#i had them on and was hit with thoughts of The Character

[xyywrites]

Writing Grief Without Romanticizing It

Grief is raw, messy, and deeply personal. It doesn’t follow a neat arc or fit into tidy narrative beats. While stories often use grief as a dramatic device, romanticizing it can cheapen the emotional reality. Writing grief authentically means embracing its discomfort and unpredictability, not sanitizing or idealizing it. 

What Romanticizing Grief Looks Like

Characters who seem emotionally wrecked but always manage to look graceful in their suffering.

Overly articulate monologues that sound more like a eulogy than a real moment of loss.

Depictions of grief as a singular, cathartic event instead of a long, jagged process.

Romanticized Grief:

“Every day without you is like a piece of me fading away into a tragic, beautiful void. I’ll carry this pain forever, for it’s all I have left of you.”

This might be poetic, but it lacks the authenticity of how most people actually process grief.

Realistic Grief:

“I forgot your birthday. I didn’t mean to, but when I remembered, it was already too late. And then I hated myself because forgetting felt like erasing you.”

Writing Grief Authentically

1. Show the Physical Toll

Grief isn’t just emotional—it’s physical. Insomnia, headaches, exhaustion, or even the inability to move can be part of the experience.

“She woke up in the middle of the night again, choking on the air. Her chest felt like a cinderblock had been wedged inside, heavy and unmoving. It was three days since the funeral, and she still hadn’t slept longer than an hour.”

2. Let Grief Be Messy

Grief isn’t a perfectly linear journey. There’s no logical progression from denial to acceptance—there are setbacks, breakdowns, and even moments of denial long after healing has started.

“He yelled at his mother for throwing out the cereal box. ‘It was his favorite,’ he said. She didn’t remind him that it had been expired for months. She just handed him the trash bag and walked away.”

3. Avoid Glossy Sentimentality

Sometimes grief isn’t poetic; it’s ugly, blunt, and devoid of grandeur. Characters might lash out, shut down, or isolate themselves.

Romanticized: “I’ll cry every day, but I’ll keep going because you’d want me to.”

Realistic: “They said time would heal it. But it didn’t. Time just put more space between me and the life I knew before.”

4. Let Grief Manifest in Small, Unexpected Ways

Grief isn’t always about sobbing—it can show up in mundane moments: hesitating to delete a voicemail, holding onto an old sweater, or instinctively setting the table for someone who’s gone.

“She turned to tell him the joke, the one about the broken lamp, and stopped halfway through. The silence hit harder than the punchline ever would.”

5. Highlight the Absurdity of It

Grief can be absurd and disorienting. Characters might laugh inappropriately, obsess over trivial details, or feel disconnected from reality.

“At the funeral, all she could focus on was how crooked the flowers were arranged. She kept wanting to fix them. If she didn’t, she thought, none of this would feel real.”

6. Explore How Grief Changes Relationships

Grief doesn’t happen in isolation—it affects relationships, often in unexpected ways. Some people pull closer, others drift apart.

“Her friends stopped asking how she was doing after the first few weeks. She didn’t blame them; she didn’t have an answer. ‘Fine’ wasn’t a lie—it was just easier than saying, ‘I still can’t breathe when I see his empty chair.’”

7. Show the Longevity of Grief

Grief doesn’t end when the funeral does. Let it linger in your story, showing how it ebbs and flows over time.

“It had been five years, but she still called his number when something exciting happened. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe it was hope.”

8. Allow for Moments of Respite

Grief isn’t constant agony. People still laugh, find joy, and go about their lives—sometimes feeling guilty for it.

“She smiled for the first time in weeks, and then immediately hated herself for it. It felt like betrayal, like forgetting.”

