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ariahmichelle · 6 months ago

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Secrets Out- Drew Starkey x Actress!reader

Can be read as a stand alone but it is Part 3 of ‘phoning it in’ Part 1 here Part 2 here

Also my requests are open!!

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It had been almost 3 months since you and Drew confessed your feelings for one another. The transition from friends to… something more was surprisingly natural. You’d agreed to keep things under wraps for now, wanting to enjoy this budding relationship without the pressure of others watching.

You and Drew became official two weeks ago and of course, have yet to tell your mutual friends, both of you amused by watching them slowly catch on.

Tonight, though, the entire Outer Banks cast was gathering for a night out to celebrate before filming for Season 4 began, you knew some of them had been sensing a shift between you and Drew but none of them have questioned either of you yet.

However you knew it wouldn’t be much longer before the secret is out.

The girls—Madelyn, Madison, and Carlacia—were already at your apartment, getting ready. Your place had turned into a full-on glam zone, with curling irons, makeup bags, and laughter filling the space. Madison was expertly applying eyeliner while Carlacia debated between outfits, and Madelyn scrolled through her playlist to set the mood.

You were perched on the edge of your bed, fixing your hair in a handheld mirror. It was a classic girls’ night, full of chatter and teasing.

“You look cute,” Madelyn said, glancing over at you with a grin. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“No one,” you said quickly, but the way your cheeks heated gave you away.

Madison wasn’t buying it. “Come on, you’re glowing. Who is it?”

“Yeah,” Carlacia chimed in, looking up from her outfit choices. “There’s definitely someone. Spill.”

You laughed nervously, brushing them off. “I’m just excited to go out. That’s all.”

But as the conversation shifted back to which heels would be most comfortable, your phone buzzed beside you. You glanced down to see a text from Drew.

Me and the boys are otw. Can’t wait to see you sweetheart xx

You bit your lip to suppress the smile that immediately followed and typed back a quick reply.

You thought you’d played it cool, but Madison caught the way you tried to hide your grin. “Okay, who are you texting?”

“No one important,” you said, tossing your phone onto the bed.

“Uh-huh,” Madelyn said, smirking. “Sure, we believe you.”

Luckily, the doorbell rang, saving you from further interrogation. You stood up quickly, smoothing down your outfit. “That’s the boys.”

As you opened the door, the guys poured in, bringing their usual loud energy. Chase, Rudy, JD, Austin, and finally Drew stepped through the threshold. Drew’s eyes immediately found yours, and his face softened with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.

“Hey,” you replied, your chest fluttering as he stepped inside.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Rudy announced, holding up a bottle of tequila.

Drinks were poured, laughter echoed through your apartment, and the group settled into their usual rhythm. As the night unfolded, you found yourself hyperaware of Drew. He was his usual charming self, joking with JD and Austin, but every so often, you’d catch him glancing at you. When your eyes met, he’d give you a subtle smile that sent your heart racing.

Meanwhile, you noticed Chase leaning toward Rudy, whispering something and glancing in your direction. You pretended not to notice, but you had a feeling they were starting to pick up on the little moments between you and Drew.

Eventually, the group decided it was time to hit the bar. It was one of your favorite spots downtown, with good music, strong drinks, and plenty of room to dance.

As you weaved through the crowd at the bar’s entrance, Drew’s hand found the small of your back. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine, but it also felt protective, grounding. He guided you through the throng of people, staying close behind you until you reached the table the group had claimed.

“Everyone good?” Drew asked, his hand lingering on your back for a moment longer before he pulled away.

“Great,” you said, glancing up at him.

He smiled down at you, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, despite the chaos of the bar around you.

The night picked up quickly. Drinks flowed, the girls dragged you onto the dance floor, and the guys took turns buying rounds at the bar. You found yourself caught up in the energy, but your eyes kept drifting to Drew. He was at a table with the guys, laughing at something Rudy said, but every so often, you’d catch him looking at you.

Finally, after watching him from across the room for too long, you decided to do something about it. Dancing your way back to the table, you stopped in front of the boys, hands on your hips.

“Alright, enough sitting around,” you said with a teasing grin. “All of you, up. Dance time.”

The guys groaned in unison, but you weren’t taking no for an answer. Grabbing Drew’s hand specifically, you pulled him up. “Especially you.”

He laughed, letting you drag him onto the dance floor. “You’re relentless.”

“You love it,” you shot back, spinning around to face him.

As the two of you danced, the rest of the cast slowly joined in. But you and Drew stayed close, moving in sync with the music. You could feel the weight of your friends’ gazes, especially when Drew placed his hands on your hips.

Leaning into his ear, you said, “I think they’re catching on.”

Drew tilted his head down to yours, his breath warm against your ear. “Maybe we should give them another hint.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a tentative kiss; it was confident, sure, and full of feeling. The world around you seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

When you pulled back, cheers erupted around you. “Finally!” Madison shouted, clapping her hands.

“Took you two long enough,” Chase added, grinning.

You buried your face in Drew’s chest, laughing at their reactions.

Drew wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “Guess the secret’s out,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, smiling. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The rest of the night was a blur of dancing, laughter, and teasing from your friends. While the secret was out, you couldn’t have been happier that you and Drew no longer had to hide. As far as you were concerned, the night couldn’t have been more perfect.

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thisshouldstayanonymous · 12 days ago

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Red Means Trust 2

Pairing: Chishiya x reader

Summary: you quickly became an executive at the beach because of you’re outstanding performance in all the games, but someone doesn’t trust your aptitude for each and every card game. Slow burn enemies to lovers.

Warnings: none (yet)

Etc.: This starts two weeks before Arisu arrives in Borderland

Read chapter one here, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 2

“Attention, everyone!”

Hatter’s voice tore through the courtyard like a thunderclap, raw and commanding, a voice that had grown used to being obeyed — or at least acknowledged — in a world where few things made sense anymore. He always waited until just after sunset to make his announcements, as if darkness somehow lent gravity to his words. As if the night itself needed permission to begin.

The Beach fell into a hush around him. Cigarettes were stubbed out. Laughter dimmed. Heads turned. You stood near the outer rim of the crowd, arms crossed, shoulders tense. It was always like this before games — that moment of collective stillness before the adrenaline surged, when everyone waited to hear which direction fate would shove them next.

“There are four game sightings in the area tonight!”

A ripple moved through the people — not panic exactly, but something electric. Four was a new high. You felt it, the weight of that number pressing into your chest. A small murmur escaped you before you could catch it: “There must be more people getting here…”

It made sense. The city was drawing in more survivors. More desperate souls clinging to whatever hope the games offered — or pretending there was a choice at all. And yet, instead of comfort, the thought made your skin crawl. More people meant more unknowns. More players to watch. More people to die.

“GO!” Hatter roared, and just like that, the crowd broke apart — a stampede of bodies surging toward vehicles and exits like insects drawn to light.

You stood still for a second too long. Your eyes flicked upward — and there he was, still watching you.

Chishiya, with that fixed stare, the kind that made you feel like your skin was transparent and your thoughts loud. Like you were something unstable, or worse — something important. You felt the burn of it trail down your spine like a match being struck.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Feet crunching gravel. Legs pumping. You cut across the courtyard, ignoring the groups forming by the cars, ignoring the logic that told you to stay with people you knew. You needed to move — anywhere that wasn’t under Hatter’s stare.

You found yourself wedged into the backseat of a vehicle with people whose names you didn’t know and faces you barely registered. It didn’t matter. Connection was a luxury here. Survival didn’t require comfort. It required movement.

The car pulled out into the city, the Beach disappearing behind you like a memory you didn’t trust. Minutes passed in silence, interrupted only by the crunch of tires and the occasional breath someone held too long.

When you arrived, the building loomed like every game venue did — plain, concrete, brutalist, pulsing beneath its neon sign like it had a heartbeat. You climbed out with the others, eyes scanning the front steps. You saw it before they did — the table, the collars, the stack of black phones sitting beside it like silent weapons.

Collars.

You felt your stomach tighten.

Collar games were the worst.

You knew the logic of it — keep the players afraid, make them desperate, compress the human spirit into something panicked and irrational — but it didn’t make the reality any easier. The moment your fingers touched the cold metal, you could already feel your breath shortening, your awareness tunneling. You could feel the countdown even before it began.

You closed the collar around your neck with a soft click. The weight of it settled on your shoulders like a threat whispered directly into your ear. Then you reached for one of the phones.

A monotone voice rang from the screen.

“For this game, an even number of players is required. Current player count: 5. Please wait for the game to commence. Registration closes in two minutes.”

The countdown began.

You stared at it, confused. Uneasy.

Five.

Five players.

That wasn’t how it worked. Games didn’t start unless the required number of players was met — you’d seen it yourself. You’d once waited with strangers while someone’s visa ran out because the sixth player never came. The game simply… refused to begin.

So why now?

You voiced your concern aloud, more to yourself than anyone. “What happens if the game starts with only five players? It needs an even number…”

A silence fell over the group. Eyes darted to the screen, to the collars, to each other.

You took a step back, mind spinning. If the game needed pairs, someone would be alone. Either as an observer — or something worse.

“If it’s a team-based game,” you said slowly, carefully, “someone without a partner will either have a hidden advantage… or a death sentence.”

You lifted your phone. “Since I took the last one, I’ll assume that’s me.”

You weren’t afraid — not exactly. You were calculating. Assessing. You could already feel the game forming in the dark, like a spider spinning a web you couldn’t see yet. That’s what kept you calm: not certainty, but strategy.

“It could be a Clubs game,” one of the men offered, stepping beside you. “Working in teams, coordination… maybe a relay.”

You almost considered it — until a familiar voice, smooth and clinical, interrupted from behind.

“But then why the collars?”

Your stomach dropped a little. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Chishiya.

You heard the soft hiss of the lasers deactivating as he stepped through the threshold, making his entrance like a shadow that had grown tired of hiding.

You turned just enough to meet his gaze, and there he was — standing still, eyes unreadable, mouth in that perpetual non-expression that somehow managed to insult you without ever moving.

Of course. Of course he would be here.

You looked away before your frustration could show in your face, but you knew — you knew — he saw it anyway. He always did.

“This has to be a Hearts game,” you said, voice flat. “The collars are designed to make people break.”

Chishiya didn’t argue. He simply stepped closer, his presence a quiet pressure at your side, his eyes flicking toward the phone in your hand, then to the others like pieces on a board.

So this was it.

Your partner.

Not by choice. Not by fate.

By cruel design.

You drew in a breath, slow and deep, letting it fill your lungs like armor. You could survive a collar. You could survive betrayal. And you could survive him.

But that didn’t mean you had to enjoy it.

Just before the countdown hit zero, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed down the concrete corridor. A clearly distinguishable newbie running through the laser shield. Sweat dripping from his forehead. At first, happy to see other people, then clearly distraught as he saw the collars.

He reached the table in a flurry of motion, snatching up one of the remaining phones with trembling fingers, his hands fumbling over the collar as if the devices themselves might bite. The man was in his thirties with hair matted to his forehead and he looked around at your group — at you — eyes wide and disbelieving, as if hoping someone would tell him this was all a mistake, some elaborate prank that would unravel with a laugh.

But no one laughed.

He fastened the collar around his neck anyway and joined you silently in the elevator. The doors slid shut with a hiss, sealing you in — not just in the elevator, but in the moment. Suspended. Waiting.

“Where did everyone in Tokyo go?” the man asked, his voice paper-thin. Fragile. You heard the way it cracked not because of fear, but because of loss — the kind that hadn’t even begun to settle. You turned to him slowly, the weight of memory pressing behind your eyes.

