horror of it still clung to her, wrapped around her like invisible chains. 

Ivy’s eyes flickered frantically around the dim hospital room, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Panic clawed at her chest until they landed on a familiar, curled-up form on the floor near the hospital bed.

Duchess was asleep, her body rising and falling with deep, even breaths. A thick bandage was wrapped around her stomach, a stark reminder of Roman’s cruelty. Ivy’s throat tightened at the sight, guilt and sorrow intertwining. He had hurt her too. But she was here—alive. Loyal as ever.

Swallowing hard, Ivy tore her gaze away and searched further.

Zaia.

She was nestled in Becky’s arms, her tiny face tucked against the older woman’s chest, her dark curls tousled from sleep. Becky sat stiffly in the chair, her red-rimmed eyes wide as they locked onto Ivy’s. It was as if she had been afraid to blink, afraid Ivy would disappear if she looked away.

“You’re awake,” Becky breathed, her voice brimming with relief.

Ivy managed a faint, weary smile in acknowledgment, but her focus remained solely on her daughter. With what little strength she had, she whispered, “Zaia…Baby…” Her voice barely more than a breath, but it was enough.

Zaia stirred, her small body shifting as she blinked groggily. Then, as her vision cleared, she saw her mother; awake, eyes open, alive.

“Mama!”

In an instant, she was wriggling out of Becky’s hold, her small feet hitting the tiled floor. However, Becky caught her before she could rush toward the hospital bed, her hands shaking as she wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Ivy," Becky’s voice cracked, "Can she…can she climb in?"

"Yes." Ivy barely got the word out before her arms were reaching, aching to hold her child, to feel her warmth, to reassure herself that she was real. That she was safe.

Becky carefully helped Zaia into the bed, minding the wires and the IV. The little girl clung to her mother like a lifeline, her small body trembling, her sobs muffled against Ivy’s faded lilac hospital gown.

Ivy held her just as tightly, pressing her lips to Zaia’s curls, breathing her in, as if the scent of her baby could chase away the lingering nightmares. Tears streamed down their faces as she rocked her gently, whispering soft reassurances, "I’m here, baby. Mama’s here. I gotchu."

Zaia hiccupped between sobs, her fingers clutching at Ivy’s hospital gown. "I thought…I thought you weren’t coming back," she whispered. “I thought you were gonna d—”

The hopelessness in her tone cracked Ivy’s heart wide open. "Never, baby. I will always come back to you," she promised, her voice raw with emotion. "Always."

Becky wiped at her face, watching them, barely holding herself together. “She wouldn’t sleep,” she choked out. “She kept asking for you. I tried to calm her down. Told her not to be scared.”

Her voice wavered, and Ivy could see it; etched in the tightness around Becky’s eyes, in the way her lips trembled. Becky now knew what had happened in that house, the horrors Ivy had endured.

Blinking rapidly, Becky cleared her throat. “I’m gonna go find a nurse,” she said gently, her hand lingering on Ivy’s arm for just a moment. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Ivy didn’t answer.

Because she couldn't bring herself to tell the truth. That she wasn’t okay.

Pushing all that aside, Ivy tightened her hold on her daughter, pressing her lips to the crown of her head, breathing her in. Nothing else existed. Nothing else would ever matter again.

"My sweet baby," she murmured, pressing her cheek against her daughter's. "My snuggle bug. I love you. More than anything. More than life itself."

Zaia sniffled, her little arms tightening around her mother’s neck. "I love you too, Mama."

The machines beeped softly in the background, the sterile hospital room surrounding them, but none of it mattered. In that moment, the only thing that existed was the warmth of her daughter in her arms, the unshakeable, unbreakable bond between them. 

As the day wore on, Ivy felt exhaustion settle deep into her bones, dragging down every limb. The hospital room felt unbearably small, the steady beep of the monitor beside her too loud in the quiet. Duchess lay curled in her lap, her warm body a source of quiet comfort as Ivy absently stroked her fur. Across the room, Zaia slept soundly on the couch, her small frame rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Ivy glanced over at her daughter, a weary ache pressing against her chest. Their reunion had been everything; painful, overwhelming, much needed. It was the first time since her hellish ordeal that she’d felt even the faintest spark of life in her chest.

A soft knock on the door made her tense.

Lilian, her boss and the head nurse, stepped inside, her expression gentle but firm. “Ivy,” she said carefully, “there are two people here who need to speak with you.”

Ivy’s stomach twisted, but she managed a nod.

Lilian stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

The tall man with striking blonde hair stepped forward first. Ivy recognized him immediately; it was he who shot Roman in the back. The one who ended it.

Behind him, a woman followed, dressed professionally but with an air of quiet confidence. Ivy couldn’t recall her name; she only remembered she was the last face she saw before waking in this bed.

The man’s expression was calm yet serious as he broke the thin ice. “Miss Jones,” he greeted, with a frail semblance of warmth. “I’m Detective Cody Rhodes.” He gestured to the woman beside him. “And this is Lieutenant Jade Cargill. We’re with Florida PD, handling the Mateo Hobbs case—or Roman, as you know him.”

At the mention of that name, Ivy flinched, her breath hitching.

Her reaction made Cody hesitate, but only briefly. “We wanted to check in on you… and also, if you’re up for it, ask a few questions.”

Jade’s approach was softer. She stepped closer, her eyes warm and understanding. “I know this is difficult,” she said gently. “But whatever you can tell us will help.”

Ivy swallowed the burn in her throat. She knew this moment would come, but she wasn’t ready. She didn’t think she ever would be. But she had to.

Duchess nuzzled into her, as if sensing her unease. Ivy absorbed the comfort, steadying herself.

Cody and Jade watched Ivy. Waited, patient.

She forced herself to breathe, to start. “He…” Her voice cracked. She pressed her fingers into her temples. “I don’t know how long he kept me down there for…a week, a month...”

Jade sat on the edge of the bed, her body turned slightly toward Ivy, giving her space but offering silent support.

“From what we gathered, it was nine days,” Jade said softly.

Ivy’s nails dug into her palms. She thought she could do this. She thought she could get the words out, but the second she tried, it was like reliving everything all over again.

Roman’s voice. His hands. His snide, cruel laugh.

Jade’s hand rested lightly on her arm. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “You don’t have to push yourself.”

Ivy took a shaky breath, clutching Duchess tighter, her voice barely above a whisper. “Gemini was in the basement with me. She was…she was dead when I found her…He killed her…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shame flooding her veins. The last time they had spoken, Ivy had pushed her away. She had been cold. Dismissive. And now, Gemini was dead.

She would never forgive herself for it.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, her entire body trembling as a sob caught in her throat.

“He r-raped me. Over and over and over…”

The words barely left her mouth before a violent shudder overtook her entire body. Her breath expelled in short, sharp gasps as her tears obscured her vision. It felt as though a steel band had closed around her ribs, squeezing, suffocating. Her stomach lurched, bile lurking in the back of her throat.

