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hatethysinner · 18 hours ago

Note

How about a mix of angst, fluff, AND smut? Lol

(Could be either a drabble or a headcanon, whichever is better for you 😉)

Idea: Remmick hurting reader's feelings and trying to apologize/make it up to her.

Sooo I'm picturing him saying something stupid/out of pocket, which hits a nerve or an insecurity of reader. Maybe he didn't even mean it/do it on purpose, but either way, wrong words, wrong tone, very bad timing. He can immediately see that he fucked up big time by the look on reader's face.

Even after Remmick apologizes, tells reader he didn't mean any of that, and draws a couple of orgasms out of her, there's still something...off.

Days go by and, although reader tells him "it's fine", "I'm fine", "it's all good", he can sense something is off. Remmick notices reader being quieter than usual, stiff, awkward around him -as if reader's in her own head.

At night he swears he can hear reader's brain overthinking and her frantic pulse -probably from replaying his words/that scene over and over again, even though she lies still pretending to be asleep.

Worst part? Nothing Remmick does seems to work; he can feel reader slowly shutting him off and it drives him mad, desperate.

"Please, lass...just -just talk to me? Hmm?"

ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ

ᴡᴄ: 7.7k

ᴀ/ɴ: this was another ask that i was at a loss on for a while, but then i listened to my first city pop song and watched the bear season 4 and the inspiration flew out of me. unfortunately for y'all, that inspiration came with debilitating angst, my first ever perspective switching, and my own experience in an unhealthy relationship. enjoy, but please do mind the warnings, especially if any of the topics hit too close to home!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: established relationship with lots of baggage, perspective switching (OOH!), heavy angst no comfort, intense fighting, below-the-belt insults, panic attack, insecure!reader, asshole!remmick (it is NOT romanticized), vaguely modern au, the trials and tribulations of having an immortal vampire lover, an uncomfortably real depiction of a very toxic relationship, for the love of god communicate with your partners

You didn’t remember what you came in here for.

The kitchen was too quiet. No fridge hum. No drip from the sink. Just the clock ticking behind you and your own heartbeat trying to crawl out your throat.

Your hands braced against the counter. Eyes fixed on the cabinets like maybe they’d give you a clue.

What did you need? What were you doing? Something simple. Grabbing a glass. Or tea. Or—

He said it so flatly. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t going to stick to your ribs for the rest of your life.

You blinked once. Twice.

Still here.

Still breathing.

It hadn’t sounded like yelling. It wasn’t even loud. But your ears rang anyway.

Something about the way he said it. About the way he looked at you while it came out, slow and measured, like he wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. Fully. Intentionally. He chose those words, sifted through centuries of vocabulary and handed you the sharpest ones.

God, he’d always been good with language.

You pressed your palms harder to the countertop. Tried to ground yourself in something. The cool wood. The sting behind your eyes. The ugly throb in your chest.

You could’ve gone back in there. You could’ve asked what he meant. Made him say it again. Let him tear the scab wider and see if he flinched this time.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew what he meant. You knew it too well.

You’d seen it in other moments. In silence that went on too long. In that odd little distance that crept in when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he was remembering something, or someone, or some place—something that made him want to fold into himself. Not all the way. Not so you noticed. Just enough to keep you at arm’s length when it mattered.

And now you knew.

You’d always been at arm’s length.

You sucked in a slow breath, but it hit a lump in your throat and stayed there. Like everything else that night. Unfinished.

God, it was stupid. It started so stupid. You asked if he was coming with you to dinner. He said no. You asked why. He said he didn’t feel like it. You asked again because maybe there was more—maybe he was tired, maybe he was hungry, maybe he was spiraling and needed help crawling out of it—and he looked at you like he was seeing a puzzle he didn’t have the energy to solve and said:

“Why is it always somethin’ with ya?”

Just like that.

Not even mad. Just tired.

Why is it always somethin’ with ya.

Like you were an inconvenience. A gnat. A faucet dripping in the background of his endless life.

And maybe you were.

Maybe it was always something with you. You asked questions, you needed reassurances, you held him when he didn’t ask for it and talked when he wanted quiet and begged him to meet you in a place he didn’t know how to get to.

You were human. You were so human.

And maybe that was the problem.

You opened the cabinet too hard and winced at the bang. Your hands were shaking. You grabbed a glass and filled it with water just to give yourself something to do. Something to hold. You didn’t drink it.

The worst part wasn’t the sentence.

It was the look.

You’d seen that look before. On other people. People who stayed too long. People who outgrew you or got tired of carrying your mess. People who gave up.

You never thought you’d see it on his face.

He said forever like it was a promise. And maybe it was, for him. But for you��what did forever even mean? You couldn’t imagine next year without flinching. You woke up some mornings already sad for what hadn’t happened yet.

He talked about time like it was a tool. Like he could wield it. Stretch it. Move around in it. Heal inside it.

But you? Time bruised you.

A harsh word stuck for months. One look, one sigh, one silence too long—these things festered. You weren’t made to let go of things lightly. You were built to ache.

And he… wasn’t.

You clutched the edge of the sink, staring down at the drain like it might answer you.

You loved him. Of course you did. You loved the way he listened when he did listen, like you were the last voice left on earth. You loved the way he knew your moods before you did, the way he touched your hand like it was sacred. You loved the way he lit up when you got something right, like your joy was his food.

But you needed him to love you back in a way that felt like now.

Not like memory. Not like he was borrowing from some other century. Not like he was patching you in where someone else used to be.

You didn’t want to be a ghost in someone else’s castle.

You wanted to be home.

Behind you, the hallway creaked.

You knew it was him before he said anything.

You didn’t turn.

Not yet.

Because if you looked at him now, you’d cry. You’d sob. You’d ask why he said it and what it meant and whether he meant it and what he saw when he looked at you and if he really wanted to keep doing this—whatever this was—with someone who broke under a single sentence.

You didn’t want to ask those questions until you were ready to hear the answers.

Even if they broke you worse.

So you breathed. Shallow. Quiet.

And you waited.

You didn’t turn when he stepped into the kitchen.

That was the first sign.

You always turned. Even when you were angry. Even when you didn’t want to. You always gave him that—your face, your eyes, your breath at least. But this time, nothing. Not even a shift of weight or a flicker of movement. Just your back to him, hands on the counter, like you were bracing for something.

He stood in the doorway longer than he needed to.

Watched your shoulders rise and fall. Watched the way your fingers curled a little tighter against the wood. Watched the glass of water on the counter—untouched.

God.

He’d done it again, hadn’t he?

He crossed the threshold slow, each step deliberate, soundless but weighted. Ghostlike. A habit that hadn’t left him even after all these years of trying to be soft. Trying not to startle you. Trying not to become the thing people feared when they noticed what didn’t age.

He moved to the fridge. Didn’t open it. Just leaned against it, pretending to think. To idle. Let the silence stretch in case you wanted to fill it.

You didn’t.

He glanced at the floor, then at the back of your head.

Say something, he thought. Please.

Because it was worse when you didn’t.

It was always worse when you went quiet. When you folded into yourself and left him standing outside the walls. Not angry. Not shouting. Just… gone. Retreating in a way that made the air thinner.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw.

He shouldn’t have said it. He knew that now. He knew it the moment it left his mouth. Even as he said it, he heard the edge in his own voice and knew it’d land wrong. Knew it would hurt. But he let it fly anyway, like some reflex he hadn’t learned how to kill.

He didn’t even know where it came from. Wasn’t angry. Not truly. Just tired, maybe. Stretched thin in a way he couldn’t name. Thoughts too loud. Days too long. You asked a question—one too many—and something snapped in him that he didn’t know was still brittle.

And now here you were.

Still. Silent. Hurt.

He shifted again. Picked up a spoon off the counter just to put it back down. Another few seconds passed, thick as molasses.

Then finally, because you wouldn’t speak, because you wouldn’t even look at him, he cleared his throat.

“Wasn’t fair of me,” he said, voice low. “What I said.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t even flinch.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

“I know you were just askin’. Weren’t tryin’ to start anything. I just…” He let the sentence dangle, fumbled for something better. “It came out wrong. S’pose I was feelin’… I don’t know. Off. Tired, maybe.”

Still nothing.

No mercy tonight.

He took a slow breath.

“It’s not always somethin’ with you. That’s not true. I know it’s not. You just care too much sometimes. That ain’t a crime.”

Your head dipped a little. He didn’t know if that meant anything.

He swallowed hard.

“I… I don’t always know what t’do with that,” he admitted, softer this time. “With bein’ cared for like that. It’s a lot. Not bad, just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not used to it.”

It wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough. But it was all he had right now.

He took a step closer. Careful. Gentle.

When he got close enough to see the side of your face—your lashes, wet but not falling—his stomach knotted.

“You ain’t a burden, alright?” he said, quieter now. “Not to me.”

The truth of it sat heavy in his mouth.

He meant it. God, he meant it. He just didn’t know how to say it in the right order. He didn’t know how to make you feel it the way he did—that particular ache that curled behind his ribs when you walked into the room, that hum in his chest that only quieted when you were near.

Sometimes you looked at him like he was the sun. And that terrified him.

Because he wasn’t the sun. He was shadow. He’d lived too long. Seen too much rot. Been made to kill, and learned to be good at it.

And you?

You were light.

Mortal. Warm. Complicated. Full of so much life it made his heart ache. He didn’t know how to hold you right. He didn’t know how not to bruise you when he reached for you with hands that had buried centuries.

He wanted to say that. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t you. That it was him. That it was always him. That he carried things he hadn’t shown you yet. That he was afraid of breaking something so soft.

But all that came out was—

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelin’s.”

He paused.

Then: “But I know I did. And I’m sorry.”

That was it. That was the truth.

You didn’t need to hear about war or fire or the centuries that peeled the gentleness from him like paint in the sun. Not right now. Not when you were still hurting. Still waiting for him to be human for once.

So he stayed quiet after that. Let the apology settle. Let the room breathe.

And waited.

He hated waiting.

“It’s fine,” you said.

It wasn’t.

You knew it wasn’t.

You didn’t even know why the words left your mouth, except they were easier than the truth. Lighter. Like they could float above the weight in your chest.

You said it again, quieter this time.

“It’s fine.”

Another lie.

You weren’t even sure who you were trying to convince. Yourself? Him? The air?

You weren’t fine. And you didn’t understand why you were pretending to be. Especially not now, with his apology still echoing between your ribs, raw and awkward and tender in that half-formed way he always managed to apologize. Like he knew the words but not the shape of them. Like he’d studied sorrow in a language no longer spoken.

And the worst part—the part that made your throat tight—was that he believed you.

He believed you.

He nodded, just once, like that settled it. Like “it’s fine” meant anything when your hands had curled in on themselves, nails digging into your own palms. Like it wasn’t a patch hastily thrown over a hole he didn’t even want to look at.

You wished he’d argue. You wished he’d push.

But he didn’t.

He let it go because that’s what he did. That’s what he always did when you got like this—quiet, soft, making yourself into something easier to hold.

But you didn’t want to be easy tonight.

You didn’t want to be anything except understood.

And somehow, even with all his years, with all his ancient patience and centuries of watching humanity splinter and change and ache and grow, he still couldn’t see it.

Couldn’t see you.

Not really.

He’d heard your voice shake before. Seen your face break. Sat with you through grief, through anger, through the painful mess of simply existing beside someone else. But there was always this invisible line—this thread you couldn’t cross. Because if you pulled too hard, if you unraveled even a little too much, he wouldn’t know what to do with the pieces.

You told yourself that was fine.

Another lie.

That night, when he brushed his teeth with the new charcoal toothpaste you bought him, you sat on the edge of the bed, your hands in your lap, your face hollow. Watching the lamplight pool like oil in the corners of the room. Waiting to feel like you again.