“Don’t think about that now,” you said, voice low but firm, the way you might speak to a child holding a broken toy. “You’ll need all your strength for the game.” He blinked, swallowing hard, nodding — but his eyes didn’t settle. You understood. You remembered what it felt like, waking up into this nightmare with no map, no answers. The weight of not knowing pressing into your ribs like a second set of lungs. You, on the other hand, had adapted. Too quickly. Too cleanly. And deep down, in the places you didn’t speak of, you wondered if this place had simply… revealed something about you, something that had always been waiting beneath the surface. Something you hadn’t yet decided was monstrous or necessary.

The elevator shuddered to a stop. When the doors opened, you were greeted by silence and space — a cavernous atrium stretching into a web of hallways and closed doors. Everything sterile and echoing, like a hospital stripped of life. Above, screens buzzed softly to life.

Welcome, players. The game is about to commence.

The voice was cold as always, mechanical — devoid of anything human.

Today’s game: MEMORY

Difficulty: 9 of Hearts.

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You stiffened.

A Nine of Hearts.

You choked slightly on your own breath, throat closing around the shape of the number. Heart games were always cruel — twisting fear into obedience, love into leverage. But nine was a number that meant devastation. That meant intimacy and betrayal in the same breath. That meant you would walk out changed — if you walked out at all. The screen flickered again.

In the order of registration, you have been paired into teams of two. If the number of participants is uneven, the last to register will play alone. In your teams, you will navigate the maze and collect a sequence of twenty symbols. At the end of your path, you will reach a chamber where you must replicate the exact order of those symbols.

But be warned: In some teams, one member has been designated as a saboteur. That person can only win if they and their partner select the symbols in the wrong order. Saboteurs lose if the order is correct. Not every team contains a saboteur.

You turned, eyes instinctively seeking out the one person you both dreaded and understood.

Chishiya.

He was silent, pale in the cold light of the screen, gaze fixed on the words like he was reading scripture. For once, he wasn’t watching you. Not with that calculating gleam that always made your skin tighten. Instead, his attention was wholly absorbed — not detached, but engaged. And that unsettled you more than his scrutiny ever had.

Your phone vibrated in your hand. A small icon lit up: ♥

You looked at Chishiya’s.

The same.

Without a word, the two of you stepped toward the corridor marked with a glowing heart. The others followed suit — pairs peeling off into their own passageways, eyes narrowed, suspicion already beginning to bloom in the cracks between trust and necessity.

The last boy — the one who had joined just seconds before the cut-off — stood alone before a blank corridor. No symbol. No partner.

His collar looked oversized on his too-thin neck. His hands kept drifting up to it, like he thought he could remove it if he just willed hard enough. His legs were shaking. You could almost hear the way his breath hitched with every shallow inhale. You didn’t look at him long. You couldn’t afford to.

The countdown began.

Thirty minutes. Game start.

The lasers before the corridor flickered out. A green light buzzed above you. You stepped forward. So did he. The hallway beyond was silent — unnaturally so. Even your footsteps seemed muted, swallowed by the thick concrete walls. The air was too still. You felt your pulse echoing in your throat, louder than your breath, louder than Chishiya’s presence beside you — though his silence said more than words ever could. You kept your pace even, glancing sideways once. He didn’t look at you. And yet somehow, in the quiet between footsteps and symbols waiting ahead, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

He was wondering if you were the saboteur.

And you… You were wondering the same thing about him.

The corridor swallowed you whole.

Harsh fluorescent lights flickered above as you and Chishiya stepped into the first turn of the maze. The door behind you sealed with a mechanical hiss, slicing off the last breath of safety like a guillotine. The silence here was different — not passive, but expectant, like the walls themselves were listening. The maze was cold concrete and sharp angles, a claustrophobic tangle of interconnected paths, each intersection marked by glowing panels on the walls. The symbols began immediately: white glyphs pulsing faintly against black backgrounds — numbers, shapes, foreign characters — each framed in red like a warning.

You both stopped at the first one.

A heart. Simple. So the symbols would match the playing cards. So there were only four different symbols in the game.

Twenty symbols. One correct sequence. One mistake and everything ends. Chishiya turned to glance at you, eyes unreadable behind his usual mask of apathy — but you caught something flickering beneath it. Calculation. Containment. Maybe even concern.

“We won’t have time to do this together.”

You already knew it, but hearing it aloud still hit like cold water. You checked the timer glowing faintly on your phone.

28:43

You did the math quickly. If you stopped at every symbol together, logged them mentally, and then tried to retrace the entire maze… you wouldn’t make it. You would need to split up. Which meant trusting him. You turned sharply to face him. “If we separate, one of us gets to rewrite the order. One of us can sabotage the whole thing.” He tilted his head slightly. “Exactly.”

You bristled. “That’s your idea of comfort?”

“I don’t do comfort,” he said plainly. “I do probability. And the probability of us finishing this in thirty minutes — together — is low.”

Your fists clenched. “And the probability of you stabbing me in the back?”

His expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped an octave, almost curious. “That depends on what you’d do in my place.” A beat of silence passed between you, taut and buzzing. Every second ticking by on the timer was another heartbeat lost.

You took a sharp breath, glancing down the corridor. More intersections ahead. More symbols. And no time to waste.

“Then we start together,” you said, the words snapping like glass. “We move as fast as we can. We check the clock after ten symbols. If we’re behind, we split. No earlier.”

Chishiya studied you, head angled slightly like you were a particularly interesting experiment. “Fine.”

The agreement was made, but it didn’t ease the knot in your chest. You turned and started moving — quickly now, jogging from one turn to the next, keeping pace as best you could.

A spade. A club. Another heart. Then a diamond.

No time to linger. No time to question. Just store the shape, the position, the order. You reached the sixth when you felt it. Not footsteps.

Not sound. Just the itch of watching. You turned slightly — and there he was, just a step behind, eyes flicking not to the symbol but to you. Measuring. Your heart thudded. Is he trying to slow me down? You watched him closely, analyzing every movement, every pause. Was he dragging his pace just enough to steal time from you? Was he counting aloud — but one number behind — to make you misremember? You stopped short at the eighth symbol and spun on him. “You’re too slow.”

Chishiya blinked. “No. You’re panicking.”

“I’m watching you. If you’re trying to run down the clock—”

“I’m not,” he said flatly, already stepping past you toward the next corridor. “But I would, if I were the saboteur.”

The admission hit like a slap. Not because it surprised you — but because it didn’t.

You jogged to keep up, rage curling in your stomach. “You think you’re so clever.”

“I think I’m honest,” he replied. “That seems to bother people more.”

You nearly snarled but bit your tongue. The tenth symbol appeared — a diamond.

You both stopped, glancing down at the timer.

20:07

Too slow. You met his gaze, and there it was again — the unspoken decision clawing between you: trust or betrayal. He opened his mouth.

“I’ll go—”

“No.”

Your voice cracked with the force of it, raw and desperate. “We’ll keep moving together.”

Chishiya narrowed his eyes. “We’ll fail.”

“Then I’d rather fail than die because I trusted the wrong person.”

You could see the shift in his expression — not hurt, not offended, but surprised. Almost impressed. Still, it wasn’t enough.

You stared at the wall for a moment, mind racing, heart climbing your throat. There was no pen. No paper. No device to record the order. You had repeated the symbols in your head the entire way. That was why even the slightest move on Chishiya’s part could mess you up. That’s why you thought that was exactly what his plan was. And then, you made a decision.

Without warning, you yanked the hairpin from behind your ear and dragged it across the inside of your arm. Not deep — just enough to score skin, just enough to sting.

Chishiya’s voice sharpened. “What are you—”

You didn’t answer. You made a line. Then another. One for each symbol. You began marking them into your skin. Small scratches. Painful. Sharp. Unmistakable. A heart. A spade. A club. You could feel the memory etching itself into your body, a record carved into flesh. Chishiya didn’t move. Didn’t stop you. Just stared — and for the first time since you’d met him, something in his face changed.

His voice, when it finally came, was quieter than you expected.

“…You really don’t care what it costs, do you?” You looked up, breathing hard.

“No,” you said. “Not if it keeps me alive.”

And for a moment, just a moment, he looked at you like someone who’d been holding the edge of something dangerous… and was now starting to wonder if maybe he wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the room after all.

You moved fast after that.

Neither of you said much as you passed symbol after symbol. Some stained slightly with age, some pulsing red or black like they were alive. You marked them all into your arm with the sharp edge of your hairpin, your skin now streaked with pain and logic. Chishiya didn’t stop you. He didn’t ask for your record. He didn’t share his either. There was a kind of mutual madness forming between you now — the kind that only came when two people were forced to trust one another in a world that punished trust with death.

You checked the timer.

08:13

And up ahead: a split. Two corridors, one marked with a red pulse, the other black. A dead end for teamwork. You both stopped.

“We’ll have to split,” you said, breath steady despite the panic building behind your ribs. “There’s not enough time to cover both.”

Chishiya’s eyes narrowed, expression hardening into that unreadable calm you’d come to hate. He didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you.

And then finally: “You’re right” You didn’t nod. You didn’t need to. It was an understanding carved in silence.

You took the left. He took the right. The final corridor felt longer than the rest — too long. Your heart thundered as you ran, scanning the walls, scratching each suit into your already burning skin. It was also when you realized this would have been game over for you if you went together. “Come on, come on!” You scanned every wall, ever corner, every room behind every door. But then you stopped in your tracks. You held up your arm, counting the symbols etched into your skin with blood.

19.

19 symbols. There was only one left. You hid a small smile forming on your lips at the sheer brilliance of this game. Giving the player the illusion of having beat the game, just before shoving them face first, right into a wall. Only one of you would find a symbol. The last symbol. And your were forced to trust the other.

You reached the end — a wall, a faint glow, and there, the last sign.

A red heart.

You paused just long enough to sear it into your memory — into your arm — then turned and sprinted back, the maze a blur, your mind pulsing with one thought: You have to make it. You have to make it.

You found him already waiting in the final chamber, hands planted on the edge of the console, the screen glowing with a prompt:

ENTER COLORS IN ORDER. FINAL INPUT REQUIRED.

There was a tablet. A single line of blank squares and only two options to choose from: RED or BLACK.

You stepped forward, blood on your arm, breath ragged, eyes locked on the screen. He turned to you, jaw tense.

“I didn’t find any symbols in mine,” he said immediately. “Nothing. Not one.”

Your heart dropped slightly — not because of what he said, but because of what he didn’t. He didn’t trust you. But he didn’t need to. Because you knew what the last symbol was. So you had secured your own life. But was he a saboteur? We’re you doomed to leave here alone? And why did the thought of that make your heart ache very deep down.

“Why make us look for symbols when we enter only the color of the symbol?” You ask into the slight echo of the room.

“To confuse us, obviously. If you’re already stressed about remembering the symbols, now you need to think about what color the are…”

Chishiya went ahead and entered the colors in the right order. He didn’t even look at your arm, but you made sure to check. When he reached the last blank squares, he looked up at you.

You reached for your arm, pointing to the scratched-in trail of color.

“This was the last symbol.” You showed him the cut — heart-shaped. Red. “It’s red.” He stepped back, his face shifting. Not with panic — but suspicion. Too quiet. Too still.

“You found the last symbol,” he repeated slowly, eyes narrowing, “alone. After we split up. You expect me to believe that?”

“I—what?”

“It’s convenient, isn’t it?” he said, voice cold now, calculated. “I find nothing. You find the final input. And it just so happens to be the winning answer?”

“It’s not a guess, it’s what I saw,” you snapped, the air thick between you. “Why would I lie to you now?”

“Because,” he said, “if you’re the saboteur, this is your win condition. Feed me the wrong input. Get me to trust you. Finish the game and walk away clean.” Your pulse hammered. You didn’t have time for this.

You pointed at the clock.

01:44

“Chishiya,” you said, your voice lower, firmer, “if I was trying to win by tricking you, I would’ve done it earlier. I wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you now.”