[written-in-knife]

Hi could I request headcanons for leona, malleus, ruggie,jamil and trey with a fem reader that's actually from their world (not yuu) and some years prior she was given a sort of blessing from someone that gives her like rapid regeneration so if she's hurt bad she heals almost same day BUT the catch being she's never told the boys this fact so maybe like one day they go somewhere or are in town and perhaps an animal or little kid is nearly hit by a car but she rushed out and grabbed them but ends up being run over instead. She's unconscious and injured for a moment but then slowly gets back up mostly fine and dandy

(This is so extra and specific sorry but thanks if you do write this🫶)

Blessed

Trey, Ruggie, Leona, Jamil, Malleus

Written with the idea of fem!reader, can be read as any gender, literal hurt/comfort, swearing, still pretty fluffy though

tw: graphic descriptions of injuries, getting hit by cars, and hit and runs

average 500 words per character

Don't be sorry, I love extra and specific! And, as we're already aware, I also love getting carried away with prompts lmaoo Side note, do y'all get notified when I post under your ask or should I start tagging the people who make requests?

Trey Clover

The two of you had gone to town to try out something, anything from that famous patisserie. You'd been trying to get something from there the last few months, always just missing it by two or three people in line. The last time the two of you had tried, Trey was actually the one they told that they were sold out. You agreed that you just had to go a little earlier, then there was no way you'd miss out. So, hand in hand, you and Trey left the campus at four in the morning, still not fully awake but determined to succeed this time. It wasn't a short walk to get to town, let alone the patisserie, but with it being so early in the morning you at least didn't have to worry about other people hindering your progress.

You were a few blocks out from finally getting to taste that greatness again, the sun barely kissing the horizon, when a cat darted out from an alley just ahead of you. Trey chuckled as it startled you, still too tired to expect the unexpected. You stopped to watch the cat for a second as it trotted into the road. If you hadn't been watching the cat, you wouldn't have seen the truck, headlights off and speeding down the street. You only thought about it for half a second before you let go of Trey's hand and sprinted towards the cat, not stopping when he shouted your name in panic. You scooped up the cat, protecting it with your body as the car impacted your back, and Trey watched as you disappeared underneath for a moment. The truck sped off, as if they had only hit a bump in the road, as Trey ran to you. He carefully flipped you over, the cat wiggling free of your arms and running off unharmed. His hands were shaking as he started a healing spell, trying to ignore how much blood there already was on the road, he had to try, you couldn't just... He had to try. He was surprised by how fast the healing spell was working, his own terror leading him to believe that he was just doing a really good job before your eyes shot open again. He stopped his spell, but your wounds kept closing, bones kept setting. You sat up with a groan, spitting out a few pebbles as you went.

"Is the cat okay...?" You asked groggily.

Trey just stared for a moment before he broke into laughter, tears of relief streaming down his face as he lunged forward to hold you in his arms. "Yeah... it's okay, sweetheart."

Ruggie Bucchi

The two of you went into town fairly often for dates. Specifically, you went to get free food. You were running out of places to run the scam, but how it would work is the two of you would go into separate restaurants, and sit there for awhile pretending that you were getting stood up. A good 80% of the time, the waitstaff would feel bad and comp your meals or give you a free dessert, you would ask for to go containers, then meet up on the beach for a picnic. Sometimes the picnic would only be two little cakes, but occasionally, you had full meals to share with each other.

Ruggie was waiting in the usual spot meet up spot, away from the restaurants. He'd managed to score one of your favorite pasta dishes from his half of the endeavor, and as you approached the opposite side of the street, he could see a smaller to go box in your hands. Dessert still meant it worked. He grinned at you as you waved for him, checking for cars. You swore you looked both ways, could've sworn there was no one coming. It happened so fast. One second you were jogging towards him, the next he was watching as you bounced along down the road, tires still squealing. You'd barely skidded to a stop when he made a break for you, dropping the box in his hands as he rushed to get to you. The second he dropped to his knees next to your broken body, the car backed up, then sped around the two of you to leave.

"HEY!" Ruggie shouted after it to no avail, whoever it was had no intention of sticking around, and he couldn't afford to go chasing after it. "Motherfucker...!"

He turned his focus back to you, hands hovering over the obviously broken bones and serious road rash and cuts that were oozing blood with every heartbeat, not wanting to hurt you. He had caught himself in a loop of thinking about picking you up off the road and not wanting to move you just in case, wanting to start a healing spell and thinking he should wait for professionals. He'd just dug his phone out when he heard a popping sound, then a groan, looking down to see your twisted limbs pulling themselves back together. He stared in awe, and a little horror, as your wounds began to close. Little rocks spitting themselves out of your road rash as you sat up, rubbing your back and looking like you were just uncomfortable and mildly inconvenienced. Then your head shot around, back to where you were initially hit, whining when you saw your to go box, partially ran over and spilled open on the pavement.