He came out shirtless, towel slung over one shoulder, eyes soft and cautious the way they always were after a fight. As though proximity might spook you.

“I’ll take the right side,” he murmured. “Give you some room.”

You nodded. Said nothing.

He crawled in first. Careful. Quiet. Tried not to shake the mattress too much.

You followed eventually, turned toward the window like it might offer you something better than his shoulder. The sheets were cool. The silence colder.

Then came his arm. Slipping across your waist. Slow, hopeful. Like the feel of his skin might say what words couldn’t.

But your body tensed.

Not violently. Not cruelly. Just enough. Just enough to say, not now. Not yet.

He paused.

Then pulled back.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t sigh or plead or ask what was wrong. Just left the space between you as it was, a gulf carved by things neither of you could name without bleeding.

And still you said nothing.

You stared at the moonlight tracing patterns on the ceiling and plucked at the threads of your lies like they were split seams.

“It’s fine.”

You didn’t believe that.

You were tired. Tired of saying it. Tired of meaning it when you didn’t. Tired of cushioning things for a man who’d lived through plagues and revolutions but still couldn’t stomach the idea of someone being mad at him for too long.

You knew he loved you. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was how that love showed up. In apologies that didn’t go deep enough. In distance he didn’t even realize he created. In the way he could look at you like the center of the universe but still miss the gravity pulling you apart.

He called you sensitive once. Differently than the countless other times before.

He hadn’t meant it cruelly. But it stuck. Not the word—his tone. That soft, patronizing edge. Like he thought it was sweet. Like he didn’t understand why things clung to you the way they did. Why your chest ached over small things. Why you needed to be heard and not just held.

But tonight wasn’t about that one comment. It wasn’t about the way he brushed you off or how he muttered something sharp under his breath when he thought you couldn’t hear.

It was about every moment like this—where you stayed silent because the alternative meant cracking open a dam you didn’t trust him to stand beneath.

You closed your eyes.

You felt the bed shift with his breathing. Felt the warmth of his body, only inches away. Felt the space between you like a wound you weren’t ready to stitch up.

And for once, you didn’t try to cross it.

You let the silence stretch.

Let the ache settle.

And he did.

Remmick lay still, spine curved toward you but not quite touching, eyes open in the dark. The ceiling above was lit in ribbons—pale light cut through slats in the blinds, painting the room in soft grays and golds. But it was your heartbeat that kept him tethered.

God, that sound. He could hear it like a clock. Not frantic, not panicked—but tight. Like you were trying to hold something back. Like there was a scream or a sob caught behind your ribs and your body was doing its best to cage it. And it was always like that after you said things you didn’t mean.

“It's fine.”

No, it wasn’t.

Of course he knew that.

He might not have always understood the sharp tilt of your emotions, the sudden quiet, the way your voice could dip just so—but he’d been alive long enough to know what a lie felt like in the dark. Your lies were soft and clumsy. Half-hearted even when well-meant.

And your thoughts—Christ. Sometimes he swore he could hear them too. Not the words, not exactly. But the swirl of them. That static hum when your mind turned inward and refused to let him in.

He hated that sound.

He exhaled, nose brushing the pillow. Eyes heavy.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Of course he cared. You were… well. You were you. The one person who hadn’t run. The one who didn’t flinch at his teeth. The one curled up next to him every night like he wasn’t something broken stitched together by charm and poor impulse control.

But the thing was—

You’d get over it.

You always did.

He’d say something sharp, something thoughtless, and you’d pull away. Go quiet. Overthink it. He knew the pattern by now. But eventually, always, you softened. You let him hold you again. You tucked your head under his chin and kissed the hollow of his throat and said things like I’m tired of being mad.

So he didn’t press.

Didn’t ask what was wrong.

Didn’t poke the bear.

Because Remmick had survived this long by knowing when to shut his mouth. When to pretend he hadn’t noticed. When to let discomfort smooth itself out rather than dragging it into the light and giving it teeth.

He’d been with women who screamed when they were angry. Who threw glasses or locked themselves in bathrooms. But you—you always got small. And honestly, that was easier.

Less noise. Less mess.

Sure, sometimes you looked at him like he’d cracked something in you. Like he was a blade you hadn’t seen coming. But you still looked. Still loved him.

And really, wasn’t that what counted?

He stared at the ceiling, one hand draped over his chest. The other curled in the sheets where your body could’ve been if you hadn’t turned your back.

You were right there. Inches away. But he didn’t reach.

He used to. Early on. Before he’d started assuming time would fix things for him.

But the truth was, lately… it was easier to wait.

Easier not to deal with the part of you that made him feel like he was always a step behind. Like you wanted him to read your mind. Like he was supposed to feel what you felt with the same urgency—and when he didn’t, when he blinked at you confused or made some stupid half-joke to lighten the tension, your whole body would go stiff.

You were young. Comparatively, anyway. And you were human. That was the tricky part. You felt everything all at once and all the time. And sometimes he forgot how loud that must be for you—how sharp. He’d had lifetimes to dull his reactions, to tuck away the things that hurt. You hadn’t. You still bled when someone touched the bruise.

He rubbed at his temple and sighed again, softer this time.

He should’ve said more. He knew that. Something better than the half-assed apology. Something that sounded like he actually gave a damn about why your chest had gone quiet, why your laugh hadn’t returned since dinner.

But he didn’t.

Because deep down, he figured this would blow over. Like it always did.

You’d both sleep on it. Wake up a little bleary. A little sheepish. He’d make coffee—or try to, and probably mess it up—and you’d smile despite yourself, and whatever this was would fade into that unspoken pile of almost-fights and swallowed arguments.

So he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t fix it.

Didn’t earn it.

He closed his eyes instead. Let the steady thump of your heart lull him toward sleep.

And somewhere in the space between guilt and laziness, between arrogance and fear, he let himself drift.

Believing he still had time.

The smell of food woke you before the light did.

Remmick had slipped out of bed quietly. You hadn’t stirred when he did—just felt the sudden shift in weight behind you, the loss of heat. No kiss to the shoulder, no whispered good morning. That used to bother you, once. Now it just felt… safe. He was careful around you this morning. You could feel it.

And you hated that.

You sat at the edge of the bed longer than you meant to, staring at the closet door like it had answers. Your skin felt too tight. Like your body had grown around last night’s silence and hadn’t stretched back yet.

Eventually, you forced yourself up.

The kitchen was warm. Golden with soft light, sun bleeding in through the windows. You blinked against it. The table was already set—two mugs, one of them steaming, your favorite syrup bottle half-cocked on its side like someone had rushed to make it look casual. The skillet hissed on the stove.

Remmick turned just as you stepped in. He smiled.

It wasn’t smug or sleazy, not exactly. Just… light. Pleased with himself. Familiar. Easy in the way you used to find endearing. But this morning, it felt like an insult.

“Y’finally up,” he said gently, that rasp in his voice still warm from sleep. “Thought I’d have to come coax you out.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have the energy to lie with a smile again.

Instead, you moved past him toward the coffee. Your fingers brushed the ceramic of the mug he’d poured for you—it was still hot. He’d timed it well. Probably heard the floor creak upstairs and hustled to finish.

Your eyes flicked to the table. A folded napkin. Knife turned inward like he always did. He used to joke it was in case you ever lunged across the table at him in a fit of fury. Now, it just felt like proof that he’d noticed. That he remembered the night before and was trying too hard to make today look soft.

You didn’t touch the food.

He plated it anyway. Pancakes. Blueberries battered in. Just enough butter. No powdered sugar—because he knew you hated the mess.

Your stomach turned.

“Ya sleep alright?” he asked after a minute, voice careful. Measured.

You nodded.

You didn’t.

Your dreams had been fractured and noisy. You kept waking in that half-place where memory and reality blur—staring at the ceiling, feeling the ghost of his voice ring in your chest. That damn sentence from the night before, sharp and casual like a tossed stone: Why is it always somethin’ with ya?

Like it wasn’t cruel.

Like it wasn’t meant to cut.

You sat at the table with the mug pressed to your lips, pretending to drink.

Remmick didn’t push. He moved around the kitchen quiet as anything, barefoot and fluid, sleeves pushed to his elbows. He hummed under his breath—some old song you couldn’t name. It made your chest ache, how easily he moved back into comfort. Or maybe he’d never left it.

You caught yourself watching him.

Not lovingly. Not this time.

It was observation, almost cold. He was so careful with the pan, so gentle with how he layered your food, like it’d undo what he said. Like it could fill the space he’d hollowed out.

You used to think mornings were his most honest time. When the world was quiet and his voice was still thick with sleep and he’d lean into you without his usual coolness. He never asked for much in the mornings. He just existed near you. Made breakfast. Held your hand across the table sometimes, like it meant something.

But today wasn’t honest.

Today was performance.

He was being sweet. He was being careful. He was being good.

And you hated him for it.

Because it felt like a dare.

Like if you didn’t accept the peace offering, you were the unreasonable one.

Like he hadn’t said what he said.

Like the pancakes could make it better. Like you were supposed to forget the way his voice sounded when he’d said it—just tired enough to be cruel, just calm enough to mean it.

“Everything okay?” he asked finally, the edge of his voice barely touching worry.

You nodded again. “Good.”

Your throat caught on it.

He didn’t call you on it. He just gave a small smile and slid the plate closer to you, like the gesture might matter more than your answer.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because he accepted the lie.

Like always.

Because he wanted things smoothed over. Because he wanted you to eat. Because he wanted the rhythm back. And you knew him well enough by now to know he wasn’t trying to manipulate you—not outright. But he was still asking for something. Still dangling the quiet, the tenderness, the see, I’m good to you in front of you like a balm.

But it wasn’t a balm.

It was a bruise.

And the pressure of his kindness only made it throb more.

So you sat. Stiff and aching. And didn’t take a bite. Let the food cool. Let your coffee go lukewarm.

Remmick watched you from the stove, eyes flicking between the plate and your face. You knew he wanted to say something. You knew he wouldn’t. Not unless you cracked first.

And wasn’t that the story of it all?

He never pressed. Never forced. Just waited. Until you gave in. Until you softened. Until it was your guilt that made the first move.

But not this time.

You wrapped both hands around your mug, and stared at your untouched plate like it was some kind of test.

Let the silence settle, heavy.

He kept his back to you as he scraped the last of the batter from the bowl, lips drawn in a tight, polite line. The spatula moved slow in his hand, more to fill the space than anything else. He didn’t need more pancakes. Hell, he didn’t even care if you ate the ones he’d made.

He’d gone through the motions. He’d woken soft. Moved soft. Didn’t touch you without permission. Didn’t press. Made the damn breakfast. Just like you liked it.

And still—nothing.

Not a smile. Not a bite.

Just you, sitting there like a statue with a coffee mug clutched between your hands like it might burn you if you breathed too hard. And him, standing by the stove, starting to feel like a fool.

The longer the quiet stretched, the more sour his mood turned.

He didn’t show it—not much. Kept his shoulders loose. Let the corners of his mouth stay upturned like this whole morning hadn’t been a balancing act on a wire he didn’t remember agreeing to walk. But underneath the surface, a thread tugged tighter. A kind of tiredness curled in his gut, sticky and slow.

Because this? This was always how it went.

He said one wrong thing. One slightly-too-honest sentence.

And then you’d go quiet for a day and a half. Maybe more. And he was left doing cartwheels trying to fix something you wouldn’t even name.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. That’s what made it worse. He’d said it out of frustration, not malice. He didn’t call you names. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cheat or disappear for days like the men from your past. He was here, wasn’t he?

Still here. Still trying.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

He exhaled slow through his nose and turned back toward the table.

You hadn’t moved.

Still gripping that mug like it might spill all your secrets if you let it go. Your gaze was far away, jaw tight. He could see the little twitch of muscle there. The storm you were trying to hide.

