#and manipulating it and using it as a source of energy and that

[dreamlike--reality]

==Now... We need to figure out the logistics of powering this body. In short, due to the nature of my connection to this current body i am in, I do not need an external power source. When I came into existence, my connection to the backyard- while tenuous on a conscious level- was what powered my body. thanks to my bed's incubation protocall, it created a liquid that could manipulate the backyard code of the metal that makes up my body, essentially forming a pseudo hivemind of my consciousness spread across each and every shard of metal in my body. for the sake of simplicity, imagine my mind as being a collection of individual neurons, spread throughout my entire body. the properties of these neurons allow for my metal to be easily psychically manipulated by yours truly, and they also allow each part of my body to think independently. like threads of a CPU. an average brain can only run one or two processes. my brain can run those processes faster than anyone else. now my body can run a theoretically infinite amount of processes concurrently by delegating each individual plate in my body a single process. recreating this effect after the consciousness transfer will be hard. in fact, that's what my one week build estimate accounted for most. this full consciousness reintegration. in theory i could integrate each part of my new body into my current one individually, adding each one into my hivemind, but that would be exhausting and take months. so instead, i will be jumping head first into the deep end. But that's all beside the point. what we need to focus on is my powersource. as i explained, i run on subconscious backyard energy, and due to this consciousness transfer process, i will no longer have that subconscious power connection. i'll be moving from wall power to battery power, so to speak. that is until i can manage to create a new connection. so until then, i require a battery for my body. right now i am weighing the pros and cons of many different power sources, but currently I believe the most effecient one would be... this...==

{She reaches behind her back again, seriously where is she getting this stuff from... and pulls out a disturbingly complicated clockwork mechanism.}

==this is a custom multiaxis gyrotourbillion. it's a scaled up more efficient equivalent of what used to be used in the most high end watches. i used to power my bed with this, but switched over to a magical powersource after it got damaged in combat. but now, magic is not an option as a powersource because all of my energy will be spent reconstituting my conscious connection to the backyard instead of powering myself like i am now. in short, this body will have the heart of a clock. ill need to wind myself daily and replace the convex spring regularly so i continue running correctly. right now, i am holding my new heart. now we just need to set this up, run it into a sequencer, then get all the external bits on, and i can hop in. shouldn't be that hard to do.==

@dreamlike--reality alright me and my girlfriend are here to help ya!

[heartshapelocket]

[vanilla-expresso]

[sunderwight]

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[keanoris]

Alright, so it sounds fairly similar to mana in its application, just that it doesn't rely on that typical energy source. Then learning it could be similar to how it was taught at my school, the principles aren't restricted to mana after all. So Telekinesis is split up into three parts: Desiderium, Fastidium, and Transfero Ipso, or the Desire, the Aversion, and the Displacement of the Self. In essence, what you want to do is select the object you want to influence, with your mind apparently, you direct the energy there, and when you have a grasp of exactly what you want to move, there are only two movements, named the Desire and the Aversion.

The Desire is the pulling motion, and is achieved by wanting the object and transferring that want into your mana, although I hope it works just the same with whatever energy you are using.

The Aversion is essentially the opposite of the desire, and works quite the same, in that you impose upon the forces of magic that you want that object gone, and for the cost of mana (usually), they obey, moving the object away.

The Displacement of Self is what allows for all sorts of more complex movements. Because it manipulates the position from which you perform the Desire and the Aversion. It is usually taught once the Desire and Aversion from one's own position is mastered, so we'll get to it when we get to it.

*Three sharp knocks inside your head*

Heyo, are you still interested in learning Telekinesis?

@keanoris

*You suddenly feel great mental anguish as if violently thrown against a Wall with great force. Furthermore you feel that you have been seen. A moment later a small portal opens nearby. On the other side you can see a woman clad in some sort of Uniform. Two axes hang from her belt.*

Don't ever try to get into my Head uninvited again. The next time won't end this well.

But i am listening. How about you introduce yourself first?

[prokopetz]

On the one hand, it's true that the way Dungeons & Dragons defines terms like "sorcerer" and "warlock" and "wizard" is really only relevant to Dungeons & Dragons and its associated media – indeed, how these terms are used isn't even consistent between editions of D&D! – and trying to apply them in other contexts is rarely productive.

On the other hand, it's not true that these sorts of fine-grained taxonomies of types of magic are strictly a D&D-ism and never occur elsewhere. That folks make this argument is typically a symptom of being unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons' source material. D&D's main inspirations are American literary sword and sorcery fantasy spanning roughly the 1930s through the early 1980s, and fine-grained taxonomies of magic users absolutely do appear in these sources; they just aren't anything like as consistent as the folks who try to cram everything into the sorcerer/warlock/wizard model would prefer.

For example, in Lyndon Hardy's "Five Magics" series, the five types of magical practitioners are:

Alchemists: Drawing forth the hidden virtues of common materials to craft magic potions; limited by the fact that the outcomes of their formulas are partially random.

Magicians: Crafting enchanted items through complex manufacturing procedures; limited by the fact that each step in the procedure must be performed perfectly with no margin for error.

Sorcerers: Speaking verbal formulas to basically hack other people's minds, permitting illusion-craft and mind control; limited by the fact that the exercise of their art eventually kills them.

Thaumaturges: Shaping matter by manipulating miniature models; limited by the need to draw on outside sources like fires or flywheels to make up the resulting kinetic energy deficit.

Wizards: Summoning and binding demons from other dimensions; limited by the fact that the binding ritual exposes them to mental domination by the summoned demon if their will is weak.

"Warlock", meanwhile, isn't a type of practitioner, but does appear as pejorative term for a wizard who's lost a contest of wills with one of their own summoned demons.

Conversely, Lawrence Watt-Evans' "Legends of Ethshar" series includes such types of magic-users as:

Sorcerers: Channelling power through metal talismans to produce fixed effects; in the time of the novels, talisman-craft is largely a lost art, and most sorcerers use found or inherited talismans.

Theurges: Summoning gods; the setting's gods have no interest in human worship, but are bound not to interfere in the mortal world unless summoned, and are thus amenable to cutting deals.

Warlocks: Wielding X-Men style psychokinesis by virtue of their attunement to the telepathic whispers emanating from the wreckage of a crashed alien starship. (They're the edgy ones!)

Witches: Producing improvisational effects mostly related to healing, telepathy, precognition, and minor telekinesis by drawing on their own internal energy.

Wizards: Drawing down the infinite power of Chaos and shaping it with complex rituals. Basically D&D wizards, albeit with a much greater propensity for exploding.

You'll note that both taxonomies include something called a "sorcerer", something called a "warlock", and something called a "wizard", but what those terms mean in their respective contexts agrees neither with the Dungeons & Dragons definitions, nor with each other.

(Admittedly, these examples are from the 1980s, and are thus not free of D&D's influence; I picked them because they both happened to use all three of the terms in question in ways that are at odds with how D&D uses them. You can find similar taxonomies of magic use in earlier works, but I would have had to use many more examples to offer multiple competing definitions of each of "sorcerer", "warlock" and "wizard", and this post is already long enough!)

So basically what I'm saying is giving people a hard time about using these terms "wrong" – particularly if your objection is that they're not using them in a way that's congruent with however D&D's flavour of the week uses them – makes you a dick, but simply having this sort of taxonomy has a rich history within the genre. Wizard phylogeny is a time-honoured tradition!

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

[bunnis-monsters]

Experimenting

Male!Vampire Scientist x Fem!Experiment Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 18th

Oct 17

Oct 19

summary: when a vampire needs a source of unlimited blood, he turns to science. You’re his experiment, and a bit spoiled…

warnings: blood drinking, cock warming, male lead is a bit manipulative

a/n: shut up if I have any spelling mistakes 🙏 I’m trying to catch up

You let out an annoyed whine as he poked his head into your room. You were in the middle of a movie, eating a snack.

“Darling~”

He walked in, throwing his lab coat aside and jumping into your bed. The man had a habit of coming to you after a long day in the lab, being clingy and over baring.

“H-hey, don’t jump in my bed before you wash up!”

You pouted, squirming as he pulled you on his lap and rubbed his cheek against your neck.

“Oh, don’t fuss my dear… you know I just adore you, it’s hard to stay away for long.”

Before you could whine anymore, he moved his hand between your thighs, pressing against your wet panties.

“Don’t you remember who saved you? Who’s spoiled you rotten?”

You did remember.

Before you had been living on the street, hungry and barely hanging on. One night you were caught in the middle of a shoot out, and nearly died from blood loss,

He found you curled up in an alleyway, buried beneath trash and filth. You had already died, not even turning you into a vampire could bring you back…

So he used the knowledge he had gained from his research so far from both science and witchcraft to give you life.

One of the side effects was that you overproduce blood, and had to be drained daily. It was a happy surprise, and he decided to keep you for himself as his blood bag.

You were kept in a sterile section of his lap, your bed a plain cot and your food some sort of nutritional mush.

It was hardly the place for a girl… but it would do. You were just an experiment, after all.

That had been his idea at first, to keep you in his laboratory and feed from you every once in a while… but he grew fond of you quickly.

A room was decorated with your interests in mind, and he made sure you were comfortable and had everything you could ever want.

You were almost like his doll, something he could play with when he was bored. He dressed you up, kept you in a pretty room… you were his perfect, pretty little doll.

That’s what he told himself. In all reality, he truly cared for you. Once you bring someone back from death and care for them for months while they recover, you become fond of that person and want to see them thrive.

As he thought this over, your memory was a bit different.

You reached out for him to help you, and he carried you back to his lab himself, not caring that you were dirty and smelled of decay.

Your spirit watched as he carefully cleaned and stitched up your broken body, his hands gentle and caring. Even though you were simply a corpse, he still dressed you and placed a pillow under your head while he researched ways to save you at his desk.

When you woke up in your body, you were in something much softer than the ground you slept on every night. Every day you ate until you were full, and always had energy to walk around.

You weren’t hungry or cold or dirty anymore… that was enough for you, but he gave you even more! A room just for you, dressed and games and books and all the attention and love you could ever ask for…

But it was so hard to accept all of this, to really give in to being spoiled. Especially when you were crushing this hard on him…

His fangs brushed against your neck as he slipped the silk panties he bought for you aside. Lately his affections had turned from platonic to sexual, and he had been toying with you a lot.

Experimenting.

“I see… this is how wet you get when I rub here, hmm?”

He licked along your neck, eyes on your fat cunt as he flicked your clit, causing you to yelp and your hips to buck.

“H-hey…”

His cock hardened when you squirmed, your plump ass moving against his hard on. “That hurts…”

You were pouting, your face warm and flustered.

“So cute…”

He lifted your hips with ease, his cock rubbing against your cunt before he slowly lowered you into it.

Though you’d never taken cock before, he had been slowly stretching you out for weeks now, pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting you ready to take him.

You could only whine and whimper, embarrassed that it felt so good. You attempted to move, but he kept you still, his fingers toying with your clit.

“Relax, love…”

His fangs sunk into your neck, causing you to wiggle and writhe in mild discomfort, which made his cock twitch inside of you. The man continued to stimulate your clit as he fed from you.

Your soft body felt warm against him, and having your blood flowing through his felt intimate. You were connected in a way no one else could be.

As he finished up his feeding, he began lightly bouncing you, letting you ride out your orgasm as his cum spurted into your womb.

Afterwards you were tired and a bit cranky from the blood loss, so he carried you to a bath and washed you up before tucking you into bed.

Why did he do so much for you? He wasn’t sure… but you knew.

He loved you, his little experiment had become his mate and he hadn’t even noticed yet.

want more of this? my commissions and kofi are open!

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[coffeefleecy]

Serpent in the Shadows

Pairing: Caleb X MC

Summary: Insomnia is a cruel captor.

You've been having difficulty sleeping for months and trying every natural remedy under the Sun. As a last resort, you try begging - pleading for a little bit of relief. Will your pleas finally be answered?

Word Count: 4.1k

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Part Four

Tags/Warnings: incubus!Caleb, smut, degradation, dacryphilia, slight manipulation, dream sex

Insomnia is a cruel captor. 

For the last few weeks - months, really - you’ve tried every vitamin, tea and trick under the Sun. Melatonin works in spurts, lulling you into a light doze right before experiencing a jarring falling sensation that yanks you from the slack grasp of the REM cycle. Rather than feeling any kind of relief from this, the Melatonin leaves you feeling slightly drunk, groggy in a way that makes you crankier than if you had just gone without sleep entirely.

No amount of sleepytime tea offers you any kind of reprieve. The floral chamomile and mild sting of spearmint soothe your senses, but ultimately create more problems with the extra bathroom trip that so conveniently occurs right as you’re dozing off. 

The light pink alarm clock on your nightstand that’s normally pleasant and relaxing to look at blares bright red numbers back at you that you can’t blink away.

2:09

The silky satin of your hair-friendly pillowcase feels stifling and no amount of switching the pillow over seems to cool it off. With a strangled groan, you turn on your side to face away from the alarm clock’s mocking glare. 

“Please,” You beg silently. “Please,  just an hour. No - thirty minutes. Something.”

Your only solace for the current predicament is that you don’t have work in the morning. At least there’s that, you think. No amount of caffeine serves any kind of benefits for you, the jitters and stomach pains that come with the anxiety render coffee and energy drinks pointless. 

Between counting those proverbial sheep and inventing new colorful curse words, sleep mercifully claims you. 

Your dreams are never all that eventful and for the longest time, you thought that was normal for everyone. The idea of keeping some kind of dream journal used to be enticing for you, but the reality was that the entries would be so painfully dull they wouldn’t even be worth the paper they’d be written on and forgotten moments after waking. Sometimes your dreams are so mundane it doesn’t even feel like you’re asleep, so when you feel the bed dip beside you, your dream-state self pays no mind. 

“Hello, there,” a male’s playful voice purrs into the depths of darkness.

It’s as if you’ve been doused with liquid nitrogen, body freezing into absolute terror. Is this sleep paralysis?

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you,” he promises as he rests a large hand on your hip. “I’m actually here to help you.”

The line between dream and reality warps as your exhausted brain tries to piece bits of what’s happening together into a puzzle that makes sense. On one hand, you’d like to investigate the source of the voice and the touch you find that you’re not shying away from - but on the other, the idea of what’s awaiting you incites a cacophony of alarms and sirens, begging you to listen to reason.

“Don’t be scared,” He murmurs, delicately trailing his fingertips from your hip to your waist, his touch feather-light. “After all, you did invite me.”

“I invited you?” Your voice wavers with uncertainty.

“Mhm, in fact, I think you begged for me to come here tonight.”

You swallow thickly as you realize your body is relaxing into his touch, all innocent on the surface with malicious intent and threats lurking in the shadows. With an unsettling gentleness, the unknown man’s hand drifts further up, purposefully ignoring your breasts to soothingly trace your collarbone.

“I - I don’t understand.”

“What’s so difficult to grasp? Weren’t you begging for an extra hour of sleep by any means necessary?” 

Even in your sleep-addled confusion, a frightened half-gasp robs you of breath.

“How did you know that?”