"Dammit," you grumbled as you yanked on your arm to guide your shoulder back into its socket, "they gave me that good cheesecake too!"

Ruggie just stared for a moment in disbelief before shouting, "YOU WERE JUST HIT BY A CAR AND THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE CONCERNED ABOUT?!"

"Yeah! It was the good caramel one from over by the docks!"

He sighed heavily, reaching forward to pull you into his arms. "We gotta talk about your priorities..."

Leona Kingscholar

It wasn't often that you were able to drag Leona off school grounds, you were lucky he couldn't say no to your professional pathetic puppy dog eyes. You were going to see a showing in the theater of a movie you'd adored as a kid, insisting to him that it was different to see it in the theater when he offered to just pick up a copy of it for you. He'd grumbled about it at first, but he actually stayed awake through the whole thing, even seeming to enjoy it by the end. You teased him about it a little as the two of you walked out of the theater, reveling in the way he smirked and pushed your face away from him to hide it.

Leona had his arm wrapped around your shoulders while you chatted about the movie, heading for the crosswalk when you heard a commotion behind you. Two kids, no older than eight, were coming out of the theater with their mom. The older of the two must've tripped, scraping his knee, and was crying on the sidewalk, the younger-- little, no older than five-- was laughing at his brother as he jumped up and down. Their mom's attention was focused on the injured boy as you heard the other yell that he would race them to the car. It was cute. You and Leona stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, when you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You turned just in time to see the little boy darting out into the road, just far enough from you to avoid your initial grab. It didn't take much to extract yourself from Leona's hold and spring forward, Leona snapping your name as you ran after the boy and into oncoming traffic. And it was oncoming. You managed to snatch the boy by the collar just in front of a car that had already slammed on the brakes but was far too close, spinning to toss him back the way he came. The boy slammed into Leona's legs just as the car hit you, sending you flying into the intersection. He'd heard your bones snap when you were hit, he knew you weren't okay, face down in the middle of the intersection. But first...

He grabbed the boy by the collar you'd pulled to save him, pulling him to his feet and crouching down to his level, glaring daggers into his crying face. "Get back to your mother." He growled low in his chest. "Now!"

The boy wailed as he sprinted back towards the theater, but Leona didn't give him a second glance as he ran to you. The owner of the car was already there, on the phone with the emergency services, and was unceremoniously shoved out of the way when Leona approached. He knelt next to you, running a hand lightly over your hair as he took note of everything that was broken. Too much. Anything was too much in his eyes when it came to you. He didn't like that he could see your leg bone, he didn't like that he could smell the overwhelming iron of your blood on the sun baked pavement, he didn't like how little you were moving.

"You'll be alright." He muttered, leaning down to your ear, unsure if he was reassuring himself or you.

"Yeah, give it a second." You agreed, making him snap back upright as he wasn't expecting a response, let alone one that sounded so nonchalant.

While he was reeling from his own whiplash, he could hear the creaking and popping as your bones slid back into place, and he grimaced as he watched your exposed leg bone slide back under your skin. Then your skin began to pull closed, intense injuries disappearing in mere moments until all that was left were pink scars and the damage to your clothes. You sat back up, shaking your arms out and grabbing your jaw, popping it back into place like it happened every day. Once you looked like nothing had happened, Leona reached over and swatted you upside the head.

"The fuck was that?!" He snapped as you rubbed at the spot he hit.

"What, was I supposed to let the kid get hit by the car?" You shot back with a smirk.

He growled, but said nothing, rolling his eyes as he sat back on his hands. You could see the relief in his posture, even if he didn't express it with words. Good luck trying to get him to come to town again.

Jamil Viper

Jamil needed a day off, even if he wouldn't admit it. You bribed some Scarabia members to watch after Kalim for one evening, making sure he didn't die while you stole Jamil away for a date night in town. He griped about it at first, of course, worried Kalim would do something stupid while he was gone. But it was just a few hours with his favorite person, he could put Kalim on a back burner for once. The two of you had been talking about trying a new restaurant in town that served dishes from the Scalding Sands, and you were excited to see if they could match up to Jamil.