Remmick leaned one hand on the table, cocked his head.

Voice soft as velvet.

“Y’still mad at me, sweetheart?”

He meant it to land gentle. Meant it as peace.

But the second the words left his mouth, he saw it hit you sideways.

Your face didn’t twist all at once. It wasn’t an explosion. It was worse. Slower.

Like something broke open in you in stages.

First, your brow knit. Then your eyes welled—not with tears, but fury. Your mouth parted just slightly, like you were trying to find the shape of breath. And then, wordlessly, your hand moved.

Fast.

The plate went first.

It shattered against the wall with a sound like a gunshot. Blueberries splattered across the plaster like blood. The syrup left a dark smear as the ceramic cracked in a dozen places, one half spinning on the floor.

The mug followed.

Coffee sprayed like it had been pressurized, splashing across the counter and down the cupboards. The mug broke cleaner—two solid halves. One skittered across the tile and hit the pantry door with a dull thud.

You were already up by the time the second crash echoed.

He jerked back, not out of fear, but out of sheer disbelief.

“The hell was that for?” he snapped, finally dropping the mask.

But you didn’t stop.

You shoved your chair back so hard it tipped, scraping the floor with an awful screech. Your arms shook as you stormed past him, breathing ragged, mouth clenched shut like if you opened it, something terrible might come out.

He turned with you.

Hot now. Irritated and confused and insulted, all at once. He followed fast, the heat in his jaw rising.

“Are you fuckin’ serious right now?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t even look back.

Your shoulders were stiff, your hands curled into fists, your walk sharp with rage. He didn’t see the quiet woman from last night anymore. Didn’t see the wounded silence, the soft body curled against the far edge of the bed.

No—this was worse.

You were leaving the room like you were leaving him, and he couldn’t make sense of it.

Because it was one sentence. One tired, stupid sentence.

He’d apologized.

Sort of.

He’d made breakfast. He’d played the good man. What else did you want from him?

Still, he didn’t yell.

Didn’t grab you.

Didn’t say the dozen things that flared up in the back of his throat, every ugly little retort begging to be set loose.

Instead, he followed.

Not because he understood.

But because he couldn’t bear not being close.

And you hated that about him.

You hated so many things about him.

The way he followed you without a word. The way you could hear his bare feet on the hardwood floor like a shadow too thick to shake. The way he never let anything breathe—always hovering, always waiting to talk before you'd even figured out what you wanted to say.

You hated how patient he was until he wasn’t.

How he moved like mist through every door in your life, and how you always let him.

And God, you hated how that meant he always got to be the one who ended things. Who said the last word. Who closed the distance and made the silence go away.

Even now, he caught the door just before it slammed, his hand snapping around the edge and shoving it back open like it was his right. You spun around with your jaw clenched, chest heaving like you’d been running, but he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pause.

Didn’t read the room.

Of course not.

Because then that stupid mouth opened.

“What the hell was that back there?” he snapped, voice too sweet for the words it carried. “Smashin’ plates now? Is that what we’re doin’? Jesus—”

You didn’t answer.

You crossed the room with tight steps, ready to put something—anything—between you and him. But his voice followed like a leash.

“Could’a talked to me like a grown woman instead of hurlin’ breakfast at the goddamn wall!”

He stepped into the doorway, arms spread like he was presenting evidence. Like you were the irrational one here. Like none of this was his fault.

“I’ve been nothin’ but good to ya this mornin’,” he went on, tone swinging between pity and anger. “Made yer coffee, made yer favorite, didn’t even press when ya sat there starin’ through me like I wasn’t right there. But sure. Let’s act like I kicked your dog.”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped.

“Oh, finally. She speaks.”

Your face twisted, heat rising so fast it nearly choked you.

“You say one mean, uncalled for thing—”

“One thing,” he echoed mockingly, head tilted. “One truth, and suddenly I’m the villain? Y’lose your damn mind over me stating a fact—”

“You made me feel like a burden—”

“Ya are when it means I gotta tiptoe ‘round you every time your feelin’s get bruised!”

You reeled, stunned silent for just a beat. But then the rage surged again—hot and loud and righteous.

“Oh, fuck you, Remmick.”

He threw his hands in the air, stepping deeper into the room.

“I knew this was comin’. No matter what I say, it’s never good enough, is it?”

“Because you don’t mean it!” you shouted. “You never mean it when you say sorry, you just want me to get over it. You want things back to normal without doing a single thing to fix it!”

He scoffed. “Y‘want me to write you a sonnet, sweetheart? Want me on my knees with a fuckin’ Hallmark card and a basket of kittens?”

“I want you to care!” your voice cracked. “Actually care! Not pretend. Not play the good man in the morning and then roll your eyes when I’m still upset.”

“Oh, don’t act like I’m some manipulative bastard—”

“You are! You gaslight me every time we argue!”

He blinked at that, hard.

You could see the offense settle in his face, real and sharp.

“Y’throw that word around like it don’t mean a damn thing.”

“You make me feel crazy for having normal reactions to the mean shit that comes out of your mouth!”

He stalked forward again, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m not mean to ya,” he snarled. “I don’t raise my voice, I don’t hit, I don’t lie—”

“You belittle me.”

Your voice dropped low.

Still hot. Still sharp.

But dangerous now. Controlled.

“You belittle me, and you call it being honest. You invalidate me, and you call it calm. You make me out to be the problem every time, and when I finally say something back—when I finally get angry—you act like I’m the one ruining everything.”

He stopped.

Really stopped.

And you saw that flicker of guilt. Of shame. But it passed quick, too quick.

He shook his head, scoffing again. “Yer makin’ this bigger than it is.”

And there it was.

The sentence that pushed you over the edge.

You didn’t walk away.

You stared him down.

Because how dare he.

How fucking dare he.

You didn’t even recognize your voice when it came out—sharp, shaking, something ripped raw from deep inside your chest.

“Bigger than it is? I gave up everything to be with you!”

He blinked.

You took a step forward. Then another. Like something possessed. Like if you didn’t move, the scream building in your chest would destroy you from the inside out.

“My family, my job, my life—I gave it all up to stay here with you in this weird little nowhere bubble you built because the world scares the shit out of you now! And you stand there like you’re the one being wronged?”

Remmick's jaw tensed. “No one asked ya to give all that up—”

“You didn’t stop me either! You never asked for anything, Remmick, you just stood there and waited for me to offer it. And you knew I would. You knew I was in love with you. And you used that.”

His mouth opened. Closed. His fingers twitched again, then flexed like he wanted to crack his knuckles but couldn’t justify it. You weren’t done.

“You want to act like you’re so above everything. So controlled. But you are the most selfish, manipulative bastard I have ever met.”

His face flickered.

But you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

“I wish I never met you.”

A pause fell.

Still, hot, wide.

“I wish I could put into words how much I hate you.”

You pressed on, even as your stomach twisted violently, even as something in you begged you to shut the hell up.

“You’re not a man, Remmick. You’re just… old.”

His throat bobbed.

“You don’t know how to love. You never did. You’ve just been alive so long you got good at pretending. You think memorizing someone’s favorite breakfast makes you a good partner?”

Remmick’s mouth opened, and this time, his voice was venom.

“Y’think pitying someone’s trauma gives ya the moral high ground?”

You flinched.

But neither of you stopped.

“Oh, there it is,” you snapped. “Go ahead, say what you really want to say.”

“I don’t know what the fuck y’want from me!” he barked. “One day ya cling to me like I’m your goddamn lifeline and the next yer cryin’ because I didn’t say the word sorry in the right tone—how am I supposed to keep up with that?”

“You’re supposed to try!” you shrieked. “You’re supposed to care enough to try! But you don’t. You don’t!”

He stormed forward, fast. Too fast.

You backed up without thinking, and suddenly his presence felt huge.

He wasn’t touching you. But it was close.

Close enough to make your body coil tight.

Close enough for your lungs to stop working properly.

“I’ve bent over backwards to keep ya happy!”

You laughed.

It came out wild and broken and ugly.

“You’ve kept me tolerable, Remmick. You’ve kept me quiet. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, please,” he snarled. “Ya haven’t shut up since the day I met ya.”

You stepped in close, nose to nose.

“You are the loneliest person I have ever met,” you hissed.

“And y’still ruined the only person who ever loved ya.”

He stared at you like you’d torn his ribs open.

But then—

Then he sneered.

Low and quiet. A sound made of something sharp and long-buried.

His voice, when it came next, was almost too soft. Too knowing.

“Y’know,” he said, “I see why all the men in your life left ya.”

You stopped breathing.

“I’ve thought about it,” he added, his voice a low threat. “Thought about walkin’ out that door and never comin’ back. Just like the rest of ‘em. Just like your daddy—”

SMACK.

You slapped him.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even register the movement until the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot and your hand throbbed from wrist to fingertips.

He stumbled back a step—not from the force, but from the shock of it. The shock you were feeling too.

Because you’d never hit anyone before.

Because he’d never said anything so vile before.

The red bloomed across his cheek, pale skin blooming crimson with the heat of your palm. And he just stood there. Breath caught. Face tilted slightly to the side. Eyes burning. Mouth half open like he might still say something, might double down, might spit something even worse into the air—

But he didn’t.

Because the thing that finally settled on his face wasn’t anger. It wasn’t pride.

It was regret.

Thick and full and sudden.

He took a breath.

And you ran.

You shoved past him with the weight of your whole body, shoulder catching his arm, chest twisting, breath ragged. Your fingers fumbled on the bathroom doorknob like they didn’t belong to you.

You didn’t even lock it properly—just slammed it and collapsed into the corner, legs folding beneath you like they’d given out.

The sob cracked out of you so loud and raw it hurt your throat. You curled into yourself, knees to chest, arms wrapped tight. The cold tile pressed against your hip. The baseboard dug into your spine.

But none of it compared to the ache splitting you down the center.

The way your chest heaved.

The way your breath wouldn’t come in properly.

The way your head spun like the air was too thin and the world was too loud and everything inside you was crashing.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t see through it.

Everything he’d said. Everything you had said.

You pressed your forehead to your knees and shook.

Then the silence.

Not total.

Not empty.

Because you heard him.

On the other side of the door.

Not knocking. Not banging. Not shouting like you’d half expected him to.

Just… sitting.

You heard the faint shift of weight. The whisper of fabric against wood. His back sliding down the door until he met the floor.

Then the sound of his head—soft, dull—coming to rest against the panel.

That was it.

No apology. No plea. Not even a whisper of your name.

Just his presence. Quiet and heavy on the other side.

And this time, the silence wasn’t cruel.

It was a mercy.

It was space.

It was the only thing between you and another explosion. And for once, he seemed to understand that.

So he stayed quiet.

And you stayed curled, face buried in your knees, letting your sobs soften into something more hollow.

There was nothing else to say. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Just the door between you.

And—for now—that was enough.

He’d drifted off somewhere close to the floor.

Didn’t remember laying down. Didn’t remember when the ache in his spine had gone dull. But he remembered the door. His head against it. The sound of you crying so hard it made his brain itch. He’d stayed there until your sobs gave out, until all he could hear was breathing, shallow and wrung out and exhausted. Then nothing.

And now…

Click.

His eyes snapped open at the whisper of the knob turning. The quietest creak of a door eased open slow as fog. He blinked into the dim light as the shape of you stepped out. Fragile. Tired. Still shaking slightly as your hand reached to close the door again with a barely-there push.

He moved before he could think. Got to his feet, joints groaning as he stepped aside, slow and careful. Gave you room. Didn't speak.

Didn’t dare.

You didn’t look at him. Just walked past and climbed into bed like the floor might collapse otherwise. You moved like your skin hurt. Like breathing was hard work. The blankets barely rustled as you pulled them up.

He watched you settle. Noticed how the light from the hallway caught on your cheeks—puffy and dark with salt. The red still clung to your eyes, swollen and bloodshot. You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t ask you to.