The memory barreled into her like a truck, brutal and unforgiving; Roman’s weight crushing her, his hands pinning her down, his harsh breath in her ear, the unbearable pain, the helplessness…

Her body convulsed with deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

Jade moved instantly, wrapping an arm around Ivy’s shoulders, grounding her, steadying her. “Breathe, Ivy,” she murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles into her back. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

Ivy gasped, grasping her chest as if trying to rip something out, that terrifying thing buried deep inside her. “I couldn’t stop him,” she sobbed. “I begged, I fought...I—I—”

Jade tightened her grip on Ivy’s arm. “It's okay, Ivy,” she goaded.

She turned, blinking up at her, desperate. “Is he dead?” she rasped. “Please tell me he’s dead.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Rhodes and Jade exchanged a glance, something unreadable passing between them.

Cody exhaled. “He had a pulse in the ambulance.”

The world around her screeched to a halt.

Her chest constricted so violently it felt like her ribs were caving in. Her fingers clenched the sheets so tightly that her knuckles ashened, her nails digging into the fabric as if trying to ground herself, to hold onto something—anything that would stop the panic from swallowing her whole.

“He’s alive?” she whispered, a frightened, broken rasp. 

“Barely,” Cody said carefully, disgusted at himself that he didn’t get the job done.

Jade leaned forward. “He’s being transferred out of state. He’s going to a maximum-security federal prison in Montana. Miles and miles away. He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again.”

Ivy could barely breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in. A sharp, ice-cold terror slithered down her spine, wrapping around her like a vice.

Cody’s voice was firm, absolute. “We failed the first time. We should have put him away. That won’t happen again. He’s never getting out.”

Jade squeezed Ivy’s arm. “You’ll never see him again. We promise.”

Ivy wanted to believe them. She wanted to trust that this was over.

But Roman had stolen so much from her.

And no matter how far away they sent him, she didn’t know if she’d ever feel safe again.

Sitting stiffly on the plush couch, her hands clenched together in her lap. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla filled the air, a salt lamp casting warm hues against the walls. Dr. Ari’s office had never felt like a psychotherapist’s office. No stiff leather chairs, no sterile white walls. Instead, it was warm, inviting, with bookshelves lined with novels and plants cascading from their pots. Ivy used to love this space, used to tell Ari how she had the coziest office in the hospital. It had never felt clinical. Never cold.

Today, it felt suffocating.

Dr. Ari sat across from her, notebook resting lightly in her lap, her expression open, patient. She wasn’t just a colleague today. She was Ivy’s therapist. And right now, that made her feel like the enemy.

“I know this isn’t where you want to be,” Ari said gently. “But I appreciate you being here.”

Ivy didn’t respond. She kept her gaze on the floor, on the delicate weave of the rug beneath her feet.

“Let’s start small,” Ari continued. “How have you been sleeping?”

Ivy exhaled slowly. A question she could answer.

“Not great,” she admitted. “I wake up a lot.”

“Nightmares?”

A short nod. An understatement. The dreams weren’t just bad…They were choking, nausea-inducing. Literally, sometimes.

Ari didn’t push, didn’t ask for details. Not yet. Instead, she shifted slightly. “And Zaia? How is she doing?”

At the mention of her daughter, Ivy’s hands tightened in her lap. “She sleeps in my bed every night now,” she said. “She’s…not the same. Not as lively.”

Ari nodded knowingly. “She’s been through so much.”

Too much. More than any child should endure. Losing her father. Losing Gemini. Watching Gable’s head get blown off. Witnessing such violence firsthand. It wasn’t fair.

Ari let a beat pass before asking, “And Duchess?”

Ivy glanced toward the dog bed by the door, where the puppy lay, watching the two women carefully. “She won’t leave my side.”

Ari hummed in understanding. “She’s protecting you.”

Ivy swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She’d tried to protect her in Roman’s house, took a kick to the ribs for her. Words could never fully express how grateful she was for her bravery.

The silence crawled by like a serpent, cold, slithering. Ari’s voice was softer when she spoke again. “Ivy…do you feel responsible for Gemini’s death?”

She flinched.

Her stomach clenched, her nails biting into her palms. Though she had been expecting the question, it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“She warned me,” she whispered, “Over and over again. She told me he was dangerous. She told me not to trust him. And I—I defended him.” Her breath hitched. “I let him in. Because of me, she’s gone.”

Her chest constricted under the crushing weight of the truth—Gemini had died trying to protect her. The evidence in her bag confirmed it. The police investigation unearthed even worse horrors: Roman had planted a camera in Gemini’s bedroom, watching her every move. The street cams showed him chasing her back into her house, murdering her, and stealing her bag and her car to erase the proof. Traces of her blood and his DNA smeared across her kitchen like a signature of death.

All because of her.

Ari let her sit with the words for a moment before she said, “That’s not true, Ivy, this wasn’t your fault.”

Ivy let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Then whose was it?”

Ari held Ivy’s gaze, steady and sure. “The man who killed her.”

Her throat tightened. “I should have seen it.”

Ari shook her head. “He manipulated you, Ivy. You weren’t supposed to see it.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I thought he loved me.”

Ari nodded, not interrupting, not rushing her.

“I—I was so stupid. I fell for him. Oldest fucking trick in the book. I let him into my life. I let him near my daughter.” Her voice cracked, self-loathing thick in her tone. “I slept next to him. I trusted him.”

Ari shifted slightly in her chair. “Again, that is not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Another bitter laugh. “I should have known. I should have seen it. I—I kept giving him the benefit of the doubt. I defended him.” Her breath hitched. “And all the while, he was killing people. He murdered innocent women. Angelo. Gemini.”

Ari gave her a moment before speaking again. “You didn’t know, Ivy. You weren’t the only one he deceived.”

Ivy clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe through the crippling guilt. She wanted to believe Ari. But how could she?

Her daughter’s father. Her best friend. Gone. Because of her stupidity.

The pain was unbearable. 

And then—

“Can you talk to me about what he did to you in the basement?”

Everything inside Ivy recoiled. Her body went rigid, suddenly forgetting the simple function of breathing.

The basement…

Her mind fought against the flood of memories, but it was useless. The cold, the dark, the endless hours of terror. The feel of his hands on her body. His voice.

Ari’s voice remained gentle. “Ivy, the police confirmed that Roman ra—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it!”

The words came out too sharp, too loud in the quiet room. Her heart pounded, her vision hazing at the edges.

Ari didn’t flinch. She simply nodded. “Okay. We don’t have to—not until you’re ready.”

Ivy sucked in a trembling breath, but it felt like she couldn’t get enough air.

Dr. Ari leaned forward slightly, her voice steady yet soft, like she was trying to anchor Ivy to the present. “But I need you to understand something. Your trauma...It won’t just go away on its own. You’ve survived something unimaginable. You need to let yourself process it.”

Ivy barely heard her. The words echoed distantly, dull and meaningless, as if they belonged to someone else’s story.

She had uttered similar words before. Had stood at bedsides, held trembling hands, looked into the vacant eyes of survivors and tried to offer comfort wrapped in clinical certainty. She had repeated the script so many times, assuring patients that healing was possible, that time and therapy would mend what had been broken.

But never—never—had she imagined those words would be spoken to her.

And just like all the patients she had treated, she didn’t believe them.