He shook his head slightly. “Or maybe that’s part of the act. You did a great job, I have to admit. Making sure you show your distrust of me, making sure you make me feel like I can trust you by making me go with you, only to split up at the very end. Well done.”

You stepped toward him. He didn’t move.

“This isn’t chess,” you hissed. “There’s no strategy here. It’s a coin flip.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And I’ve trusted the wrong people before.”

00:57

“Are you trying to run out the time? Trying to gaslight me into making you choose? So you, the saboteur can choose wrong and win?”

You looked down at the tablet. One button: RED. One button: BLACK. Fifty-fifty. If you were wrong — or if he didn’t believe you — one of you would die. Or both. You stared at him, then at the screen, then back again. He was convinced of you being the saboteur. And if you knew anything about the man standing in front of you, he wouldn’t change his mind.

You watched as the final seconds started to count down. “God damn it, Chishiya, don’t do this shit, not now!” You yelled, panic clearly framing your eyes. He was covering the screen, you had no chance to just push him over. He was clearly stronger than you. It was over, the end. And in that final, maddening second of chaos — you made a decision.

You stepped closer, faster than he could react, closed the distance between you, grabbed the collar of his jacket — and kissed him.

His body froze. For a heartbeat — just one — his entire world fell silent. Silent in a different way than Tokyo did just two weeks ago.

And in that moment, your finger reached around his side and slammed down on the RED button.

The tablet beeped.

Processing…

Your lips broke apart, and his eyes met yours in confusion — not anger. Not yet. Just raw, blinking disbelief. Trying to decide whether to brace for death or for whatever awkwardness came now.

And then — the room lit up in soft white.

GAME CLEARED.

The collars unlocked with a click. Silence. Relieved breathing, though a little heavier from Chishiya’s side. Chishiya stared at you, still close, still stunned, as if trying to recalibrate everything he thought he understood about you — and maybe even about himself.

You stared right back, your pulse still racing, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or slap him.

Instead, you whispered: “Told you it was red.”

Chapter 3

#alice in borderland #chishiya enemies to lovers #chishiya smut #chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro #alice in boderland x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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pocket-goat · 1 year ago

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updated itties yayyy!!! i mainly wanted to fix suns' entire outfit, give moon and sig better shapes, and also make the difference between generations a bit more obvious! also, white eyed sig <3

extra rambles under the cut !!

-sig and pebbles are both technically 3rd generation iterators, but sig was one of the first of gen 3, while pebbles was one of the last

-moon and pebbles have matching cloaks, but pebbles' outfit was made for him while he was still being built and they misjudged the size of his puppet so his shit dont fit </3

-moon and suns, being from earlier generations, are built like ball jointed dolls, more specifically moon is! suns has a little more articulation than moon does

-pebbles and sig have much more articulation in their bodies, being from younger generations. pebbles especially has the widest range of movement in his puppet, and his hands are the most fine tuned and articulated

-moon was built with durability in mind, while pebbles was built with expression and looks in mind. because of this, moons outer shell doesnt crack, but she rusts easily, meanwhile pebbles cracked easily, but the metal of his puppet doesnt rust!

-the newer the model, the more common it is for them to have neon paint markings on their puppet, which was really just for aesthetics

-pebbles has the simplest cloak because his ancients kinda stopped caring at that point lmao. the strand of pearls around his waist was a gift from one of his maintenance workers who pitied him. he stores his most valuable info/memories on those pearls

#rain world #rain world fanart #fanart #pocket.png #rain world downpour #five pebbles #rain world five pebbles #looks to the moon #rain world looks to the moon #no significant harassment #rain world no significant harassment #seven red suns #rain world seven red suns #iterator #rain world iterator #slugcat #rain world slugcat #so many tags #pocket refs

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catcze · 2 years ago

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⠀「 Wearing his clothes 」

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 FEAT : 」 Kazuha, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Kaveh (separate) x gn! reader

!! Hello !! Haven't even had a shot of tequila for the night yet but I'm already writing, look at me go !!

[ #KAZUHA ]

This guy has the absolute comfiest sweaters and hoodies!!

They're the ones that are warm and soft from use, and that you know he's cared for over the years. They're also so good because they smell like him, too! Smells like sunshine and a light breeze, if that makes sense?

Kazuha's hoodies and sweaters are practically free range for you— at this point, half of the cozy clothes in your closet have been pilfered from him!

And he always encourages you to steal from him, too!

It's a cold day out today? Here, have his hoodie. No, don't worry about returning it. Just keep it over at yours and he'll pick it up sometime. (spoiler: he does not, in fact, pick it up)

Oh, he left his sweater behind at your place while you were hanging out? It's okay, just keep it for now.

But really, he does enjoy seeing you in his clothes! Like, for one, it's you wearing his cozy clothes, so he's insanely attracted to you when he sees that. And for another, it makes him happy seeing you all cozy and bundled up, you know?

[ #WRIOTHESLEY ]

For Wrio, his leather jackets and black button ups are the premiere option to snatch from him.

His jackets are insanely comfy! His leather jackets always keep you warm, and the way it drapes over you and smells like his cologne makes it kinda feel like he's giving you a hug :(

And as for his button ups, he buys the high quality ones, you know? None of those itchy ones that chafe or anything. His button ups are so good to wear, whether you button them up and use them as an actual shirt, or just wear them as an outer layer over another shirt.

Funny thing is though, though Wriothesley doesn't really care about which of his button ups you snatch, he's very particular when it comes to his jackets.

Like, he'll let you borrow them of course, and if you're on a date and you get cold, he'll drape it on your shoulders and let you wear it while he walks you home. He even lets you steal a few right out of his closet and scurry them over to your home, pretending that he doesn't see that your bag is noticeably bigger than when you came over.

But sometimes, you'll get a call from him late at night— "Babe, is my jacket with you?" "Which one?" He then names one of the many, many jackets you've stolen. "Oh. Yeah iIthink I have that with me." "Can I come over and get it? I want to use it when I go for a drive tonight." "At this hour?"

[ #NEUVILLETTE ]

Oh, Neuvillette's coats are to die for!

They're the good ones, the designer ones. My guy doesn't shop in the discount aisle— no, he's bougie.

His coats are incredibly cozy and stylish without being too bulky or heavy. They're big, though! Neuvillette is a big, tall guy, and his coats are the same.

It's almost like drowning in an ocean of (expensive) fabric when you steal borrow his coats. But you do it so often because they're so so so warm and cozy!

You always snatch some of his coats if you can— and Neuvi never voices any complaints. He just smiles, and sometimes even makes playful jokes about you going shopping in his closet.

It's to the point that whenever the weather's cold and he comes to pick you up, he brings a spare coat just for you.

He does the thing where he puts it on you, straightens it out, fixes your collar, makes sure you look presentable and nods to himself when he deems that you are— then ends it all with a kiss placed on your nose.

"That's your rental fee for all my clothes you've scurried away," apparently.

[ #KAVEH ]

HIS SWEATERS !!! They are sooo comfy !!

Kaveh buys his sweaters oversized and the kind that gives him sweater paws— those are the ones that you always go for when given free reign of his closet.

Can you help it?! They're oversized sweaters with sweater paws! And they smell like your boyfriend! And they're incredibly comfortable !

It's especially cute when you both go out in his sweaters— both of you look so cozy and warm, wrapped up in your big sweaters, holding sweater paws.

He probably spritzes his clothes with whatever perfume or cologne catches his fancy that week, so that you smell similar to him when you go out.

And! If one of the sweaters has one of those kangaroo pouch things, you guys hold hands inside the kangaroo pouch, so your hands stay nice and warm <3

He's such a cutie about it too. Kaveh always grins sooo wide when he sees you wearing his sweaters. Makes sure to hug you lots too, because you look insanely huggable like that.

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #genshin impact x reader #kazuha x reader #wriothesley x reader #neuvilette x reader #kaveh x reader #cw gn reader

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uyinq · 2 months ago

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scott street ☆ rhett abbott

chapter 1 — anyways, don't be a stranger.

[rhett abbot x reader] [artist! reader] [slow burn] [exes] [angst, fluff, and eventual smut]

❱❱ WORD COUNT﹕ 2,860

❱❱ SUMMARY﹕

Country living was never really your style– You always knew that. You always felt made for bigger things, better people, and concrete streets. You always hated Wabang, Wyoming– the close-knit community, the way people talked, and the fact that there were only a handful of things to do. But most of all, you hated the Abbotts. Especially after you handed your band-aid-covered heart to Rhett in high school, and he stomped all over it, digging his spurs into what you thought he would mend.

You shock everyone in town, including Rhett Abbott when you’re suddenly back in town, almost a decade after falling off the face of the Earth.

❱❱ WARNINGS﹕profanity, death, alcoholism, daddy issues, anxiety, hurt/comfort, smut.

❱❱ NOTES﹕ I’m in my Lewis Pullman era right now. No, this has absolutely no correlation to the actual plot of Outer Range. This is extremely self-indulgent and you can thank Phoebe Bridgers for it. Also, I’m from Appalachia, and I have a warped perspective on the differences between “Southern Country” and “Mountain West Country”. Please excuse me for any inaccuracies.

(divider from uzmacchiato)

★ chapters ﹒﹒ masterlist

The day you left, you didn’t tell anyone where you were going.

You didn’t have anyone worth telling, anyway.

The dirt road kicked up dust as you drove away from the old creamy white house in the middle of nowhere, a sinking feeling settled in your chest as the faded, red barn got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. All you packed was your clothes and your graduation money. Nothing else. Not even a damn toothbrush.

You floated for what felt like forever, coasting from one small town to the next, all the way to California. You knew the money was going to run out, so you started working at the old dingy motel you were staying in. You felt like a straggler, taking a backseat in your own life as some otherworldly force took the reins. Eventually, it clicked into place. After a year of twiddling your thumbs, waiting for someone to come fix you, you went to college. A Studio Art Degree, you decided– How foolish.

Four years of getting critiqued on meaningless things– That thumb is sideways, her arms are disproportionate, the eyes are too big– things you already knew. Four years of your life that others usually spent partying and acting a fool, you wasted. You did what you were supposed to, and you clung to your bed like it was your lifeline. Then it was over.

At least, the “fun�� part was. The debt wasn’t gone, and it probably wouldn’t be for another decade or two.

First, you worked as an assistant in a museum– Giving tours, making calls, and hosting galleries. Then you tried freelance, and you were dirt poor like every other artist in L.A. with dreams of making it big by posting on Instagram.

Now you’re a teacher’s assistant at the elementary school closest to your apartment. You love the kids– the way they light up when you compliment them or gasp in awe at their terrible creations. That is what art is about. It’s about expressing your truest, deepest self. Not to please someone else, but to show the world what you have inside of you.

It was a normal, chaotic day at Hopeland Elementary. Your students are a mess, giggling and squealing as they finger paint. The actual art teacher– Miss Diggs– looks like she's on the verge of a meltdown.

“Tyson, do not make me call your mother!” You still haven’t got used to her accent, all proper and northern. Something you should've been accustomed to by now. You giggle as Tyson smears red paint on the girl beside him, causing her to gasp and throw her hand up in the air like it's on fire. You stand up from where you’re crouched by another child’s desk, sauntering over to the troublemaker and his victim. They were just 2nd graders, and in all honesty, Tyson probably liked the poor girl with the beads in her braids. You’re about to gently reprimand him when your phone starts to ring on your desk.

You keep your notifications off for everyone except for three people. Your sister, your brother, and your mom.

You shoot Mrs. Diggs a look, one she knows all too well. When something is wrong or you need a minute, you give it to her. And she gives you the motherly one back that says; I’ve got you.

You pick up your phone, waiting to check the caller ID until you get into the hall. You flip your phone over, heart lurching into your throat at the sight of your sister’s name across the screen.