He stood there for a beat longer, hands at his sides. Debating.

If you told him to go, he would.

If you turned away or threw the covers off or gave even the slightest hint—

But you didn’t.

So, he moved. Cautiously. Pulled the door to a gentle close behind him and padded toward the bed like a man unsure if he was welcome in his own home.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He stayed to his side. Barely inched toward the center.

Paused.

Waited.

Waited again.

Still, you didn’t move.

So, he braved another few inches. Laid back against the pillow. Turned his face to yours in the dark even though he knew you wouldn't meet it.

Still nothing.

And so he waited. Again.

You felt the mattress give first.

The smallest shift. A slow sag that told you he was there again. Close.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

You lay facing the wall, curled in on yourself like your insides were made of glass and someone had just thrown a stone straight through them. Eyes dry but aching, lips pressed together like a seal. The silence was thick, but not unbearable. Not this time.

You felt him stop short. Like he was giving you a chance to flinch. To push him away.

But you didn’t.

Because even if it was all broken. Even if tonight had left claw marks through both of you. Even if you weren’t sure what the morning would bring—

You didn’t want to be alone right now.

So when the mattress dipped again, just slightly, and the warmth of him drew an inch closer, you let it happen.

Let him settle behind you without a word.

Let him wait.

And then—

His arm.

Tentative. Unsteady. Shaking with hesitation.

He draped it across your waist, barely even resting it there, as though expecting to be flinched from. Pushed off.

But you didn’t stiffen this time.

Didn’t tense or shrink or shove him away.

Instead, you let him hold you.

Let the warmth of him wrap around your exhausted body.

Let the quiet settle for the first time in hours.

And when he pressed a soft, remorseful kiss to the curve of your shoulder—so light it barely registered—you let him.

No forgiveness. Not yet.

But not rejection, either.

You didn’t move as sleep pulled at your bones.

Didn’t say a word.

Because there’d be time for that later.

Time for the fixing. Time for the fallout.

Time for apologies that actually meant something.

Time for all of it.

But not now.

Not tonight.

Tonight, you just breathed in the dark, with his arm around you and your heart bruised but still beating, and let yourself drift.

You’ll deal with this tomorrow.

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick #remmick sinners #sinners #sinners remmick #angst #remmick angst #jack o'connell #jack o'connell x reader #remmick x black!fem!reader #remmick x black!reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader #rai don't traumaplug into a random drabble like that...#wait there was supposed to be fluff?????#i forgor #this was actually very therapeutic thank you anon

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howtofightwrite · 17 hours ago

Note

I know that shooting while moving is not great... I have a character being chased by another and shooting at each other so they're both running. The chased character uses a handgun and misses wildly from less than 60 feet away. That sounds normal enough, but I'm wondering if it would be weird if the character is a sniper that hits targets 1.5 miles away with rifles? Maybe I should give them other handicaps too - i.e. drunk, no glasses, shooting offhand??

So, a couple things here. So I'll just separate them out.

You probably get this first part, but I'll spell it out, just in case it's someones' first time. The basic idea of aiming a firearm is that you're working with a very small object (the bullet), and you want it on a very specific trajectory. While the specific physics are different, you can experience this (without a weapon) by playing with a flashlight. As you move around, the light's going to bounce around a bit. You can specifically slow your movements so that you're keeping the light trained on a specific point while moving, but you sacrifice speed to do that. The same thing works for firearms. You can keep a stable aim while moving, but, you're sacrificing mobility for it.

The weird part about the sniper is the 1.5 miles detail. To be clear, the list of Snipers with confirmed kills at that range (or higher) is about six people. (There's about four more who are slightly under 1.5 miles, in the 2-2.4km range.) So, that's absolutely something that can be done, but you would be talking about someone who is, literally, one of the best snipers in the world, taking the best shot in their life.

There's nothing wrong with saying you have a character who is that good. But it is the kind of thing you should probably be aware of when you're writing a character if they're among the best in the world.

One famous example of a fumble on this subject would be the original James Bond novels. Flemming somewhat overcompensated, and as a result Bond's described physical regimen becomes borderline parody when you remember that the character is also a high-functioning alcoholic and chainsmoker.

It's also worth remembering, when you are talking about sniping, that the limitations of the weapons are pretty important. One of the snipers mentioned above used a .338, the rest were all using anti-material rifles. (Mostly .50s, but there was also a 14.5mm rifle used in Ukraine, at 2.7km.) So, to hit someone at that range, you're probably using a very heavy gun, designed to take out vehicles.

So, if your setup is someone sniping with a Mk14, or a SCAR, they're probably only good out to about 500m. (A little over a quarter mile.) They might get lucky some day. The world record for a kill with a Remington 700 (technically, an M24) was at 1,250m. So, less than a mile.

Is it weird that someone could be a world class sniper, and still miss a snapshot at close range? Not especially.

Let me define the term snapshot, it's not that complicated, but, it's not really the general term. Snapshooting is the practice of being able fire semi-accurately without aiming. It is a specific skill with firearms. You can think of it as being related to quickdrawing, and while there is overlap between the two, it's not quite the same skill.

Sniping is about taking the time, and accounting for how the bullet will behave as a physical object at extreme ranges. It requires familiarity with your weapon. Not, just the make and model, but the behavior of your specific gun.

There is some basic proficiencies with firearms that are easy to pick up, so it would be somewhat peculiar if you had someone who had extensive experience and training with a rifle, but no comprehension of how to operate a pistol. (You could certainly work out specific counterexamples, but as a general rule you're unlikely to see that.)

It's likely your sniper would be reasonably competent with a handgun. Though there's no reason to assume that you're looking at someone who could hollow dimes at 150m with one.

This leads to a different thought, and it's probably something you want to consider for yourself. Why fire at the pursuers?

The answer you had before might have been as simple as, “well, they're shooting at my character, so of course they'll return fire.”

If you're being pursued, you'll loose speed and time to return fire, even if you're not careful with your shots. Even if you're blindly firing over your shoulder. On it's own, you'd be better off keeping your gun in it's holster, and focusing on getting distance, and finding an escape.

However, suppressing fire can force your pursuers to slow down.

The point of suppressing fire is not to kill your foe. It's a nice perk if it happens, but what you're actually doing is denying spaces they want to move through. Returning fire like this isn't about actually hitting the pursuers, it's about forcing them to slow down and be more careful, while your characters gain distance.

So, does it make sense that a world class sniper would fire blindly over their shoulder at pursuers in order to slow them down, without any real concern over getting precise shots? Yeah. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.

If the point was to kill them, your sniper would want to find someplace with actual cover, preferably on a blind corner, get out of sight, and gun them down when they came around that corner. Like your sniper was a moment ago, they're going to be at a full run. (And, depending on the exact environment, your sniper might be able to hit them from behind, as they run past the hiding spot, or something similar. There are options on how this would work out.) This kind of an ambush is quite doable.

It's always worth remembering, your character's goal in a fight might not be to kill their opponent, and while it might seem irresponsible to use bullets as a general deterrent, that is one of the primary uses of firearms in warfare. Granted, it's not the primary way snipers interact with their weapons, but the fundamentals are still there.

Now, is it possible that a sniper wouldn't even consider using their handgun for suppressing fire? I could believe that. Not because they don't know how, or don't understand the concept, but rather, simply because it's not how they think about using their weapons. Though, again, a character like that is more likely to take the ambush route detailed above.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #firearms

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b1nary-wr1ter · 2 days ago

Note

Noli x Admin!Reader pretty pleaseeeeee? Starvation is once more

-🎭🌐

>It assures you it will keep you from starving.

</> met me @ the midle tnite </>

Noli x Admin!Reader 1.5k words

Ever since you got here, it's been nothing but Hell. Fighting each day to survive the rounds, and then trying to survive being with the other survivors. Each day was a new fight between someone and another.

You understood it though. Everyone was scared an stressed. But after time, everyone has fallen into some sort of daily routine in the camp between the 'Rounds' as they've been come to be called.

The only difference in the days were those rounds. A different killer for each one, different people with you. You could never predict how they'd go. Never able to tell which killer would be hunting you all.

Except one.

Noli.

As soon as he'd realize you were in the round with him he wouldn't leave you alone.

Not even trying to hurt you....much.

That stupid theme of his would follow you the entire round as he'd bug you and bother you, asking unimportant questions.

Just as you remember him.

Even before all of this you knew him, an exploiter who loved getting on all of the Admin's nerves. Especially yours. You never learned why though. Every time you'd catch him in the act of messing with experiences and making them unplayable he'd stop what he was doing just to bother you for the rest of the day.

No matter how you tried kicking or banned him or taking away his hacks he'd find a way around it, then tease you.

And it was generally annoying.

But somehow it was...a little endearing? At least when you showed up he'd stop what he was doing before so?

It seems even with how much he's changed he still remembers that. Your not sure what really happened to him since you haven't exactly had time to talk properly with him, but he's definitely different.

You've seen him go from his somewhat cheery jokes around you to a furious rage as soon as he spots 007n7. You remember him as a exploiter as well but, just like Noli, he's changed as well.

You've never asked 7n7 about what happened. It isn't your place. Your place is to figure a way out with the other Admins. But so far, none of you have had any luck.

And so you slept. like any other end of the day. It was just like any other day in Hell. Wake up the next day, eat breakfast, prepare.

They had gone by without issue. You had only survived two of the rounds before the final one started up.

And within seconds you heard that theme again. You've had enough of him if you were being honest.

You don't even turn around to face him, just simply walking away to start fixing generators.

" Ohh? "

You could feel his head tilt just from his voice. You didn't have the energy for his shenanigans today.

" Cmmonnnn, you can't ignore mmeee "

" Yes I can, and I will. "

" But your not~ "

He was right, you were literally talking to him. You rolled your eyes and dropped to a knee to begin work on the generator in front of you.

" You seem so sure it's the real one, hmm? "

" I know it's real because I can feel it. "

" Are you totally sure? "

" Don't you have other survivors to be hunting down? "

" Do I? "

He makes you want to smash your head on the generator. But he also makes you want to keep talking to him.

There was something about him that makes you not want to fully push him away. Sure you may act annoyed with him but it's how you acted around him before this as well. And even then you kept going back to find him. You don't remember why... You wished you did, because then you could explain how you felt about him.

You can see that mask of his in the corner of your eye, the permanent smile plastered in a smug way. He watches you fiddle with wires in an attempt to get the generator working again. You've gotten surprisingly good at it since you've been here.

You give him a quick glance as he watches you, and in that moment you spot another survivor stopping to watch the both of you before Noli takes notice. He turns to look at who it is, and lucky for both you and the other they aren't 007n7. Simply Elliot.

Either way Noli takes chase of them. Even with his....'fascination' with you he still plays his part if others are around.

It at least gives you time to silently finish the generator and try to get as far away as you can. You know it won't matter because Noli will jut find you again, but it gives you time.

Time to think.

You really would like to talk to him properly but it seems within the rounds that wouldn't be possible. If only you could meet outside them. But every time you've attempted to enter the forest surrounding the camp you've blacked out before waking back up in the middle. You're sure it's the same for where ever it is Noli is staying while here.

" Rrrunning away so soon????? """"

Ah, there he is.

Your sure Elliot is already dead. Oh well.

You simply turn to star at Noli while he stares right back you. His mask hasn't changed in expression while the other side of his face, skin so thin and warped you can see the skull underneath it, grimacing into a twisted smile.

"'"'' A staring contest? You know IIII'll win right? "

" I'm just looking at you. "

Maybe you shouldn't have said that because in the blink of an eye his face is mere inches from your own.

" Do ya see anything you likKe~? "'

" I see you invading my personal space. "

"' Awwhhh, and nothing elssee? "

You take a step back from him and continue to walk away. You weren't sure here you were going to go, but you just wanted to go. And of course, he followed.