Because how could anyone come back from this? How did she process something that had gutted her, left her hollowed out and rotting from the inside? Roman had taken everything from her; her safety, her body, her trust. The horrors lurked stubbornly just behind her eyelids, shadows of memories she wasn’t ready to face.

After another long pause, Ari spoke again. “Avoidance won’t make them go away, Ivy. They’ll fester.”

Ivy swallowed hard. “I don’t care.”

“I think you do.”

“I just wanna go home. I wanna be with my daughter.”

Ari studied her carefully. “Zaia needs you to heal, Ivy.”

Her eyes stung. She looked away, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this!”

“You can,” Ari insisted, firmly but kindly. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Ivy’s shoulders trembled.

Ari didn’t say anything else. She just let Ivy sit there, let her hold onto the silence like a fragile thread keeping her together.

And then, without warning, the dam broke.

A sob tore from Ivy’s throat, raw and gut-wrenching. She folded in on herself, shaking, gasping for breath between broken cries. The pain, the guilt, the fear—it all crashed over her at once.

Ari moved from her chair, settling beside her on the couch. She didn’t speak. She didn’t try to quiet her. She just sat there, her presence solid and unwavering as her patient let it all out.

Minutes passed before Ivy could calm down. She swiped at her tear-streaked face, her body exhausted from the weight of it all.

Ari handed her a tissue, waiting as she wiped at her swollen eyes.

“Same time next week?” Ari asked softly.

Ivy hesitated. The thought of doing this again, of dredging up more of the darkness, made her stomach churn.

But she had no choice.

She nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

Ari gave her a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Ivy didn’t answer. She stared down at the crumpled tissue in her hands, her fingers tightening around it as if she could squeeze the pain out of herself.

One step at a time.

The words felt meaningless.

How could she take another step forward when every part of her felt shattered beyond repair?

As she stood on shaky legs and left Ari’s office, the world outside felt too bright, too normal.

And Ivy…

Ivy wasn’t normal anymore.

She wasn’t sure she ever would be again.

The sky hung low and gray, thick with the weight of a late November chill as Gemini’s funeral unfolded. The world seemed to mourn with them, the clouds heavy, threatening snow but offering nothing—just the quiet, biting wind that cut through coats and scarves. It was the week before Thanksgiving, but there was no warmth, no gratitude. Only grief.

This was the second funeral Ivy had attended in the span of a few months, and her heart could hardly withstand another. First Angelo, now Gemini. Two people who had meant the world to her. It felt unbearable, cruel. She had no more tears to cry, yet they still came, silent and unrelenting, as she clutched Zaia’s small, gloved hand in hers. Her daughter had barely recovered from burying her father, and now she was here, standing beside another fresh grave, saying goodbye to another adult who had loved her.

Gemini’s funeral was private, yet the quiet opulence of her family still bled into the event. The headstones surrounding her final resting place were regal, etched with gold, the markers of a family that had always carried itself with elegance. She was being laid to rest between her parents, a cruel sort of symmetry. Gemini had always missed them, always longed for them, and now, she would be with them forever.

Nearby, Raquel and Kelani, her colleagues and friends, stood, shoulders shaking, their eyes rimmed red from an endless flow of tears. They weren’t just coworkers; they were her sisters, her allies in a field dominated by men, who had loved and respected her fiercely. It was impossible to imagine their firm without her bold voice ringing through the halls, her confidence filling every room, her laughter turning the most grueling days into something bearable.

For three years, Gemini had been a constant in Ivy’s life; a force of nature, vibrant and unstoppable. She was the life of every party, the loudest voice in the room, the kind of friend who made the impossible feel within reach. Ivy had not imagined a world without her in a long, long time.

And yet, here she was.

Watching helplessly as Gemini was lowered into the cold ground, her laughter silenced, her light extinguished forever.

Ivy’s breath hitched, her chest tightening with the unbearable truth. Gem had been more than a friend. She had been a lifeline, a sister in all the ways that mattered. And now, because of the choices Ivy had made, that lifeline had been severed.

She could do nothing but stand there, numb and broken, as the earth swallowed what remained of her best friend.

Beside Ivy, Leo Beaufort stood motionless, his broad frame rigid in a perfectly tailored black suit. His presence was unmistakable—tall, striking, and composed—but there was a weight to him now, a quiet devastation pressing into his shoulders.

Gemini’s twin brother was her mirror. The other half of her soul. Ivy had known him as long as she’d known his sister. She had seen him laugh, tease, argue with Gemini in the way only siblings could. But she had never seen him like this—silent, stripped of the easy confidence he always carried.

As Gemini’s casket sank lower into the earth, Ivy felt him exhale, a breath so shallow it barely existed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t cry. But the grief radiating from him was as heavy as the sky pressing down on them.

As the final words faded into the cold afternoon air and mourners began to drift away, Ivy forced herself to look up at him.

Something inside her cracked at the look on his face. His expression was raw, anguished, the tears he'd been holding in finally spilling forth.

Without a word, she pulled him into a crushing embrace. She felt the tremor in his tall body, his pain pressing into her own, bleeding together in the worst way.

“I’m so sorry, Leo,” she murmured, heartbroken for him.

“I felt it that day. When she…went,” he whispered against her temple, his voice unsteady. “I was in Tokyo, and I felt it. Half of my soul—shattered.” A ragged breath. “I knew something was terribly wrong. I just couldn’t get to her fast enough.”

Ivy’s lungs tightened, shame sinking its claws into her. “I was awful to her before she passed,” she admitted, the confession digging into her like a knife to the heart. “We fought, and I…” Her voice broke. “I never got to make it right.”

Leo pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, his touch startlingly gentle despite the storm inside him. His dark eyes, hollow with pain, burned with something else too—something resolute.

“Ivy, listen to me,” he said, steady and firm. “Gem knew you loved her. She loved you just as much. Whatever happened between you don’t change that.” His grip tightened, willing her to believe him. “This was not your fault. You gotta forgive yourself. Please. She’d want you to. I want you to.”

She wanted to. God, how she wanted to. But the weight of her regret felt immovable, crushing her beneath it. And maybe, deservedly so.

As Leo finally let her go, Ivy turned slightly, her gaze landing on another familiar figure standing just a few feet away.

Officer Hayes. Carmelo.

Equally lost. Equally broken.

The sharp, smooth, composed policeman was gone, replaced by a man drowning in grief. His sunglasses shielded his eyes, but they couldn’t hide the way his body shook, the way his shoulders curled inward, as if the magnitude of his sorrow was too much to bear.

Ivy took a slow step forward, then another, until she was standing beside him. A long, painful stretch of silence.

“I imagined a life with her,” he spoke up, his voice hoarse as he removed his sunglasses to wipe at his eyes. “Marriage. A family. I thought…I thought I had more time.” A sharp breath. “I didn’t do enough to stop this.”

Ivy turned to him, shaking her head. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“How can I not?” His jaw clenched. “I never thought he was a threat. Never looked at him twice. And that’s the problem.” His voice wavered, thick with regret. “I should’ve dug deeper. Should’ve asked more questions. But I didn’t. I let him be around her—I let him be around all of us—and I didn’t see it.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should have known. I should have done more.”