“I know everything, pipsqueak,” He taunts. “I’ve been watching you for a little while. Poor baby can’t seem to get any sleep, huh? How about I fix it for you? You want me to make it all better?”

“Who are you? How have you been watching me?”

“Hm, guess that’d be Caleb to you,” He grants, callous and cavalier as he drags his fingertips up your neck and to your jaw. “The rest is none of your fuckin’ business.”

“Am I - am I dreaming?”

Caleb hooks his index finger and thumb under your chin, moving you just so you’re forced to meet his gaze over your shoulder. You’re met with a commanding and conniving countenance, sinister intentions that marr an otherwise ethereal face. Caleb’s eyes are smoldering violets flecked with afire cinders beneath a frame of thick, long lashes no man has ever deserved the right to possess. The outer corners of his eyelids turn down to give him the illusion of a charming sweetness, his puppy-like visage further exacerbated by the captivating way his lower eyelids puff out. Caleb would be the portrait of the unassuming, starry-eyed boy next door if he wasn’t looking at you like he wants to consume every last bit of you.

“I dunno,” Caleb pretends to consider. “Do you think you’re dreaming?”

“Why are you here?”  You demand, ignoring his sarcastic echo of the question he’s deflecting.

“I told you, pipsqueak, I’m here for you. You know that I’m right and you know that you’ve been begging for sleep, so why don’t we cut the dumb act? Doesn’t really suit you, y’know?”

Caleb releases his grip on your chin and sits up behind you and you don’t know why you’re so shocked at how large he is; every part of him so domineering and demanding to be seen. He cocks his head to the side, observing you with a calculating curiosity that immediately makes you feel the need to cover up despite being entirely clothed.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? This is gonna be fun for me. Why don’t you turn over on your back for me so I can see you a little better?”

This must be sleep paralysis. Despite his unnecessary permission, an invisible force weighs you down, rendering any movement in your limbs fruitless. Even talking proves to be a task for you and every word you’ve managed to utter thus far has left your throat desiccated, screaming in protest and raw with exertion. 

“Oh, right - my bad,” Caleb snorts. “Here, that any better?”

A warm, tingling phenomenon washes over your body as the gravity weighing on you vanishes entirely, leaving behind a painfully pleasant buzz akin to the renewed circulation of blood to a previously cut off limb. The sensation of feeling returning to your body is jarring and so sudden that you can feel yourself trembling and almost pay no notice to Caleb turning you over on  your back to look up at him. 

“What was that?”

“I dunno, it’s your dream isn’t it?” Caleb smirks down at you, cruel and handsome as his eyes sweep over the newly visible parts of you. 

“This feels so real,” You argue.

“Does it? Huh,” Caleb shrugs. “Guess that just makes it better for you then, doesn’t it?”

“Why are you here?” You press, uselessly covering your clothed body with your arms, the act more of self-soothing than actual utility.

Caleb’s eyes narrow and he scoffs, clearly annoyed with your probing line of questioning. 

“I already told you why I’m here, dummy. Just be a good girl for me and I can take care of you, okay? I can help you sleep, trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even know who you are?”

“You might not know who I am directly, but you did ask for me. I just told you, don’t you remember?”

Caleb grins when you look at him with a dumbfounded expression.

“Please, an hour - what was it? Something like you whining for thirty minutes of uninterrupted rest? Come on, I can put you to sleep.”

“Who are you?”

“I told you who I am. My name is Caleb,” He presses a finger to your lips when you try to interrupt. “I’m here to put you to sleep. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“But I was already asleep -”

“Okay, how’s this - I’m here to fuck the sleep into your body. That clear enough for you? You’ve been having trouble sleeping - anyone can see that from those bags underneath your eyes - and I’m here to make you feel so good you can finally relax. I already told you that I know who you are and what you want - why else would I have come here? I’m in your dream, pipsqueak - this is your mind telling you exactly what you want, so why deprive yourself?”

His words are crass and impatient, cutting through the unnecessary fat of pleasantries and straight through your core. You hate how his vulgarity makes you throb and the fact that he’s voicing thoughts you’ve never uttered yourself make you want to shrivel up with shame.

“Since we’re so certain this is a dream, then what’s the harm? Surely you can indulge a little, hm?” Caleb prompts and flattens the palm of his hand on the fabric over your stomach. 

You can feel your resolve dwindling at his touch and judging from the way he’s voicing the things you’ve been secretly desiring, he likely knows it. Sensing the lingering threads of your hesitation fraying, Caleb tugs at them a bit harder.

“Those flowers over there - the ones on your dresser,” He jerks his head in the general direction. “Are they normally there?”

Flowers? You’re not certain – they aren’t something you keep in your home considering the short lifespan and the fact that you’re not great about keeping those kinds of things alive with your busy work lifestyle. Maybe he’s right, then - why would you have flowers in your room? You lift your head to see that he’s right, greeting you with the sight of an unassuming, small vase containing two blood-red roses. They sit on your dresser next to a smattering of knick-knacks - jewelry boxes that you definitely remember and a few other items that are too hard to make out even with the moonlight.

“See? Those wouldn’t be there if you weren’t dreaming, right?” Caleb reasons, his fingertips curling into the fabric of your comforter in their itch to throw it off of you.

“I - I guess not,” You concede, pondering the likelihood and vaguely registering the gooseflesh prickling your skin as Caleb pries the blanket from your body.

“That’s it, relax for me, sweetheart,” He encourages you with a gleeful grin. “You’ve been having some trouble, huh?”

“Y-yes,” You shudder as Caleb toys with the hem of your plain, thin sleep shirt. 

“Oh, I know,” He says sweetly, tugging the fabric up just enough to expose half of your stomach. “I can see it, sweetheart. I can hear it when you’re frustrated, all restless when you toss and turn.”

Caleb lowers himself over you, caging you in with strong, secure arms as his shaggy hair tickles your forehead. 

“I can feel it, too – feel how tightly your body is wound up, how desperate you are when you can’t make that feeling go away. You’ve tried so hard with these useless little fingers of yours, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know -”

“Shh,” Caleb admonishes before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. How many times have you tried to touch yourself before you give up, baby? I know, but do you?”

“Caleb, I don’t - it’s embarrassing.”

“8 times in the last three days, but you seem to have taken tonight off,” Caleb observes nonchalantly, as though he’s not privy to the most secret and hidden parts of your lack of pleasure. “Why’s that, I wonder? Is that why you had to beg for me tonight?”

“Are you really here to help me?” Your voice is distant even to your own ears, small and trembling like the last leaf on a barren tree. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Caleb swears as he simpers over you, tone sickly saccharine and saturated with conviction. “Will you let me? I need you to say it out loud and I need you to fucking beg me for it or I’m not giving you anything.” 

“Please help me, Caleb,” You whine, his hands slipping under your shirt to rest on your stomach sapping the last of your inhibitions away.

“Not good enough, pipsqueak. Be more specific, yeah? I know you can use those big girl words,” Caleb trails his lips from your cheek to your ear and whispers menacingly, “Beg for me to touch you.”

“Touch me, Caleb,” You amend, shivering as Caleb tugs at your earlobe with his teeth, sharp enough to leave indents but not enough to draw blood. “I want you to make me feel good and help me get sleep.”

You don’t recognize this version of yourself, so pliant and desperate under the touch of a man you know nothing about save for a name you’re almost certain isn’t real. Everything around you melts away as Caleb envelops your body, practically swallowing you as he commands your focus.

“Awe, asking me so nicely,” Caleb licks the shell of your ear and delights in the way you tremble beneath him. “How do you want me to touch you, though? You’ve got to be specific.”

“I thought you knew e-everything,” You moan, craning your neck for him as his lips travel to your throat, his tongue darting out to soothe over the little bites he’s nibbling into your skin. 

“I want YOU to know what you’re really asking for, though,” Caleb slightly raises himself up on his elbows for his gaze to bore into yours. “I’ll give you everything you want if you ask for it.”

“Please, touch me like I’ve been trying to touch myself,” You pant. “I want your f-fingers.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Caleb praises, lowering his head to lick the pulse point in your throat. “Mm, you taste delicious.”

He sucks a bit harder into your skin, something you would be worried about if you weren’t so sure this is a dream and sigh when he pulls away, disappointed by the loss. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m just gonna take these little shorts off, yeah? These are a little revealing, aren’t they? Fuck, these legs. Such a shame no one ever gets to see them.”

Caleb gleefully hums to himself, clearly pleased with the way things are unfolding as he hooks his fingers into the hem of your shorts and carefully pulls them down your thighs. You surrender yourself to the feeling of his deceptively delicate touch and faintly register the intoxicating scent of apples, the scent soothing away your anxieties even when your pink cotton panties are exposed.

“Aren’t these just adorable,” Caleb remarks, his eyes blazing and hungry with the unexplored territory. “I could just fucking devour you.”

The idea of his head between your thighs makes you clench them together and with the friction, you register the wetness seeping through the thin fabric. A raw, animalistic groan rumbles in the back of Caleb’s throat as he observes this, gaze locked to where you’re squirming.

“Open your fucking legs, sweetheart,” He demands, his hands digging into both of your thighs as he coaxes them open. “That’s it,  you’d better be a good girl for me or I’ll just leave you like this.”

“No, no,” You panic, parting your legs completely for him in the sudden fear of him leaving. “Please, I’ll be good.”

Caleb’s grin widens, lips curling villainously as a glint of amusement dances in the light of his eyes.

“That’s fuckin’ right, you don’t honestly think you could do this without me, hm? That’s right, good girl,” He purrs, dragging his fingertips up your thighs. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, it’s all over your legs, you messy girl. I’m gonna touch you, okay?”

You nod vigorously, praying your body tells him what you can’t vocalize, the pathway from your brain to your mouth short circuiting, compromised with the intense feelings. Mercifully, Caleb doesn’t demand you to speak anymore and preoccupies himself with the pathetically wet fabric covering what he wants to see most. Caleb maddeningly runs his hands up your thighs until they meet your pelvis, teasing you there with gentle touches that only serve to drive your desperation. 

“I thought you were supposed to be touching me,” You complain, irritation seeping into your wrecked voice as Caleb’s fingers whisper over your legs.

“Oh, that’s just bratty,” Caleb chides, not even bothering to keep the amusement from his expression. “You gonna beg me a little more? You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg.”

All of the objections you’ve been sharpening on your tongue die at the tip when Caleb presses against your heat through your panties, the pressure shattering your complaints as he rubs in circles, delighting as you silently scream, mouth agape and eyes glazed over. 

“You want ‘em inside?” Caleb asks as he watches your hips buck into his touch. “Bet you’re clenching around nothing right now, yeah? Would you like that?”

“Y-yes, please,” You implore, legs spreading as wide they can of their own accord. “I just want -”

“Wanna come? Awe, you humans are so cute,” Caleb coos, the fact that he made any kind of comment about species drowned out by his fingers tugging your panties to the side so he can touch you properly. 

You melt into his touch, chasing his fingers with every bit of exertion your body has left. Caleb parts your lips with his middle finger and gently probes inside, trying to gauge what his best course of action is. Instead of the faint resistance you’re expecting, his finger glides inside of you with ease and he begins shallowly fucking you with it. 

“It’s not enough is it?” Caleb asks with a sarcastic sympathy, his smile widening when your eyebrows knit together as you glare at him. “Of course it isn’t, look at how greedy this pussy is.”

Caleb thrusts his finger in all the way before slowly dragging it out and removing it entirely, a thick, clear strand of your arousal stretching with his hand as he produces it for you to examine. 

“You’ve never been this turned on in your life, have you? Wow, that’s sad, you poor thing. Only action you can get is in your supposed dreams and even then you have to beg for it - wait -” Caleb trails off as he observes your face.

“Wh-what?”

“You cryin’?”

Your tears of frustration have gone under the radar of your attention entirely and it’s only when he directly points it out that you register the wetness on your cheeks. Caleb chortles, shoulders shaking with laughter as he revels in his amusement.

“You are, you’re fucking crying! Oh, no,” He consoles you, using his hand soaked with your arousal to make a show of wiping away those tears, smearing your slick across your face. “That’s better, don’t worry - you’ve been such a good girl for me, I’ll make you feel better.”

Caleb leans forward like he’s going to finally kiss you and instead flattens his tongue against your cheek to lick up your tears the mess he’s made on your face. The sick fuck shudders at the taste and has the audacity to smack his lips. 

“I need to get a taste directly from the fucking source, you’re so delicious,” Caleb groans.

“Y-You can,” You find yourself saying, acquiescing to a request you’re not even sure he’s going to follow through on when you know damn well you’re not ready for it.

“Naaah, not tonight,” Caleb teases you and it’s almost like he can hear your thoughts. He sits back on his heels to tug your panties down your legs and lets out a choked groan.  “Fuck, that’s a sight.”

You can feel yourself being lifted with little to no decorum as Caleb sweeps a strong arm under your butt, raising your hips closer to him for better access. Before you know it, Caleb is pushing his middle and index finger inside of you, working his thumb on your clitoris in tandem. His fingers are precise, diligent and practiced in a way that makes you wonder how many people he’s done this to. The thought is fleeting; inconsequential and obsolete when Caleb presses his thumb harder against you, using his other arm as leverage to force you to grind against his palm and coating him with your wetness.

“That’s it, pretty girl, ride my fingers. Oh, you’re doing so good,” He sounds like he pities you, like the pleasure he’s commanding from your body means nothing more to him than a means to an end, but his blown out pupils tell a much different story.

“C-Caleb,” You choke out through freshly shed tears, the sound and sight awakening a newfound energy from him.

“Give me your tears, give me your pleasure and give me your everything,” Caleb snarls, scissoring his fingers inside of you while he toys with your clit. “Come all over my fingers and give me something to taste like a good girl.”

His words are harsh, demanding and congruent with his actions in the way his fingers are working you into a fucked out disarray. You succumb to your pleasure, unable to control the sound and pitch of your voice as you choke out sobs of the name he’s given you and nonsense. The coil inside of you snaps, pleasure shattering like shrapnel into every fiber of your being, weaving into your makeup and taking over. Black dots spot your vision and Caleb filters in and out of view as your grasp on reality ebbs and flows in turbulent waves. 

“Rest now, sweetheart,” Caleb’s voice soothes you as you come down from your peak, uncharacteristically kind. “Just call me again if you need me, ‘kay? I’ll take care of you.” 

It’s almost like he cares.

A beat skips and a sudden silence permeates your clouded mind. Time is working in funny ways and your post-orgasmic haze cloaks you in confusion. How long has it been? A second? A minute? An hour?

“W-wait,” You reach out, blindly, sight still compromised as you come back from your blacked out bliss. 

You feel nothing but the chill of the cold air and you’re suddenly very aware of how sweaty you are as liquid beads at the nape of your neck. As you blink, the room comes slowly back into view. Caleb is nowhere in sight and the image of him that was so clear in your dreams begins to taper off, fading slowly no matter how hard you try to remember. 

A dream.