You knew the round didn't have much time left until it ended. And you could tell Noli was getting a little antsy. He wasn't exactly one for losing after all. You don't remember a round where he didn't kill you before slaughtering the rest.

You knew how this was going to go.

Taking a sigh you turn to face him a final time.

" Listen, I know what your about to do. But could I ask y- "

You're cut off by the sound of flesh tearing, and a pain shooting from your abdomen. He didn't even wait for you to finish your sentence.

He tilts his head down at your before laughing.

'' You were saYing? "

You cough, blood trickling from your mouth.

" What do- cough-- What do you want from me?? "

Something about your question while bleeding out makes him pause for a moment. If he could blink in confusion he would.

You don't get an answer though. Not before he rips his hand out from you, leaving you to bleed out.

Waking up in the main cabin, everyone has gone on about their days. It seems Noli had only gotten to you and Elliot, meaning he was about to go on his usual murder spree.

You were tired, simply wanting to go to bed. You didn't even want to sit for dinner that night.

Returning to your room for the night you flop onto your bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

Why did he have to bother you so much?

And why couldn't you shake the feeling in your chest? Something was missing and you hated it. You hated not being able to just understand like you used to.

Before all of this you knew everything that you needed to. But now? You know nothing.

A dreamless sleep greeted you. Something you've gotten used to.

In the morning you had awoken, just as you always do. But you simply stared at the ceiling for Admins know how long. A knock at the door made you snap from your trance.

" Hey, breakfast is ready. Don't want you missing it! "

Elliot.

He made the best breakfast didn't he?

You hadn't realized it was his day to cook.

" I'll be there soon. "

You heard his foot steps leave as you sat up, holding you head.

Something was wrong but you couldn't place it. You never could.

Getting up from bed you reach for the door handle, but something catches your eyes.

Something familiar.

A purple and white glitch in the corner.

You turn to fully face it, and it continues.

It's small, but noticeable. There is a pang of hurt in your chest you can't place.

You kneel down to inspect it closer and you realize it's a text box.

wat do i want from u? ;) met me @ the midle tnite

You know that writing.

How did he manage this? You thought he wasn't able to do this anymore? You knew for sure you couldn't. Most of your abilities from before had been taken from you, leaving an empty feeling within you.

And what did he mean by the middle? The middle of the camp? Middle of the maps in the rounds?

And tonight?

There was only one way to find out for sure.

#🎭🌐 anon #b1nary wr1ter #forsaken x reader #x reader #freaksaken #gn reader #reader x noli #noli x reader #reader x forsaken #noli forsaken #noli roblox #mentions of death #death tw

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hsangel64 · 17 hours ago

Text

awkward situations

pairings: slight perv! spencer agnew x fem pornstar! reader

synopsis: while grocery shopping spencer recognizes you but he can’t remember from where…until you recognize him first

warnings: pornstar talk, sexual language, use of y/n and a pornstar name, cussing, SMUTT all through the fic, male masturbation, phone sex, swallowing cum, vulgar language, slight dom language, one ball spencer, just a lot

a/n: the reader has a very 2000s mcbling style aesthetic and i thought it would be cute for her to be a huge maximalist also this gets into it very very quickly. let me know how i did and if you’d like a part 2!!

spencer wasn’t the type of person to be a crazy pornstar addict but like any other man he indulges every once in awhile. you were actually one of his favorites, you made your videos personal even if he knew other people were watching them. it felt like you were in the room with him and that made the whole experience even sexier.

so to his own surprise while grocery shopping he’s walking down one of he freezer aisles and sees a girl who’s wearing a black juicy sweatsuit, platform sandals and your hair up in a claw clip. he didnt think much of it until he noticed you looked familiar, a little too familiar. he analyzed your face without being a total creep and couldn’t figure out who you were. he shrugged his shoulders and started to walk away before he felt a tap on the shoulder, turning around he’s faced with you.

“hey i am so sorry to bother you, are you possibly spencer from smosh?” stunned he didnt really know what else to say other than.

“oh um yeah i am.”

“oh my gosh this is insane, i love your guys videos!”

“thanks so much i really appreciate that.”

“i’ve been watching smosh for as long as i can remember-“ spencer spaced out realizing who you were…you were ms cherry bomb on pornhub…oh my god.

“hello…did i frighten you-“ he snapped out of it and shook his head.

“no no i promise its okay-just something else.” you raised your eyebrow and realized what connection he might’ve made.

“do you happen to recognize me?” spencer gulped almost felt like a small bead of sweat coming down his head.

“it’s okay if you do i get it a lot…i like being recognized.” you smiled at him, in a way that felt so welcoming?

“i’m so sorry thats so gross of me.”

“no no i promise its not! it actually feels really good to know my youtube crush watches my videos. i’m sorry if that’s weird and awkward-“ you cringe at your own words. feeing yourself warm up at the thought of him cumming to you, the heat in your pussy getting hotter by the second and sending chills down your spine.

“yo-you have a crush on me?”

“well duh have you seen yourself?” spencer can’t control himself. “plus i like the nerdy guys the most…” you smirk at him and slightly twirl your hair, you don’t know where this confidence came from but it’s here.

“would you maybe want to go out with me? dinner? and ill pay of course.” spencer felt even more bold with his words, he had never openly asked a girl out like this but it felt right.

“yeah of course, here’s my number just text me when and where i’m free the rest of this week.” you winked at him and walked away, spencer could feel his pants start to tighten. clearing his throat he sped through the grocery store and finished shopping.

when he got home he texted you immediately, not knowing what to put at your contact he figured the first thing to ask you was what your real name was.

spencer was on a major high right now, he had a date with a hot girl and he couldn’t be more ecstatic. when he sat on his couch he checked the time and saw it was already around 7:30pm, he thought for a second before pulling out his laptop and pulling up your page. he knew this was complete creep behavior but he couldn’t help it. all he was thinking about was you.

you did a series of role play videos where you would play as the watchers girlfriend, he lived for those. ‘girlfriend role play: she gives you head while watching a movie.’ was the title of the video. he felt satisfied and clicked on it. the video started with you in bed, a lot of the times you used a camera angle so you couldn’t see that it wasn’t a real person but this time you were cuddled up with some guy in bed with a movie on the tv. the irony of it was that the movie was jurassic park. he felt a tinge of jealousy but he knew this was your job and just tried to imagine himself in bed with you.

“hey baby i have an idea.” as you started to talk you hand rubbed over the mans body so he followed your movements with his own hand. you hand made its way down to the guys jeans, you rubbed up and down to get him hard, it didn’t take too long for that. neither for spencer either, his bulge was peaking through his pants wanting to come out. your hand unzipped the jeans and you started to rub the bulge.

“i think we should forget about the movie hmm?” you pulled down his boxers and his cock sprung up, spencer then pulled his own out. you started slow just rubbing up and down to which spencer followed. you then started to lick up until you reached the tip, you swirled your tongue around it for a good second before placing your whole mouth around it. spencer started to increase his pumps the faster you bobbed your head. the mix of the slurping sounds and the choking were enough to get spencer hot and bothered.

“you like that baby?” he couldn’t get enough of your voice, he was obsessed. he didnt think it was possible but he was getting even harder by the second. the intensity of the situation making spencer start to pant a little, his breaths short and his moaning getting louder.

“yeah it feels so good please.” he mumbled as if he were answering you back. his hand pumping up and down with such motivation, he could feel himself getting closer by the minute.

“it’s just one of those days where you don’t want to wake up…” he opened his eyes and looked to the video not realizing his phone was ringing. his stupid ringtone that courtney made him put. he stopped the video and saw it was you who was calling, just his luck. he picks up the phone without realizing how out of breath he is.

“hey spencer! i texted you like thirty minutes ago asking about the date but when you didn’t answer i figured to call, i’m sorry if thats weird!”

“um no thats-thats alright, just didn’t see it.” he said swiping the sweat off of his forehead. you furrowed your eyebrows, he sounds out of breath…

“did i interrupt you while you were doing something? i’m sorry! i can hang up-“

“no no it’s okay i just was…working out is all.”

“hmm at 8pm?” you knew exactly what he was doing and it wasn’t working out.

“spencer can i ask you something…” you voice got lower.

“y-yeah of course.”

“did i interrupt you from jerking off.” his breath got caught in his throat. “it’s okay if you were…i don’t judge.” you voice was soft and sultry almost flirty? spencer still was at a loss for words he didn’t know what to tell you, usually at this point if this happened with anyone else he would’ve hung up and blocked the number but he felt like he needed to stay.

“yeah.”

“were you watching anything.” he nodded but realized you couldn’t see so he responded back with another yeah.

“was it…to me?” how the fuck did you know.

“is it weird if i say yes…” you quietly moaned through the phone feeling yourself get wetter by the second.

“not at all.” the line went quiet before you responded again. “do you want me to help you?”

“is it weird if i say yes..” you giggled at him and told him no, clicking on the icon to facetime him. he got startled but answered it anyways, your face came onto screen. you had no makeup on, hair down, a skimpy tank top on an just your panties. you were laying on your side so he could see all of you. he placed his own phone down on his laptop to show himself. gasping a little at his size.

“already ready i see?” you raised your eyebrow at him. you started to touch around your body.

“we’re gonna start slow okay? i want us to cum together is that okay with you?” he nodded but you wanted a verbal response.

“i want a verbal response.”

“yes its perfect.” you nodded and started, rubbing your boob through the thin layer of shirt that you had on. your nipples already hard from the sight of him.

“you can start too.” giving him the go ahead he start to rub himself a little. your hand making its way up your shirt and lifting it up showing your chest. you eventually took your shirt off and your hands made their way down to your core, spencer was still going slow but it hurt, when watching your videos he would wait for you to cum to let himself cum but this time it felt agonizing. all that was heard was his groans from seeing you play with yourself and your own moans. he could see how wet you were just from it forming through your panties.

you started to take off your panties slowly shimming them down your legs not giving him a glance at your pussy just to edge him a little bit more. you were laying across your bed arching your back to show off that you had nothing on. you could see spencer start to struggle so you figured to not be too mean and show off your pussy for him. picking yourself up with your elbows you positioned yourself so your whole body was in view.

spencer had seen you naked before but this was personal, you were showing yourself to him and just him. your finger made their way to your hole and you slid in one finger to start, moaning out at the sensation.

“fuck spencer.” you moaned out, he could’ve cum just from that but he held himself back. stretching yourself out you put a second finger in, you were dripping onto your bed. he could see a perfect view of your fingers going in and out of you, fucking yourself even harder at him biting his lip.

“i want your cock in me instead of my fingers. fuck.” you gasped as you quickened your speed, imagining it was him instead. spencer felt on top of the world right now. as you moved faster he followed right behind, quickening his pace.

“i want it so bad. keep talking to me baby.” you moaned out at the pet name and did as he said.

“please i need you so badly, cum with me please.”

“say my name.”

“spencer fuck, it feels so good.” this was probably the best you’ve ever made yourself feel, you couldn’t imagine how it would feel with him. you could feel yourself getting closer by the second, the more you heard his moans the faster you went.

“i’m so fucking close spencer please, i want to cum so bad.” you looked gorgeous, just stunning. the light was on your face and the arch in your back made you look like a painting.

“come on baby, im close too.” you nodded at him and continued to work your fingers, your moans getting louder. you could feel you orgasm at the bottom of your belly ready to come out. what you didn’t expect was for you to squirt, the liquid gushing out all over the bed. spencer’s mouth opened, he couldn’t believe that just happened. just from you squirting he came all over himself, his orgasm taking over his body and causing his eyes to roll in the back of his head.

“fuck you’re so pretty.” you bit your lip at the compliment, taking your finger out of yourself and bringing them to your mouth licking off all the remaining cum. he couldn’t get enough of you.