Her chest tightened. She had no words, no reassurance that would make any of this easier. The what-ifs were stifling, an endless loop of blame and regret that neither of them could escape.

Carmelo let out a slow, unsteady breath. “I just wish I’d gotten to talk to her one last time,” he murmured. “Tell her how much I…” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “Just one more conversation, man. One more chance.”

Ivy squeezed his arm. “She knew, Melo. She knew.”

He gave a faint nod, but his hands clenched at his sides, as if holding onto something invisible, something slipping through his grasp.

After a beat, he exhaled and looked at her. “I’m happy you made it out,” he whispered. “I really am.”

Ivy blinked back fresh tears. “Thank you for taking care of Zaia,” she said. “She talks about you all the time, you know. Says you’re her hero.”

Something flickered in his expression—something softer, lighter, cutting through the thick haze of grief. His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, before it disappeared. 

“Zaia’s a good kid,” he said, voice quieter now. “She’s been through enough. I just did what anyone would’ve.”

They stood in silence, side by side, staring down at the fresh mound of dirt that covered Gemini’s coffin. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Because this—this was what devastation looked like.

Detective Rhodes stood outside the glass window of the hospital room, hands stuffed in his pockets, his frosty blue gaze locked onto the unconscious man inside. 

Mateo Hobbs. Roman Reigns. 

It didn’t matter what he called himself. He was nothing more than another psychotic criminal who had finally run out of places to run.

Two bullets. One from Ivy. One from him. And yet the bastard still lived.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Hobbs had slipped through his fingers too many times before, surviving when any other man would’ve been six feet under. But this time? 

This time, there was no escape.

Behind him, the hesitant shuffle of footsteps drew his attention. Dr. Michael Cole, a wiry, nervous-looking man with thinning hair and thick glasses, cleared his throat. “Detective,” he greeted, voice just shy of a tremor.

“How long?” Cody didn’t bother with pleasantries. His cerulean orbs never left Hobbs’ prone form, watching his huge chest rise and fall steadily beneath the hospital sheets.

Cole wiped his hands on his coat. “A week. The bullets have been removed, but he needs time to recover before he can be transported.”

“A week?” Cody echoed, his jaw clenching. He wanted him gone now.

“It’s the best I can do,” Cole insisted, shifting uneasily under the weight of Cody’s chilling glare. “Moving him too soon could cause complications—”

“I don’t give a fuck about complications,” Rhodes cut him off coldly. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “The second he’s stable, he’s out of here. You understand me?!”

Cole nodded hurriedly, clearly eager to be anywhere but in Cody’s presence.

Rhodes turned back to the window, his voice dropping to a low, venomous promise. 

“You will never see the light of day again, Hobbs.”

A fortress of concrete and steel, Windham Federal Penitentiary sat deep in the wilderness in rural Montana, surrounded by endless miles of nothing. No roads. No civilization. Just mountains and forests stretching as far as the eye could see.

Maximum security.

No one had ever broken out. Many had tried. All had failed.

Guards patrolled the perimeter with semi-automatics. Watchtowers stood high, armed with snipers. The cells were reinforced, the walls impenetrable. A goddamn hellhole.

Exactly where Mateo Hobbs belonged.

But Rhodes made sure he wasn’t just another inmate. He had plans.

Sitting across from CO Strowman in a dimly lit break room, Cody laid it out. Strowman was a mountain of a man; six-foot-eight, built like a tank, with a shaved head, an unruly beard and a ghastly scar running down his cheek. A man whose presence alone made even the most dangerous inmate rethink their life choices.

Cody’s eyes locked on the grainy monitor displaying Roman…Mateo…sitting alone in his cell. Even injured, the bastard still carried that same quiet menace, his expression unreadable, his posture eerily composed.

“You watch him for me,” Cody said, his voice low, edged with something lethal. “I mean really watch him. Make his life a living hell. If he so much as breathes wrong, I wanna know.”

Strowman grunted, arms like tree trunks folding across his chest. “And if he steps outta line?”

Cody smirked. “Handle it.”

Strowman’s eyes gleamed with understanding.

Hobbs wasn’t getting out. And if Cody had his way…

He wouldn’t be getting out alive.

The drive across Hartford felt like a step toward something new—something better. Ivy’s grip on the steering wheel was firm as she navigated unfamiliar streets, her heart pounding in quiet anticipation. Moving again wasn’t ideal—twice in three years—but staying in that house, in that neighborhood, after everything that had happened? Impossible.

Was she running away? Again?

Or was it survival?

Maybe she was running. Maybe this was just another escape, another attempt to put distance between herself and the nightmare that had nearly swallowed her whole. But wasn’t that the point? To keep going, however slowly, however painfully, until the past loosened its grip? If this was running, then let it be. As long as it carried her toward something that had some fragile semblance of peace.

The house Angelo left her sat on a quiet street lined with towering trees, their bare branches dusted with the first hints of winter. It was beautiful. A two-story colonial with soft gray siding, black shutters, and a wide porch that wrapped around the front. The yard stretched out, perfect for a child to run through in the warmer months, and the crisp December air carried the scent of pine from the evergreens bordering the property.

It was a beautiful abode. Angelo had good taste.

As soon as Ivy parked, Zaia unbuckled herself and scrambled out of the car, her little sneakers crunching against the gravel driveway. “Mama, it’s so big!” she gasped, spinning in a circle. “We get to live here?”

Ivy stepped out, taking in the sight of it. “Yeah, baby,” she murmured, trying to push past the weight in her chest. “We do.”

Zaia grabbed her hand, practically bouncing on her toes. “Can we move in before my birthday?”

Ivy smiled, squeezing her fingers. “That’s the plan.”

It was good timing, really. A fresh start before Christmas. A new home, new memories—ones not tainted by fear and loss. Zaia would turn seven on Christmas Eve, and Ivy wanted her to wake up in a house that felt safe, filled with warmth instead of shadows.

To Zaia, this was all just an adventure. The idea of moving again didn’t phase her in the slightest. “I can decorate my room for Christmas, right?” she asked, eyes wide with excitement. “And can we get a big tree? Like, really big?”

Ivy laughed softly. “You can have the biggest tree we can fit.”

Zaia beamed. “And I can have a birthday party here?”

Ivy hesitated but nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.”

She wasn’t sure she had it in her to host a party, not after everything, but she wouldn’t take away Zaia’s excitement. Her daughter had been through enough.

Of course, not everyone was thrilled about the move.

“You’re taking my granddaughter even farther away from me?” Gloria, Angelo’s mother, snapped through the phone when Ivy finally broke the news.

Ivy let out a slow breath, already exhausted. “We’re moving, Gloria. That’s not up for discussion.”

“You expect me to drive all the way across town just to see her?”

“I expect you to figure it out if you actually want to see her.”

Gloria scoffed, muttering something under her breath. But Ivy hung up before she could utter another word. She didn’t care. She was done letting this woman dictate anything in her life. Gloria was not raising Zaia. She never had. And after everything Ivy had been through, she refused to let anyone—especially her ex’s bitter, spiteful mother—make her feel guilty for doing what was best for her daughter.

This was their life. And from now on, Ivy was going to live it on her terms.

For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that things could get better. That healing, no matter how long or winding the road, was possible.