“Hello?” Your voice bounces off the walls of the empty hall, reverberating in your chest as you await her voice to greet you back in that same gentle twang she’s always had. Her voice is a little wobbly when she responds, your name spoken quietly, reverently.

“It’s Momma. She’s gone.”

You hadn’t seen trees like this in God knows how long.

Thickets of green, greeting you like a friendly face in a crowd of smiling mountains. You could see the forage in the plains, waving at you and welcoming you home as you flew overhead Wyoming.

When you stepped out of the airport, you smelled it. That familiar smell, a mixture of your daddy’s favorite beer and timothy hay. You would’ve been happy about it if Momma were waiting for you at home. But she wasn’t, and she never would be again.

You didn’t like your rental car. It was a dingy, old Prius that smelled like cleaning supplies and mildew. And you sure didn’t like how it handled the dirt roads, all bouncy and squeaky, even if you drove slow. You groaned as you got out of the car, slamming the flimsy door shut as you caught sight of the mud and pollen clinging to the piece of shit. You didn’t even want to think about how many times you were going to have to wash it.

The driveway is the same– Rough gravel, barren and grassy in splotches as you head toward the pathway that leads up to the house. The old screen door squeaks, in desperate need of WD-40 as you step into the threshold.

It smells like her.

It’s quiet inside, but you catch sight of your sister's shoes by the fireplace.

“Abi?”

She emerges from the kitchen, head peeking around the corner like a meerkat standing on its hind legs. She’s cooking, or at least attempting to, because all you can smell is something burning.

“Hey, chickadee!”

That dumbass nickname makes your stomach flutter as she bounds into the living room, picking you up and hugging you tight like the mother goose she is. You laugh, arms wrapping around her neck as you squeeze.

“Hey, Abigail.”

It goes quiet for a moment.

Grief has a way of making things awkward, especially when you’re not sure what you’re grieving in particular.

She pulls away first, hands on your arms as she gives you a once-over.

Abi was always touchy, from the moment you were born, she cradled you and held you like you were her own. At times, it felt like you were. She spent the majority of her teenage years with you.

She didn’t mind, of course.

“You’ve grown up,” is the second thing she says to you in person in almost a decade. It’s not a bad comment, it's an observant one. One that says; You’ve gotten better.

“So have you,” You quip back, reaching up to nudge at the absolute rock of an engagement ring on her finger. It’s about damn time Miles put a ring on it.

“I was going to tell you.” That sentence is always a weird one. Like a promise that’s broken the second it leaves someone's mouth.

“It’s okay,” You muster up, squeezing her hands as you step back and take her in. She looks older now, the good kind of old. The kind where you have smile lines instead of frown lines.

There it is again. Silence creeping up on you like a snake coiling up, ready to strike.

She addresses the elephant in the room first.

“There’s not going to be a funeral. We’re gonna let her ashes float down Macawood.”

You chuckle at the mention of the river that runs through your family’s land, shaking your head.

“That's what she wanted?” You ask, not a trace of doubt in your tone. You’re confirming it, although neither of you should care what your mother would’ve wanted.

“Mhm.”

It should’ve been harder to get settled into your childhood bedroom. Maybe you should’ve stayed up, staring at the pictures and memories that lined the walls and floors. Yet you sank into the twin-sized bed anyway, falling asleep just as hard as you did after a long day at school.

You thought it would be harder, watching your mother’s ashes scatter as the wind picked up, Abi’s hands wrapped around the container holding her as she gently poured her into the river. For some fucked up reason, you felt a weight come off your shoulders. You watched a few gray flecks touch the water like pollen before dissipating like dust.

You should’ve taken it harder when Abi told you over dinner that she didn’t want the property, nor did your brother, Mike.

It made sense he didn’t, considering he cut her off in the last few years of her life, and he didn’t even come to scatter her ashes.

But despite everything she put you through, Abi was the one who stuck by her side. She didn’t protect her from the criticism or stray from it herself, but she stayed with her. Held her hand as everything faded away and her heart monitor stopped its steady beeping.

You nearly spit out your water when she tells you, letting your cup hit the old wooden table.

“Abi, we don’t have anyone else to watch this land. We can’t just let everything sit here and rot.” She shrugged.

“We can sell it and split it.”

For some reason, that rubbed you the wrong way. Anyone with half a mind knows you don’t sell land when you inherit it. It’s an easy way to make money if you do it right. And your daddy was probably turning in his goddamn grave.

“No.” You say it a bit more sternly than you mean to, shaking your head.

You’re not sure why. You’re the one who up and left and didn’t tell a damn soul where you were going. Not even your mother. You hated this town– everybody in it, too.

Abi’s just as shocked as you are when you refuse to sell the land almost immediately.

“I don’t work in the summers. I can stay here from June 'till August,” You suggest, and Abi chuffs. “What about the other nine months of the year?”

You want to slam your head on the table. You were hoping she would come up with something better than that.

“Abi, you don’t sell land you already own. Especially in Wyoming. It’s farm land.” She shrugs a second time.

“I don’t know a thing about farming, chickadee. This is your dad’s land, not mine.” There it is– that gentle reminder. You aren’t full-blooded siblings, you just had the same mom. And at the end of the day, the house in Wabang was your problem now.

It’s just a trial run. Is the same sentence you’ve repeated a million times in your mind for the past month, trying to convince yourself that you’re not stuck in Wabang again. All you’re doing is staying for the summer. That’s it.

It hurt a little when you had to get rid of your mom’s things to make room for your own, even though she was the world’s worst hoarder, and nothing you got rid of held any emotional significance. Other than the sheer fact it was her’s.

It hurt even more when you sat alone in the living room for the first time in forever, staring up at the pictures of your dysfunctional family on the wall. You didn’t know it until you were old enough to think for yourself– how bad it was. How it wasn’t normal when your parents fought like that. How it wasn’t normal when your mother turned simple things like spilling milk into a big deal.

You purse your lips, running through the memories that still like to haunt you, like ghosts with unfinished business in your mind.

When you moved to Wabang, no one was nice. They were kind and polite, but not nice. It was middle school, and all the boys had emotions taller than themselves. Your hormones were out of whack, and all you wanted to do was make sure no one ever felt the way you felt. Completely and utterly alone.

The girls whispered behind your back and smiled at your face. The boys whispered at you, all the same.

They’d say one sweet thing to your face, and cave into peer pressure the second they got around their friends, spewing profanities while they had extensive conversations about your body.

You remember the first time a boy paid you any mind.

It was the county fair, the fall of your freshman year.

You were standing in line for the swings, giggling with one of the few girls you could stand when she nudged you. She said your name softly, like she was afraid she was about to scare something away.

“That Abbott boy’s got his eye on you.” You laughed her off at first, until she nudged you again.

“Don’t look now–” But you looked anyway. And she was right.

It wasn’t Perry– of course not. He was too old for you. It was Rhett who stared at you, probably 50 feet away from you, waiting in line for the teacup ride that the boys liked to tear up.

He was surrounded by his friends, but he didn’t even attempt to hide those googly eyes. You giggled at his outfit without meaning to, the way he didn’t quite fit in his jeans yet, his disposition still awkward and boyish.

You grunt at the memory, shaking it off as you curl up to the pillow you didn’t even realize you were holding.

You had gone years without thinking of him. That dimpled smile, that hair that was always just a little bit too long. You nearly vomit at the mental image of him.

Then you stuff your face into the pillow and groan again.

You forgot how simple it was in tiny towns like this.

There’s only a handful of old grocery stores because the old folk hate to break tradition and try anything new like a damn Walmart. No, the folks around here don’t need a Walmart, because they grow and raise their crops and livestock. They could live off the land if they weren’t in desperate need of beer and liver medication.

You slide a bag of chicken feed off the shelf you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes, catching it in your arms like you’re cradling a baby. After a little wandering and realizing you’re not going to be able to carry much more, you saunter up to the counter.

“I’ll be damned.” The man behind the counter grins, shaking his head as he gets one good look at you. He says your name, staring at you like you’re an alien.

“I thought you booked it out of here when you turned 18.” You remember him, of course. His name is Dan, and he’s always owned Dan’s Department Store. You chuckle awkwardly, trying to sink into the floor as he makes casual conversation. You tell him things you probably shouldn’t, like how you wandered around for a year before you finally went to college. You certainly don’t miss the way he cringes when you tell him you have a bachelor’s degree in studio art. You expected it, especially from closed-minded folk in Wyoming who don’t realize how integral and important art is.

The bell rings above the front door, pulling you both out of your 20-minute, extensive conversation about how “making money is more important than following childhood dreams”. You would dwell on that if it weren’t for the man sauntering into the department store like he owns the place.

He tilts his hat up, jutting his thumb toward the section where the two-stroke oil is.

“You still chargin’ 10 dollars for this shit, or can I finally buy it for a normal price?” A violent bolt of lightning shoots down your spine, crawling down to your toes before it ricochets back up, something buzzing in your brain.

You knew that voice. That cocky disposition, that smile, those hands–

“Abbott, what did I tell you about trying to negotiate prices with me? You very quickly forget about everything you were supposed to purchase, dropping your head as you zoom past the counter and out the door. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest, your hands are clammy, and your legs are carrying you faster than your mind is.

You curse as your fingers twitch and shake as you try to crank your car, praying and hoping Dan won’t notice you left your shit sitting on the counter.

You didn’t even pull out of your driveway this fast when you left Wyoming. But here you are, spinning tires as you pull out of the parking lot and press your foot on the gas like you’re on the run.

You mull it over in your mind a million times when you get home.

What kind of idiot does something like that?

Flees a damn store, leaving their groceries behind just because they spot their high school ex?

A normal person would make polite conversation, ignore the tension, and the things that happened. Because it was all such a long time ago, almost a million years ago.

But to you, it wasn’t. You remember it all like it was yesterday.

But the worst part? Rhett is strikingly attractive now. Mature-looking, even. Like a man.

So you play the embarrassing moment over and over in your head for hours.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbot x you #outer range #lewis pullman #lewis pullman fanfic

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eamour · 1 year ago

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the bridge of events.

something that most of us eventually do or have done is try to "fix" a certain situation in our physical worlds. we have encountered something very unlikable and therefore want to "un-manifest" it by thinking of a way to do so. however, that's not your job. moreover, that's not your GOAL.

definition.

the "bridge of events" refers to the lined up situations you will have to experience or go through in order to reach the physical fulfillment of your desire. it's an unpredictable process that describes how, when and where you will receive your desire in the outer world, basically the "bridge" that's between your current and your desired reality.

disregard the bridge.

can you decide the way in which your heart's desires are going to come to fruition? most definitely, you can. but you don't have to. see, you don't have to come up with a detailed solution on how an unfavourable situation is going to change to a favourable one. you don't have to mess around with logical possibilities and realistic outcomes. actually, you don't even need to be bothered by it. you do not need to worry at all.

concentrate on the destination.

you only need to be concerned about WHAT you want, nothing and no one else. you need to focus on what's at the end of the line and fixate your mind on it. nail your thoughts on the version of yourself who HAS and IS what you wish to have or be already, and don't care about the obstacles in your reality. don't "reason" your way into obtaining your desire. go to the end and make sure to stay in alignment with that version of yours. dwell on that version. be it, be the end, not the bridge. do not wait or wonder. enjoy your desire. experience it in the mind. within an infinite range of realities, your desired one already EXISTS!

renounce all circumstances.

if you witness something that brings you off track or just generally throws you off your path, what are you going to do?

exactly, you are going to dismiss it. it's entirely up to you if you use a different term to deal with the outer world — such as ignore, renounce, abandon, neglect, reject, refuse — as long as you do not accept it as true.

whatever happens physically is none of your concern, none of your interest and not worth your time, energy and attention. do not let it get in your way. do not let it affect or influence your new, freshly established assumptions. because the undesirable reality that's currently being displayed isn't the reality you want to begin with. the reality you are manifesting ISN'T the one you are experiencing right now! it has nothing to do with you. you are not obligated to accept or associate yourself with it. it holds no truthfulness, no rightness, no correctness and definitely no realness. and remember: it does not serve as a form of validation either!

do not interfere with the physical. do not intervene. do not take action. withhold from any acts that do not take place in the mind. leave the world as it is, as the old reality doesn't reflect your new one anymore.

consequently, feel the way you would feel and then let go of it. you want to distance yourself from the story that's no longer yours. you no longer identify with that version of self anymore.