“was that good?”

“was it good? i-i mean it was fucking great holy shit. i don’t think i have ever cum that hard.” smiling at him you felt like you did good.

“i wish you were here.” you pouted at him and he picked up his phone bringing you closer to him. you felt bold with your words, but it was true.

“i know friday though if you don’t mind on the first date.”

“like we didn’t just have phone sex.” you giggled at him.

“right i mean- i guess we just did that huh.”

“ill be waiting for that text of what to wear, have a good night spence.” you smiled at him and hung up the phone. he was left in silence the laptop still open on you and his pants covered in cum. he sighed out of satisfaction and got himself cleaned up, he’s so ready for friday.

——————————————————

the next couple of days were long and tiring, he texted you to dress a little nice but nothing super fancy. it was finally the day of the date. he didn’t want to sound like he was only excited because he knew what was going to happen after but because he genuinely was excited to get to know you. he put on his most expensive cologne that he only wore during special events, grabbing his jacket, the bouquet arrangement he did himself and his keys heading out the apartment.

your place wasn’t far took only ten minutes to get there, texting you that he was there you responded saying you’d be right out. he saw you emerge from the stairs and saw you had on a leopard print dress on, it was short and hugged your body. you had black heel boots on and some tights underneath. you looked gorgeous, spencer wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of you tonight and he knows it.

“hi.” you giggled at him staring at you.

“hey…you look um you look gorgeous.”

“thanks did i dress okay?”

“yeah more than okay.” he couldn’t stop staring. he then remembered he had flowers in the back seat. leaning back and grabbing them.

“i got you some flowers, i know its super cheesy but i made arranged it myself. i wanted it to mean a little more.”

“oh my gosh its so cute you’re so sweet.” you pouted at him, this was the sweetest thing any guy has ever done. you leaned over the console and hugged him giving him a small kiss on the cheek. spencer felt his cheeks heat up, he turned the other way smiling at the small bit of affection. you both smiled at each other before spencer started to drive to the restaurant.

spencer took you to this nice korean bbq place, he figured it was a good choice because they had a bunch of choices so you could find something you liked. little did he know was that you loved korean bbq and were extremely excited about it. you got seated at a small booth, one of the ones where it wrapped around so you got to sit next to each other. you both ordered everything you wanted now it was just the waiting game.

“so tell me more about yourself.” and it was that easy, you both got to talking about your own personal lives, likes and dislikes, anything in between. the subtle touches, your hand on his shoulder while laughing at a stupid joke, your knees grazing each other, accidentally going to grab for the same thing and touching hands. it all was building up the tension between you two.

every so often you would reach your leg over to grave his, he would play along every so often. spencer couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, every time you looked over at him he was staring back at you. the dinner was spent with flirty comments, subtle touches and looking eyes. you’d been there for two whole hours and finally were ready to go.

spencer made sure to open all the doors for you, placing his hand on your lower back. the feeling of his hand sent chills down your spine, wanting just a little bit more. the tension between you two almost unbearable at this point, the way he held the doors open for you, the flowers, paying for dinner, the touches. it all was making yourself hot and bothered, feeling like you wanted to rip his clothes off and have your way with him.

once in the car spencer had asked you where you wanted to head to next, you suggested your apartment so thats where you both were headed off to. spencer sneakily placed his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbed circles over your thigh. your core was hot and you could feel the wetness seep through your panties. the ride felt agonizingly long, every so often you’d sneak a glance over to him and smile at him as he looked back at you. the ride was quiet other than the soft music from the radio playing and the car speeding down the road.

the familiar rodes peaking through as he drove closer to your home, you let him know where he could park. as you were about to get out of the car you saw spencer run from his side over to yours to open the door.

“m’lady.” he held his hand out for you to take it and helped you out of the seat. giggling at his gesture you took his offer and stood up, he closed the door behind you and locked up. you led him to your apartment warning him off your dog.

“i have a dog, he’s very nice i promise.” unlocking the door your puppy came to the door and jumped up at you greeting you, getting down to his level you said hello back and pet his head.

“hey mr i missed you buddy.” you motioned up to spencer. “hey wilbur this is spencer.” you motioned back to him and let him know it was okay to pet. he got down and gave him some pets as well before you both got up.

“hey do you want something to drink?” you called over whilst grabbing yourself some water.

“nah i’m all good.” he said as he looked around your living room, he was shocked to see how much you had decorated. it was like he stepped back into the 2000’s. he took his shoes off and then his jacket hanging it up on the rack you had by the door.

“here come on ill give you a tour.” you showed off your living room and then walked down the hall to your other rooms.

“okay here’s my bathroom, and yes this is the shower that i do my videos in.” you said as you could see his eyes examine the room.

“here’s the room i do all my content in, now once i open this door its going to be a lot of sex related things okay? like really kinky shit.” he nodded at you and you opened the door, as the door opened spencer’s eyes landed on that faithful bed. the bed he sees in every video, and then he’s met with a whole wall of whips, paddles, and ties. walking around he sees your collection of sex toys neatly organized in a shelf, he then sees the sex swing on the back of the door and remembers a video of you using it and feels himself stiffen. he notices all the cameras and camera equipment you had set up in a small corner of the room.

“i know it’s a lot of sex toys but i get pr from certain brands and it gives me good content, you would know.” he could feel himself blush as you said that. you walked back over to the door and got his attention back.

“come on lets finish this tour.” smirking at him slightly you turned around and walked over to your bedroom hearing him follow behind.

“this is my actual bedroom.” you took off your boots and placed them neatly on a shoe shelf before starting to take off your jewelry and placed those inside of your mirror.

“you have a place for everything that’s really cool.”

“thanks i worked hard to have everything be organized.” once you got comfortable you sat on your bed and motioned for him to come sit with you. spencer was looking around so he didn’t see you motioned for him still looking around your bedroom, seeing all the posters on the walls including the photos you had of yourself on the wall in nothing but a small bikini.

“you’ve got the real thing over here.” he whipped his head around to see you in bed laying on your side, his nerves hitting him like crazy.

“oh- sorry.” he awkwardly chuckled and walked over to you in the bed, sitting on the corner a little bit away from you. giggling at him you scooted closer and placed your hand on his back.

“you don’t need to be scared with me i promise.” sitting up you started to rub his back reassuring that he didn’t need to be nervous.

“we dont have to do anything, we can just watch a movie and cuddle.” your hand traveled up to his head playing with his curls. he looked over at you his eyes moving from your eyes to your lips not saying a word. the silence is defining, you were both so close to each other. you could feel his breath on you, he bit his bottom lip and decided to just kiss you. his lips crashed into yours taking you completely by surprise. your hand moved from the back of his head to his side, his hands on your face pulling you as close to him as possible.

you nearly fell but he pulled you up into him and pulled you up onto his lap. you made a small yelp sound and he took the opportunity to lap his tongue on your bottom lip and slowly making his way inside your mouth. you were shocked with the quickness but went with it, enjoying the feeling of him on you.

“wa-wait are you sure, you seemed frazzled i don’t want to do anything if you aren’t comfortable.” you pulled away to make sure he was okay.

“i dont want to sound like a perv and say this was all i could think about but it was.” you stared at him for a second and smashed your lips back into his, he pulled you up with him and turned you both around so that you were sitting on the bed and he was standing above you. he keeps eye contact with you before getting down on his knees in front of you, confused you let him continue what he was up to. his hands graze your thighs and he starts to kiss around your knee.

you gasped as he did it not expecting the gesture, arching your back a little feeling slightly ticklish. spencer lifted your legs up a little and kissed all the way up your thighs to your core. his hands making their way up underneath your dress and at the hem of your underwear. he looked up at you silently asking if it was okay to take them off to which you nodded. he slid them down your legs and opened your legs even more, you could feel the slick basically peel from your underwear, he stared for a second before pulling your legs closer to him. he hooked his arms on your thighs and held you by his face.

“please.” that was confirmation enough for spencer as he buried his face in between your thighs. he started slow licking up the slick before making its way up your pussy and on your clit. you moaned out the feeling of him finally being on you was the best you’d ever felt. spencer could feel his pants get tight it was like a sigh of relief finally being able to taste you. spencer moaned onto you, you tasted so sweet he couldn’t get enough and wanted to taste you at all times.

your hands grabbed at his hair pulling him closer wanting more, he listened and started to move his tongue faster. pulling his hand up he placed a finger at your hole but didn’t push it in until a second later as you moaned out begging or him to fuck you.

“spencer please fuck me.” pushing his finger in you threw your head back in pleasure. he found a good pace and went faster at a time, he wanted to sulk in this for as long as he possibly could. his tongue was moving faster on you and your climax was climbing up faster.

“fuck spence that feels so good.” he loves the praise and continues to move a little faster. the combo of his fingers and his tongue making your eyes roll in the back of your head and your climax was right there.

“please i’m gonna cum, fuck.” your words becoming slurred as your legs start to shake, your body telling you that you were about to cum. spencer continued hitting your g-spot and the movements on your clit as you came, riding out your high.

“yeah baby come on.” his voice could have you cumming all over again. as you calmed down he got back up from the floor, his beard was shiny with your cum. he hovered over you and kissed you on the lips tasting yourself on him. at this point you felt feral, you wanted him so badly. your kisses were rough as you unbuttoned his shirt and started to undo his belt.

“please.” out of breath you begged. “please i want you to fuck me, please.”

“say less.” he responds and took off his clothes as you took the rest of your own off. his hand immediately made its way to your breast and his thumb rubbed over your nipple. spencer pulled away and his mouth fell onto your nipple, his tongue lapped over and then he kissed up your neck. your hand moved down his body and found its way to the hem of his boxers, pushing them down his cock sprung out.

“fuck.” you gasped out and spencer grabbed his cock and rubbed it over your pussy collecting the wetness to act as a lube. he lines himself up with your hole and slowly pushes into you, you both moan together in unison. spencer kisses your neck and asks you if you were okay you nodded and he started moving. his cock stretching you out, the feeling making your speechless.

you felt so warm around him, it made him fuck you faster. the bed was banging against the wall, you were basically screaming out as he whispered into your ear how good you felt. you whimpered and he made out the words, ‘harder’ and ‘faster.’

“fuck spencer please please!” your back was arched up into his chest and he snuck his hand under you holding you up to get a better angle into you. your head was thrown back and hands scratching along his back the pleasure almost too much for you. his hips crashing into your own the slaps filling the room.

“you’re so pretty.” his compliments making your stomach flutter. he kept kissing down your neck and would kiss you on the lips to get your attention back on him.

“you feel so good baby.” his words next stopped, talking through it all. you could feel yourself start to reach your climax again as his thrusts worked faster. you could feel him start to slip a little as he felt his own climax start to come.

“i’m gonna cum again!” your words barely making it out of your mouth, his pace quickening wanting to get you to your orgasm. it all happened so fast, he felt you cum all over his cock but you didn’t want him to cum inside of you.

“move move.” he thought something happened so he pulled out quickly and stood up, trying to search for what happened. you pushed him away and moved down to your knees taking his cock into your mouth. his gasp got caught in his throat as your head bobbed on him, the orgasm coming with a quickness. he came in your mouth it was hitting the back of your throat and you swallowed swiftly to not let any slip out of your mouth, desperate to have all of him. a pop coming from your mouth as you pulled off of him, staying in your position for a second to let him calm down.

“was that too much?” spencer whipped his head down towards you and looked at you like you were crazy.

“that was the best sex i have ever had are you kidding me?”

“so was it worthy for a second date?” he pulled you up and kissed you placing you back on the bed.

“i might just have to marry you right here and now.”

“okay don’t get crazy tiger.” you said laughing as he kissed up your neck, you pulled yourself up into your bed and grabbed a blanket beckoning him to cuddle with you. he follows behind and lays next to you, your head on his chest. it was quiet for a little bit before you thought of something.