Hope.

Maybe, just maybe, she still had some left.

In just a matter of weeks, Roman’s sprawling fortress across the street was reduced to rubble. Ivy stood by her window and watched as the demolition crew tore through it, their machines snarling as they ripped apart the walls that had once enclosed her in his deception. She had spent a lot more time than she wished to admit in that house, back when she had believed Roman was just a man, just her lover. They had cooked in that kitchen, their laughter filling the air between clinking wine glasses. They had curled up on that expensive leather couch, watching movies until she fell asleep against his chest. She had let him kiss her in that hallway, had given herself to him in that bedroom, tangled in silk sheets, never knowing that one day those same walls would close in on her, trapping her in the darkest nightmare of her life.

She thought its destruction would bring some kind of closure. Instead, she just felt hollow. The house was gone, but the memories remained, clawing at her, sinking their teeth into every quiet moment she tried to reclaim.

Therapy helped. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. Once a week, she sat across from Dr. Ari, picking at the edges of her pain, unraveling it thread by thread. But the nightmares didn’t care about therapy. They came regardless, slipping into her mind like a cruel whisper in the dark. She’d wake up gasping, her skin slick with sweat, the phantom weight of Roman’s body pressing her into the mattress, his voice dripping in her ears like poison. 

Then, those “thoughts” began creeping in, without warning, without pity. One moment, she would be doing something mundane, like folding Zaia’s tiny clothes, the scent of lavender detergent clinging to the fabric. The next, the darkness would slither in, whispering insidiously:

You’re broken beyond repair. You’ll never get better. He took too much from you.

Ivy clenched her jaw, shaking her head as if that alone could banish the thoughts. But they didn’t need an invitation. They curled around her mind, wrapping tight like thorns, their voices gentle, persuasive.

You won’t have to wake up screaming anymore. You won’t have to see his face every time you close your eyes. You’ll finally be at peace.

Just do it. 

End it all.

She had told Dr. Ari about those morbid thoughts; about the nights she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of exhaustion pressing her into the mattress, but sleep refusing to take her. About the moments when the idea of stepping further into the abyss felt less like surrender and more like relief.

Ari had nodded, unsurprised, unshaken. “These thoughts don’t mean you want to die, Ivy,” she had said softly, her gaze steady. “They mean you’re in pain. And pain needs to be acknowledged before it can heal.”

So she worked through it, piece by jagged piece. She wrote in a journal, even when the words felt too raw, too exposed. She let the music wash over her, heavy and loud, until the static in her mind quieted. She read the book Ari had given her, a guide for survivors, though some nights, she could only get through a paragraph before the words blurred.

And when the darkness became too much, when the past threatened to drag her under, she reminded herself why she kept fighting.

For Zaia. For the little girl who still looked at her like she was the safest place in the world.

For herself.

So she strapped up her boots, gritted her teeth, and moved forward. Even when it hurt. Even when it felt impossible.

She threw herself into packing up the house. It was something to do, something to keep her from drowning. Most people weren’t allowed past the front door anymore. The thought of letting anyone too close, of giving someone the chance to betray her trust again, made her chest tighten. The only exception was Carmelo. He came by often, checking in on Zaia, playing with her, making sure Ivy was eating, sleeping. Becky too, with her loud, unrelenting energy, forcing Ivy to exist in the world even when she didn’t want to.

Tonight, Ivy sat cross-legged on the living room floor, folding a pile of Zaia’s clothes into a suitcase. A few feet away, Zaia played with Duchess, the puppy’s tiny tail wagging as she chased a stuffed toy. Ivy allowed herself a small smile at the sight; at the simple, innocent joy of a child and her dog.

Then the news anchor’s voice cut through the background noise, sharp as a blade.

“Tonight, an in-depth look at the man who terrorized a quiet suburban neighborhood…”

Ivy’s heart lurched as his face filled the screen. Roman’s face. The familiar angles of his bearded jaw, the piercing eyes she had once loved.

Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred at the edges. The room tilted.

No. No, no, no.

She fumbled for the remote with trembling hands, her lungs tightening as if iron bands had cinched around her ribs. The words on the screen swam together; serial killer, rapist, sociopath; but all she could hear was his voice; feel his hands, his weight, his breath.

Her chest seized, air slipping from her grasp. Hyperventilating. She needed to breathe. She needed—

“You got it, Duchess, good girl!”

Zaia’s small voice cut through the haze of terror.

Ivy’s fingers finally found the power button. The TV snapped off, plunging the room into silence, save for the sound of Duchess’ soft panting and her own ragged breaths. She pressed a hand to her chest, grounding herself, forcing her lungs to expand.

She was safe. Roman was gone.

But the ghosts he left behind still refused to let her go.

The house buzzed with movement. The steady rip of packing tape. The shuffle of footsteps against hardwood. The low murmur of conversation between the movers as they carried out furniture. Ivy kneeled beside Zaia, supervising her as she carefully placed her toys into her toy box. Across the room, Carmelo grunted as he helped one of the movers lift the couch.

“Man, you got it?” he asked, adjusting his grip.

The mover huffed out a breath. “Yeah, yeah. Just a little heavier than I expected.”

Carmelo smirked. “You should hit the gym more.”

Becky laughed beside Ivy, shaking her head as she taped up a half-filled moving box. “Lyra’s gonna miss this one,” she said, pointing at Zaia. “She’s been talking about Zaia nonstop.”

Ivy smiled, warmth creeping into her chest. “We’ll visit. I promise.”

Zaia grinned, cradling her favorite plush bear. “I wanna see Lyra on my birthday!”

“Of course, baby,” Ivy murmured, reaching over to playfully tug her braid.

There was a knock at the door. More neighbors, coming to say goodbye. She had already cried too much today. Every hug, every well-wish, every we’ll miss you had threatened to break her all over again. She wasn’t sure she had any more tears left to give.

As she stood, Carmelo called out from across the room, rummaging through a half-packed box. “Yo, Ivy, you seen my sunglasses? I swear I left ‘em on the counter.”

Ivy sighed, brushing a stray loc from her face. “You mean the ones you lose every time you take them off?”

Carmelo scoffed. ���Man, just tell me if you’ve seen ‘em!”

She smirked, shaking her head as she made her way toward the foyer. “Maybe check the top of your big ass head—”

She pulled the door open.

Her blood ran cold.

At the other end of her door, inexplicably, was Roman.

The side of his face was slick with blood, a deep gash splitting his temple. His shirt hung open, torn and stained, a bullet hole gaping through the fabric where she had shot him. But it was what he held in his left hand that sent the air wheezing from her lungs.

Angelo’s severed head. Gemini’s severed head. Their lifeless faces frozen in a final, gruesome scream.

Her knees locked, her breath catching in her throat.

Roman smiled, the evil glint in his eyes sending ice through her veins.

“Hey, baby girl.”

In his other hand, he lifted a gun. His gun.

The one she shot him with.

Pointing it right at her.

“No!”

BANG!

Ivy shot upright, a strangled gasp of terror ripping through her chest. The world spun around her. Her stomach twisted, bile rising fast and hot. She barely had time to throw off the covers before she was bolting to the bathroom, dropping to her knees in front of the toilet.