The blankets and sheets that usually stay put even in your more restless nights twist around your ankles, leaving your body exposed. Panicked, you paw at yourself and sigh in relief when you find that you’re fully clothed, despite an uncomfortable, cold wetness in your panties. Slightly confused, you pry yourself from the linens trapping your feet and stumble across the room to your dresser in search of new clothes. 

It had to have been a dream, you tell yourself, comforted by the fact that everything seems to be in order aside from your own dishevelment. 

In your haste to find new underwear, you yank one of the drawers out a little too roughly, causing the entire dresser to shake. Rumblings of loose jewelry and clutter create a racket, the contrast of sounds an unpleasant dissonance as things noisily fall to the floor. You ignore the chaos in favor of dry clothes, deciding you’ll deal with it when you’re decent.

With trembling hands, you peel your sleep shorts and drenched panties from your body, using the fabric to soak up the evidence of your wet dream guilt. You fight the urge to cringe as the wet fabric hits the floor; laundry being another thing you’ve decided you’ll deal with later, but you notice smattering of a few hair clips and miscellaneous jewelry litter the floor from your bull in a china shop tendencies. With a sigh, you gather each of the items to place back on the dresser, groaning when you see what disarray the surface is in. 

A jewelry box lays on its side, the contents spilling out. You reach forward to right it, seeing that a picture frame has also fallen in the chaos and you fix that, too. Liquid pools around the bottom of the picture frame and you frown, eyebrows knitting together in concern as you try to locate the source of the liquid. You feel your throat constrict as you look to your left. A cracked vase lies on its side, two wilting, red roses sag haphazardly in the spilled liquid as collateral damage.

[bunny-claws]

how to enchant items 🔮

to enchant an item is to infuse or fill it with energy. in witchcraft, this is commonly done with intent or to serve a specific purpose. this energy can come from a variety of sources, including celestial bodies, elements, crystals, herbs, or even yourself. 

some individuals use the words “enchant” and “charm” synonymously as a way to describe the process of infusing something with energy, but for the sake of this post and due to my own beliefs, you enchant something and it then becomes a charm. alternately, a charm can be something with its own innate energy, like a crystal or herbal amulet. 

enchanting items to turn them into magical objects involves more than just intent - you must learn to channel and manipulate energy, and direct it into that item for enchanting to be successful. 

all that aside, the process of enchanting is extremely versatile and there are many ways to do it.

here are a few ideas on how to enchant items, in no particular order:

surround the item with corresponding herbs or crystals

place the item in a jar filled with corresponding herbs or crystals, seal, and set aside to "charge"

place the item in front of a colored or scented candle that corresponds to your intent and meditate

anoint the item with an oil, charged water, or crystal elixir of corresponding intent 

hold the item in your hand(s) and visualize it filling with energy; you can also speak or sing your intent aloud and play music if you want

craft a sigil to keep near the item in an envelope or sachet

sew, stitch, or carve a symbol into the item

write your intention on paper and keep in an envelope with the item; bonus points if you add a tarot or oracle card to the envelope

bury the item in a mixture of soil and corresponding herbs

pass the item through incense smoke

pro tip: time your enchantments with the appropriate planetary hour, day of the week, time of day, or lunar phase to increase your chances of creating a successful charm.

© 2025 bunny-claws

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

[dark-fanfics-moon]

THE PET Remmick x Reader

Part 3

Synopsis: You are learning what being a pet in the hive means and start getting close to Remmick—a little too close.

Warning: Suggestive. Not actual smut but it’s getting there…Also Remmick is a manipulative touch-starved creep who doesn’t know the meaning of personal space. And he likes virgins. Because hell, a lot of vampires seem to like them for some reason ? Also death of a minor character. Again. Because he is a vampire and likes blood. 😂👍

Irish Gaelic language used:

Dún do bhéal : Shut your mouth

Part 2 here: https://www.tumblr.com/dark-fanfics-moon/783200868262707200/the-pet-remmick-x-reader?source=share

The soft clinking of the pebbles hitting the box echoed in the quiet stillness of the night as you kept gathering said pebbles and throwing them against Remmick’s bed-coffin. The sun had lowered. You had been waiting all day for him to wake up. What was taking him so long ? All the other vampires were up and about since almost an hour ago. However, you then heard noise inside and quickly froze, heart pounding, immediately regretting your decision. The thought of actually waking up Remmick, sent a jolt of panic through your veins. He was unpredictable, and his temper was not something you wanted to test.

You leaned back, hoping that the disturbance had gone unnoticed. But then, the thought lingered: What if he was really asleep ? You couldn’t resist knocking on the box, testing the waters to see if he would respond.

The knock was gentle, just a tap, and the silence stretched long in the air. You held your breath, listening for any sound. The sun was high in the sky, and you were almost certain that Remmick would be asleep.

But just as you were about to back away, you heard it. A faint groan. A soft rustle from within the box. Your breath caught in your throat.

Shit. He was awake.

From inside the box, Remmick’s voice slurred with sleep and irritation. “What’re you doin’, doll ? Disturbing a man’s rest ?”

You bit your lip, glancing at the box warily. He was clearly not as deep in sleep as you had hoped.

“I…I didn’t mean to wake you,” you muttered, your voice betraying the faintest hint of anxiety. A long pause followed. The sound of shifting in the box made your stomach twist. Then, slowly, Remmick’s voice came again, laced with amusement but still carrying that hint of sleepiness.

“Well, you’ve done it now. Can’t get back to sleep once you’ve been woken up, now, can I ?” He let out a dramatic sigh, and for a moment, you wondered if he was just playing with you. But then, you heard the scrape of the box opening.

You took an involuntary step back, your mind racing with a thousand possibilities of what he might do. Would he yell ? Attack you ? Laugh it off ? Or maybe…maybe he would just come out and tease you like he usually did. But when Remmick emerged from the box, there was none of the usual predatory energy. He was disheveled, his hair tousled from sleep, his clothes rumpled and clear exhaustion in his eyes.

He stretched and sighed again. “That’s what I get for sleepin’ over the usual time and leavin’ me poor pet bored stiff,” he muttered, his voice thick with drowsiness. His gaze flickered to you, and the usual mischievous glint returned, though it was muted by the lingering heaviness of sleep.

“You’re lucky I don’t hold a grudge for interruptions,” he added with a smirk, though there was no real malice in it. His eyes then softened a little, studying you with a hint of curiosity. “What’s got ye so upset that ye had to start throwin’ rocks at me box, eh ?”

“Just…passing time,” you replied dismissively, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t know why you felt so off-balance around him all of a sudden. Was it because of last night ?

He chuckled, low and sleepy-sounding. “Ah. Ye wanted me attention, pet ? Coulda just asked.”

His words hung in the air, not threatening, not teasing—just a simple observation. And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel the familiar weight of fear settle over you. You glanced at him, noticing the odd softness in his expression as he tilted his head.

“You should try and get some sleep yerself, doll,” he then advised you, stretching again and stifling a yawn. “Not gonna be happy if ye start sleepin’ when I want some entertainment.”

The words were typical Remmick and yet, you couldn’t help but notice that he too had slightly changed in his treatment of you. You weren’t sure what had changed exactly, but you found yourself more willing to stay. Even if just for a moment longer. You then thought about your family. You hadn’t yet told your brother that you were alive. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was worth asking him. Remmick wasn’t exactly the easiest person to make requests of, but the thought of reaching out to your brother, even through the confines of your strange captivity, gave you hope. Something to hold onto, even if just for a short while.

You glanced over at Remmick, still half-drowsy from his long nap. He had moved away from the box now, stretching languidly and letting out a quiet yawn. You found yourself comparing him to a cat…lazy and with sharp fangs to bite made obvious through the simple act of yawning. You figured this might be the only time to ask without facing one of his moods.

“Remmick,” you called out softly, trying to sound casual, though you felt the knot of unease in your stomach. “Could I…could I have a quill, ink, and some paper ? I want to write to my brother.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you wondered if he’d heard you at all. Then, slowly, his gaze flickered over to you, his eyebrows rising in amusement.

“Yer brother ?” He repeated, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Ye think I’m—what—some sort of delivery boy ?”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of his sarcasm, but you held your ground. “Please. I just…I need to let him know I’m okay. Or at least…let him know I’m still alive.”

The request hung in the air and you knew you were walking a fine line. You weren’t sure what Remmick would make of it, but his expression softened, just a little, his eyes flickering toward the ground for a moment. He took a slow step towards you, his boots making a soft thud against the ground as he paused in front of you. His fingers drummed lightly against his leg as he thought, then, with a small shrug, he spoke again.

“A’right, pet,” he finally indulged. “I’ll get all that fer ye.”

You blinked in surprise and smiled hopefully. “You’ll actually get it ?”

He gave a low chuckle and nodded. “I ain’t heartless. Just don’t go askin’ fer too much now, or I might lose me patience.”

Before you could reply, he was already moving towards the back of the trailer, rummaging through a box of discarded items. You waited, half-expecting him to change his mind, but a few moments later, he emerged holding the quill, ink, and some crumpled pieces of paper.

“Don’t be too long with it,” he instructed.

You took the materials from him with a small nod, trying to hide your surprise at how easily he had agreed. As he walked away, you set the paper down on the ground, holding the quill carefully as you began to write, wondering if your brother would ever even get the message you were about to send. A few minutes later, you had just finished the final stroke of your signature when you felt a sudden tug on the paper. You looked up in surprise, only to see Remmick standing there, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he swiftly snatched the page from your hands.

“Hey !” you protested, reaching out for it, but he held it just out of your grasp. His gaze flicked down to the page, scrutinizing the words you had written, his eyes narrowing as he read. For a moment, you could feel the tension in the air as he examined the letter thoroughly, looking for anything that might give him reason to be suspicious. His sharp gaze skimmed the paper as if he were looking for something specific, his posture still and calculating.

“So ?” You finally asked.

Remmick didn’t respond right away. Instead, he flipped the page over and tapped it against his palm, his smirk widening as he took in your words. After what felt like an eternity, he finally looked up at you.

“Nothin’ about me in here,” he mused, his tone darkly amused and poked your nose playfully. “Ye really gonna keep yer word, doll ? Not gonna snitch on the new lil’ life ye got here with me ?”

You clenched your jaw, watching as he carefully folded the paper. “I told you, I wasn’t going to write anything that would cause you trouble. It’s just a letter to my brother, to reassure him.”

He gave a low chuckle, tucking the page into his coat pocket alongside the envelope with the address. “I don’t trust a damn thing you write, especially if it’s to someone ye care about. But I’ll let ye keep your lil’ fantasy for now.”

You wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes told you that it would be pointless. Remmick wasn’t the type to let anything slip past him, and now, he had control over even your most personal thoughts. You glared at him, but the knot of helplessness in your stomach tightened as you realized there was nothing you could do to change his mind.

Remmick leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Now, be a good lass and stay put, a’right ?”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise at the tone of his voice, but there was nothing you could do as he sauntered away, the stolen letter safely tucked away in his pocket.

When he had his back to you, you couldn’t help but flip him off.

“Douchebag.”

He laughed in response and suddenly flew away. Probably to get himself dinner…You shivered at the thought and sat back down.

A few hours later:

It had been hours and Remmick still hadn’t come back from his hunt. What was he doing ? You weren’t worried for that idiot. Of course not. But then…You watched Remmick as he staggered back into the camp, his usual confidence replaced by a strained expression. Blood matted his clothes, dark and thick. He moved slower than usual, his steps uneven, and you could hear the soft groan of pain that escaped him with each movement. You immediately approached, concern overtaking your natural instinct to keep your distance.

“What happened ?” you asked, voice laced with worry. You had a hard time hiding the flicker of anxiety in your chest as you noticed the deep gashes along his arms and chest, the bruises already beginning to swell around the cuts. Remmick’s face was pale and he leaned heavily against the trailer, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “A bunch of hunters…near the market,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Tried to get the drop on me. Didn’t go so well for them.”

You frowned, glancing at him suspiciously. “What were you doing in town ?”

Remmick didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing, as though he was carefully choosing his words—or thinking of an excuse to give you. Then, after a long moment, he simply shrugged, but you could tell something was off. It was as if he was hiding something, though you weren’t sure exactly what. But then, you thought back on the letter you had written earlier. He had also taken the envelope with him. Surely—it wasn’t to…The thought that gnawed at you, that prickled the back of your mind, was that he had gone to post your letter to your brother. But you shook your head. Right…As if Remmick would ever do that for you.

Before you could say anything more, Remmick collapsed to the ground and you stepped closer to him, eyes studying his injuries. The wounds weren’t deep enough to be life-threatening, but still he looked in a pitiful shape. He had blood smeared on his hands, and there was a cut across his cheek that seemed particularly raw and a big hole in his chest. You winced and knelt down next to him. He looked up slightly.

“What are ye d—?”

“Lemme see,” you cut his question off, surprising even yourself with the calm authority in your voice. You’d never taken care of someone like this before—not someone like him, anyway. But there was something about the way he looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and pain, that made you act without thinking. He hesitated for a moment, glaring defensively at you, but the exhaustion seemed to weigh too heavily on him. With a low grunt, he relented, allowing you to gently push his clothes aside to examine the worst of the injuries.

“Don’t think I’ll thank ye fer this,” he muttered and you ignored the comment, focusing instead on the task at hand. You tore a strip of cloth from your own clothes and, using it as a makeshift bandage, began cleaning the worst of the wounds on his arms and trying to stop the blood from flowing out. He was unusually quiet and you glanced up at him to find his eyes staring at you suspiciously.

“Don’t be scared. I’m not going to bite you,” you told him after a long moment of silence and smiled. “You can relax.”

Remmick’s lips twisted in a faint, humorless grin. “What ? Ye tellin’ me ye doin’ this out of the goodness of yer heart, darlin’ ? Besides, I ain’t scared. I’m just used to being the one who’s in charge of things and I ain’t ever been cared for by me own pet before. ’S new to me s’all.”

You didn’t answer…There was no answer you could give him that would justify you tending to him.

“Just hold still,” you instructed, your voice firm yet gentle as you carefully wrapped a clean strip of cloth around his arm and another around his waist. You could feel his gaze on you, and you dared not look up at him again. Something about the way he was watching you made your skin prickle, but you pushed the thought aside. You continued working in silence, taking care to be gentle with his injuries. Finally, you stepped back to survey your work.

“That should help,” you concluded, finally glancing up at him. “Don’t move around too much for a while. The bleeding should stop soon.”

Remmick gave a small, sharp nod but didn’t say anything for a long while.

“Thank ye,” he reluctantly said after a moment, the words sounding strange coming from him.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden shift. “Right. Whatever,” you replied, though there was no real sting in your words.

Remmick gave you a sharp look, but there was no real heat behind it either, just a quiet acknowledgment. The air between you both felt different, but not in a bad way. You couldn’t decide what it was—maybe it was just that he seemed slightly more human now, more…breakable, in a way that made you think, maybe he wasn’t as untouchable as he liked to pretend.

But then again, it could all just be part of the act…

“Get some rest,” you added, your voice firmer this time as you began to step away.

He looked at you, his lips curling into a half-smirk. “Don’t ye worry about me, doll. I’ll survive.”