"the display of the old story and its circumstances isn't an invitation to return back to it."

persist in imagination.

let it come to pass. let it unfold in your reality. simply persist in your newly chosen reality. select your desired reality every day and don't stop. accept it as true, as correct and as real. your imagination is your confirmation. your imaginative acts are your source of validation. so have faith and trust yourself.

the thing is, if you continuously persist in your desired outcome, you are going to walk the bridge one way or another. your desire is going to announce itself and you will acknowledge it — there is no way around it! it WILL show up, and you WILL notice it. you HAVE to. that's the law!

with love, ella.

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lavendarr00 · 6 days ago

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My Personal Kingdom Come Deliverance 2 Modlist

I’ll update this list as I find more mods I enjoy!

Gameplay

Praise Hans Redone Tournament Preferences Stronger Hans Capon Bow Play Dice With Hans Capon Stay Clean Longer Rain Cleans Easy To See Herbs Realish Prostitution

Armor & Clothing

Henry's Iconic Plate Outer Garments Refined Garments Custom Clothing & Armor Silver Lys Gear Capon's Combat Drip Armor Edits & Fixes

Graphics & Textures

Enhanced Global Illumination and Lighting Dynamic Fog - Weather - Lighting Rabbit's Realistic Kingdom Reshade HD Henry and Hans Verdant Vegetation Landscape and Materials Overhaul Enhanced Common Furniture Enhanced Entertainment Pack Ultimate Clothing and Armor Overhaul Detailed Everyday Objects Horse Equipment HD Enhanced Alchemy 4k Enhanced Alchemy - Checkers Contribution

Camera Tools/Photography

Otis Camera Tools ReShade IGCS Depth of Field No Depth of Field in Conversations Hide Ranged Weapons Outside Battle

Remember to read mod descriptions carefully & download all requirements! 🤍

#kingdom come deliverance #modlist #kcd2 mods #kcd2 #kingdom come deliverance 2 #henry of skalitz #hans capon #hansry #virtual photography

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drunkwhenimadethis · 10 months ago

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She does not know her value or why people like her. She keeps trying to fix whoever she is with, but of course she never can. Who is she trying to repair and make better? The focus is too much outside herself. She worries she will burden others, so she does not verbalise her needs or depressions. Habitual defensive responses are associated with a wide range of rigid patterns governing the self and other and the rather empty experience of relationships. These cement the feelings of shame, guilt, grief or anxiety while inhibiting and repressing other feelings such as anger, curiosity or aliveness.

How do children learn to defend against the blank spaces from parents? When feelings are split off and a pseudo maturity takes over, they feel they either lack a solid identity or have a fluid sense of self (Mizen, 2014, p. 316). The inner world remains undeveloped and its riches unplumbed. This is not apparent to the outer world as already in childhood people like Vala become adept at hiding reactions and are self-reliant, leaving dependency needs unexpressed as they learn no good can come from expressing them.

Susan E. Schwartz, Imposter Syndrome and The ‘As-If’ Personality in Analytical Psychology: The Fragility of Self

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fishfooddude · 11 months ago

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Wedding Date

Rhett Abbott Blurb

Outer Range MasterList

Directory

“Ain’t you a beaut.” Rhett teased as you walked out of the hotel bathroom. You rolled your eyes, “I swear. I’m gonna either make her wear something more horrendous at my wedding or elope and deny her the opportunity to do any bride’s maid stuff.” you huffed as you looked at your reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Your sister was getting married in a few hours, and you’d opted out of getting your hair and makeup done by the hired makeup artist to postpone putting on the monstrosity that was the orange puffy dress she’d demanded all the bride’s maids wore.

“Baby, you forgot the flowers.” Rhett chuckled as he watched you push the pair of diamond studs he’d gotten you for your birthday in your ears. “Oh, I know I did. What kind of bride chooses orange as one of their wedding colors? No one looks cute in orange.” you huffed as you went to dig for the hair flowers in the bottom of your suitcase that had been sprawled out on the bed. “Well, what color would you choose?” Rhett voiced as he struggled to do his tie.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” you implored as you walked back to the mirror to place the flowers over the jumble of bobby pins you’d used to pin your hair back. Rhett chuckled and closed the space between you, hugging your waist from behind. “You’d be a pretty bride.” he purred as he nuzzled his face into the crock of your neck, taking in the tantalizing aroma of your perfume, “Pretty lil wife…”

You giggled as his subtle stubble grazed your neck, “Well if my guy proposes…I’d be more than happy to get married at the courthouse.” you cooed before turning in his arms to fix his tie. Rhett grinned as he kissed your forehead, “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Jus’ know that my Mom wants you to try on her dress.”

“Well, until then, you can just be my wedding date.” you laughed.

#rhett abbott one shot #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbot fluff #rhett abbot fan fic #rhett abbot x reader #outer range fluff #outer range imagine #outer range fan fic #outer range x reader #outer range fic

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schizoidvision · 2 months ago

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5 Signs You're Learning to Function as a Schizoid Without Burning Out

Many people with schizoid traits gradually come to realize that functioning in a world driven by social expectations, emotional availability, and constant interaction requires more from them than it does for others. While mainstream life encourages more visibility, more communication, and more emotional labor, schizoids often adopt an opposite strategy: doing less, but doing it deliberately. Over time, some of us develop sustainable ways to function that don't push us into emotional fatigue or sensory overload.

Here are five signs you're learning to function as a schizoid without burning out:

1. You Prioritize Solitude Without Guilt Instead of forcing yourself to be more social or emotionally available, you start protecting your solitude like it's oxygen. It’s no longer something you justify or feel bad about... it’s a necessary part of your functional strategy. You may block out parts of the day or week that are non-negotiable alone time, knowing that without it, your internal world becomes compromised.

2. You Set Boundaries Without Needing to Explain One of the clearest signs of growth is when you stop overexplaining your distance. Whether it’s saying no to a call, stepping out of a group setting, or choosing not to disclose emotional content, you begin to hold your boundaries as valid... whether others understand or not. This isn’t defensiveness. It’s efficiency. You’re not trying to be misunderstood; you’re managing energy for survival.

3. You Choose Functional Roles Over Social Ones Rather than striving to be liked or seen as friendly, you aim for clarity and efficiency. Roles that allow you to contribute meaningfully while keeping interpersonal demand low become preferable. You might gravitate toward jobs, routines, or even domestic arrangements that allow for structure, solitude, and minimal emotional labor. You still show up... you just stop pretending to be someone else when you do.

4. You Create Mental Scripts to Minimize Energy Drain Social interactions that once felt unpredictable start to become manageable because you build internal scripts. Whether it's pre-planned responses, patterned conversation formats, or exit phrases, you develop methods for keeping social engagement short and contained. This isn't manipulation... it's a form of pacing. Predictability means you use less mental bandwidth, leaving more room for your actual interests and thoughts.

5. You Accept Emotional Distance as a Constant, Not a Problem Rather than trying to fix your lack of emotional expressiveness or feeling "broken" because of your detachment, you start to see it for what it is: a stable baseline. Emotional distance isn't emptiness. It's structure. You learn that your range of experience is valid, even if it doesn't match external norms. This allows you to stop chasing emotional access that might never feel organic, and instead, to work with the range you have.

Summary... Functioning with schizoid traits doesn’t mean trying to become more like everyone else. It means learning to recognize how you operate, and making deliberate choices that protect your inner world while allowing you to survive the outer one. Budgeting energy, protecting solitude, and avoiding unnecessary emotional strain aren’t avoidance patterns... they’re signs of mastery.

Some people might not understand why you move the way you do. But for those of us on the schizoid spectrum, these adjustments can mean the difference between burning out and building a life that’s actually livable.

Schizoid Education Videos

#schizoid pd #schizoid #schizoid dynamics #schizoid personality disorder #schizoid vision #cluster a #szpd #schizoid adaptations #schizoid defenses

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ckret2 · 2 months ago

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Thoughts on the "Department of Vision Supervision?"

Because from that phrase on the eye chart, Bill claiming that talking about Up was "illegal" and the ominous poem on the silly straw page, it read to me like there's some kind of cover up or at least medical abuse going on. But then in your fic, so far it seems like the eye doctor is treating typical eye problems- not trying to "make his patient blind" at all.

(Is this spoilers? I'm thinking it might be spoilers).

idk how many of my other posts you've seen, but my headcanon is that the eye doctor wasn't trying to make his patient blind.

Bill says his mutation is rare. I don't think there were medical interventions in place to systematically deal with and suppress this "rare" mutation. I think, because it was rare, the doctor had no idea what he was actually dealing with and wildly misdiagnosed Bill.

The eye doctor was trying to treat what he—mistakenly—believed was a normal eye condition, the medicine successfully gave Bill a more "normal" range of vision—

—and a normal range of vision meant closing off his ability to see beyond the second dimension.

If you were born with the ability to see through walls—you could see the whole world and outer space at once—and then at age three a doctor thought you had blurry vision and forced you to wear glasses that were meant to fix blurry vision but actually took away your ability to see through walls... you'd feel blinded too.

It wasn't done maliciously, but it made Bill's life worse, and it required a bunch of adults ignoring a tiny child crying and complaining about what the medicine was doing to his vision because they thought they understood his needs better than he did.

#(and I think what happened to bill at the eye doctor had absolutely nothing to do with rules about talking about 'up')#(which is why i didn't mention it in my answer lmao)#kbb306 #ask #bill cipher #the book of bill #headcanons

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jackjawcaptain · 6 months ago

Text

Tori's Masterlist of Works From AO3 (A-Z)

Started 1-29-25

Updated 7-17-25

*All FICS ARE 21+*

Assassin's Creed

Ezio Auditore de Firenze Aged Like Fine Wine (completed, pure smut, self indulgent)

Jacob Frye Fatal Attraction (ON HOLD, dark fic, older!Jacob Frye, takes place in the Jack The Ripper DLC)

Alexios or Deimos At The Mercy of Fate (completed, dark smut, extreme dubious consent)

Crimson Peak

Alan McMichael

Escape from Crimson Peak (completed, youngest sharp sibling!reader, reader is caught in the middle of the plot between Lucille and Edith, reader and Edith are besties, tragic angst)

Cyberpunk 2077

Johnny Silverhand

Ivory Towers and Guitar Picks (completed, older works, use of Y/N, Reader is an adopted daughter of Saburo Arasaka and then she meets the infamous Johnny Silverhand, tragic romance, contains smut)

Sweet Child of Mine (completed, fluff, happy ending for Johnny, use of Y/N, super self indulgent)

Gotta Teach Em' Young (completed, sort of sequel to Sweet Child of Mine but can be read as stand alone, no use of Y/N, pregnant!reader, soft Johnny)

A Tale of Twins in Night City (completed, super short fix-it fic, reader is V's twin)

Male!V

The Merc, The Princess and The Rocker (IN PROGRESS, Male!V meets Jackie's sister and instantly falls in love and wants to give her everything in the world. Things go wrong when he wakes up with a terrorist in his head, contains smut, fix-it fic)

Final Fantasy

Noctis Lucis Caelum

Defying the Odds (completed, fix-it fic, contains smut, astral!reader)

Barnabas Tharmr

Always Been Mine (IN PROGRESS, Rosfield!reader + Leviathan!reader, Barnabas is ordained to be your man and takes you away after Phoenix Gate)

Gladiator II

General Marcus Acacius

Ruined (completed, not movie accurate, princess!reader, arranged marriage, angsty)

inFamous

Delsin Rowe

Smoke and Lightning (completed, Reggie doesn't die, reader is Cole's sister who also has lightning powers)

Interview With The Vampire

Lestat de Lioncourt

His Favorite Human (completed, based off the 1994 movie, haven't seen the show yet, angsty romance, open ending, selfish Lestat)

Legend of Zelda

Link (BOTW/TOTK)

Running Out of Time (completed, princess!reader, follows the time leading up to BOTW, reader is Zelda's older sister, angst over heavy prophecy for duty and country)

Marvel

Benjamin Poindexter

Two North Stars (completed one shot, a brief look into Reader and Dex's life, plus Matt Murdock befriends reader as is there for the birth of Dex's baby while he's in prison)

Robert Reynolds/Sentry/Void

Divine Entity (IN PROGRESS, Phoenix!reader crash lands into earth and grows up in a lab then meets Robert in the lab in Malaysia, follows Thunderbolts* movie somewhat, smut in part 2.)