Her body lurched forward, her stomach twisting as she vomited. Her entire frame trembled, sweat clinging to her skin in a cold sheen, the contents of her stomach emptying in a grimy cascade.

Gasping for breath, she pushed herself upright, slow and unsteady, gripping the edges of the sink for support. She turned the faucet on, cupping cool water in her hands before rinsing her mouth, spitting out the lingering taste of bile. The cold water soothed the rawness in her throat, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her. 

The dream. The same damn dream. Over and over. It refused to let her go.

Why wouldn’t it let her go?

With a shaky breath, she turned and sank onto the closed toilet seat, pressing her palms over her face. Her pulse thundered in her ears. No matter how many times she woke up, no matter how many deep breaths she took, the fear never left. It was with a vice-like grip that simply refused to loosen.

“Mama?”

Jumping slightly, she wiped her mouth quickly, looking up to see Zaia standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Without a word, she stretched out her arms, allowing her daughter to walk into her embrace. She tugged her into her lap, pressed her lips to the crown of her head and smoothed a trembling hand over her little bonnet.

Zaia hesitated, then nestled closer, her small fingers gripping Ivy’s nightgown tightly. “I have bad dreams too,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Ivy’s heart clenched. She shut her eyes for a moment, resting her head against her daughter’s. Just a child. She should’ve never had to know this kind of fear.

A lengthy moment of silence drifted between them before Zaia sighed. “I’m gonna miss my friends when we move,” she said, her voice small and wistful.

Grateful for the change in subject, Ivy nodded. “I know, baby. But we’ll make new memories. We’ll celebrate Christmas in our new home. It’s gonna be fun,” she promised.

Zaia yawned, her grip tightening around her mom’s waist. “Okay.”

Ivy held her baby close as she carried her back to the bedroom, grounding herself in her warmth. The nightmare still lingered in the back of her mind, but here, in this moment, she wasn’t drowning in it.

She was still here. Still fighting. And maybe…just maybe…things would get better.

Somehow.

Three Months Later

Windham Penitentiary had descended into absolute bedlam.

Smoke coiled through the air, thick and acrid, stinging the eyes and burning the lungs of anyone still breathing. The relentless screech of alarms blended with the chaotic roar of hundreds of men, their voices rising in a primal symphony of rage and freedom. Inmates swarmed every hallway, their movements frantic and violent, like a hive disturbed. Some were smashing light fixtures, the bulbs bursting in showers of glass, plunging sections of the prison into flickering darkness. Others ripped mattresses apart, their stuffing floating like snowfall in the destruction.

Blood gushed over the concrete floors, fresh boot prints trailing in every direction. The guards who had been unlucky enough to be caught in the initial frenzy now lay crumpled, unconscious, or worse, their bodies discarded against walls like broken furniture. Those still standing were fighting desperately, swinging batons, deploying tear gas, yelling orders that fell on deaf ears.

Somewhere in the chaos, a cluster of correctional officers sprinted toward a specific cell, their faces tight with dread. Their radios crackled with desperate voices, but no reinforcements were coming. Not tonight.

They skidded to a stop in front of the open cell.

Their worst fear materialized before their eyes.

Strowman lay on the floor, his huge neck twisted unnaturally, a deep crimson pool expanding beneath his throat. His keys, slick with blood, glinted in his rigid fingers. His expression was frozen in something caught between shock and agony, his eyes still open, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

There was no one else inside the cell.

Hobbs was gone.

A cold, crippling silence settled over the officers even as the riot raged on around them. The hairs on their arms rose as the weight of realization crashed down upon them like a massive boulder. This wasn’t just an escape.

The ghost had slipped through another pair of fingers. 

Hundreds of miles away, Detective Cody Rhodes was wrecking his office.

“Fuck!”

He slammed his fists onto his desk so hard that the entire surface rattled, a stack of files toppling over the edge. His growls came in short, ragged bursts, his chest heaving with the sheer force of his rage. His eyes squeezed shut for half a second, then out came a guttural roar that burst from somewhere deep within his gut.

How? How had this motherfucker gotten away again?

He ran a shaking hand through his blond hair before gripping the edge of his desk and flipping it over with another roar, sending everything crashing to the floor. Papers, pens, his goddamn badge. None of it mattered.

Strowman was dead.

Hobbs was gone.

Again!

And he had nothing. Again!

With a furious snarl, he grabbed the nearest chair and launched it across the room. It crashed against the wall, splintering on impact, but the destruction did nothing to cool the fire burning through him. His vision blurred red, his thoughts a relentless cycle of curses and failures.

That bastard was out there.

Again!

And yet again, Cody had no fucking idea where.

The night stretched on, endless and black, swallowing the empty highway in both directions. The road was cracked and worn, long forgotten by civilization. There were no streetlights. No signs of life. Just the sound of wind scraping across the desolate land.

A lone, hulking figure moved through the darkness, blending with it as one, trudging along the side of the road.

He walked with an easy stride, his hood pulled low over his face, casting shadows where a beard once covered his jaw. Clean-shaven now, his features were different, altered just enough to make a second glance have doubts.

In one hand, he held a photograph. A woman with a little girl.

His thumb dragged over Ivy’s face, slow, thoughtful, lust-filled. Then Zaia’s. Fatherly, nurturing, comforting.

The low hum of an approaching vehicle broke the stillness. Headlights cut through the night, growing brighter, nearing fast.

Roman turned purposefully toward them, lifting his arm, extending his thumb. His grip tightened on the photograph.

As the car slowed to a stop beside him, his smirk widened.

She couldn’t breathe.

The bathroom felt smaller, much smaller. The walls were pressing in, trapping her in the harsh, artificial light. Her body trembled, still raw from retching, but the nausea wasn’t fading. Hadn’t faded for weeks, for one single horrifying reason. It wasn’t the nightmares. It wasn’t the stress.

It was something much more devastating. 

Her fingers curled around the plastic white stick in her lap, the small screen glaring up at her. A single word. A simple, undeniable truth.

Her stomach lurched, and she barely managed to swallow down another wave of sickness. Her other hand clutched at the counter as she forced herself to look again, to see the second test beside it. The same positive result.

Oh god.

A strangled whimper broke from her throat as she stumbled backward, pressing herself against the cold tile as if she could shrink away from the reality in front of her. Her chest heaved, her pulse a frantic, erratic, unnatural rhythm in her ears.

This couldn’t be happening.

I will always be a part of you.

His words echoed in her skull, that dark, possessive whisper that had haunted her even in freedom. She had spent months trying to erase him, trying to cleanse herself of his touch, his presence.

Her hands shook violently as she clutched at her stomach, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt. She wanted to reach into herself and tear it out, wanted to claw him out of her, wanted to make this not real.

But it was real.

Her red-rimmed vision blurred as the first sob broke free, then another, until she was on her knees, gasping, unraveling, drowning in a fresh, endless nightmare.

She had fought so hard to escape him. So, so hard.

But now, he was inside her.

Literally.

Still here. Still owning her. Still tethered to her like a parasite.

A parasite he’d put in her.

You ain’t never gon’ be free of me. You belong to me forever, baby girl.