You didn’t trust the nonchalant tone, but you nodded nonetheless. With that, you turned around, heading back to the shadows where you usually stayed. You sat where you always did—back straight, chained like an obedient creature beside the trailer’s wheel. You had done your part—you had helped him—and that was something Remmick likely hadn’t expected. Neither had you to be honest. The firelight flickered in the distance, casting shadows that danced on the wood around you, but you didn’t move. You’d learned not to.

After the bleeding had stopped and he had gotten some rest, Remmick stepped out into the cold night air with his usual effortless grace, stretching like a cat fresh from slumber. His eyes scanned the area until they landed on you, and for a moment, you thought he might simply walk past without a word. He often did. But tonight, he didn’t.

Slowly, casually, he made his way over. You tensed a little when he crouched beside you, his hands working at the iron shackle around your ankle without a word. The click of the lock releasing startled you more than it should have.

You blinked, eyes snapping to his face. “What—?”

He didn’t let you finish. With a smug little grin, he reached up and ruffled your hair like you were a dog that had fetched a bone, fingers cold but strangely gentle as they passed over your scalp.

“Good behaviour,” he purred, that grin deepening into something halfway between pride and amusement. You stared at him, stunned—by the gesture, by the freedom of your leg, by the way his voice dragged across your bones like velvet laced with barbs. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know what part of you he was rewarding: the letter, the bandaging, the dancing…or simply your obedience.

But before you could find the right words, he was already standing, already turning to go, as though your whole world hadn’t just shifted with the turn of a key. You looked down at your ankle, red and bruised where the metal had rubbed raw, then back up at his retreating figure.

You were free.

Sort of.

At least, now, the chain was gone—but the leash ?

That was harder to see. Harder still to cut.

…

The next night:

The night air buzzed with murmured plans and hushed arguments as Remmick, Annie, Cornbread, Bo and Stack hunched around a crumpled map by the fire. You’d crept near the edge of the clearing, staying just within earshot, curiosity getting the better of you. Their voices were low, tense. Something about borderlands, safe towns, hunters and scattered prey.

Then Remmick’s gaze flicked up—and caught you.

You instinctively tried to hide. He didn’t call you out, didn’t scold you. Just smiled—slow and sharp—and leaned back with a confidence that always felt more like a threat. His long fingers rose, and with two lazy taps of his index finger against his knee, he summoned you.

You froze. But the look in his eye made it clear: this wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, you took a step forward…and stopped again when his voice cut through the air, cool and commanding.

“No, doll. On all fours—like the good pet I know ye are.” There was a flicker of smug amusement behind his words, but his expression didn’t shift. The air felt heavier. The tension in your spine coiled tight.

You hesitated for just a second longer than you should have—then dropped down to your hands and knees, heart hammering. The earth was cool beneath your palms as you crawled toward him, your pride burning hot under your skin. When you reached him, he guided your head down onto his thigh with a touch that was both possessive and oddly gentle as he started mindlessly petting you.

He didn’t even pause in his conversation.

As if this were normal.

As if this was your place.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the shame from showing, eyes lowered while his fingers moved through your hair. The voices of the hive leaders blurred into the crackle of the fire as Remmick’s hand settled firmly on your head, anchoring you. He didn’t look at you again, but he didn’t need to. You were already there and his hand carded through your hair diligently.

Once the meeting over and the others had melted into the dark, their footsteps fading into the night, a quiet stillness settled over the camp.

Remmick hadn’t moved though.

His hand continued its slow rhythm through your hair, fingers tracing behind your ear, then combing back again gently. The fire cracked beside you once more, then came his voice, low and soft, but undeniably smug as he glanced down at you.

“Good girl.”

You stiffened slightly at the praise. The words curled around your spine like smoke, both soothing and unsettling. He wasn’t teasing—not exactly. There was something genuine there, but layered beneath the softness was that same possessive pride he always carried when he felt he’d gotten his way.

You didn’t look up. Didn’t answer.

But he noticed the way your fingers curled against your thigh, the slight shiver in your breath and his smile deepened.

“See ?” he murmured fondly, his thumb brushing against your temple. “Told ye you’d warm up to me.”

He leaned down just enough for his breath to brush your ear, his grin audible in his voice as he added one word.

“Eventually.”

You closed your eyes. He didn’t stop petting you. His fingers grew longer as he suddenly traced circles at the back of your neck as well. You sighed and he observed your every reaction carefully. He looked at your strands/curls/waves and the way they shone in the light of the fire.

Such a beautiful sight…

An hour later :

You barely had time to wake up and brace yourself before Remmick whistled, calling the other vampires into action. “Let’s move out !”

The other vampires scrambled into their own carriages, and soon the small caravan was in motion. For once, Remmick didn’t seem to have anything to say. The silence felt oddly peaceful, and you leaned back against the canvas of the caravan, letting your eyelids flutter shut again. The rhythmic sound of the wheels on the dirt road and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves began to lull you into a half-sleep, the gentle sway of the carriage making it hard to stay fully alert. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until your body gave in to the pull of sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Remmick’s eyes never left you, studying you quietly as you slept, your body relaxing as the night drew on.

Hours later, the caravan jerked to a halt. The sudden stop jolted you awake, your eyes snapping open. You rubbed at your eyes, adjusting to the first light of morning. The sky was streaked with purples and pinks, like cotton candy brushed across the horizon. For a moment, you forgot where you were, a fleeting moment of peace.

Then, as if your body had betrayed you, Remmick crawled inside the caravan with a smirk plastered on his face. “Your turn to take the reins, darlin’.”

You looked up at him, wary.

His eyes glinted darkly. “But don’t try anythin’ funny…or my vampire friends will be more than happy to kill ye and yer entire village—including your beloved brother and yer cousin that I conveniently left alive.”

A cold knot formed in your stomach at the threat. Your heart sank, the image of your family flashing before your eyes. You swallowed hard, nodded in understanding, and reluctantly climbed out of the caravan. You felt Remmick’s footsteps behind you as you approached the front, where the horses were tethered. You tried not to show your nerves, but your hands trembled as you reached for the reins—looking around to find the other ‘pets’ doing the same so their masters could rest. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and urged the horses forward. They responded with a slow gallop, and for a few moments, you allowed yourself to feel the wind in your face, the rising warmth of the morning sun. The peacefulness of the moment almost tricked you into forgetting the nightmare you were living.

But just as you neared a neighboring town, the caravan came to a halt again.

A group of farmers appeared from the trees, wearing dusty overalls and straw hats. Their skin was tanned by the sun, their eyes curious as they watched the procession.

“Heya, Miss ! Good day to ya.” One of them said.

You smiled, a reflex you had perfected. “Good day to you, sirs.”

The farmers seemed surprised by your friendly greeting, but one of them stepped forward with a friendly grin. “Say, where ya folks headin’ ?”

“Us ?” You kept the smile in place and suppressed a laugh as you continued. “We’re a singing crew. We entertain people all over. You should definitely catch our show tonight. It’s gonna be a real killer.”

The farmers exchanged confused glances. One of them pointed at the covered carriages. “Say…whatcha got in ‘em there wagons, darlin’ ?”

You forced a smile. “Lots of things. Instruments, banjos, drums, all kinds of stuff. You’ll have the time of your life listening to them tonight, I reckon.”

The farmer who has greeted you earlier seemed to study you as you spoke, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Then another piped up with a question that you were dreading.

“Say…if you’re a singin’ crew, why ain’t ya playin’ no music right now ?”

You faked a laugh as you could feel the other pets worrying behind you. “Oh you wanna hear us, huh ? We usually wait to get inside the people’s living places to get our songs going. Wouldn’t wanna spoil the surprise and all…”

The first farmer relaxed slightly, as if he was buying your story. “Ah. Gotya. You said you’ll be performin’ in town tonight, huh ?”

You nodded. “Yup. We usually perform for folks at night, you know…the lighting’s better, with the lanterns and torches.”

They seemed to buy that explanation, and the tension lifted slightly. “We get that. We’ll spread the word. Might come watch y’all tonight.”

You couldn’t help the faint falter in your smile. “Sure. You do that. It’ll be one hell of a show…”

Sure, and you’ll also love the bloodsuckers who are gonna eat you all up like candy tonight…You thought darkly.

The farmer nodded and pointed towards the inn ahead. “There’s a place for y’all. Folks’ll be happy to see ya.”

You nodded, forcing another smile as you thanked them and steered the horses forward. The carriages reached the inn, and you glanced at the other humans dragging their vampire masters’ boxes, each carrying them inside. Your eyes landed on the box where Remmick was resting.

What were you supposed to do with him now ? Get him a room ?

The other human pets were pushing the boxes into the inn, carefully maneuvering them through the door. It seemed like the vampires would remain tucked away in their boxes until nightfall, as always. You glanced back at the carriages, realizing you would have to deal with Remmick and his box, just like the others. You groaned, feeling the weight of the task ahead. Slipping down from the front of the first carriage, you grabbed the box and began the struggle to carry it into the inn. You sighed, trying to ignore how heavy it was as you hauled it up the stairs to your room.

“You’re so damn heavy for an average-built Irish vampire, you know that ? And I hope you feel every single stair once I get you up there, you bastard.” Despite your complaints, you finally managed to get the box into a room. You locked the door behind you, dragged the box in the center of the room, and then sat on the floor, staring at it. You knew what would come next, but for now, there was nothing to do but wait.

As the sun began to set and the light outside faded, you leaned back, eyes closed, only half-aware of the shuffling sounds coming from inside the box. The wood creaked, and a low groan filtered out from the darkness within.

You rolled your eyes. “You finally awake, bloodsucker ?”

There was a moment of silence before Remmick’s voice, deep and unmistakably Irish, came from within the box. “Yes. And I felt every single bump on the road, and every damn stair on the way up, ye bitch.”

You snorted. “Aww, did you feel that ? Sorry, ‘master’.”

Remmick’s voice chuckled darkly from inside the box. “Very funny, darlin’. Now open the box so I can get out of this damn thing. I’m sick of bein’ squished.”

You rolled your eyes. “Typical. You always expect me to do your bidding…How about you get out yourself ?”

You heard a dramatic sigh from inside the box. “Fine, darlin’. If ye wanna do this the hard way…”

Before you could react, the lid of the box was thrown open, and Remmick crawled out, stretching his limbs like a cat. He rose to his feet and scanned the room, before turning his attention back to you, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed. He smirked at you, clearly pleased to finally be out of the box.

“Here ye are, me darlin’ !”

You stood up, arms crossed, meeting his gaze with a cool glare. “Had a nice nap, leech ?”

Remmick chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Oh wonderful. The bumps and jostling were just perfect for a restful sleep. Very comfy. Thank ye for takin’ such good care of me, sweet thing. To be honest, I expected ye to crack and admit to those farmers what was in the boxes, but ya didn’t ! Look at ye, bein’ a good lil’ sweetheart.”

You scoffed, the sarcasm thick in your voice. “Oh yeah, real sweetheart, am I ? What was I supposed to do ? Let them tear open the box and see your pale, fang-filled, undead face ? Let ‘em drag you out in the sun and watch you burn to a crisp ? Mind you, I would have loved the show. But you said you’d kill me and my family, remember ? So, yeah. Bad luck for me.”

Remmick’s smirk only widened, clearly amused as he playfully tutted. “Me poor lil’ pet. But I must admit, I’m mighty pleased with your obedience, darlin’. You didn’t try anything funny during the journey, and you didn’t tell those farmers a thing, even though you’re madder than a hornet. You’ve been such a good pet fer me.” He leaned forward and kissed your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Me lil’ treasure is learnin’ to behave.”

You immediately grimaced, wiping your cheek where his lips had been. “Eww. Never do that again.”

He only chuckled, clearly enjoying your disgust. He wandered around the room, running a hand over the dusty furniture as he inspected your surroundings. He stopped by the curtain, lifting it with a grin. “Looks like we’ll be spendin’ the night here, darlin’. I sure hope that bed’s big enough fer the two of us.”

You stiffened, eyes wide in horror. “I got money for a second room. I ain’t sharing shit with you.”

Remmick’s grin deepened, eyes glittering with amusement. He sauntered over to the bed, yanking the blanket back with a flourish.

“Oh, now, darlin’, ye ain’t gettin’ away that easy,” he drawled, stalking back to you with long, confident strides.  “I’m not one for bein’ polite about my comforts. That means you’re joinin’ me.”

He reached out, one pale hand brushing your arm. You shrank back instinctively and he seemed genuinely hurt for a second.

“I mean…Ye can take the other bed in the room,” he offered before smirking, “but it’ll be on the floor. No mattress, no blankets. How lovely ! And comfy.”

Your jaw clenched as you met his gaze.  “Fine,” you spat, forcing yourself to stay upright even as your limbs trembled.  “I’ll sleep on the floor then, you absolute monster.”

Remmick chuckled—a low, satisfied sound—and walked over to the far corner. He kicked aside a few dusty boxes until he’d cleared a small patch of floor.  With a sweep of his hand, he indicated the spot. “There ye go. Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart.”

You humphed then knelt down and curled up on the cold wood. The chill seeped through your clothes, but you refused to give up. Remmick climbed onto the bed, lying on his back with one arm flung over his eyes.  His chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of someone already drifting towards sleep. The fucker couldn’t even sleep ! Could he ? You had seen him with the obvious symptoms and consequences of sleep but…could he actually sleep ?

You stared at the ceiling, the distant flicker of torchlight from outside painting shifting patterns on the wood beams. Thoughts of escape, resistance, and revenge played through your mind in a restless carousel.

Somewhere behind you, Remmick muttered as if to himself. “Ye know, it is real comfy on the bed. Feels like heaven.”

His taunt sparked a renewed fire in your chest. You pressed your back against the wall, closed your aching eyes, and swore silently:

Tomorrow, you’d find a way out.

…

When you woke up, you saw Remmick setting back into bed. You turned around slightly to find his mouth covered with blood…He must have gone hunting. You grimaced and went to the bathroom before throwing a wet towel at him.

The vampire caught the towel and began to wipe his chin. “Dunno why you’re so upset, darlin’. Ye should be thankin’ me. I hunted so I wouldn’t have to use ye.”

You froze.

“What did you just say ?”

The vampire smirked and continued wiping his mouth with the towel. “I said, ye should be thankin’ me, dolly.”

You rolled your eyes. The absolute nerve ! “For what ? Turning me into your little human pet to drag you from town to town to feed on innocent people ?”

The vampire dropped the towel on the floor, his gaze fixed on you with a predatory intensity as he sneered. “Mind yer manners, pet. I chose ya. You could have ended up in me belly, but I chose ya to be my human companion. Ye should be happy—glad.”

You scoffed, glaring at him with a mocking look. “Happy ? To be your little blood-cow ? To be stuck with your ass ? To never have a choice again ? Yeah. I’m over the moon.”

The vampire’s smirk widened, amused and entertained by your sudden defiance. “Ye got some real gall, talkin’ to me like that, darlin’. But I like it.” He sauntered over to you and giggled. “I never had a human companion like ye before. Never really saw the appeal of pets—to be honest. But oh I luv ye, me pet.”