Sergei Kravinoff/Kraven

My Little Sunshine (completed one shot, pregnant!reader, Sergei being a girl dad, fluff to the max)

My Bloody Valentine (1981 & 2009)

Harry Warden

I'll Take You Away (completed, Harry Warden comes for you during his parade of blood because you kept him sane while he was down in the dark, smut and pregnancy mention, Valentine's Day Special 2024)

Cupcakes and Blood (ON HOLD, your crush on Harry is evident, smut to come, Valentine's Day Special 2025)

Outer Range (TV)

Rhett Abbott

Rhett's Girl (IN PROGRESS, childhood sweethearts, Rhett defends your honor against your dad who was never supportive of your relationship, marriage and smut in the following part)

Star Wars

Cal Kestis

Where The Moon Blossoms Grow (completed, SMUT, reunited after Order 66, follows the path of Jedi Survivor)

Din Djarin

Arguing in the Rain (very first work to AO3, completed, fluff and angst)

Qimir (The Stranger)

Fill in the Blanks (completed, memory loss then its regained, light smut)

The Outsiders (1983)

Steve Randle

Love Like Sunlight (completed one shot, fluff and angst, reader is a Curtis cousin from Texas, Soc!Reader)

Top Gun

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Half As Long, Twice As Bright (completed, childhood sweethearts, includes Icemav being parents + Ethan Hunt being Pete Mitchell's twin)

Ties That Bind (completed, Halloween special 2024, includes Icemav being protective parents)

Forget About Your Ex (completed, Mitchell!Reader comes back home for springbreak after catching her bf in bed with her roommate, Bradley comforts you, SMUT)

A Father's Flight (IN PROGRESS, Ice becomes a father when a fellow pilot dies after a car accident, childhood sweethearts, + Icemav and bonding over newfound parenthood)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Angel Wings (completed, first fic for the Top Gun fandom, Bradshaw!Reader)

One With The Sea (completed, Mermaid AU, mermaid!reader)

When Shadows Meet Again (IN PROGRESS, prominent Icemav, Regency AU, Jake is Tom's Son)

In A Galaxy Far Far Away (completed, combo of Star Wars + Top Gun, prominent Icemav)

It's You, It's Me, It's Us (IN PROGRESS, latina!coded reader, childhood sweethearts, Mav walked out but comes back)

Twisters

Scott Miller

For The First Time (completed, Harding!Reader, childhood sweethearts, break up but gets back together)

Unknown Roads (completed, Harding!Reader, twister takes you back to 1996, Scott attempts to save his dad)

Tyler Owens

Won't Let You Go (completed, platonic Kate/Reader, Harding!Reader)

Whipping Winds (completed, first fic in the fandom after watching the movie)

Make Me A Daddy (completed, smut one-shot, fucking in Tyler's truck during a twister)

Love You To Mars and Back (completed, christmas special one-shot, very Hallmark coded, Harding!Reader)

Into The Storm (completed, Harding!Reader and Tyler get sucked up by a twister that takes them back to 1996, angst and fluff, inspired by Back To The Future, going 88 miles per hour into a twister)

Be There When I Wake (IN PROGRESS, 50th fic on Ao3, reader is Javi's sister and was in a coma, wakes up to Tyler's handsome face)

Ultraman: Rising (2024)

Ken/Kenji Sato

A Brave New World (completed, most popular fic on my account, established relationship with Ken, basically follows the movie, fluffy goodness, reader is Emi's stepmom)

Vampyr (Video Game)

Dr. Jonathan Reid

Small Joy (completed, pregnant!reader, Jonathan falls in love with you despite being a newborn vampire and that you're pregnant with your late husband's child)

Stress Relief (completed, helping Jonathan study leads to shameless sex, smut)

Vox Machina (coming soon)

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fawninthetrees · 28 days ago

Text

Pearl

Chapter 3: Fords and Deeres

Synopsis: You return to Wabang after eight years. The life you tried so hard to run from threatens to swallow you.

A/N: Sorry guys, I got hit by a car (jk). Anyway here is the 3rd chapter. I repurchased prime just so I could watch outer range again. I genuinely don’t know wtf is going on in the show, but sexy cowboy. This ff will loosely follow some of what happens, at least as much as I can understand.

Warnings: Wildly inaccurate descriptions of car repairs (sorry, I only know how to change a tire)

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You opened your family’s auto shop back up the monday after the funeral. You had taken the shop keys off your fathers ring and attatched it to yours. A flood of people came in and you found yourself having to work on three cars in one day, the next day two, and the day after that four. It was amazing how many people in Wabang needed the help. But the work helped distract you, which you were greatful for.

Three weeks in and you had fallen into a rhythm and were currenlty elbows deep in a 1978 C/K10 which belonged to Mr. Mason, the owner of The Handome Gambler. He promised free drinks for two months if you could figure out why the truck made such a god-awful (his words) noise when he drove it.

You would never turn down free drinks. Thus, you were bent over the engine cranking an allen wrench as you tried to remove a faulty piece. The garage part of the shop had no AC so you had three rotating fans pointing at you. Unfortunately, that did nothing to prevent the sweltering Wyoming heat. Sweat dripped down your nose and you impatiently rubbed it off. A few hours ago you discarded the sleeves of your jumpsuit in a poor attempt to cool down.

You were alerted by the jingle of the bells that hung over the front door. “I’m in the back!” you shouted, arms flexing as you continued to unscrew.

You heard boots shuffle in and come to a halt somewhere behind you. “What can I do for you?” you asked without removing your head from the engine.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said.

Rhett.

You finally unscrewed the cap. Someone had attatched the wrong piece. A cap that belonged to a 1976 Chevy was forced onto a 1978. You wondered what idiot made that mistake. You tossed the cap onto the tool chest and tugged a cloth out of your waistband and wiped off as much grease as you could before turning around.

“What can I do for you?” you repeated, leaning against the truck and folding your arms in front of you.

Rhett had his hands stuffed into his pocket. He wore nice fitting blue jeans, his scuffed boots, and a red flannel. His eyes were on the ground, as if the oil stained concrete was infinitely more interesting.

“Tractor isn’t working, needs a new belt.”

You hadn’t expected your first conversation back with him to be about a damn John Deere. You actually had it planned out, a result of restless nights over the course of eight years. You were gonna punch him, a clean right hook to the jaw, and then demand to know what the fuck was wrong with him.

There goes that plan.

“I see,” you said. “You know the tool shop is open? You could have grabbed it yourself.”

He looked up at you then. “Yeah… but… I guess I wanted to come talk to you first.”

You snorted at that, turning your back to him and reaching for the 1978 cap and wrench. You tucked yourself back into the hood and began screwing it on. “Had about 8 years to do that, Abbott.”

You heard him wince. You never used his last name with him, that was always reserved for Perry. More specifically, when Perry pissed you off. Which was often.

You busied yourself with fixing the truck. You knew he would wait for you, he had always been determined when he made up his mind to do something. When you finished, you slammed the hood shut and made your way to the drivers seat and jammed the keys in. The engine hummed, no weird rattling sound outside of what was appropriate. You clicked your tongue in approval. Yay, free beer.

“Well, talk,” you said, removing the keys and locking them up for safe keeping.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” he said softly.

You took out your phone to text Mr. Mason that the truck was finished. You pocketed your phone and walked past Rhett.

“Yeah, me too. Now, let’s get you that belt.”

You stayed ahead of him, leading him to row 15 before coming to a halt. Scanning the shelf and after a few seconds, found it. John Deere belt. You plucked it out of the box.

“Did Ceclia ask you to check on me?”

He shook his head. “What? No, the tractor really is broken. Royal told Perry to get the belt... but I told him I would.”

You hummed. “How is he? Heard he had a kid now.”

“Yeah, Amy.”

You nodded. “Saw her at the funeral, she’s cute… where’s her mom?”

“Left Perry 9 months ago, haven’t heard from her since.”

Yikes.

You led him to the register. Tapping at the ancient machine. “37.49.”

“I wanted to call.”

Ahh, there it was.

You looked up at him then. His brows were drawn together apologetically, and he wore that little frown he always had when he’d done something wrong. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“But you didn’t.” you took his cash, a fifty. “You made the decision to stop.” you clicked a few more buttons on the register and it shot open, knocking into your hip. You counted bills and stuck out your hand to give him his change.

“And i’ve regretted it everyday since.”

“Big of you.”

Rhett said your name in a pleading way that made your heart ache. You knew he meant it. He had never been one to lie to you. And even if he was, he would have scratched neck, his tell.

“Why?” you asked, searching his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he scratched his neck.

You always thought his eyes were beautiful. They were the same shade as cobalt. Like the sky right before the clouds gathered for rain. He was the only one in his family with blue eyes. As kids, you joked that it was because he was adopted. Perry used to say it’s because he dropped Rhett one too many times.

“Yes you do.” you sat the money down on the counter, no longer interested in keeping up conversation. “When you feel like sharing, give me a call.” and then you laughed humorlessly. “Oh, wait.”

You left Rhett Abbot in your shop, gazing longingly after you.

#lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader #outer range #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott #rhett abbott imagine

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gallifreyanhotfive · 1 year ago

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 36

The Eighth Doctor has referred to Time Lord society as "bitchy" before. (Audio: Seasons of Fear)

Maximelos and the Three Ogrons was a children's fairy tale on Gallifrey that the First Doctor heard as a child before being initiated into the Academy. (Short Story: Nothing O'Clock)

Peri once turned the song "Wild Boys" up in order to drown out the Sixth Doctor's opera singing. (Short Story: A Star is Reborn)

Susan failed her maths exam because she had forgotten that Britain hadn't moved to the metric system yet (despite the fact that the First Doctor had tried to get her to remember at least that). (Short story: Extracts from the Doctor’s 500 Year Diary)

The Doctor had a bear when he was young but had to release it when it started eating all the furniture. (Audio: Cuddlesome)

Jo and Cliff Jones frequently work with David Attenborough (Short Story: Greyhound)

The Tenth Doctor and Rose Tyler got caught in 1914 Belgium in a battle between Germans and an alien Warfreekz. Rose stopped the war by singing "Angels" by Robbie Williams, which made all sides think she was the Angel of Death come to take their dead to Heaven. (Comic: Warfreekz!)