He was right.

She was never going to be free.

THE END.

A/N: Let me start off by shouting out and sincerely thanking my partner in crime, @harmshake, for her genius. All the brainstorming on Google Docs and the email back and forths paid off. This would have NEVER happened without her, she kickstarted this and is this reason this story has been so epic. Love you, dear!

Another massive thank you to everyone who has read and commented and supplied so many theories and guesses. I loved reading and responding to every one of them and I appreciate you all!

This is also to confirm that this universe ends here. A Part 2 will be damn near impossible for me, as writing this was so emotionally and sometimes physically draining. Again, it's a psychological (erotic) thriller, and cliffhangers are a staple that I'm happily taking advantage of.

On the bright side, there will be a reimagining of the characters from this universe in another universe, coming soon.

Would love to know your thoughts on this final chapter!

Dr. Ari is played by @trippinsorrows

🏷️: @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @vebner37 @thewarlordsworld @trippinsorrows @herwickedlittlesins @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80

@dreamsinfocus @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @jeyusos-girl @romansthrone @wwecrazed2010 @sayyestoheav3nn @trentybenty

@purplehairgawdess @mohawkmama @po3ticb3auty @alyyaanna @murrylove @tribalhoochie @xbriexx @rollinssection @lovestoreadfiction

@papireigns-05 @vintage-pvssy @bebesobrielo @urasunflower @unfriendly–blvck–hottie @romanreignsbae

@theninthwonder @tabletheofhead @venusesworld @ariieeesworld @sassginaswanmills @prettyfilmz

@theglamclosetsl @empressdede @woahdude9481 @browngalmal @crxssjae @octaviastargirl @ashykneee

@twocentuar @surdelcielo @althegreat33 @alichesmi @eclectic-tee

@joannasteez @whatdoeseverybodywant @puppetmastermya @caramelcleopatraa @femdisa @zillasvilla @katrinnnn @callmekayd @msbluehaz3

@megamindsecretlair @headoftheetable @brwnsugababe @heauxvibez @christinabae @potatosackk @usoholic @4milly @luvrsluxe @juicypinksblog

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@fearlesschimera @tshepisho @partypoison00 @originalgeezyy @muzaqueendom @naturally-nikkilynn

[msbutterfly5294]

Weird Writing Tips To Help Weird Writers Like Me

📝 Roleplay As / With Your Characters . This would help you get to know them better . Bonus Points if you style it as an interview .

👥 Take the ‘ 16 Personality Types ’ Quiz as your character(s)

🚨 Write multiple news reports ( or short segments of news ) about characters and the plot from the outside world’s perspective

🎶 This one is already used within the creative community but it still a good one nonetheless : make playlists / collections of your characters and world on social media . Whether you’re using Pinterest , TikTok , or another , save videos , pictures , posts , anything that relates to your character(s) + the world they live in .

🔦 Grab your character(s) from the neck , slam them into the wall , shine a bright flashlight in their face that would make them borderline blind , and ask them in the sweetest voice , “ So. . . Are you going to tell me where I need to go from here , or are you going to delay my process in writing ? ” 🥰

✏️ Keeping a mini stack of index cards with you so you can jot down any ideas or sudden realizations that finally clicked . Also , you can draw / doodle on the back of them ! : D

🎭 Method acting would help with writing ! If you are writing multiple perspectives , whenever you get into one character’s perspective , become that character , feel that character , think of that character . How would they write the chapter and present the facts or abnormalities ?

😭 Scream into a pillow after seeing what you wrote in the middle of the early morning and throw your book / computer / phone / whatever you write on ✨ out da windooooow ✨ ( don’t actually do it - ) , wait a couple business days , and come back to it again and start the process over because you lied in bed , staring through the ceiling , as your brain is trying to convince you that “ yes , that writing that very important thing in that moment while you are very drained and sleep deprived is a great idea ! ” . . . Just me ?

[cookies-after-dark]

When it comes to PB and Shmilk you seem to focus on a more sub leaning reader, curious to know your thoughts on how the relationship plays out if reader is exclusively a dom instead

*cough* fighting for dominance with PV *cough* who said that?

(additional tags: explicit content, dom/sub dynamics, public risk

ships: dom!pure vanilla cookie x dom!reader)

Genius observation (genuinely). You will find here at ✨cookies-after-dark✨ that I love to depict the reader in more "powerless" situations (I have like. a whole damn series I want to post about a disgruntled minion!reader x Shadow Milk and believe me, the reader has NO power here)

But this question right here. It's gold. For me, writing for subs is like breathing to me with how easy it is; I have to really cross my legs and start meditating to assert myself into that "dom" mindset. It's not that serious but I love to method act when I write. Method write, if you will.

Having said all that, off the top of my head I can think of a few things with a dom!reader. Is it just exclusively in the bedroom? (I know this is probably what you meant but I love asking questions).

But the reader, fighting with Pure Vanilla Cookie for dominance? You awakened something within me and it's fighting to get out.

Usually when I write for a reader tussling with someone in bed for dominance, it's usually in a very bratty manner and unless the reader has the plot armor of God and anime on their side, usually loses spectacularly! (actively ignoring some of my more freakier writings where the reader wins 🥰)

In this scenario, though? I think Pure Vanilla Cookie would go easy on you again first, testing the waters a bit you might say. He makes the decisions and he tests for your reaction, he flips you in a certain position and waits to see if you say anything.

When you rise to the challenge, so does he. You struggle in his grip and you push him up against the bed. You meet his gaze when you disagree with him, and it's now a fun little game between you two.

What would you say if Pure Vanilla Cookie slid a sneaky hand down your clothes as he walked past, to give a quick squeeze, or if he groped at your chest while others' backs were turned?

A certain flame would ignite inside of his belly if you did the same to him. It's tricky to maneuver your hand through all those heavy robes he wears, but you practice squeezing his ass discreetly while he's engaging in conversation with his dear friends. When Pure Vanilla Cookie turns slightly to look at you, letting you see his open eyes, you know he's going to get even rougher.

"Haaah...~ Oh-! I can see you're eager for this...~" Pure Vanilla is grinning up at you from where you have his head pressed into the mattress; you were stronger than you first let on.

You had his robes bunched up to show his ass, not even bothering to rip them off him first. Your two fingers were merciless, and you relished in the muffled moans and hisses Pure Vanilla Cookie was letting out for you.

You knew this wouldn't last long, he was only letting you do this for now. Once he'd had enough, he would gain the upper hand from you, like he always did.

But you would never back down. You always loved a challenge.

[tinytinyblogs]

Hey can you do yandere skz punishments

Punishment time darling

They give you everything you could ever want, but crossing them is a mistake you’ll never want to make.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Bang Chan isn’t one to act impulsively, not when it comes to you. He’s always calculating, always planning. When you disobey him, he doesn’t explode in anger like someone else might. No, Chan prefers something quieter, something more effective. He believes punishment should teach a lesson, not waste energy. And when it comes to you, he wants you to feel the weight of your guilt, to truly understand why you were wrong. Isolation is his preferred method. It’s clean, controlled, and, most importantly, it works. The first time he catches you breaking one of his unspoken rules—talking to someone he doesn’t approve of, going somewhere without telling him—he doesn’t raise his voice. Instead, he gives you a long, measured look, the kind that sends a chill down your spine. His usual warmth is gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he sits you down. The air feels heavy, suffocating. His voice is low and calm, almost tender. “Think about it, darling. I’m doing this for your own good,” he says, his expression carefully crafted to appear apologetic, though his eyes betray something darker. “If I’m not protecting you, who will? This world is too dangerous for someone like you. Without me… you’re nothing.” The words sting, but they also confuse you.