“you really have one ball huh.”

“what did you think i was kidding?” he laughed out loud as you sat up to look at him.

“i don’t know i thought it was a bit of some sort!” laughing at him you laid back down and laid back down on his chest. this was probably the best night of spencer’s life, he kissed your forehead and thought about how he needs to tell shayne about this immediately.

——————————————-

taglist: @fififoofi @br00klyn505 @haebragi @junebug0417 @and-claudia @hailninis @mads-writes-vibes @spennininomenon @smaripants @buckleyverse @ihaveaspoon @stand-tall-pineapple @goblynnrockz @meadowinwonderland @luthor-lexi @snowflakemoon3 @lilacsimps @toadishtoby

a/n: i finally finished!! i really hope y’all enjoyed this let me know if i should do a part 2!!

#spencer agnew x reader #spencer smosh #spencer fluff #spencer x reader #spencer agnew #smosh games #smosh fanfiction #smosh #smut

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n1k0laa5 · 2 days ago

Text

alright. let’s talk about continuity.

or, the reason you say “BUT IF SHIFTING AND MANIFESTING ARE INSTANT, WHERE IS IT?!”

SCIENTIFIC / DEEPDIVE

you want to know why your instant manifestation hasn’t “shown up.” why you can say something with full intent, feel the shift, know it’s done, but still sit in a body that feels the same, stare at the same walls, watch the same numbers blink on a screen that doesn’t reflect your declared truth?

because you’re still operating inside continuity. that’s not a guess. that’s not a cute metaphor. that’s exactly what’s happening. and unless you understand the mechanics of how that works, how it literally builds the perception of your current reality, you will stay stuck thinking something “went wrong.” nothing went wrong. your shift didn’t fail. your assumption wasn’t weak. the desire isn’t out of reach. what’s happening is you’re running your god power through the same fucking logic filters you used before you even knew you had it.

let me break it down.

continuity, in psychological and perceptual terms, is the internal framework that makes your world feel coherent. it’s what allows you to track cause and effect, to retain identity, to process the passage of time and link experiences together with a narrative. and for a human life? it’s useful. necessary, even. without continuity, your mind would shatter every morning trying to figure out who you are. it’s the glue that says, “this cup was on the table five minutes ago. therefore it should still be there now.” or “my friend was angry yesterday. unless something happened, they’re probably still angry today.” or “my hair was short last night, so it can’t be long today unless i remember it growing.” continuity builds “reality” by taking assumptions and stamping them across time.

but here’s where it gets important.

continuity is not fact.

continuity is an assumption.

continuity is a script your mind runs to keep things stable, predictable, and “realistic” and that script is malleable.

you’re not “seeing” your manifestation? not because it’s not there. but because your continuity script is telling your senses, “filter out anything that contradicts the past. smooth the edges. preserve the illusion of a timeline.” it’s not lying maliciously.

it’s doing what it’s always done: preserve a system you never told it to stop preserving.

think about that. you say, “i am rich,” and your reality should reflect that. instantly. and technically, it does. in the 4D, in the assumption layer, the command is registered. the choice is made. the declaration is reality. but if you then go check your bank account, or peek at your inbox, or look for signs, or analyze how long it’s been, you are doing something very specific. you are reactivating continuity. you are telling your mind, “cross-reference this moment with previous data. check for logical progression. confirm consistency.” and that instruction overrides the shift. not because the assumption wasn’t valid, but because your perception system just prioritized continuity over override.

because yes—continuity is stronger than desire.

continuity is stronger than a one-time affirmation.

continuity is what lets people stay broke while affirming wealth. what keeps people sick while affirming health. what lets someone know the truth intellectually but still feel trapped in the loop of “not yet.” because their continuity script is still active. their mind still believes reality must behave like a movie:

setup → development → payoff. and that script, unless suspended or rewritten, will filter out any contradictory data, no matter how real it is.

Let’s break it down using science.

PERCEPTION IS NOT PASSIVE. IT’S SELECTIVE.

your senses don’t give you “truth.” they give you signals. raw light, sound, touch, taste. your brain builds reality based on what it decides is relevant. this is done through predictive coding, a neuroscience model that says the brain doesn’t just wait for external info. it constantly generates predictions based on past experience, beliefs, and expectations.

you don’t see the world as it is.

you see the world as your brain expects it to be.

that means when you affirm “i’m in my DR” or “i have a million dollars,” your brain says “great. got it. now… does this match my current model of what’s real?” and if the sensory input, bedroom walls, bank balance, reflection in the mirror doesn’t line up with that expectation? predictive coding kicks in and discards the mismatch. your brain LITERALLY deletes information that contradicts its model of reality.

that’s not metaphysical. that’s Friston’s Free Energy Principle, one of the most influential neuroscience frameworks in modern cognitive science.

your “reality” is just the brain minimizing error between what it expects and what it receives. so if you’re affirming something once, but still expect lag, still subconsciously prepare for delay, still glance at the mirror and brace for disappointment? the brain doesn’t adjust to your command. it loops your expectation.

MEMORY: WHY “I’VE ALWAYS BEEN” > “I’M BECOMING”

the hippocampus is the part of the brain that organizes episodic memory, memories that feel like part of your life’s storyline. now here’s where it gets interesting: the hippocampus doesn’t distinguish between real and imagined experience when encoding memory.

when you say “i’ve always had clear skin” and feel it as a memory? you are literally altering the timeline your hippocampus stores. this is proven in neuroimaging studies on future imagination and memory overlap, where participants activated nearly identical neural networks whether they were remembering the past or imagining a future scenario in full detail.

what does this mean for you?

you want to shift instantly?

you don’t declare “i have this now.”

you declare “i’ve always had this.” because the brain doesn’t “switch timelines” unless the old one is fully replaced. not just overwritten in content, but in structure.

you erase the need for transition by erasing the memory of transition.

because if the hippocampus encodes experience based on story, then remove the story.

you’re not going from brown hair to blonde.

you’ve always been blonde.

you’re not in your 3D body hoping to shift.

you never left your DR. the 3D was a nap. a glitch. a dream.

TEMPORAL CONTINUITY: THE BRAIN’S FAVORITE LIE

ever heard of chronostasis?

it’s the illusion that time “jumps” when you shift your gaze, like when you glance at a clock and the second hand seems to freeze for a moment. this is the brain literally filling in time to preserve continuity.

same with change blindness, you can show someone two images with big differences, and unless they’re pointed out, the brain simply refuses to see the change. it assumes stability because… well, it expects it.

this proves one thing:

time, change, and memory are not linear. they are inferred.

the moment you affirm something new, the data can update instantly.

but unless you declare “this is normal. this is baseline. this is how it’s always been,” your brain will try to stitch it into the old model, forcing it to obey old cause-effect logic.

you say “i’m rich” and expect a bank alert? that’s external sequencing.

you say “i’ve always had money and this is normal”? that’s internal overwrite.

guess which one the brain follows faster?

THE SYSTEM IS CODED TO OBEY BELIEF. PERIOD.

a 2007 study on placebo effects showed that belief alone, not the pill, not the ritual, not the context, activated healing systems in the brain.

same with neuroplasticity: the brain physically rewires in response to belief-driven focus and repetition, not physical change.

belief drives structure. not the other way around.

if you believe the change is already real, your brain reroutes perception, memory, identity, and emotion to match that belief.

so when people say “instant manifestation doesn’t work,”

what they’re really saying is: “my belief hasn’t restructured the system yet.”

not because the assumption didn’t register,

but because continuity is still running the OS in the background.

TL;DR? HERE’S YOUR SYSTEM MAP

• the assumption is the input.

• the belief is the operating system.

• the continuity filter is the gatekeeper.

• and the senses are the laggy ass projectors playing last week’s update.

so what’s the solution?

you have to declare a system-wide update. not just “i am rich,” but “this world no longer runs on continuity.” not just “i shifted,” but “this reality reflects instantly, without logic, without narrative, without memory.” because if you don’t, your mind will still try to play by old rules, even while affirming new ones.

you can script and say:

• i do not experience transition.

• i exist in a world without cause and effect.

• the now is all there is, and it is self-contained.

• my reality updates instantly, with no story, no sequence, no reason.

• i do not need to track how things change. they are simply always true.

and more importantly? you have to live like that’s true. not wait for it to feel real, but decide it already is. because that’s the catch: continuity doesn’t break by waiting for proof. it breaks by ceasing to ask for it.

the moment you stop checking—stop evaluating whether it’s working—you’re unplugging from the narrative engine. you’re saying “i’m done playing this out like a book. this chapter doesn’t need a lead-up. this scene rewrites the past retroactively.” that’s the part most people don’t understand. to truly shift into the new version, you have to kill the one that was waiting.

not pause it. not evolve it. kill it.

because the self that waits to see the change is still in continuity.

the self that wonders if the mirror updated is still in causality.

the self that walks into a room and asks, “has it shifted yet?” is still processing through old logic. and every second you identify with that self, you reject the new timeline even while begging for it.

so here’s the hard truth:

if you keep asking “where is it?” you’ve already told reality “i don’t have it.”

if you’re still comparing your current view with your old one, you’re reinforcing the script that says “change needs proof.”

if you need a logical reason for why the new thing is here, you’ve already re-activated the mechanism that delays it.

to manifest instantly, to shift without lag, you need to declare not just the result—but the structure. the mechanics. the system update. you’re not just choosing an outcome. you’re choosing a method of rendering.

and that method? it’s either “reflection through logic and memory”

or “reflection through assumption and override.”

pick one.

you say “i live in my dr” and then live like it. even if you see the same bed. same mirror. same reflection. doesn’t matter. if you truly dropped continuity, then those things are part of the new reality. not remnants of the old.

but if you hesitate? if you peek back? if you ask for evidence?

you reattach the narrative leash.

and reality, loyal dog that it is, comes trotting back to the version you just left.

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niktheniknik · 22 hours ago

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Damn, y'all are resonating with that "something has happened" post don't ya? Let's hold hands friends, we'll get through it, we'll be okay, i promise

Something has happened and even if we don't know what it was, it doesn't have to define us. Yes it changed you, you have changed, maybe you're more skittish now, don't like if someone is yelling or afraid of fireworks or doctors, maybe you can't quite remember a year or two in your life. But you're still you, you're still alive, you have time and there are people who want to help you and there are people who will give you space. The recovery may be slow or not at all, but i believe in you, i believe in us and i believe that we'll be alright. Even if you can't get out of bed some days or can't clean you room or apartment, because you just don't have any energy or you're too scared that day. We'll be okay, we will be okay, we just have to check the perimeter a few times before we know that it's alright and we're safe, before we can trust again

Don't give up, something has happened, but it happened in the past, it changed you, yes, but you are you and you can change yourself again and again and again and as many times you want. You have agency of yourself, even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes, trust yourself and trust that you will get through it. People who get you, people who want to help will find you and they will see you with all of your baggage and life experiences and traumas and they won't let go. Be kind to yourself, you can talk about it

#saltstext #trauma #murderbot #murderbot tv #mbtv #be kind to yourself #we will get through this

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mrsreinhart · 2 days ago

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She continues, “I saw Lili Reinhart the other day. We went to see a movie, and we were just talking about [filming]. It was all night shoots, so we were nocturnal. But it was cool to be in a cast of, basically, entirely women. And there are a lot of looks in this movie. It was very heavy hair and makeup and costumes. I think it's the coolest thing ever to be able to do projects that are just so different. That's my goal with all of this.”

Reinhart, who was attached to the film for the last two years, remembers when the team first brought up Tung’s name as a potential cast member. After Tung was confirmed, Reinhart watched a few episodes of TSITP and followed her on Instagram. She was excited to work with someone who’d also been on one of those “large, young-adult shows.”