When the Fifth Doctor broke his spine and was subsequently paralyzed, he thought he would regenerate. (Audio: Devil in the Mist)

The Toymaker once turned the Eighth Doctor into a doll. (Audio: Solitaire)

Chancellor Delox was a lecturer at the Academy who expelled the Doctor from her class after discovering he had not returned to his House for Otherstide. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

The Second Doctor remembered being something of an acrobat in his First body before age had taken its toll. (Novel: Heart of TARDIS)

The Doctor's TARDIS has an entire snowy mountain range inside of it. (Audio: The Settling)

The console room of the Monk’s TARDIS has a comfy chair covered in comic books in it. (Audio: The Black Hole)

The Tenth Doctor recovered from his regeneration in part because of tea but also in part because he took energy from his Third incarnation, who was nearby. (Short story: The Christmas Inversion)

The Sixth Doctor continued to try to fix the TARDIS chameleon circuit after Attack of the Cybermen. This caused the outer shell to shift to all sorts of odd forms, such as Nelson's column, a giant strawberry, a train engine, a clock, a Christmas tree, a giant Radio Times, and more. (Comic: Quick Change)

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macabr3-barbi3 · 1 year ago

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dream a little dream (of me) - chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

With new abilities comes fun- and some new problems.

SLOW MOVING BUT WE'RE GETTING THERE FOLKS- have a healthy dose of both plot and angst bc I have no self control hehehe

Those that asked to be tagged (if I missed you or tagged by mistake I AM SORRY AHHH)! @fraugwinska (MY LOVE MY DEAR MY MUSE 💛) @aconstructofamind @littlebluefishtail @spottypug @dennsfz

@bishiglomper @ivebeenthearchersstuff @martinys-world @minamilinaqueen

Tags: Dream Sex; Dreamsharing; Vaginal Sex; Rough Sex; Light Bondage; Dreamwalking; Clone Sex; Threesome - F/M/M; Tentacles; Overstimulation; Angst

Comments and feedback are always loved and appreciated thank u and enjoy 🫶

In the weeks following Alastor ripping his stitches open, you are careful to avoid his dreams- and his bed- so that he can properly recover this time. After his wound heals, when Alastor starts stepping out for errands away from the Hotel again, you start practicing your newfound abilities.

You nap in your own room at times when Husk is off duty and start small- knocking over bottles on the shelf while he speaks with Angel or Charlie in his dreams. Loosening his bowtie so he has to fix it when it starts dangling off his throat. Replacing the alcohol in his glass with various juices and other liquids- and okay, maybe replacing all of the vodka with water was a step too far, since that’s what eventually made Husk start looking around the lobby in suspicion in his dreams. You just hovered on the outer edges of his consciousness, hidden in the shadows of the lobby and watching, messing with things a bit.

Niffty was next, and under any other circumstances you would have felt bad about conjuring a wave of roaches from the closet she was about to open; the little cyclops had a blast though, pulling out her tiny dagger and stabbing away as she was carted off down the hallway, giggling maniacally. It was during this dream that you realized you could vanish, blend into the background of the dreamscape as easily as Alastor shifted into shadows. Niffty had no clue you were there as she rode the wave of bugs into consciousness.

There was only so much that you could really test without the person knowing about it- you didn’t want to try your luck with Vaggie or Charlie without knowing the extent of your abilities, so you finally cave and ask Alastor for permission to enter his dreams to practice some things; simple conjuring, your disappearing act, just generally testing how much control you really had. He also offered up use of his pocket dimension to test the range of your power, which was the first thing that you did together.

Technically with this knowledge you could have figured out a room in the hotel that would prevent you from being close to anyone as you slept. But who wants to climb those extra sets of steps? Better to just stay in Alastor’s room, you figured.

So here you were, in Alastor’s dream version of the bayou, a clearing in the forest laid before you. “The first thing that we should consider,” he tells you, “is that you may not be the only person with powers such as you have. If this is the case, it’s pertinent that both of us learn to distinguish between what is created by the dreamer’s own mind, and what is conjured with your powers. Duplicate this,” he demands, and when he holds out his hand he has a book that he transfers to you before turning around. You concentrate on it, manifesting an identical copy in your opposite hand. Last second, you swap the hand that holds each book before Alastor turns around and takes them back.

He inspects them closely before he gives you back the one that you had created. “It’s very subtle,” he says with a hum, “but if you look and feel closely you can find the differences. Whether that is a matter of your current lack of experience or a side effect of your powers we’ll have to determine.” You run your hands over both of them, actually inspecting rather than just holding them, and can’t find anything different between them. When you tell Alastor this, he simply provides something else for you to duplicate; a silk robe.

This time when you create yours, you take a moment to feel beyond what is in your hand and you think you know what he’s talking about; there’s something a little less corporeal about it even though it’s solid in your hands, the edges almost a little fuzzy if you look too closely. You focus a little harder to see if you can fix that and the lines of the robe sharpen. Satisfied, you have Alastor turn around again, and this time he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re a quick study.” You repeat the exercise a couple more times, the items increasing in size from a radio to a log, finally stumping Alastor with a duplicated taxidermy raccoon- you bring them both to life, and they scamper about between Alastor’s legs before running off into the bayou, evidently vanishing with a snap of his fingers and then yours.

“Excellent,” Alastor commends you, and you glow with the praise, facing away from him still from having turned to watch the raccoons. “We both can tell how to tell your items from those created by the dreamer- now we’ll see if there’s any distinct difference between the dreamer themselves and, say, a duplicate created as a distraction.”

Your inquiry as to what he means is answered when you turn around to face him, and instead of one Alastor there are two.

The pulse of heat in your core at being caught in two of those predatory gazes was distracting, but you could put it aside. “Got it. So am I trying to figure this out just visually?”

The Radio Demons speak in unison, twin smiles in place. “You may touch, if you think that will help.”

You let out a nervous breath and approach, reaching out to the one on the left and trailing your fingers down his arm, focusing hard. You repeat the action on the demon to the right, and you can tell immediately that this one is the clone- its different from when you created duplicates, but there’s still something that almost tingles under your fingers when you touch it that gives it away, where the real Alastor hadn’t given off a similar sensation. Just to be sure, you run your hand over the expanse of its shoulders, noticing the way that the demon beside you stiffens ever so slightly, eyes narrowing and smile going tense at the way you’re touching it.

An idea clicks into your head- wicked, devious, something that Alastor would surely disapprove of. But with such an opportunity presented, how could you deny the whim?

You stand in Alastor’s space, much closer than you would normally allow yourself, and crane up on your tiptoes to get in his face. “This is the decoy,” you say confidently, and the one that stands behind you speaks instead of the true version.

“What makes you so sure?” Even the voice is ever so slightly off, a tint to the tone of the voice that you only pick up on because you’re listening so closely. “Choose your words carefully, dear, lest you insult me.”

You shrug, tone nonchalant. “There’s just something about this one,” you say towards the real Alastor, stepping back and circling around him, letting your fingers trail along his coat sleeve. “It doesn’t feel quite as… real as you do.” You turn to face the duplicate, startling a bit when it’s closer than you anticipated. “I think I’ve had enough practice touching you in your dreams to know the real thing.”

“Is that so?” Alastor murmurs behind you, and it takes everything in you not to turn at the sound, lean back into him. “Well then, perhaps you’d care to make a little wager?”

“Maybe.” You feel your shoulders stiffen when he presses against you from behind, chest against the expanse of your back and hands settling on your waist. “What do you have in mind?”

Clone Alastor brings its hands up to cup your face. “If you stay convinced that I am the real Alastor,” it whispers, face coming to one side to whisper tenderly in your ear, “then you win. Your reward can be whatever you would like.”

“However! If I manage to break your conviction and change your mind,” Alastor says from the other side. “I win. And if I win, my reward is that you allow me to experiment and test your abilities- both within and outside a dream- to my heart’s content.”

“Hmm.” You could always just lie, you supposed- what way would Alastor have of knowing that you were telling the truth? He couldn’t tell now- this would be an easy win for you. And maybe getting to see Alastor get a little jealous would be a nice bonus. “I accept. I’m pretty convinced though.” Just to really sell the point, you press your hands against the chest of the clone, run them over the fabric, tilt your head up to look into its eyes.

Alastor huffs behind you. “Very well. Perhaps you require a reenactment of the things we’ve done in dreams thus far- just to be sure? Make sure that you really recognize the touch.” His hands come up from your waist to cup your breasts, shirt vanishing at the contact and his thumbs brushing softly over your nipples. Your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, the duplicate stepping ever closer and bringing its lips down to meet yours.

There’s an underlying current of static to the kiss, something that doesn’t happen when you kiss Alastor. It’s not unpleasant, and you moan into it, playing it up just a tad for the benefit of the demon that stands behind you, letting a soft tremble take over your body that wasn’t entirely for show.

“What do you think, darling?” Alastor drags his tongue up the length of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your jawline. “Still convinced?” He sucks on the soft skin, almost too hard before pulling back with a kiss to the tender spot. His nimble fingers pluck at the sensitive peaks of your breasts, chest pressing further into the front of the duplicate who licks into your mouth with intent, biting gently at your lips.

“Perhaps you need a bit more to really cement your resolve,” it says into the kiss, bending to nuzzle at your neck on the opposite side from Alastor. “It would be unfair to expect you to guess without all of the same experiences.”

Despite the sensations of pleasure taking over your body, you still find the energy to snark at him, “not guessing. I know.” And twist your fingers into the soft (but not as soft) locks of the clone’s hair, dragging it closer to your skin and grinding your hips against his and the growing erection that you find there.

Snaps sound in unison and their clothes disappear to wherever yours had gone, and a hot length of hardness presses against you from either side- Alastor against the plush curve of your ass and his clone against your pelvis and hip. “By the time I’ve finished,” they say, the static that hisses between them by your head making you dizzy with arousal, “you won’t know anything but my name.”

There are hands sliding down your body then, Alastor slipping a finger into your wetness while his clone thumbs at your clit, both of them gently rutting against your soft skin. You let your head drop back onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the menacing grin that you find on his face forces a shaky exhale from your mouth. “S-seems like a lot of work to change my mind,” you murmur, and he steals your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“Nothing with you is ever work, darling,” he whispers when he pulls back, another finger added to your slick cunt, his fingers crooking against the soft bunch of nerves and making you gasp and arch. The clone drops his head from your shoulder trail nips and kisses down your chest, his tongue circling a nipple and sucking lightly. “I think of it more like an investment in my personal entertainment- and pleasure.”

You feel the way you clamp down on his fingers at that, and the clone scrapes his teeth against your sensitive breast- you whimper, reaching down to pull its face up so you can meet his mouth as well. When Alastor growls behind you, you ask, “what? Equal screen time is only fair.”

His smile turns treacherous. “You’ll want to keep that in mind, dear- I plan to hold you to it.”

With that his fingers leave you, arousal dripping to the forest floor as his hands come to your shoulders and pull, the same moment that the clone grips your legs and lifts, automatically wrapping them around your waist so you don’t fall. You’re left in the position of some kind of odd bridge between them, left staring up at the stars through the canopy of the trees in the bayou, the questioning of it dying on your lips when the thick cock of the clone pushes into you- slowly, relentlessly, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you with his claws digging into the flesh of your hips.

If you hadn’t already been aware that the demon behind you was the real one, the way he hisses through his teeth would have given him away- Alastor can feel it, you know he can, the tight grip of your walls clenching down on the clone’s length somehow happening in duplicate on him, his hands tightening their hold on your upper body where you lean into his chest. And this, at least, doesn’t feel too different from the real thing; the second Radio Demon fills you perfectly, hips pressed flush to yours before pulling back and bucking forward again, a shock of pleasure that ripples through your body and forces a cry from your lips. The angle of the way they’re holding you pushes him right against the sweet spot inside.

When a couple of claw tipped fingers come down to press against your clit in soft circles you’re done for, the strength of your orgasm causing you to whimper and drop your head back against Alastor’s chest, body tensing and shaking as the clone rides out the waves of it. You wait for his release but it doesn’t come- no flood of heat inside of you or spilling onto your exposed skin. Your eyes open, watching the clone through blurry eyes and trying to raise your head up.