You were laughing as you left the restaurant, Jamil holding your hand and giving you his honest critic as you headed back towards the campus. "It was fine," immediately followed by everything they did wrong in a brutally honest fashion, ending with "but it was fine." You knew he was embellishing for your sake, he liked to find ways to make you laugh. You squeezed his hand, telling him that next time you'd stick to tried and tested places. He liked the idea of next time, especially with the usual daily chaos so far away. Not wanting to head back just yet, he pulled you along a different route, explaining that he'd heard about an ice cream parlor nearby that might make up for the dinner. You knew the real reason, but just followed along with a smile.

You were crossing the street when someone blew a red light, the car barrelling towards the two of you. You didn't think, you just shoved Jamil out of the way before the impact. He didn't see it happen, having tumbled to the ground when you shoved him. When he looked back, the car was nowhere to be seen, and you were a little further up the road laying motionless. He was quick to pull himself back up, nearly tripping over his feet as he made his way over to you. You must've gone under the wheels, both legs crushed in a way that nearly made him sick. He dug his shaking fingers into the fabric of your shirt, resisting the urge to pull you up and into his lap. He knew plenty of healing spells, he had to with his lifestyle. Why couldn't he remember any of them? He bit his tongue to bleeding as he just sat there, silent tears dripping off his face. He felt like he couldn't move, not that he wanted to. Then you did. It was slow at first, if he didn't have his hands on your torso, he wouldn't have noticed the way your ribs slotted back into place. Still frozen, he watched as your legs squirmed unnaturally, listening to you groan in discomfort as the crushed areas reformed. You still had some blood on your face as you pushed yourself back up, giving him a worried look as he let go of your shirt in a daze.

"Jamil, are you okay?" You asked quickly, twisting around to face him fully, cupping his cheeks as gently as you could. "Are you hurt?"

He didn't move. For a lot longer than you maybe should have, the two of you sat in the road as you checked him over for injuries. Finding none but the light scrapes on his arms, you focused back on his face.

"Never do that again." He finally muttered, grabbing your arms and holding on like you were about to disappear. "Don't ever do that again."

Malleus Draconia

Malleus had always been able to sense some sort of blessing on you. It wasn't uncommon for members of Diasomnia to be blessed by the fae before arriving at NRC, so he never thought to ask about it. Looking back, maybe he should have.

He wasn't with you when it happened. It never would've happened in the first place if he'd been there. Lilia got a call from one of your friends saying that you'd been hit by a car in town, and that Malleus needed to get there as fast as he could. He was gone the second Lilia finished telling him where you were. He only got to see your broken body laying in the road for the briefest moment before your eyes shot open and you sat up, your friend screaming in terror. It didn't take him long to connect the dots as he approached you, watching as you maneuvered your broken arm back into the correct position for the bones to reattach, large wounds from sliding along the road already starting to stitch themselves closed before his eyes. A blessing of protection, then... He sighed heavily in relief before crouching down next to you.

"Are you alright, beloved?" He asked with a small smile as you cracked your neck with a satisfied groan.

"I've been better." You huffed, taking his offered hand and letting him help you up. "You don't seem surprised."

"It is no surprise to me that someone would want to bless you. You may want to explain it to your friend, however."

The two of you looked over to your friend, who was still standing there, mouth agape and staring at you in horror. You laughed and squeezed Malleus's hand before going over to them to explain the situation. It was comforting to know someone had blessed you in such a way that you could not be hurt for long, but he knew the sight of you broken in the middle of the road would haunt him for years to come. One more blessing couldn't hurt, right?

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[fic-girlie]

Hidden in plain sight

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Summary: While promoting Gladiator II, you and Pedro keep your three-year relationship low-key, playing it cool in public. But behind closed doors—especially after the London premiere—passion and love overflow in a night full of intensity, comfort, and quiet devotion. Warnings: fluff, established relationship, explicit smut (18+), soft dom!pedro, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, language, dirty talk A/N: Thank you @kellyxo1 for the idea, again!