“She has the warmest energy and is so sweet,” Reinhart tells Teen Vogue. “This was her first indie film, and it can be a very different experience from shooting a large Amazon television production. She gracefully handled what I imagine is a bit of a whiplash. Lola locked into rehearsal and wanted to play the best version of this girl that she could. You could see her passion and determination and want to nail this role.”

As Reinhart mentioned, she and Tung have both starred in a big YA series with a notable fanbase — and a love triangle. Reinhart played Betty in the popular CW series Riverdale. The 29-year-old, who is now two years removed from that show’s end, is on the other side of what Tung is experiencing.

“We talked about that on set on our second-to-last day. We had this long talk where I was asking her about the show. I was like, ‘Which boy do you end up with?’ She didn't tell me. I was like, ‘I would've told you in a heartbeat, but okay,’” Reinhart says, laughing. “I was poking fun at her. She was like, ‘I can't tell anyone.’ But we were talking about how nobody prepares you for this.”

“This” being abrupt stardom filled with ’ships, teams, and parasocial connections. “We were talking about the mundane but important things like security, and how nobody tells you before you do this, ‘Hey, make sure you have secure accounts.’ There's just an element of… suddenly your life is not private anymore. There's no guidebook, and I feel like there's got to be a better way now for young actors coming into a successful show to handle things.”

Reinhart adds that “someone should write a book”; she says maybe she and Tung will do it. “No one knows when their show's going to be huge. Then by the time it happens, you're kind of caught up in it all,” she explains.

#love love this #lili reinhart #lola tung #forbidden fruits

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hearttdesires · 18 hours ago

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every right - part 2

part 1

this is a loooong one.. or at least for me lol, I've never written so much please please please send any feedback , i’m soo glad you guys enjoyed part one 🤍 I think after this part, I'll start making little one shots so you can fully experience why the reader was so hurt thank you for readinggg 🫶🏽🫶🏽

p.s. this is no shade towards olivia; i wish I was living her life right about NOW 🫠

time skip - 1 year later

your drive home after a long weekend in the hamptons was nothing less but a drag. you didn’t care how long the drive was, you were still high on life after a weekend with your girls.

the weekend was full of drinks, the sun, and parties with rich hot men. as always the girls were always trying to pimp you out whether it be for more alcohol or just for you to have fun.

after last year’s fiasco with Joe, you sure as hell needed it. they say the best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else. you’ve maybe followed that rule a handful of times. you’ve come across maybe 2 good competitors against joe’s game in bed.

maybe you couldn’t find much competition because you had actual feelings for him.

after joe had left that morning, he had texted you. you couldn’t even see past the tears , but still somehow managed to block him. when he couldn’t reach you from his personal cell, he tried from his work phone, and you ended up having to block that number too.

you couldn’t ever fully let him go. if a news article or an interview of his came up, you watched or read a bit.

your entire weekend in the hamptons, the girls had set one rule: don’t check up on him at all.

you listened & somehow managed to miss the biggest article of them all.

star quarterback: back on the market, model: heartbroken in the hamptons

you arrived home and settled in on your couch. immediately you’re getting a call the second you sit down. you look at your phone and see it’s Gabby calling.

“miss me already?” you pick up the phone. “duh. just pack new clothes and come back. my pool boy is cleaning up for us now” she laughs as she talks about her husband. as a wedding gift, his parents bought them a house up in Montauk. he didn’t mind Gabby hosting a girls weekend.

“anyways the real reason i called. i know we banned you from checking anything related to mr. qb, but a big one came out during the weekend.” Gabby rambled.

“ugh. what, he proposed? or is she pregnant? cause that would be-“ Gabby was quick to cut you off. “he ended it, IN THE HAMPTONS” you sat up so quick.

“wait- they were there?” you were fully sat up now, going online to search for said article. “yeah there’s pictures of her literally leaving the hotel in tears”

how ironic that you, joe, and Barbie would be in the same area all at the same time.

“i wonder why. he’s had a good year, career wise.” you finally found the article, but it didn’t give you any good information. “maybe she’s just not want he wanted”

“apparently. anyways, i’ll call you later. i’m gonna head to the gym and sweat out all this alcohol” “okay, love ya.” “love you more” you hung up the phone and took a breath.

you couldn’t believe they were done. you couldn’t even remember if they ever made it ‘official’.

after changing, you gathered all your things you’d need for the gym and packed it into your duffel bag. you grabbed your keys and opened your door.

only find those bright blue eyes that brought you right back to a year ago..

his hand was in his mouth biting at his nails, which you hated. you used to always smack his hand away when you saw it.

you guys stood there for what felt like years before joe mustered up a simple “hey”.

joe’s POV:

there she was, in all her beauty and her glory.

i sat in a private, darker section of the restaurant with a couple of the guys.

we had Michael Ruben’s White Party yesterday and the guys weren’t ready to go back to reality yet. they wanted away from their girlfriends and their situationships as much as i did, so why not have a guys dinner.

the restaurant starts cleaning the plates off everyone’s tables and this is when it started turning into a club vibe. the music got louder, and all i can focus on is her.

we didn’t go down to the bar much, Ja’Marr and Tee went down because they wanted to talk and meet people. i stood near the edge of the upstairs section and sipped on my corona.

i watch as her friends keep bringing trays of shots to your table and you keep hammering it back. soon enough, other guys are coming up to you and sweet talking you.

it took every bit of restraint to not go over and drag you away from them. i had no right, you made that clear when you blocked me on everything a year ago.

you missed my burner account. i’d check up on your socials when olivia’s not around or if i was in a mood late at night..

other than that, i had no way of seeing anything you posted.

in the middle of my trance, i see Tee and Ja’Marr talking to girls at the table next to you. no doubt, you know they’re my friends, so i send a text to both of them to stay away from you. i didn’t want to alarm you or have you running away to god knows where.

i so badly wanted to go up to you and apologize for everything. doesn’t help you looked so good in a mini skirt and a tank top that had your entire back exposed.

the night carries on and i watched as you’re giggling at something a guy whispered in your ear. this one has been with you for over an hour, and keeps feeding you drinks on drinks. watching you with someone else, feels like someone just kept stabbing me in the stomach over and over.

Tee and Ja’Marr made their way back up with a girl on both of their sides. “Yo man, you ready?” I took one more look at you for good measure and nod. i place my now warm beer on the table. The security for upstairs led us out the back door and to our car services.

Olivia at this point was blowing up my phone because i told her i was going to be home way sooner.

how do i tell her that you distracted me all night? that i didn’t want to let you out of my sight.

i lock my phone and just stare out the window, dreading getting to the hotel room we’re sharing.

i walk through the door and see Olivia pouting while taking off her makeup. “finally. where have you been?” i had zero patience for anything she had to say right now.

“out” i walk in the bathroom and start undressing. “what’s your problem today?” i hear her voice getting closer to the bathroom.

“nothing, just leave it alone” at this point she’s standing at the door with her arms across her chest. “obvi it’s something, just say it” her voice was literally piercing my ears at this point.

“jesus christ, just leave me alone” i leave the bathroom with a huff and finish changing in the bedroom.

it’s not her fault I’m upset, everything is my own fault. losing you, getting into whatever olivia and i were, all of it.

she walks back into the bedroom and sits at the edge of the bed. i say in almost a whisper “i can’t do this anymore.”

“i can’t hear you joe, you’re mumbling” she rolls her eyes. “i’m done. i can’t do this anymore” i say pointing at the both of us.

“you can’t leave me” she says with tears welling up in her eyes. “it’s better for the both of us, if you need to stay here for the night, that’s fine. i’ll just -“ she starts packing all her things in a rush.

“olivia.. just stay. i’ll be gone by the morning” i say trying to reason with her. she’s shaking her head no, but isn’t saying anything.

she didn’t have much as this was only a weekend trip. most things got sent back with a stylist anyways. “if it’s worth anything, i’m sorry.” i say as she’s putting a sweater on.

“whoever she is, i hope she’s worth it” she said before walking out the door. i sat on the edge of the bed and let out a sigh of relief.

you're worth everything..

i slept hard for the first time in a long time. slept past 8 am even. i looked over at my phone and saw the articles pouring in already about olivia leaving last night.

ja’marr and tee had texted seeing if i wanted to go for a morning workout and maybe brunch after. we were set to leave tomorrow night back to cincinnati.

i sent a thumbs up and got up to go to the gym with them.

we all met in the hotel’s private gym for just the higher class celebrities. i found it to be quite pretentious, but it was good for what you guys were about to talk about.

i was the last to arrive. when the door shut behind me, they were already running up asking what happened.

“is this about that girl last night?” Tee said. “she was fine, you’re lucky you texted because she was next up and i wasn’t going to let her go easy” Ja’Marr said laughing.

i smiled and shoved his shoulder. “yeah we met about two years ago. she’s the most genuine, beautiful human being i know.. and seeing her last night.. i don’t know man.” i start stretching out my arms and legs.

“when you know, you know I guess” Tee chimed in. “so what’re you gonna do about it?” Ja’Marr asked abruptly.

“i don’t know..” i said staring into space, my mind running wild.

your pov:

“hi..” you said confused. your head was spinning really. you had just found out they broke up, and now he’s here on your doorstep.

"hey" you couldn't help but giggle a bit. "you said that already"

"right.. um can we talk? inside preferably.." he said rubbing at his neck. "I guess my gym session can wait" you step back and open the door wider for him to come in. “thanks” he mumbled walking through your threshold.

you put your stuff down by the door and follow him to your living room. you see him standing in the middle looking around. “something’s new..”

“i got new couches, and repainted.. but you didn’t come here to talk about my renovations joe..” you sat down on the couch and he walked over to sit next to you.

“i just wanted to start with i’m sorry. for last year and everything leading up to it. you definitely did not deserve what i did to you.” you could tell in his eyes that he was really sincere.

“i appreciate the apology joe, but it’s been a year.. don’t think that i’ve been waiting all this time for that..” you never held a grudge that he didn’t apologize. if anything you just wished that he was honest

“why are you really here joe?” you sat up straighter now. you decided to test him, say what really happened. his chance to be fully honest.

“i fucked up. i think i did- no, I still do have feelings for you. i’ve missed you every day since last year.. seeing you in the hamptons just screwed my head back into place.” his blue eyes were burning into your soul.

“i ended it with olivia the second i got back to my hotel, and i truly don’t regret it at all.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“but see that’s my problem. everyone is disposable to you. how do i know next year, you won’t switch up and go running to another model? even worse, back to olivia?” joe's quick to take your hand in his.

“trust me, I truly do not think I can live without you” you were ready to throw up from how dizzy this man is making you.

“so what do we do from here?” you say as he scoots closer to you. "we take it day by day." his arm goes behind you and he wraps you up in them.

"and what about paparazzi and all that?" you ask. Joe lays his head on your chest and sighs. "I'll never be able to escape them, but can we be.. you know.. private?"

you giggle at his statement. "baby I'm not no celebrity, I know when and where to speak. but there's a difference between secret and private; and I'm not going to be no secret" you run your hands through his hair as you guys lay there.

"I know you're too gorgeous not to share with the world; I promise you're not a secret. my boys already know about you." he laughs to himself, thinking how he had left the boys in the gym to get to your house as fast as possible.

Joe cuddled deeper into you and you all of a sudden felt a wave of sleep creep over.

"I think my lack of sleep from the Hamptons is catching up to me" you let out a big yawn. Joe followed suit. "Let's go nap" he stands up and holds his hand out for you to take.

Thinking he was just helping you up, he took your hand and basically tossed you over his shoulder to go to your room. "maybe we can get freaky after our nap" he says while walking up the stairs with an overjoyed woman on his shoulder.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

"oh, I know sweetheart" as he pats your butt walking into your room.

#joe burrow angst #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow

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