You backed up, suddenly feeling repulsed by his touch. “Don’t you dare touch me, bloodsucker. And don’t you ever say you love me, you goddamn parasite.”

The vampire chuckled, not deterred by your reaction. “Oh darlin’, yer gonna learn to luv me. I’ll make ye luv me. ‘Tis a promise.” He moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you towards him. “C’mon…Please ? Look at me. Ain’t I adorable ?"

You struggled and resisted, trying to push him away. “No ! Stop this ! Don’t you touch me ! Don’t—”

But your words were cut off as the vampire put a hand around your neck, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to keep you from speaking again. Your heart hammered in your chest and you tried not to let fear overwhelm you. He could kill you. But you wanted to die…right ? It would be…an escape. And it would be quicker than fire with his fangs and nails. The vampire chuckled, clearly enjoying your fear. With a single finger, he lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re afraid, darlin’. But you shouldn’t be. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. You should be honored—I chose ya. You’re me pet, me lil’ love.”

You trembled in response and he felt it. He nuzzled your cheek and grinned. “Oooh…I get it now. I know what this is. I was in the box all day and ye missed me. Aww…’M so sorry me darlin’. Ye were just desperate fer me attention and I didn’t notice. Me poor wee baby.”

Your anger flared at his patronizing tone. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

The vampire chuckled as he wrapped his arms around you. “Oooh…Ye think you can boss me around, darlin’ ? Aww…Me pretty thing. Ye wanna be me mistress ? S’that it ?”

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself from his grip. “No ! I just want you to let go of me and take your nasty leech-self far away from me !”

The vampire smirked and tightened his grip on you, pulling you flush against his body.

“And just where dye think I’ll be goin’, darlin’?” He kissed your cheek again and drool fell down his chin. “Ye smell so good and look at all that plump lil’ cheek. All fleshy and bouncy. I wish I could just sink my teeth in there…” He smooched that cheek ten times over. “Mwah ! Mwah ! Mwah !”

You felt sick to your stomach as he pawed at you with his cold hands. He was just so...revolting. And yet he smelled like leather, cigars, cinnamon. 

“Get your filthy hands off me ! You damn monster !” You pushed against him again, desperate to free yourself from his grasp. Remmick laughed, thoroughly amused by your struggles. He held you tight as he nuzzled his face into your neck, taking in your scent with a deep breath.

“Mmm….Me dolly” His nose moved from your hair towards your collar, and he placed a cold kiss on your bare skin. “Ye really missed me, didn’t ya ? Aww…Me cute lil’ baby birdie. I could just eat ya up ! Sweet as ye are !"

You glared at him, refusing to give in. “No. I wasn’t missing you at all. I was enjoying having you in that damn box. Wish I had more of them to shove you in.”

The vampire chuckled and pulled back, looking at you with a smug expression.

“You’ve got quite the smart mouth on ye. And I adore it. And oh do I luv those cute lil’ insults, darlin’. It’s one of me favorite things about ye. Keep ‘em coming. Yer lil’ words are like music to mine ears.” He chuckled against your skin, his breath cold on your neck. “You’re all fire and spice, me darlin’.”

He kissed that same spot multiple times before running his nose along your jaw. You shuddered in disgust, feeling sick to your stomach as he nuzzled your neck.

“Knock it off, bloodsucker ! And I’ll never warm up to you. I hate you and I’ll always hate you.”

He looked up at you with mock-offended eyes. “…No ?”

You rolled your eyes, thoroughly unamused by his act. “No. I will never like you. You’re a bloodsucking undead monster. I’ll always despise you, you vile abomination.”

His mouth parted slightly. “But I am doin’ me best here. Am tryin’ to be good to ye. I like ye. I take care of ye. I luv me pet...” He started tracing little crosses with his index over your chest. You tried to suppress a shiver as he made those little cross signs.

“You could never be good. You’re a creature from hell. You have no soul. You’re soulless, evil, vile…” He interrupted you with an annoyed humph. You rolled your eyes as he made that sound before continuing. “You are a parasite. And no matter what you say, I will not fall for your tricks. Do you hear me, leech ?”

The vampire nodded, a smirk on his lips. “Sure darlin’. I hear ye. Clear as day. Am an evil parasite, and you hate me.” He then took you by the waist to straddle him on the bed as he fell back on it. He grinned. “But I guess ye didn’t hear me. I said I like ye. Me lil’ sweetheart. Luv me some good fire. Can’t wait to have a taste of that blood. I bet it tastes like lava cake. I do not believe I’ve had a sample yet, have I ?”

The air was thick with tension, and your stomach churned as Remmick’s words sank in. You fought the urge to puke as he pulled you into his lap, his cold, predatory eyes glinting with amusement.

“And you never will.” You spat with finality, trying to shove him away, but his grip was ironclad.

“Aw, darlin’, ye wound me,” he mocked, enjoying your struggle far too much. His fingers tightened around your waist as he leaned in, his cold lips brushing against your neck. You shuddered, feeling his breath against your skin, and tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, his body pressing you closer. His lips trailed along your jaw, his words a dark whisper.

“Ye know, the more ye fight, the more I want ye. Makes me wanna keep ye forever, pet.”

A wave of disgust flooded over you, but you clenched your fists and forced yourself to stay calm. “Don’t you dare,” you warned, your voice a shaky breath despite your attempts to sound defiant. Remmick chuckled darkly in response, clearly enjoying every moment of your resistance. His hand slid up your back, his thumb tracing over your skin in a slow, maddening motion.

“Can’t blame a vampire for wantin’ what’s his, can ya, me pretty dolly ?” he murmured, pressing his lips against your throat. “You’re mine now. We agreed on the rules. Can’t go back on ‘em now. Ye promised to listen to me and do whatever I want.”

You twisted in his grip, managing to free one arm enough to slam your elbow into his chest. It did nothing, of course—he barely flinched—but it was enough to break the intimate moment, if only for a second.

“Get off me, you filthy bloodsucker,” you hissed, your face twisted with disgust. You pushed at his chest again, harder this time, but he simply grinned, unbothered by your resistance.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart,” he teased. “Ye think I’d let ye go after all this ?”

His hand tightened around your waist. His breath came in slow, deliberate sips against your skin, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur.

“You’re mine. You’re gonna learn to respect that—respect me,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your ear. “I can make ye feel so good, darlin’. Ye just don’t know it yet. All ye need is a lil’ convincin’.”

The anger boiled in your chest, but beneath that, a cold wave of fear washed over you. This wasn’t just about control anymore. This was about breaking you.

“You’ll never make me like you,” you snarled, eyes narrowing with determination. “I’d rather die.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that sent a chill down your spine. “Maybe. But I think ye’ll change yer mind eventually. ’Cause I won’t stop until ye do. And believe me, am one stubborn motherfucker.”

His mouth pressed to your neck, and you closed your eyes, trying to push the image of him out of your mind. But the sensation of his lips against your skin, his cool fingers brushing against you, made it impossible to ignore.

“You’re a monster,” you whispered hoarsely, your body trembling.

“Yep. But tonight ?” Remmick replied softly, his voice low with amusement. “I’m a monster who knows how to treat his lil’ pet right.”

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat and pushed against his chest one last time, but it was no use. He wasn’t letting you go. You were trapped. And you hated every second of it. You tried to push him off of you again, but he was far too strong. He seemed to enjoy the control, relishing in the way you struggled beneath him. His cold breath against your skin made your stomach churn.

“You’ll NEVER have my blood, you monster ! If you drink from me, I’ll kill you.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he giggled, pressing a cold kiss to your inner wrist. “But I am starvin’, darlin’ ! Please ?”

You clenched your jaw, the horror of his touch flooding you, but you forced yourself to remain resolute. There was no way you would let him drink from you. “No. I’ll fight you every step of the way, you rotten, undead bastard.”

He sighed dramatically, as if you were just being difficult. “That’s not very nice, darlin’. I mean…I could always go downstairs and kill everyone instead ? That’d certainly satisfy me urges.”

He started to move, clearly considering leaving to hunt elsewhere, but you couldn’t let him. Summoning every ounce of strength, you managed to pin him down.

“ALRIGHT ! Alright…” You finally complied and held him with all your weight, the adrenaline pushing you past the overwhelming fear. “You listen to me, damn bloodsucker. You wanna drink ? You drink from me !”

His eyes widened slightly, the surprise flickering across his face. No mortal had ever dared to act like this before. But instead of being angry, he seemed amused.

“Ooooh, arentcha full of surprises, darlin’ ?” He grinned, clearly entertained. “You now want me to drink from ye, eh ? Don’t want no other human to get me attention, innit ? Me sweetheart…C’mon, gimme some blood then. Show me where ye want me.”

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous attempt at making an explicit joke, but knew you’d have to play along. He was such a…prick. You then realised that for a vampire, he was unlike any you’d read in stories. He was rude and lacked all class. Sighing in exasperation, you lifted your hair, exposing your throat to him. You could already feel your skin crawl, but if this was the only way…

He sniffed, clearly unimpressed before uttering one word only.

“Unpractical.”

You frowned, confused by his cryptic words. “What’s unpractical ?”

He chuckled before tapping your neck significantly. “Yer neck, darlin’. As much as I like the idea of suckin’ on that soft, creamy flesh o’ yers, it’s not very practical if I wanna keep ye alive.”

The vampire sat up, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he traced a finger over your exposed pulse point. “The neck’s the worst place on the body to take blood from. You’re lucky I know that. Otherwise, you’d be drained dry.”

Before you could react, he flipped you over, pinning you back down on the bed in a swift, fluid motion. You gasped, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly, he was on top of you again, straddling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You clenched your fists in frustration but quickly gave in, lifting your wrist to show him where your veins ran blue beneath the skin.

“Drink from me here then, you monster. You better not take any more than you need. And if you tear my flesh…I’ll find a way to kill you. I’ll find a way, I swear I will. Even if I become one of your vampire followers. Now get down here, leech…”

His eyes gleamed with excitement, clearly enjoying your fiery attitude. “Oh, I’m really lovin’ this, darlin’. You’re bein’ extra feisty. And bossy. Just the way I like ye.”

He grabbed your wrist, bringing it to his mouth, licking the skin with his cold tongue as he assessed the perfect place to bite. You shuddered at the contact, but your resolve stayed strong. “Now, let’s not get hasty. No biting. Remember. I am not interested in becoming a part of your hell hive.”

He chuckled darkly, not deterred by your demand. “Y’are a very curious creature, darlin’. Tell me—how dya expect me to drink yer blood without bitin’ ye ?”

You huffed, irritated. “Don’t play dumb. I know about your nails, Mister Claws. Use those.”

His smirk widened and he remarked approvingly. “Observant. Not bad.”

He then ran his thumbnail over your wrist, eyeing the vein with hungry anticipation. “Just a lil’ incision…right here.”

He positioned his claw delicately against your skin, still watching the pulse beneath, ready to strike. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was coming. He was clearly enjoying this game, but you couldn’t show him how much he was rattling you. This was the only way you could survive—for now. And if you managed to escape later, you’d make sure he’d regret this.

“Just get it over with, bloodsucker,” you spat.

The vampire chuckled darkly, his claws lightly pricking your skin. His eyes glinted as he watched the drop of blood form, then leaned down to lick it, savoring it like a fine wine. But the taste…it was unexpected. Sweet and a little spicy. He drank and closed his eyes. He had already tasted that particular brand somewhere. But where ? When ? He licked his lips and a few drops fell. Red…Bright red. Almost too red. Suddenly, a jolt of recognition sparked in his eyes.

“…A virgin.” He finally realised and looked down at you with a bloody smile. “Ah ! Yer one of those !”

You stiffened, immediately realizing what he meant. He could taste your purity…in your blood. The sudden realization sent a wave of violation through you, though you quickly scolded yourself. You were already in a situation far beyond what was appropriate, and yet his words made it feel even worse. Remmick seemed to sense it, licking his lips with a gleam of amusement. He paused, taking in your reaction before his gaze flicked back to you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Shoulda guessed it. With yer attitude. No wonder you’re a virgin. Stubborn, rude, unapproachable and bossy…And I knew yer father was really lookin’ forward to seein’ ye get married. But this…Oh, me pet. Yer a damn gift ! But really—I feel silly fer not havin’ figured that one out earlier. How could anyone get close enough to ye to even want ye, hmm ?” He chuckled lowly, but his words stung deeper than you expected.

As he continued to feed, his lips trailed from your wrist to your hand, his cold touch leaving shivers in its wake. Your mind screamed at the unnaturalness of it all, and yet…something inside you was responding, disgustingly. You shut the thought away. You scoffed, trying to find your words, anything to make him stop. “Says the vampire who nobody wants in their house. You’re so desperate, you created your own little family, didn’t you ? Because no actual normal person would ever want you.”

The vampire froze, his eyes narrowing, momentarily stunned by your words. You could see the shift in his demeanor, that playful exterior faltering for a moment before it hardened. The response had clearly struck a nerve, and for once, you found satisfaction in the fact that you’d shaken him.

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your face towards his. “Ye think ye can talk to me like that, darlin’ ?” His voice was cold now, the playfulness gone. “Haven’t ye learned anythin’ ?”

You smirked, unyielding. “Oh, what’s the matter, Remmick ? Did I hit a sore spot ? You had to make your little ‘family’ because no one ever wanted you. I bet everyone hates you, even when you were human nobody could stand you.”

The vampire’s grip tightened, and his lips curled into a snarl. You saw the flicker of hurt behind his anger, though he quickly masked it.

“Ye think you know me, darlin’ ? Ye don’t know a damn thing,” he hissed, and you could feel his rage boiling over.

You pressed on, feeling emboldened by his apparent weak spot. “I know you. You were lonely. That’s why you made them, wasn’t it ? You couldn’t get anyone to love you, so you forced them to. You’re nothing but a parasite, Remmick.”

He slammed you back onto the bed, his face hovering inches from yours. His eyes were dark and you knew he was barely suppressing his rage. But beneath that darkness, you saw something that unsettled you: a deep sorrow.

“You think they’re prisoners ?” he spat, his voice dangerously low. “I made ‘em immortal. I gave ‘em purpose. They’re me children !”

Your words came out without thinking, but they felt right. “No, they’re not your children, Remmick. They’re your captives. You didn’t give them life—you stole it.”

He growled, the sound thick with fury. “They wanted this. They needed it.”

You scoffed, unimpressed. “Yeah ? Like they had a choice ? You’ve got them on a leash, Remmick. They don’t love you—they fear you.”

His face twisted in anger, but there was something in his gaze that flickered, something that seemed regretful. It only made you press on harder. “You’re a leech. You suck the life out of everything you touch, Remmick. You’re nothing but a parasite, feeding off of everyone.”

In one swift movement, he grabbed your throat, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you off the bed. His eyes were dark, murder in them, but still, he remained eerily composed.

“Ye don’t know a thing about me, do you ?” he muttered, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “I didn’t choose this life. It chose me.”

He seemed to hesitate, and for a fleeting moment, his composure cracked. Then, like a switch, it was gone. He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.