The lighting in the suite is too bright, as always. Cameras click. Laptops clack. The endless rhythm of press junket days, where the same questions are folded into new words and passed across the table like shiny candy. You’re seated on the left, angled ever so slightly toward Pedro, as always. There’s something in that small tilt of your body that comforts him—you don’t say it, but he knows it.

You’ve learned how to make each other laugh without a single word.

Today, he’s in a white button up. Curls tamed but not conquered. He’s got that easy charm dialed up, eyes soft, smile sharp, the kind of presence that people describe as “effortless” even though you know exactly how much effort he puts into staying calm in rooms like this.

The interviewer is young and clearly nervous. She fumbles through a question about character dynamics, some half-formed thought about power and vulnerability, and Pedro saves her with a warm chuckle and that gentle charisma that got him cast in this movie—and half the world’s hearts.

“She throws me to the ground in our second scene together,” he says, tossing a thumb in your direction. His voice is light, playful, but the way he glances at you—quick, fond, proud—makes your stomach flip.

You smirk. “I did not throw you to the ground. I gave you a gentle push. With force.”

He lets out a theatrical sigh. “And people wonder why I have trust issues.”

The room laughs. It’s easy. You make it look easy, the way your rhythms lock into each other like pieces that were always meant to fit. It’s not fake. It’s just not everything.

Because when you two share a look like that—one filled with years of stolen mornings, late-night scripts read aloud from opposite ends of a hotel bed, silent dinners when the exhaustion was too much to speak—it’s too much to explain to strangers. So you don’t. You let them see what you want them to see: a friendship that feels alive and quick and perfectly believable. And if someone catches a flicker of something more behind your eyes, that’s their business.

“I will say this,” Pedro continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees in that way he does when he’s feeling a little too exposed. “This one—” he gestures toward you, “—she’s dangerous with a sword and devastating with sarcasm. The duality is… genuinely terrifying.”

You laugh again, but the heat crawling up your neck is real. The way he praises you—quietly, gently, under the guise of teasing—always hits harder than it should.

“Better terrifying than boring,” you say smoothly, nudging your knee against his under the table. A soft pressure, fleeting. But he doesn’t shift away.

Your names trend together on social media almost daily now, not because of PDA or big declarations, but because people love trying to decode you. The inside jokes. The way he watches you when you speak, like he’s still discovering new things in your voice. How he sometimes interrupts interviews just to say, “Wait, tell the story about Morocco—the falcon one,” even when it has nothing to do with the question asked.

It’s a game you never meant to play, but now you both know the rules. Keep it fun. Keep it light. Let the world believe they’re watching something spark in real time.

Only you and Pedro know it’s been burning steady for years.

——

The boat had been someone’s spontaneous idea—Fred, probably, or maybe Pedro himself. A rare day off during the Italy shoot, too precious to waste indoors. You’d all been running on fumes, eyelids sunburned, costumes stiff with dust and leather, so the idea of turquoise water and cold drinks had seemed almost holy.

The boat was bigger than you’d expected, but still cozy enough that no one could pretend not to hear the conversations happening across it. A small crew kept to their business, steering and serving and politely pretending not to notice when someone made a bad joke or took too long choosing a playlist.

You wore a black one-piece under an airy linen cover-up. Pedro’s sunglasses had slid low on his nose. He hadn’t stopped smiling since his bare feet hit the deck.

From the start, it was easy. Laughter. Music. Connie swaying to Stevie Nicks with a drink in each hand. Joseph sitting on the edge of the deck, feet dangling above the sea, narrating dramatic fake scenes from the “Gladiator III: Vacation in Capri” as if the camera crew were rolling.

And then there was Pedro.

He hadn’t left your side since you boarded.

His hand brushed the small of your back when you walked. His fingers threaded with yours when you sat. It wasn’t deliberate—at least not for show. It was just who he was around you when no one was watching. Or when he forgot they were.

You found a spot in the bow, a patch of smooth wood catching full sunlight, and settled there with a drink in one hand and Pedro’s thigh beneath the other. He stretched out beside you, skin warm, shirt half-unbuttoned and clinging to the lines of his chest from a splash he'd taken earlier when someone dared him to jump in.