He delivers them with such conviction, such unwavering certainty, that a part of you begins to question yourself. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you were careless, ungrateful even. He leans closer, his hand brushing against yours as if to comfort you. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmurs. And then it begins. Subtly, at first. Your phone mysteriously stops working, and when you ask about it, Chan is quick to offer an excuse. “It’s better this way. You don’t need all those distractions.” Your friends start to drift away—he makes sure of it, carefully orchestrating misunderstandings and missed calls until you have no one left to turn to. Your schedule becomes eerily predictable, revolving entirely around him. He insists it’s for your benefit, that it’s safer this way. The isolation creeps in slowly, but it’s relentless. The world you once knew shrinks until it consists of only him. And every time you try to protest, he’s ready with the same disarming smile and soothing words. “I know this feels harsh, but it’s because I love you. You’ll thank me someday.” Yet, no matter how gentle his tone, there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it. Bang Chan doesn’t give second chances. By the time you realize the full extent of his control, it’s too late. You’re trapped, and he knows it. And to him, that’s exactly as it should be.

Minho

If Minho grows quiet and his sharp gaze locks onto you, it’s never a good sign. When you talk back to him or let your emotions run wild, and he remains silent, it’s far worse than anger—it’s dangerous. His silence is not passivity; it’s a storm waiting to unfold. Minho doesn’t like wasting energy, and why should he? When he acts, it’s always calculated, deliberate, and impactful, ensuring you won’t dare to repeat your mistakes. The last time you pushed him, your words came tumbling out in frustration, escalating into a full-blown argument. He listened without interruption, his expression unreadable, the stillness of his body unnerving. Once your words ran dry, he finally spoke. “Are you done?” he asked, his voice eerily calm, laced with a sharp edge. “You’ve been crossing the line lately. You know that, don’t you?” The weight of his words sat heavy in your chest long after he left the room. Sleep felt impossible that night as anxiety churned in your mind. You couldn’t ignore the suffocating feeling that something was coming. And you were right. Just as the clock struck midnight, the sound of your door creaking open made you sit up in bed.

There he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light. His eyes, dark and piercing, met yours, and an unsettling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Waiting for me, lovely?” he asked softly, stepping into the room with a predator’s grace. Before you could respond, he tossed something onto the bed. The clatter was jarring, and your breath hitched when you realized what it was: your phone, shattered into pieces. “Phone? No more,” he said with an icy smirk. “I wonder what else I should make into pieces. Those stupid plushies you’re so attached to? Or maybe… someone precious?” A soft, humorless laugh escaped him as he leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours. “Remember this, love. No crossing the line. Consider this your warning,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t make me dirty my hands, alright?” His words cut deeper than any shout ever could. Straightening, he glanced at you one last time before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. With Minho, silence was never just silence. It was a threat, a promise, and a lesson. And when he acted, it was always with a precision that left no room for misunderstanding.

Changbin

Explode—that’s the only way to describe him when he’s angry. It’s not subtle or restrained; it’s raw, chaotic, and terrifying. When his temper snaps, it’s like a storm that tears through everything in its path. He throws things against the wall, his voice rising into a roar that makes your chest tighten with fear. The sweet, soft side he usually shows you is gone, replaced by someone you can barely recognize. “You think I’m joking right now?” he shouts, his eyes blazing with fury, so red it’s like all he can see is rage. He plants himself in front of the door, his body a solid barrier ensuring there’s no escape. The once tidy room is unrecognizable—vases lie shattered on the floor, shards glinting in the dim light, papers scattered everywhere. Each crash feels like a knife twisting in your gut, and all you can do is collapse onto the floor, your knees too weak to hold you up. His breathing is heavy, his chest heaving like he’s barely holding back from completely losing control. “Ignore me like that again,” he growls, his voice low and dripping with menace, “answer me without thinking, and next time, I’ll throw you against the wall just like I did those vases.”

The venom in his words makes your heart race, and for a split second, you can’t tell if it’s an empty threat or a promise. Either way, the weight of his fury presses down on you, leaving you frozen in place. And then, just as suddenly as it started, the storm begins to subside. He straightens, his eyes still fixed on you, but the blazing anger in them softens into something almost tender. He takes a step forward, then another, crouching down to meet you on the floor. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if trying to erase the memory of the chaos he just unleashed. You flinch as he reaches for you, but he doesn’t stop. His hands find your face, cupping it gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have spilled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, love. You need to understand how much I love you,” he whispers, his tone pleading. It’s disorienting, the way he shifts from monster to lover, his gentleness so at odds with the destruction around you. “So don’t make me lose my temper again, got it?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. The warning is clear, and you can only nod.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin has a way of making you doubt yourself, twisting your thoughts until you’re unsure of what’s real. He doesn’t raise his voice or resort to anger—instead, he makes you feel like you’re the one who’s wrong, like you’re the villain and he’s the victim. His charm is intoxicating, but beneath it lies something dangerous, something that leaves you questioning everything about yourself and your relationship. When you upset him, he doesn’t comfort you or address it directly. Instead, he turns it into his own game, one where the rules are stacked entirely in his favor. He knows exactly how to manipulate the situation, how to make you feel like the guilt is entirely yours. His voice is soft, trembling just enough to tug at your heartstrings as he asks, “Do you even love me?” Somehow, he manages to conjure tears—perfect, convincing tears that make your chest tighten with guilt. You know he’s playing a part, that the sadness in his eyes is an act, yet it still works. His vulnerability feels so real, so raw, that you can’t help but question if maybe you truly are the problem. He always knows what to say to make you doubt your actions, and soon enough, you’re scrambling to fix something you aren’t even sure you broke. He doesn’t stop there.

His words cut deeper than any raised voice or angry outburst ever could. “I feel like I’m nothing to you,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping as though he can’t bear to look at you. “Do you even care? Am I just wasting my time here?” The weight of his accusations settles heavily on your shoulders, making you feel like the worst person in the world. And that’s exactly what he wants. For Hyunjin, this isn’t just a moment of hurt—it’s a game, a calculated strategy to make you prove yourself over and over again. You find yourself apologizing, explaining, and convincing him of your love, even when you don’t fully understand what you’re apologizing for. By the time he leans in, brushing a tear from your cheek, you’re already falling into his trap. “Tell me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with desperation. “Tell me how much you love me. Please… I can’t live without you.” His words are a plea, but they carry a weight that crushes you. It’s not just about proving your love—it’s about erasing the guilt he’s so carefully placed on you. And when you finally stammer out your assurances, he smiles faintly, knowing he’s won. For Hyunjin, victory isn’t loud or violent. It’s quiet, devastating, and entirely unforgettable.