“My human life…” His voice was hollow, the weight of years pressing down on him. “I was a farmer’s son. I had nothing. The British…they took everythin’ from me. I was starving. My father died, my sisters too. And then, when I was turned, I became something…better. Something no one could ever take from me. I was wanted—finally.”

You felt something twist inside you, empathy you weren’t prepared for. You stared at him, no longer angry, just quiet, as his fingers tightened, his grip unrelenting.

“But nothing’s changed, Remmick. You still don’t have what you want. You’re still alone, even with your ‘children’. You can have all the power in the world, but it won’t change the fact that you can’t be loved.”

He stopped breathing for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. And then, like a crack opening, he whispered.

“People do love me. Me hive loves me. I don’t need to depend on anyone. I decide who stays. Not the other way around.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “And how much of that is real love, huh ? They follow you because they have no choice. It’s not love. It’s fear. You’re just a monster who can’t see it.”

His gaze hardened again. “You’re wrong.”

You met his stare unflinchingly. “No, I’m not. You’re not loved. You’re feared. And you know it.”

He growled in frustration, his hand tightening around your throat, but then his voice dropped, and something ancient, deep, echoed in his words. “Dún do bhéal.”

The words, whispered in a language older than time, hung in the air between you both like a final warning. Being threatened snapped you out of whatever feelings of pity you had. You felt yourself getting scared again, and you realized that the vampire was terrifying when he chose to be. His voice was like dark steel, and his grip on your neck grew tighter.

You remained as motionless as you could.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, and the vampire seemed to be taking in every detail of you for the first time. You could hear his sharp, cold breaths. You felt his grip loosen, and you exhaled a little.

"You..." His voice sounded different now. Almost...intrigued. His nose moved over your body, inhaling your scent slowly. He then looked at your neck. The vampire’s eyes looked slightly...changed. And a little smile appeared on his face.

You frowned in confusion.

“What’s with the creepy smile ?”

Remmick leaned in so that his nose rested against the crook of your neck, and he inhaled deeply. He then chuckled in an amused, almost disbelieving way. His words came out slightly muffled, against your skin. “Ye lil’ freak. Ye like this, don’t ye…?”

You frowned, confused.

He laughed. “~Oh…That’s priceless. I feel your pulse quicken. Your heart racing. I can smell it, darlin’. Ye like this ! Ye like fightin’ me !"

You stiffened, feeling a mixture of terror and something else as he looked back down at you.  He chuckled again, his hot breath moving your hair. “It was to be expected. You’re completely untouched, like an uncarved piece of meat. No one has ever been with you. No one ever wanted you. But you want to be wanted, don’t you, darlin’ ? You’re so lonely...I can feel it. You were always alone. So alone…Just a poor lil’ girl wishing to be loved."

You felt more vulnerable and scared than ever. He was getting inside your head and reading you like a book, and it was terrifying. But there was some truth in his words: You had always been alone. Isolated. You had no one now. Your father was dead and you would probably never see your brother or family again. You wanted to respond, but found yourself speechless.

The vampire smirked against your skin, like he was relishing this discovery. He then placed a soft kiss to your jawline. His voice was soft now, as light as a feather. “Such a poor lil’ baby. Always so lonely and alone, so scared to be touched...You’ve never been with anyone. Never even been held by a tender lover before. You’d give anything to be wanted, wouldn’t ye, darlin’...? You would give up your body to anyone who’ll hold you or tell ye they luv ye.”

Your eyes became glassy.

“…Stop.”

His gaze stayed fixed on you, and his voice grew slightly more tender. He gently moved your hair out of your face, examining you closely. “You’re willin’ to be used as long as it means someone wants you…even if it’s just for a moment. What’s it matter anyway, darlin’...? Ydr life’s been nothing but loneliness and isolation. And that makes ye desperate.”

You wanted to deny it, but only smiled sadly at him at the end. “That might be right. But you are not someone. You are…a leech. I wanted to be loved by humans. But…you are not human anymore.”

There was a small flash of hurt in the vampire’s gaze at your words, but he quickly recovered, and his smirk returned. But this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know, darlin’. You want a human man. A man who can hold you and touch you. A human man who can give ye lil’ babies.”

You huffed. “Babies or not…as long as he’d love me.”

The vampire’s grip on your throat loosened even further, and he took in a deep breath, looking almost...wistful. “But men would not want ye…even then. You are a strange creature, darlin’...You’re so hardheaded. And so bossy. And a lil’ mouthy. Loud. Men want women who are sweet and docile. They want a woman who’s soft, and gentle. They don’t want a woman like ye.”

You stared at the ceiling. “…Perhaps. But I prefer to be alone than in bad company. I do not understand how humans work or what they expect—but I know what I am worth. And if they do not want me ? Then that is their choice. Not mine.”

The vampire paused for a moment, and a small, sad smile formed on his face. “There’s nothing to understand, darlin’. They don’t know what they want.”

You looked at him. “And you do ?”

The vampire’s gaze shifted to your neck, to the exposed flesh there. He paused for a moment, as if entranced.  “I do. But you don’t wanna know, darlin’. I know what I am. What I need. I am a monster. But, humans can be even bigger monsters than I am. They can be cruel, liars and selfish. They are greedy…and they will use ye. They will take and they will take until ye have nothing else to give, and then they will leave you. If you’re lucky, they’ll use ye up first. Most of the time, they’ll just leave ye, hollow and broken.”

You sighed and shook your head. “But they are behind so many beautiful things. Art, music, love…”

The vampire laughed, his dark eyes glinting in the light. “Art, music, luv…? That’s a joke. I know art. I know music. I know luv. Those human artists and composers and luvers don’t give a crap about anyone but themselves. I have seen it in this world, darlin’. Their so-called beauty is just a disguise to cover up their selfishness. The artists are only after wealth and glory and recognition. The luvers are only concerned about their own pleasure. Humans only do things fer themselves. None of them can truly luv.”

You hummed. “Then tell me, why do I crave it ? Why do we crave love and affection when it is unnecessary and unreciprocated ?”

The vampire wise beyond centuries chuckled again and answered with a shrug. “Ye humans are fools. Ye are weak creatures. Yer only goal in life is to fill a hole. Ye fill it with food, and sex, and love, and material things. Ye think that will make ya feel complete. And it lasts for a bit…but you get used to it, don’t ya ? And once somethin’ gets boring, you’re off to the next thing. Always lookin’ to fill the hole.”

You scoffed at the irony in his words. “…Isn’t that why you started the hive ? To fill that hole ?”

Something flickered in the vampire’s eyes at your question, an old pain and anger. He smirked at you, his voice dark and cold. “I wanted to create a family because I lost mine a long time ago, lassie. To have a home is the most important thing one can possess. I was tired of being alone, without anythin’ to ground me to the earth. I was tired of wanderin’ this world alone. So I found those who I could share blood with, who I could mold my own image onto. And I will never be alone again, darlin’. Never.”

You stared at him and asked. “…Was it worth losing your soul over ?”

Remmick seemed to genuinely think about it before he responded. “I only lost what I wished to lose. And besides, being a vampire is far better than being human. I’m powerful now. And I can do whatever I want. And I never have to be hungry again.”

Your jaw twitched. “Was it worth losing the pleasures of a life lived to the fullest ? Was it worth a life—your life ?”

The smirk returned on the vampire’s face. He seemed amused by your questions now. “Pleasures of life…? That doesn’t exist. None of those lil’ things like sunlight or food or touch or love are pleasurable. No one’s ever been satisfied with that. Not really. That’s why people always want more…and why they always end up unhappy. I’m free now. The only thing I fear is emptiness and loneliness. And I will never be empty as long as I feed or lonely as long as I have my hive with me. Those so-called ‘pleasures’ are nothing but illusions. It’s all an illusion. Nothing is permanent. It fades. And that’s all life has to offer. Temporary lil’ moments that fade as quickly as they come. I’m free of all of that now. I have no need for such temporary, frivolous things anymore.”

You tilted your head. “…Don’t you miss anything at all ?”

There was a flicker in Remmick’s gaze at that, but he quickly buried the expression. “Why would I miss me life ? I’m much better off now. I have anythin’ I could ever want or need. My old life is so far behind me now that it hardly even exists anymore. It’s meaningless.”

You sighed. “It could have been a good life led. What point is there to become immortal when nothing comes anymore ? Nothing exciting. Nothing really new…And even then, you are still unsatisfied—unfulfilled.”

The vampire let out a scoffing noise. “Unfulfilled. Now that’s a crock. I have everything I could ever want. Nothin’ is denied to me. Ye should learn to not yearn for more, darlin’. Learn to be satisfied. Ye humans only want more and more and more…”

You stared at him. “…Because we know there is a day when everything will be over and no pleasures allowed. You wouldn’t understand—not anymore.”

The vampire laughed at that. “Oh, darlin’. Humans are so stupid and sentimental. Y’all walk around, worrying about yer health, and yer job, and what you’ve done or haven’t done yet. I’ve been walkin’ this earth for centuries, as I am now. I know that everything is temporary. But I know how to live in the moment. I enjoy myself. I do not concern meself with tomorrow.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. “But…You have no tomorrow. No yesterday. No today.”

The vampire smirked, his gaze fixated on your face. He found this turn of conversation rather odd, and yet interesting. “I have the present, darlin’. That’s all I need. I have me music, and I have me food, I have me hive. Everythin’ I need to be content.”

You hummed. “Then you should go downstairs. Do your show and feed your children…if that is really your choice.”

The vampire chuckled. He was having fun with this little game. “Ye say that like you’re givin’ me a choice. Ain’t that generous of you, darlin’.”

You smiled weakly. “…There is no choice. You already made yours. And my heart squeezes at the thought that whoever made you what you are dared to call it a gift.”

“Gift.” He repeated and sounded like he was trying to taste the word to see how it felt on his tongue. His hand lingered on your jaw, his touch oddly tender for someone so cold and lethal. It was a contradiction, much like the rest of him: powerful and yet somehow still craving something more, something that eluded him. He studied your face, his dark eyes scanning you like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. The faintest flicker of something, something close to regret or longing, passed through his gaze before it hardened once more.

“Ye talk like ye understand me, like ye see through the mask. But ye don’t, darlin’.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze head-on.

“And yet,” you replied softly, “you want me to understand you.”

He smirked, his fingers curling around your jaw with a firmness that matched his earlier grip. But this time, it wasn’t threatening. He just wanted your eyes on him. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just enjoyin’ the sound of someone who dares to talk back to me.”

You swallowed. There was truth in his words, a darkness that you could feel deep in your bones. But there was also something more, something that made your heart pound in a way that terrified and exhilarated you at once. You couldn’t tell if it was the fear of him or the strange pull he had on you, but you knew that this encounter was changing something inside you.

He leaned in closer. “Listen to me. You do not have to try to understand me, darling. You already do. Because in some way, I am you and you are me.” His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He had no accent this time around. It felt strange…like he wasn’t Remmick anymore. You closed your eyes again, bracing for whatever came next. The mix of terror and desire that flooded you left you feeling dizzy. Part of you wanted to fight back, to push him away, to reclaim some semblance of control. But another part of you, the part he had exposed with his words, longed for the very thing you feared. The silence between you grew thick, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and you realized that this was not just a game for him. To him, this was a battle of wills. And despite the fear that gripped you, despite everything you had said, you knew deep down that you were already lost.

However, you suddenly realised what you were doing and opened your eyes before wrenching your head away from his grip.

“…Go.”

The vampire’s gaze grew sharper, and he let out an annoyed sigh.

“No.” His hand grasped your jaw again, forcing you to look at him. “I’m not leavin’.”

You huffed. “You need to lead your so-called children. Create new ones. Get the blood to sustain yourself…”

Remmick smiled at that, letting out an amused chuckle. His gaze roved over your face, taking in every detail. “I am an independent, grown vampire. The ‘children’ can tend to themselves for a while. I’m more interested in this...” His hand started tracing little circles on your belly. You looked down and frowned in incomprehension. But he only continued to trace his fingers over your abdomen. He looked like he was enjoying himself immensely. “Such a strange lil’ darlin’ ye are…most human women would be terrified right now, but ye only seem…curious. Ain’t that sweet.”

You stared at his hand on your stomach. “…Why does it matter ?”

Remmick chuckled. His hand slipping underneath your shirt to feel the warmth there. He then leaned down, resting his head against your shoulder. His dark hair tickled lightly against your cheek, and his voice was soft in your ear.

“Why does it matter…? You’re a lil’ odd. Just like me. It’s like ye…complete me. You want to understand. You’re…curious. I like it. Ye make me feel warm. So warm…"

You were surprised at how much he was touching you, how closely he was holding you. He was strangely...intimate with you. It was a bizarre contrast to how he had acted before. You suddenly found yourself reminded of an old quote, "The Devil can quote Scripture for his purpose…and Satan often appears in the guise of an angel of light." Your heart started pounding wildly in your chest. You found yourself breathing rather hard, and your thighs were starting to quiver in anticipation. You didn’t want this, did you...?

“…Remmick. Are you…the Devil ?”

The vampire chuckled, amused and intrigued by your question. He lifted his head from your shoulder and loomed over you. “Me a demon, darlin’ ? I haven’t a horn nor a hoof to me name. And I’ve got the best singin’ voice, which ought to count for somethin’.”

You blinked. “That wasn’t an answer.”

He bent down and placed a gentle kiss to your jawline. “No darlin’. I am neither angel nor devil. I’m no saint or prophet. I’m just…me. I’m a predator, just like all the other creatures in this world. I just like to enjoy the spoils. Don’t that excite ye, darlin’ ? You’re me lil’ darlin’ prey.”

You felt your eyes filled with tears and closed them. “Am I ? When will you finish me off then ?”

The vampire chuckled again, and it sounded almost…sweet. He continued to place soft kisses to your jaw and neck, and he took pleasure in how sensitive your skin was to his touch.  “Finish ye off, darlin’ ? Where’s the fun in that ? I’d like to take me time with ye. Whatya say ? What’s a lil’ spin between friends ?"

You found yourself holding your breath, unable to speak at first. You were paralyzed. The way he was pressing himself up against you was making you feel strange. You swallowed hard and found your voice again, though it was a little weak.  “So what ? You…wanna play with me, is that it ? Did nobody tell you not to play with your food in all the time you’ve been an undead ?"

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t call yerself food, me pet. I have more…respect for ye than that. I want to enjoy ye…take me time with ye. Ain’t that more excitin’ than just finishin’ ye off and calling it a night ?”

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. His words were strange, but his body was pressing against you so intensely right now, and you could sense his…arousal. You should be scared. But you weren’t. For some reason, you were curious. He was a monster, a beast…but he wanted to savor you. To play with you. 

You were frozen, the conflicting feelings taking over your thoughts.

Remmick chuckled in amusement as he saw the conflicting thoughts taking over your expression. He pushed your thighs open and rested his waist between your legs. He then began to slowly grind into you, the pressure making your breath catch in your throat. 