At one point, you laid your head on his shoulder, and his arm slipped around your waist like it belonged there. Like it always had.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed,” you murmured, watching the sunlight scatter diamonds across the waves.

“I’m not,” he said, glancing at you with a lazy smile. “I’m just pretending for your sake.”

“Convincing performance.”

“That’s what the Oscar’s for,” he whispered, and kissed your hair.

It wasn’t until the boat stilled—anchor dropped in some hidden cove off the coast—that the warmth lulled you fully under. Pedro’s heartbeat thudded steady beneath your cheek, and the ocean hummed a lullaby. You meant to just rest your eyes, just for a moment.

But you drifted. The boat rocked softly. The breeze lifted the hem of your cover-up. And you melted into him like he was home.

You woke to hushed voices and a shutter click that made Pedro flinch. One of the crew members quickly apologized, but Pedro just waved it off and tightened his arm around you.

“Sorry,” he whispered when he felt you stir. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice was rough with sleep, lips warm against your temple. He hadn’t moved at all. You realized that—your body had molded to his side, your legs tangled lightly with his, one of your hands curled into the hem of his shirt. He could’ve shifted. He could’ve gotten up. But he hadn’t.

He’d stayed.

“They’re talking about us,” you murmured, voice groggy, heart quickened more from the closeness than the attention.

“They always do,” he said softly. Then, after a beat: “Let ’em.”

You stayed curled against him until the sun dipped low and someone called for group photos. Pedro helped you up, pressed a hand to the small of your back like he was still afraid you’d topple over.

Later that night, back at the little hotel, the whole group gathered around a fire pit in the courtyard. Someone opened wine. Someone else dragged a guitar out of nowhere. You sat beside Pedro again, this time in a dry T-shirt of his and shorts that didn’t quite reach your knees, and the others pretended not to notice how much of the evening you spent tucked into the crook of his arm.

Connie snapped a picture—your legs over Pedro’s lap, his hand on your bare knee, the soft flicker of firelight between you. You didn’t see it until weeks later, posted with the caption “Sunset stunners. Starring: these two, in love and annoying about it.”

The clip started circulating almost immediately. Cast members retelling the boat story on talk shows. Paul grumbling playfully, “I thought I was the romantic lead, but apparently Pedro and his girl stole the whole damn film.” Joseph teasing Pedro about turning to mush the second you fell asleep on him. Connie calling you “the most disgustingly smitten couple on water.”

And every time it came up in interviews, Pedro would laugh. Blush, maybe. Pretend to wave it off. But he never denied a thing.

Not once.

And neither did you.

——

A few months later you were standing in the hotel room, shared with Pedro, getting ready for the London premiere. Of course, you’ve been to red carpets and premieres before, but this one was different. It wasn’t only your movie or his, it was a movie where you both played big roles.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing a black dress with some red details which clung to you perfectly, highlighting the curves of your body. You choose a natural makeup, not wanting to push it too far.

You were just fixing the straps of the dress when Pedro came out of the bathroom. And when you saw him in the mirror you had to take a double look.

The black shirt clung to him like it was made just for him, the V-neck showing the slight dip of his solid chest, making you go feral. The little red pins on his shoulder emphasizing him, but just enough to not stole the spotlight, and the black slacks he was wearing completely tailored for him. His hair was styled perfectly, some silver strands showing and shining in their place.

You turned around and looked at him with admiration in your eyes. He looked like one of those old statues, like a God, who fell from heaven.

“You good?” you ask quietly.

He nods, but it’s a lie.

You know that look. You’ve seen it at events before—press junkets, big tables—when the crowd is too loud and the stakes too high. When the world expects Pedro Pascal to be Pedro Pascal, and some part of him just wants to disappear.

“I will be,” he says.

You walk to him in heels that click softly on marble, stopping close enough to smell the cedar in his cologne and the faint trace of peppermint on his breath.

Your fingers brush the edge of his lapel, straightening it, pretending it needs fixing. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously handsome or ridiculously nervous?”

You raise an eyebrow.

He huffs a soft laugh through his nose and looks down. “I hate these things.”