Your body is shifting then, shadows emerging from both demons to effectively flip you in the opposite direction, clinging to the duplicate’s chest now as Alastor presses his erection against you again, a couple tendrils of darkness wrapped securely around your waist and legs to support you from below. “What-”

“It’s not a fair game if we don’t both get a turn,” says the Alastor in front of you, grin dangerous as he whispers against your forehead, and you’re being entered again, faster this time since you’re already slick and open and ready for him. The force of it punches the air out of your lungs, exhaling wetly into the chest of the dream manifestation before you.

Claws dig into you, sinfully delicious little marks that you know will appear on your body when you awaken. “Or two turns,” comes Alastor’s staticky voice behind you- or, maybe in front of you? With your eyes clenched shut and your focus so completely on the pleasure being wrung from your body, you can’t quite tell where it’s coming from, which one of them is speaking. You had thought there was a difference in the way they sounded but-

“Maybe three.”

“Four, even. Equal screen time and all that, like you said. Until we’ve had our fill and you’re absolutely certain which of us is which.” This is accompanied by a sharp thrust of Alastor’s hips, the slapping sound of skin overwhelming in the relative quiet of the bayou. It’s loud and lewd and arousing as anything as he fucks into you, your cunt clamping down with a fierce single-mindedness to keep him inside of you, even as the wetness it creates eases the slide out and back into your body.

“What do you think, dearest?” You can’t even tell which one is speaking any longer, your mouth lolled open against the bare chest of the clone who sweeps a comforting hand over your hair as the real deal fucks you into a cock drunk stupor. “You’re still sure which of us is the duplicate?”

“Y-yes,” you manage, but only because you know that when you started the dream version of Alastor was in front of you. You dig your fingers into his neck and moan, high and unashamed, and feel claws pierce the skin of your hips, a rumbling growl tearing itself from Alastor’s chest. “I- I would know the real thing anywhere- this,” you say, with a forceful, intentional clench around him, knowing you’ll regret this when you wake and all of the aches and bruises appear on your real life body, “is a p-poor imitation .”

He snarls, and you see the shadows of his antlers grow in your peripheral vision. “This poor imitation is going to make you cum, sweetheart, how does that sound?”

“Like a challenge.”

His laugh is dark, one of the shadows coming up from below you to push and grind hard against your clit above where you’re speared on his length. “Th-that’s cheating!” You cry out; the feeling is intense, almost too soon after your last orgasm, pleasure that teeters on the edge of painful . The clone holds you tighter against his chest, soothing touches to your back and head as you’re made to take the cock inside of you and the tentacle thing that plays you with a mindless conviction. “Oh, God, fuck -”

“You forget that I play to win,” he says simply, his speed increasing, and another tendril of shadow slips into you alongside his cock, narrow and squirming in a different rhythm. “The method matters little if the end result is what I want.”

You choke a little when this orgasm hits you, vision darkening on the edges as your body seizes in his grasp, jerking uncontrollably as the force of it slams into you. Again, there’s no spilling of warmth inside your pussy, Alastor’s release once again postponed for whatever reason.

They pass you back and forth like this for a couple more rounds, each time growing more fervent and rough in their handling of your body while they are inside you, only to brush your hair back from your face and whisper sweet, filthy words into your ear while you cling to their arms and your sanity. Your body is drenched in sweat, inner thighs coated in the evidence of your arousal and orgasms- limbs trembling with the effort to keep your head up and your eyes open. You can’t tell them apart by touch anymore, a hand on your body at any given time as they switch your position and pass you between each other, your mind completely gone as you cum another time, body twitching with the pair of them holding you through it.

Immediately after, you lose the comforting presence on either end of your body when both of them step away from you, another couple of tentacles wrapping around you to keep you still as you pant and shake, body weak and trembling. “Alastor?” They’ve both slipped into the shadows, a whirl of noise in the space around you, and when you open your eyes they’re rematerializing- and fuck, you’re already so overly stimulated that you can’t tell them apart by sight alone either, vision still blurry from the power of your last release. The shadows make a sort of shelf beneath you, allowing you to drop your head back into the gentle embrace of something soft and billowy.

They speak in unison now as they approach. “Final determination now, darling,” they say, a hand on either hip. “Which of us is the real thing?”

The wager is the last thing on your mind as you turn towards him, desperate for the more solid connection that the real Radio Demon provides in the dream scene. “Alastor,” you whine, reaching for him, digging your nails into what you can reach if his arm. “Please-“

His smile is devious when the duplicate disappears with a puff of smoke and he slots himself between your legs, pushing forward with a sharp snap that has you keening, head falling back as his claws push into the plush flesh of your hips. “It would appear,” he murmurs, “that you’ve lost the wager, dearest- you’ve changed your mind.”

“Don’t care,” you cry out, grip ironclad where you hold him, spare hand coming up to hold his shoulder like a vice. “Please, Alastor, I’m- I can’t go again, please.” Your body is aching and sore, muscles trembling from how many times they’ve tensed and released and shuddered through an orgasm at his hands. You don’t think that you can do it again; it might honestly shove you from the realm of the dream with how overwhelmed you are.

“Darling, darling,” he whispers, drawing his hips back and pushing forward in a steady rhythm, letting his hands run over your hands wherever he can reach and letting a tentacle reach up to rub at your sensitive clit. “You’ve got one more for me, I’m sure of it. Cum for me one more time, sweetness- let me feel you after taking us both and show you much better the real thing is when I flood your cunt with my release.”

Your stomach swoops with sharp arousal- you’ll never get enough of him talking like that, all traces of the prim and proper Radio Demon gone when he’s desperate to orgasm, buried inside your cunt with no radio filter and no thoughts in that lovely head but to drag you over the edge with him. An edge that, currently, is far too close and threatening to destroy you. “Al- Alastor, please, I can’t,” even as the tension pulls ever tighter, the tentacle at the apex of your thighs unrelenting in its focus, legs shaking uncontrollably where Alastor has wrapped them around his waist, his own steady rhythm stuttering.

“With me, sweetheart,” he says, and the words are tinted like a plea, like he needs it. “Cum with me-” He bends down over you, tongue sliding against yours in your mouth before he turns, teeth sinking into your neck as he spends himself with a muffled groan against your skin, pulses of wet warmth inside of you that have you crying out into the silence of the bayou when your own orgasm tears through you.

You’re shattering- splintering into fractals of consciousness as you’re torn from the space of the dream.

You don’t immediately wake though- pleasure jolts through you with the force of an arc flash but somehow you’re still asleep, flashes of something zipping by you as your- spirit? Soul? Whatever you currently were, you were catching glimpses along your peripheral vision as you moved; scenes of Alastor’s dreams, moments of his life, his face non-smiling and dark, covered in blood, a bullet hole between his eyes, and there was his mother again, as she had been in the first dream you had seen her.

You feel like taffy, being stretched and compressed hundreds of times over the span of what couldn’t be more than a few moments. You don’t think these are things that Alastor is currently seeing or dreaming about, which means that somehow you’ve gone further into his consciousness than his dreams- you might even be in his subconscious, you think, as you see snippets of a memory with Husker, eyes angry and hurt; Niffty, dirty and bloodstained as Alastor offers her a hand; yourself, the way that he had seen you in the dream with his mother, eyes wide and frightened when you had stepped on the stick that gave your position away.

And then there’s more of you, moments that he had apparently been observing you when you weren’t aware. It’s from his own point of view, eyes dropping down to your hand where it rests on Angel’s forearm at the bar, tracing the line of your arm where it’s draped affectionately over Charlie’s shoulder. He’s watched you everywhere, scenes of yourself in front of the fireplace in his room, curled up on a lobby couch, sitting in the main office with plans for guest events laid out before you, an irritated crease in your brow. You see yourself sleeping in the bed in his room where he had apparently stood over you, a clawed finger reaching out to brush your hair back from your face; there’s a rumbling of speech that you can’t make out as he says something and you stir in your sleep, face going slack with a small smile taking over your features.

The scene fades, and the sharp pleasure of your explosive orgasm returns with force, your eyes opening in reality with a choked off cry as your body trembles with the aftershocks of it, hand digging into Alastor’s arm where he lays next to you. The overwhelming feeling fades finally, and your muscles go slack against the mattress, finally turning to look at him.

His eyebrows are creased in concentration, smile still present but a bit strained. “Where were you?” He asks softly, and when you cock your head a bit he clarifies- “I was awake. But you were… elsewhere, it would seem.”

You don’t think he’ll appreciate you being in his mind like you were, but you don’t have many other options as far as figuring out what the fuck that was. “I think I was… in your head? Like your thoughts and memories. Sorry,” you add as an afterthought. “I didn’t mean to- I’m still learning, I don’t really understand what happened-”

“You were in my mind despite my being awake?” Alastor doesn’t look upset at the revelation- rather, he looks intrigued. “It seems that your power is changing- how entertaining!” He jumps up from the bed, the clothes he had fallen asleep in rumpled and wrinkled. He doesn’t seem to care as he starts pacing around the bed. “This is all speculation of course, but it would seem to me that the excessive stimulation in my dream has caused another bond to form with your powers- no longer just between your physical and dream forms, but between your powers and the real world. Fascinating!” His grin is wide, manic when he looks back at you. “And what perfect timing, now that I’ve won a wager that allows me all sorts of rights to experimentation with your powers and abilities. We’re going to have such fun with this, darling-” He continues to ramble and you watch him pace as he does, one turn allowing something to catch your eye.

A bruise on Alastor’s collarbone- where you had held him in the dream, your thumb digging into the skin that covered the bone, apparently hard enough to leave a mark. None of the marks you had left on him in the past had ever manifested like this in the real world; his theory about the links between your dream self and reality seeming more plausible, if you could inflict something physical on him from a dream.

Might as well tell him now. “Alastor,” you interrupt him, and rise from the bed to stand before him, brushing your thumb over the discolored flesh. “Look-”

His eyes go dark, dials flickering when he grins down at you. “Another mystery to experiment with,” he says. “We’ll have to determine if the ability to leave physical alterations is limited to just myself- since you spend the most time in my dreams, I would presume your powers have developed a sort of bond to my mind- or if you could do this to others.”

Your hands freeze on his chest. “What do you mean, ‘others?’ I don’t- I’m not doing anything like this with anyone else.”

“No need to worry, dearest, I didn’t mean the more intimate aspects! I merely meant markings in general- say, if you were to cut someone with your claws, or take a bite from them. Would that manifest in the real world?” His antlers expand, green stitches appearing at the edges of his smile. “Imagine the ease of being able to kill someone in a dream without ever having to be in the room! Oh, the possibilities are thrilling-”

“I’m not doing that.” You let your touch fall from his skin, taking a step back at the clear delight on his face in thinking about you killing someone. “That’s… that’s not what I’m here for, Alastor, I don’t want to use my power like that.”

“You would rather waste your potential? Regardless, we had a wager, my dear, one that you lost- it was made in a dream but it’s still binding. For the sake of experimenting you’ll do whatever I ask of you; that was the condition, was it not?” Something green glows in his hands- not a chain like you had seen on others with a legitimate soul deal, but something like a rope, a leash. He tugs on it gently, enough to make you lose your balance and stumble forward where it pulls at your wrist.

This was the Alastor you had seen in the first dreams of his- ruthless, bloodthirsty, angry. Gone was the softer version of him that you had come accustomed to, the one you had glimpsed in the dream with his mother, in the memories you had seen. You needed to get away-

No sooner had the thought come than there was a blast of light from your palms, startling Alastor into releasing the cord that tied you to him. Your steps falter backwards and put space between the two of you, no time to think about what had just happened; the hurt look in Alastor’s eyes is the last thing that you see before you turn and bolt from the room.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54459367/chapters/142955671

#alastor x reader #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #simp shit <3 #x reader #DREAM DEMON #asldfkjasldkf I love this story so much #having a great time

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