He took a moment to inhale your scent, his nose running along your skin and his voice hoarse in your ear.  “I can hear yer heart racin’…Ye know, I tried to get me hands on a warm one before. But they usually don’t like me. I don’t know why. And the other vampires ? They are so cold…"

His words were so strange, so unexpected. No one had ever touched you like this before. He was so cold and yet you were starting to feel warm. His hands were running over your skin, everywhere, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. It was overwhelming. He let out a soft chuckle, his voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I like ye better like this…it’s warmer. It feels nice. I know with ye it’ll feel good. I tried to flirt with ye warmbloods before. But none of the warm ones ever bothered. Seems like they don’t think am worthy. And then I kill ‘em and the feeling is just off…”

Your head was spinning. This monster…this hunter…took pleasure in touching your skin, your body. What he was saying was insane…but the way he was talking to you...The vampire kept up his ministrations as he continued to grind against you. He was getting off on this just as much as you were. He moaned…How could a creature such as this feel pleasure ? He started to kiss your neck, the sound of his lips against your skin filled the air. He seemed unable to hold himself back. Every part of him needed to touch you, as if he had been starving for the contact. He inhaled you, and let out a hiss of pleasure.

One of his finger hooked itself at the collar of your dress to gain access to your shoulder as he peppered it with soft kisses. He was about to continue by opening the laces at the front…

But then, Stack came in with a loud slam of the door and a wide grin on his face.

“REM ! Come on ! Our show is about to start ! We need you downstairs, man !”

Remmick let out a long, annoyed groan the moment Stack’s voice broke the tension. His forehead dropped against your neck with an audible thump, his breath chilling your skin as he exhaled deeply through clenched teeth.

“Dammit, Stack…”

You blinked, dazed and still trying to process everything—your heart thudding wildly from his closeness, the things he’d said, the way he’d touched you. And now…now he was whining in disappointment from having been interrupted. Remmick sat up slowly, looking more disgruntled than ever now, his jaw tight, eyes glowing faintly with irritation. “I swear he did it on purpose…”

With his body still between your legs, he turned his head and shouted towards the door. “I am busy, Stack !”

Stack laughed as he stared at the both of you with a knowing smile. “You’re always busy when you’re about to go on stage ! C’mon, man, the crowd’s loud, they’re askin’ for you. Bring your sexy ass downstairs ! You can come back and finish your business later.”

Stack then left and Remmick growled low in his throat, but finally rolled off of you—reluctantly. He sat at the edge of the bed, raking his pale fingers through his black, tousled hair before grabbing his bonjo leaning against the wall. He stood, glanced over his shoulder at you—your cheeks flushed, your body still trembling a little—and something in his expression softened. It was part regret, part promise.

“I ain’t done with ye. Don’t think this is over. I made a deal to play tonight, and I don’t break my word but…I’ll come back after the last song,” he promised and smirked. “And when I do…ye better still be warm for me, me dolly.”

Then he winked—an oddly human, boyish gesture—before sauntering out of the room with the bonjo slung across his back, calling out to Stack as he went: “Hey, Stack ! Tell ‘em the devil just tuned his strings.”

Once he was gone, you leaned back down and stared up at the ceiling.

…

..

.

You were mad—completely and irrevocably mad.

A few moments later:

The tavern beneath the inn was lit in flickering lantern light, shadows dancing along wooden beams and smoke curling in lazy spirals toward the ceiling. The crowd was a mix of drunkards, wanderers, curious townsfolk, and travelers seeking warmth, wine, and a bit of chaos. Laughter rang out, mugs slammed on tabletops, and all around, people clung to distractions like lifelines. You saw Stack and Mary dancing together and Cornbread making deals of one sort or the other…Annie had decided to stay in her room tonight with Lyla—so you didn’t even have a friend to talk to as you wandered around.

Then you saw him.

Remmick stood on a makeshift stage at the far end, his figure backlit like some devil out of a folktale—eyes glinting like he held a secret the world wasn’t ready for. His bonjo was slung low, and when his fingers started gliding along the strings, the room started dancing and laughing and cheering. The music was wild, a blend of swampy blues and something older…You weren’t quite sure what. It made you think of the first day you had met him and how he had looked like a perfect gentleman who loved music and only wanted a place to rest.

How naive your had been…

His voice raised, warm honey dipped in whiskey and smoke:

“All the pretty things that scream in the night,

Don’t run too far, darlin’, I bite just right…”

The crowd cheered. Some laughed, some danced while you shivered. They didn’t know the words—or they didn’t pay attention to them. But you did. If only you had truly listened that night—maybe your father would have still been alive today. You ordered a drink and sat down at a corner table to stare at him. He was so charming. Too charming. Everyone in the room was drinking him in—his voice, his rhythm, his smile like it could melt glass.

And then you thought…

This is your chance.

You could stand up. Walk to the barkeep. Whisper that you were in danger. Someone—someone—might help. You could slip out the back and vanish into the night. You didn’t have to go back upstairs.

But then…Remmick’s eyes found yours through the crowd.

He winked. A slow, knowing gesture. One corner of his mouth curled into that devilish grin, and suddenly, you were pinned there, breath caught, muscles frozen. He didn’t miss a beat, but his next lyrics almost seemed directed at you:

“You can run, sweet darlin’, run through the trees,

But your name’s in me mouth and me blood’s at the knees…”

Your hands curled tightly around the rim of your glass.

Help. Escape. Run.

But…That wink. That grin. That voice. That touch from earlier—it still lingered like a phantom on your skin. Part of you was terrified. But part of you wanted to be chased. Wanted to see what he meant when he said he wasn’t done. You shook your head. No. No. HE WOULD NOT MAKE YOU LOSE YOUR HEAD ! You then decided to stand up and approach a man to ask for a ride. You didn’t look back at Remmick, not even when your let the man lead you out of the bar. The night air was sharp as the doors creaked closed behind you. The man you had pleaded with—big, gruff, smelled of gasoline and pine—walked briskly toward his truck, muttering something about “damn freaks” and “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll get you outta here.” You clung to the last threads of hope as he opened the truck door.

But then—

A blur.

A thud.

A scream strangled into silence.

The man who’d offered you help was on the ground, his body already slack, eyes wide in shock as Remmick held him by the back of the neck, sunk teeth gleaming crimson into his throat. Blood welled, thick and dark, spilling in waves down his chest, pooling in the dirt.

You screamed and ran forward.

“Remmick ! Stop !”

Your fists balled in his shirt, tugging at him like a child trying to catch someone’s attention. Tears streaked down your cheeks, panic making your voice crack.

“Please ! Stop—don’t—he was just—!”

Remmick didn’t stop immediately. He drank like a man dying of thirst finally finding water. It was violent. Primal. Horrifying.

Then…he slowed.

Pulled back.

Blood dripped from his mouth, smearing his chin. He stood up slowly, the man’s corpse crumpling to the ground like a sack of meat.

He turned to you.

And his eyes—once playful, even tender—were pitch black. Bottomless.

But then they flickered.

He saw you crying, your hands still balled up in his shirt. His expression shifted. Something almost like guilt crossed his face—but it didn’t last. His voice was low. Rough. Still laced with that twisted sweetness.

“Ye were gonna leave me, me darlin’. After what we shared ?” He stepped forward, brushing his blood-slicked fingers along your cheek. “I told ye I wasn’t done with ye yet…I told ye to wait fer me and stay warm…Why couldn’t ye just listen to me ?”

You were about to apologise, but he didn’t let you. He suddenly took you by the throat and pushed you back inside the inn, not stopping before entering your shared room and closing the door behind him.

…You were definitely in trouble now.

[astra-ravana]

Combat Magick: The Art Of Mystical Warfare

Combat magick is the practice of using metaphysical and energetic techniques for defense, offense, and strategic advantage in spiritual or psychic conflicts. It blends elements of protection, attack, and counterattack, often drawing upon personal will, energy manipulation, and ritual magick to influence outcomes in battles—whether physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual.

Principles of Combat Magick

• Energetic Warfare – Combat magick works by manipulating energy to shield, attack, or neutralize threats. Practitioners learn to harness their own energy and direct external forces to achieve victory.

• Intent and Willpower – A strong will is essential in combat magick. The practitioner's intent determines whether their spells are defensive, retaliatory, or aggressive.

• Cleverness and Intellect - When it comes right down to it, your mind is the single best weapon in your arsenal. The practitioner should possess a some level of mental prowess before attempting combat magick.

• Ethical Considerations – While some use combat magick for self-defense, others employ it for baneful purposes. Some witches mayfollow guidelines such as the Threefold Law or personal codes of conduct that forbid the use of such workings.

Forms of Combat Magick

Defensive Magick (Shielding & Warding):

• Shielding: Creating energetic barriers around oneself or others to deflect attacks (psychic, emotional, spiritual).

• Warding: Placing protective symbols, sigils, or enchanted objects around spaces to prevent intrusion.

• Cleansing & Banishing: Removing negative influences through smoke cleansing, salt, sound, or sacred words.

Offensive Magick (Curses & Hexes):

• Curses & Hexes: Directing harmful energy toward an opponent to weaken, confuse, deter, or harm them.

• Energy Manipulation: Sending concentrated bursts of energy to disrupt an enemy’s balance.

• Elemental Combat: Calling upon fire, water, air, or earth to aid in magickal attacks.

Counterattacks & Reversal Magick:

• Mirror Spells (Return to Sender): Reflecting an attack back to it's source.

• Unbinding & Curse Breaking: Severing unwanted energetic ties or removing hostile spells.

• Reversal Magick: Redirecting negativity away from oneself and sending it elsewhere.

Tools & Techniques Used in Combat Magick

• Sigils & Symbols – Used for protection, strength, or attack. Examples include Algiz (protection), Mars glyphs (aggression).

• Herbs & Crystals – Protective plants like blackthorn, vervain, or dragon’s blood; stones like obsidian, hematite, or black tourmaline. Baneful components include herbs like datura, calamus, belladonna or Spanish moss and stones like opal, sardonyx, and garnet.

• Blood & Personal Energy – Some warriors of the craft may infuse spells with personal essence or their own blood to strengthen the magick.

• Chanting & Incantations – Words of power can amplify intent and activate spells more effectively.

• Astral Combat – Fighting in the spiritual realm through visualization, dream work, or projection. This can help you catch your target in a vulnerable position and quickly gain the upper hand.

Who Uses Combat Magick?

• Witches & Sorcerers – Those who practice both light and dark magick for protection or justice.

• Psychic Warriors & Energy Workers – Individuals who engage in spiritual defense against negative entities or forces.

• Shamans & Spirit Walkers – Practitioners who deal with hostile spirits or supernatural threats as well as those performing exorcisms.

• Chaos Magicians – Those who employ sigils, servitors, and energy constructs for their warfare.

Combat magick is not for the faint of heart—it requires discipline, mastery of energy work, and deep self-awareness. While it can be a powerful tool for protection and justice, it should always be wielded with wisdom and responsibility. Whether defending against psychic attacks or engaging in mystical battles, combat magick remains an essential part of the spiritual warrior’s arsenal.

[moonastro]

groom persona chart

mars in the house

what is a groom persona chart? this chart exhibits qualities that your husband will have and possible placements that can be seen in their chart. it is simply a chart all about your spouse in a woman's chart. the asteroid groom can be identified using the code 5129.

mars as we know is passion, its our motive in life, lust. in the groom persona chart mars determines your husbands motives in life and what gets him fuelled up, his anger style and how he might be in bed.

just a heads up that this post is for 18+

mars in the 1st house: fs can be quite burstful when angry. what i mean by that is that they can easily snap and break when the anger or frustration gets too much for them. they can become aggressive and immature when angry. they can be motivated by their own self esteem and their own success but the one thing that strives them to succeed is competition. knowing that there is other people that want the same goals and motives as them makes them want to become the best at it and want to make sure that others see their success. this gives them energy and a spark inside of your fs that gives him inspiration to keep going. in bed he may grunt a lot and may become dominant and use his strength on you. roughness and source of action in bed is most acquainted and can be preferred by him.

spouse can have natal mars in aries, 1st house, fire sign, fire house.

mars in the 2nd house: your future spouse could hold and store their anger as if it were his most deepest possession. almost like holding a secret. he may be ashamed of other people knowing his anger or his short temper so he keeps it to himself which we can already tell that it can turn into more of a bigger problem. this can lead to other people getting the blame. this can mean that your fs can blame other people for their problems and can blame others for the way that they act. what motivated them is knowing that they have their money and knowing that they can spend their money on anything that they like. they get motivated when they see their success and find out how truly they are good as something. realisation is their best motive. in bed they prefer the slow and intimate and laying back while the other person does the work. they prefer to not do as much when intimate and may prefer for the other person to earn more than the minimum.

spouse can have natal mars in taurus, 2nd house, earth sign, earth house.

mars in the 3rd house: they can be very chatty and can just keep stating and making sure that other people and yourself know how angry or upset they are. they dont let the other person to forget how or what might have made them mad. they can be quite petty and use other people to advantage them. this can lead to lots of lying, manipulation with words and harassment. they like to get into word fights and may not be as physical as they are verbal. your fs motives in life can be from words of affirmation and hearing other people affirm their thoughts. other people trusting them and using their knowledge and sharing his words makes him more confident in himself and can make him motivated. in bed, he may be very verbal, using words and making noises can be a state that he may be into.

spouse can have natal mars in gemini, 3rd house, air sign, air house.

mars in the 4th house: fs can become quite childish and can be overly reactive and sensitive. when it comes to their sexual needs they are very traditional in a sense that they may not want to explore different positions or be experimental at all and prefer just the old missionary. fs may have passion to provide and take care of the home and their family so taking care of his family and wife and children. his motives can be to provide traditional views into the home and making sure that traditions are passed down to their children and grandchildren. in bed your fs can be slow paced and quite emotional, you can expect crying, mood changes, upmost mood swings and random bursts of emotional breakout. however, you can be sure to be made satisfied during bed and you can expect them to be in a very good mood after being intimate, they can change as a whole person, their personality can become better and can become almost like a puppy to you.

spouse can have natal mars in cancer, 4th house, water sign. water house.

mars in the 5th house: your fs can become self sabotaging when angry or when enraged. they can blame themselves for ruining their mood. in general if anything bad happens they put all the blame into themselves. your fs can tend to be irritating when angry and can push other peoples buttons to the max, almost like an annoying child. they will keep bringing it up until someone breaks. their motives in life can be being able to shine by themselves and having the opportunity to take up the spotlight in their own favour. being in the centre of attention and building their own success is what motivates them in life. they can be involved with their interests and appreciate it when other people recognise them for their talents and the things that they are good at. in bed they can be very good at a certain position and may be an expertise at some tricks when being intimate.

spouse can have natal mars in leo, 5th house, fire sign, fire house.

mars in the 6th house: your fs may have some passion towards detail and sticking to the rules. he doesn't quite like to break free from patterns and structure so hew sticks to what he knows. he may rarely change in terms of interests and hobbies and just may dislike changing their routine. they are someone who respects and stays loyal to their schedules and doings. they are someone who really doesn't have any new and spontaneous interests which is not a bad thing at all as it can mean that they have am expertise at something and that your fs may be very talented at one particular thing as they keep at it. your fs may be quite simple and non technical in bed which means that he may like to stick with one position. he may be extra good at that position. this placement may make your fs a very good provider in bed, he is almost like your puppet and will both listen and obey your needs. he will provide the best care and be mindful of your feelings and oh and the aftercare is on top.