“I know.”

“You make them better.”

Your hand slides gently down his chest, lingering over his sternum, right where his heartbeat stutters beneath your touch.

“I’ll be close the whole time.”

He meets your gaze, and the rawness there almost undoes you.

You kiss his cheek. Not the kind that means I love you. The kind that says I know who you are when no one’s looking.

——

The car ride over is quiet.

The city glows wet and golden through the tinted windows — streetlamps like fireflies, crowds already pressing against barricades. You sit with your hands in your lap, and his are resting just inches from yours on the seat, his knee occasionally brushing yours when the car turns.

You don’t speak.

He closes his eyes once, briefly. You reach over without thinking and slide your pinkie around his, just for a second. He exhales.

The carpet is blinding.

A river of flashing lights and calling voices, umbrellas twirling in the crowd, velvet ropes separating fans from stars. You feel the heat of cameras, the electric buzz of names being shouted, the press’s hunger for something worth posting.

You both step out, not quite together.

Pedro takes a moment to square his shoulders. He looks calm again — perfectly composed — but you feel the shift.

You walk a few paces behind, giving the illusion of independence. Of separation. It's part of the game.

Until the angle shifts.

Until the interviewer from Vanity Fair — the one who asked that question last time — waves you both over.

You settle beside him. Close, but not touching.

He glances down at you, voice low enough that it’s lost in the noise: “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

The interview starts light. Jokes. Banter. You’re both good at that. Your timing fits like puzzle pieces — his sarcasm soft and dry, yours sharp and playful. You toss each other softballs, grin at the same questions, answer with that carefully rehearsed mix of camaraderie and mystery.

But then the question shifts.

“What was the most surprising part of working together on this film?”

Pedro looks at you.

Really looks.

And the pause stretches longer than it should.

You meet his gaze and offer the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

He speaks slowly. Thoughtfully. “I think… the way she carried so much of the weight. Quietly. The emotion she brings—it changes the air around her. I think I forgot how to breathe sometimes.”

The interviewer laughs lightly, not sure if he’s joking.

But he’s not.

You don’t say anything. Just smile—soft, knowing—and step slightly closer. Not enough to raise eyebrows. But enough for him to feel your arm brush his as you walk away from the mic.

He doesn’t let the distance open up again.

You glide through the rest of the carpet like two satellites orbiting the same star. Separate in appearance, but always pulled toward each other when no one’s looking.

When the cameras shift.

When the lights tilt.

And later—when the lights go down inside the theater and the film begins—his fingers find yours in the dark. Silently. Desperately.

You hold on tight.

Because this is how you survive the noise.

Together.

——

You don't even remember crossing the room. One moment he's teasing you about the shirt, about the way you were staring, and the next you’re walking backward as he follows, one slow step at a time, his eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. The soft click of the door sealing shut behind him feels like it closes off the entire world.

The low hum of London still murmurs outside the tall windows, but in here, it’s all dark wood and soft light and the quiet intensity in his gaze.

Pedro doesn't say another word at first. He just watches you with that look—the one that makes your breath catch low in your throat. The one that says he’s seen every part of you and still wants more.

He stands there in that damn shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. The contrast of the crimson buttons against the dark fabric makes him look sharper somehow, more dangerous. Like he’s the one pulling every invisible string in the room.

And maybe he is.

You shift slightly under the weight of his silence, heat rising behind your ribs. You open your mouth to say something—maybe a joke, maybe nothing at all—but you never get the chance.

He steps in.

His hand curves around your jaw with practiced ease, not rough, not rushed—just firm. Sure. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

"You have any idea how hard it was not to touch you all night?” he murmurs, voice low, thick with restraint. “You, standing next to me in that dress, smiling like that…"

You try to respond, but he’s already kissing you, slow and hot, the kind that robs the breath right out of your lungs. His mouth moves with intent, just enough pressure to make your head spin. He doesn't waste time—his hands are already sliding down your back, finding the zipper, and when he breaks the kiss it’s only to speak against your skin.

“You wore that for me, didn’t you?” he asks, lips brushing your throat. “Knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing about it until we got here.”