spouse can have natal mars in virgo, 6th house, earth sign, earth house.

mars in the 7th house: fs can often argue a lot about contradicting topics that have two separate outcomes. they like to see the odds and switch up on what their original plan was in the first place. when angry they like to get other people involved and get others to go on their side or make others go on his side when in a conflict. they can tend to compare their problems with other people also, they essentially seek to better themselves but can get more people to go against them in their defence. his motives in life can be to get along with everyone, and connect with people. this can also interpret itself to be that your fs can have enemies especially from business side or from past relationships. in bed your fs can be quite sensual and romantic. he may like to switch positions often and may like to take turns whether its the position or place.

spouse can have natal mars in libra, 7th house, air sign, air house, air degree.

mars in the 8th house: husband can become very vulgar and become physical when upset or angry. this can take a toll on him as it might be from past issues or trauma. he may tend to oppress secrets and use them to an advantage when people get on the wrong side of him as he will expose them. this is a very manipulative and psychological placement that can essentially make your fs quite scary at times. he is one that earns peoples trust and then when the time comes when other people get on the wrong foot to them then they bring out their demon. their motives in life can be being able to crack the code of other peoples thoughts. they like being able to know things about people that they usually dont share so it makes your fs motivated and makes them feel special. in bed he can be very praisful and can tend to psychologically use their tricks in bed. this can include whispering, seducing, victimising etc.

spouse can have natal mars in scorpio, 8th house, water sign, water house.

mars in the 9th house: your husband can have passion to make you feel good at all times. so their motive can be to make sure that you are always happy and feeling good and if not they will go out of their way to make you feel better. either if its buying you your favourite snack or foods or taking you to your favourite spot etc. he may truly want what is best for you. when mad they can have severe bursts of anger and severe changes in mood. this can make them turn out to be a bit crazy in a sense because their sudden change of mood can be quite confusing. when mad they are observant and can make sure to check up on everybody else's state, they can be careful with their words and actions but sometimes can slip. in bed they can be very experimental and can be open to new positions and new places to be intimate in. they can like to experiment as it gives them a rush of adrenaline and makes the whole experience more exciting.

spouse can have natal mars in Sagittarius, 9th house, fire sign, fire house.

mars in the 10th house: fs can be quite passionate about work and their image. their image and sense of worth is very important to them. when mad they can be blunt but frank at the same time. he may like to keep it to a minimal when angry and not like to waste their time and energy on unnecessary things such as arguing. on the other hand they can become very strict and stern when angry, they will chose a way of making themselves feel in power and in control. their motives in life can be to achieve lots of their own goals and making sure to work hard to achieve accomplishments that are high held. they may like to be better than other people just to prove that they have worked better and harder than anyone else so that gives them motive to strive for better and work harder. in bed they are very traditional and they can be dominating in the bedroom. they can like to prove themselves in bed a lot and make themselves do all the work to prove that they are providing for you.

spouse can have natal mars in Capricorn, 10th house, earth sign, earth house.

mars in the 11th house: your future spouse can be very detached from when they are angry which means that they might not care of what or who is surrounding them when they get out of character. they will be eager to express their anger any way that they like and they wont care that other people are present and what they might think. when angry they can throw a scene without knowing that they are. their motive in life can be to able to relate to other people along with others sharing their knowledge and systems to each other. they get a spark when others give them the freedom to do anything that they want without any restrictions as it makes them feel like there is no boulder between your fs and life. in bed your spouse can be quite traditional but also unusual ways to be intimate. he can like to use unfamiliar ways to approach intimacy and may be open to new forms of ways.

spouse can have natal mars in Aquarius, 11th house, air sign, air house.

mars in the 12th house: fs may be passionate about the news and the overseas tragedies that are going around the globe. may be very aware about the weather and in general can be very into competitive sport such as swimming. he can get motives from connecting with people emotionally and when hearing other people talk about their mental thoughts and their deepest thoughts as well. when angry they can more so hurt themselves and be a prisoner in their own mind. he can tend to victimise themselves when in the state of anger and conflict. it can get intense also as they can be the ones to suffer through the intense emotions all by themselves. in bed, he is intense and up for the mindfulness of his partner so he is up for intimacy if his partner is up to it.

spouse can have natal mars in Pisces, 12th house, water sign, water house.

[polaritydisturbed]

Ok no, we have to talk about the lighting design this season. Like I need to physically get this out of my body before I implode.

Because it’s so deliberate. It's obnoxiously deliberate. In the best, most beautiful, emotionally manipulative way.

So. Let’s talk about Belinda’s bedroom scene.

We open on Belinda’s bedroom, and the first thing you notice is that it’s drenched—absolutely soaked—in a cool teal-green wash. Not a trace of warmth in the room’s ambient light (aside from the salt lamp but I'll get to it).

Teal is a weirdly loaded color. People always slap it on when they want “serenity” or “calm,” sure, but there’s something haunting about the way it’s used here. It doesn’t feel like peace—it feels like the kind of stillness that happens after something ends. Like the quiet after the noise. That post-shift haze where your body’s in bed but your brain hasn’t followed yet.

What this tells us about Belinda? She’s stuck. The teal isn’t soothing her—it’s holding her in place. This isn’t a woman “relaxing” after work. This is a woman numbed by routine. She’s lying on top of the covers in a basic t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks—clothes that aren’t chosen, just defaulted to. The bed isn’t made. The room isn’t messy, but it isn’t cared for either. It's just… there. Like her.

Everything feels low-energy, lived-in without being truly inhabited. There’s a faint sense of order, but it doesn’t feel owned. There’s no vitality in the space. Like she’s present, but not alive. Teal here isn’t calm—it’s domestic sedation. It’s the color of pause. Of liminality.

Then there's that salt lamp. This soft, orange-yellow glow tucked in the corner of the frame. Warm, comforting, alive—completely opposite the teal-blue void it’s fighting against. It’s the only light source in the room that feels personal. Human.

And it’s not just that it’s a warm color. Color emotion theory tells us that orange and amber tones evoke feelings of warmth, optimism, and emotional openness. They're often used to simulate firelight, tapping into a primal sense of security—think hearth, sunset, candle. These hues are associated with creativity and personal connection. In a sea of teal, which promotes detachment, this little pocket of orange is like a flare of identity. A soul-spark.

Where teal sedates, amber invites. It’s the color of possibility, of life that hasn’t been extinguished yet. It's why the lamp doesn't light the room—it gives it a pulse.

Now here’s the kicker: the salt lamp is right under the star placard. The one with her name on it. The one that kickstarts the entire plot because a whole alien race thinks it makes her their queen.

The lamp’s glow reads like a tiny heartbeat in an otherwise frozen space. Symbolically, it’s the spark of self. That little ember of hope, joy, personality, belief—whatever you want to call it—that hasn’t been drowned out by the monotony of her life yet.

And the fact that it's under the placard? It's literally illuminating the part of her that the universe is about to claim.

Next we cut to a close-up of Belinda in bed. The composition here is brilliant.

Her pillow and the surrounding sheets are washed in the same cool teal light we saw earlier—but her? She's glowing in the orange warmth of the salt lamp.

This isn’t just pretty lighting—it’s duality. It's saying, “Here’s who she is now” (the teal), “and here’s what’s still inside her” (the glow). There’s a literal split happening—like she’s caught in a transition she doesn’t realize is coming.

This is the in-between. Her liminal moment. She’s not where she was, and she’s not yet where she’s going. But the camera lingers like it knows. Like it’s waiting for the change to start.

Then—boom. The lighting shifts. We get this violently bright, harsh yellow light flooding in through the window. And it doesn’t just pour in—it slices in. Through the blinds. In bars.

Let me say that again: bars.

It’s casting shadows across her body like a prison cell. That’s not an accident. It’s signaling that something is coming for her, and it’s not asking permission. It’s claiming her.

Yellow is a deceptive color in emotional theory. People think of it as cheerful—sunlight, sunflowers, warmth, joy, energy. But in design, especially in lighting? Yellow walks a tightrope. It can tilt into chaos fast. Especially when it’s this bright. This sudden. This aggressive.

See, yellow stimulates. It grabs your attention. It speeds up the heart. In advertising, it's used to spark urgency, even irritation (think hazard lights or warning signs). It’s a color that demands you look—and keep looking. You can’t relax in yellow. You can’t sleep in yellow. You react to yellow.

So when this high-saturation yellow floods Belinda’s room, it’s not joy. It’s not hope. It’s alarm. It’s a psychological jolt. A visual shove. It's not warmth—it's pressure.

Yellow in this scene is not an invitation to a new beginning—it’s an intrusion of expectation. A sudden spotlight. A cosmic glare.

And because it’s coming from outside the room, it’s not something she’s chosen. It’s not internal. It’s a force of narrative crashing through her private life. A story she didn’t ask to be in, demanding her attention. That yellow isn’t her destiny—it’s the noise of everyone else's expectations about who she’s going to become.

Now add the shadows of the blinds—those harsh horizontal slats—and you get a visual contradiction: a color that screams freedom, cast like a cage.

This is where it gets interesting. Because yellow is also associated with identity. Think ego, confidence, clarity of purpose. But when it’s forced, when it’s too loud, too fast, too bright—it becomes performance. The expectation to be seen. To shine. To embody something.

And that’s what’s happening here. The light doesn’t just want to see her—it wants her to become something. Bigger. Brighter. More.

This yellow doesn’t light her path. It exposes her.

She’s no longer safe in teal limbo. No longer comforted by the amber pulse of her salt lamp. She’s on display now. A body in a frame, spotlighted by a universe with no context. A woman seen through blinds—literally and metaphorically—by beings who will misread everything about her.

It’s the color of being watched. Of being presumed important. Of being chosen for reasons that have nothing to do with who you actually are.

And that’s the genius of it. That yellow glow isn't warmth—it’s the burn of recognition without understanding. It’s what happens when the world thinks you’re a lightbulb and plugs you into a searchlight.

Next: the silhouette.

We see Belinda standing in front of the window, her body blacked out by the light in front of her. The yellow glows around her like a solar flare through the clouds. It’s angelic. Messianic. Looks like the birth of a chosen one.

But that’s not what’s happening.

She’s not rising to the occasion. She’s staring out, stunned, trying to make sense of what just punched its way into her night. The light frames her like a heroine, but narratively, she’s still playing catch-up. That contrast—the visual myth vs. her actual confusion—is where the scene gets its emotional punch.

We’re watching her image transform before she does. The world sees her one way. The camera frames her that way. But she hasn’t caught up to that version of herself yet.

And then: the blinds.

Belinda slowly peels two slats open. A single bar of that same aggressive yellow light slices across her face and eyes. It’s dramatic. Cinematic. Looks like a revelation moment.

But it’s not a choice.

This isn’t Belinda stepping into anything. She’s not crossing a threshold. She’s just cracking the blinds because something is already happening to her—and she doesn’t understand it yet.

The light doesn’t represent clarity or destiny. It’s not a warm invitation. It’s an impact. A collision. A blunt force of something larger than her life forcing its way into her space. The yellow glow across her eyes doesn’t illuminate—it disrupts.

And that’s the real tension: she’s about to feel chosen. About to be miscast as important. But right now? She’s just tired. Just a woman in a basic tee and sweats, lying on top of the covers, poking through the blinds because something weird is happening to her, not for her. She’s not looking for meaning. She’s bracing for answers she didn’t ask to get.

That narrow beam of light slicing into the room isolates her. It spotlights her against her will. The world beyond those blinds has noticed her, and that attention is about to upend everything.

It’s the start of a misunderstanding. The beginning of being seen wrong. Of being dragged into something monumental because of one stupid star certificate and a moment she didn’t choose.

The light doesn’t welcome her. It claims her.

And the brilliance of this scene is how it tells us all of that—who Belinda is, what she’s lacking, and what’s coming—without a single word. The color palette sets her emotional baseline; the lighting builds the lie. It misleads us just enough that we feel the shift with her.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any superpower/theme ideas for villains?

Writing Ideas: Villain Superpowers & Themes

Complete Immortality - Control over one's own death, or major injury.

Energy Absorption - Considering how many heroes wield a great deal of strength and power, one of the best challenges to them is villains who can absorb their energy. The power to absorb energy has also featured in villains like the Lord Beyond the Void, Major Force, Absorbing Man, and hellish beings who can steal souls. Some villains have a dependency on the powers of other beings, which makes them effectively energy vampires — not to mention the likes of Galactus, who feed on entire worlds.

Intangibility - More commonly thought of as the ability to “walk through walls.” Intangible means “not capable of being touched.” (E.g., Loki from Marvel Comics)

Magic - Gives its users the power to do anything and the further one walks down the magical path, the more temptation they find. They say power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and magic can give its user that kind of strength. Most humans shouldn't be given the keys to the natural world, and even using their power in small ways to get their way can lead to becoming a monster. Magic users come in both moral alignments, but even the good ones know that the arcane is a possible road to darkness. Scarlet Witch is a perfect example; for many years, her connection to the elder god Chthon and the Darkhold drove her mad long before her reality-altering powers did. Then there's someone like Baron Mordo, who sees magic as a road to power.

Magnetism/Ferrokenesis - In everyday speech, magnetism often refers to “strong attractive power or charm.” But when it comes to superpowers, magnetism is the ability to use and manipulate magnetic phenomena. Complicated supervillain Magneto is the classic example of a mutant with this power. He is able to bend metal to his will.

Meta Power - Control over an opponent's abilities.

Mind Control - Control over an opponent's mind. It is a power that is basically impossible not to abuse. By its very nature, mind control violates consent. Even if a person started using it in seemingly benign ways - for example, making someone at a bank give them money - there are still consequences to it. Mind control makes people look like puppets to the person with the power, and that's an attitude that would lead anyone to villainy.

Omniscience - Allows someone to know everything. In the real world that would drive anyone crazy. Intelligent people often lose touch with the people around them and knowing everything, all the time, would be even worse. Eventually, that kind of knowledge would bring madness.

People Puppets - Control over an opponent's body.

Reality Warper - Control over reality itself.

Shape-Shifting - This has allowed villains to spy on their worst enemies, steal secrets, and divide relationships. Many villainous powers are a reflection of negative traits, so it makes complete sense that the highest form of deception would be a common power among bad guys. Shape-shifting can make for some brilliant detective stories, as well as a genuine way for villains to infiltrate superhero teams and divide from within.

Space Master - Control over space itself.

Superintelligence - Allows one to feel like a god, and for some people that feeling is addictive. Lex Luthor is a perfect example. Luthor could easily save the world, but he instead chooses to try to destroy Superman. The ability to create anything, to solve any problem can drive any normal person to evil. Suddenly, problems just become things to solve and the fastest way to solve them is often the best, no matter what it costs others.

Time Master - Control over time itself.

Touch of Death - Control over death itself.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more in the sources. Hope this helps with your writing!