Your answer is a shaky inhale. You feel his smirk as he pulls the zipper down, one slow inch at a time.

“I should make you beg for it,” he says, still behind you now, his breath against your neck. “After the way you looked at me all night. Like you knew what you were doing.”

You tilt your head, letting him push the dress from your shoulders. It pools at your feet like a sigh.

“I did know,” you whisper.

Pedro chuckles, low and dark, and his hands are on your hips now—pulling you back against him. You can feel him already, hard through his trousers, and the sound that slips from your mouth makes him groan.

“Then don’t pretend you’re not going to let me have you exactly how I want,” he mutters, one hand skimming up your stomach, the other sliding between your thighs.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing you with maddening patience. Just the graze of his knuckles, slow and purposeful, as if he has all night to unmake you.

"Already wet," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice thick and approving. "You like it when I talk to you like that, don’t you?"

You nod, but he doesn’t let that slide.

"Use your words, cariño," he says, his tone darkening just enough to make you shiver. "You know I want to hear it."

"Yes," you breathe, barely holding on. "I like it… I like when you talk to me like that."

He rewards your honesty with a low growl and two fingers slipping through your slick heat—slow, precise, stroking you just enough to make your knees go weak. His free arm wraps around your waist to steady you, holding you flush to his chest like he’s claiming you in the quiet of this high-rise hotel room.

"You’ve been driving me fucking crazy for weeks," he mutters. "These press tours, pretending we’re just friends. Watching you laugh with the others like you don’t crawl into my bed every night."

His words hit you low in your belly, the possessiveness curling into arousal as his fingers begin to move in earnest—deep, steady, controlled. You moan into the air, unable to keep quiet, and that only spurs him on. He bites gently at your shoulder, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp.

"Think they know?" he asks against your skin. "Think they’d still see you as sweet if they knew how you sound when I make you come?"

The words drag another helpless sound from your lips. You press back against him, needing more—needing all of him—but he still doesn’t give it. Not yet.

Instead, he pulls his hand away, and before you can beg, he turns you around and kisses you hard—mouth greedy, tongue insistent, as if he's trying to taste every sound you’ve ever made for him.

"Bed," he says roughly, guiding you backward without looking. His hands are already unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off like it’s nothing, like he isn’t the best-looking man you’ve ever seen with his skin flushed and jaw tense and eyes dark.

You’re still in nothing but your underwear when the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Pedro follows you down, catching your mouth again before trailing kisses to your collarbone, your chest, licking a slow path between your breasts as he peels the last scrap of fabric from your body.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says, looking up at you from between your thighs with something between reverence and hunger. “And I’m going to make sure you feel it tomorrow when we’re pretending again.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot, unrelenting, skilled. He devours you like a man starved, moaning softly against you, like your taste is better than anything the night could offer. His tongue flicks, circles, dives—he doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t give you space to breathe. Just pleasure, building faster than you can process.

You cry out, your hands tangling in his hair, your thighs tightening around his head—but he doesn’t let up. Not until you’re trembling, choking on your own gasps, your orgasm crashing over you with brutal, blinding force.

Only then does he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on you like he’s not nearly done.

“You still with me?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, dazed, still panting.

“Good,” he says, undoing his belt with one smooth pull. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

You watch him strip the rest of the way, every inch of him revealed in the golden lamplight. His chest rising and falling with quiet tension, his hands still clenched like he’s barely holding himself back.

You sit up slightly on your elbows, eyes trailing over the defined lines of his torso, the heat that rolls off him. His gaze finds yours as he comes forward, slow and purposeful.

“You gonna lay there lookin’ at me like that,” he says lowly, “or are you gonna get up on your knees like a good girl?”

The words hit you like a spark to dry kindling.

You move, heart pounding, turning onto your hands and knees in the center of the bed as he comes behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight, feel his warm palm drag slowly down your back, his fingers tracing your spine with almost-too-gentle pressure. Then his hand grips your hip firmly, pulling you back, adjusting your angle like he’s positioning you exactly how he wants.

“You know how beautiful you look like this?” he murmurs, voice ragged. “How good you are for me?”

You start to say something—anything—but then you feel him against you, thick and hard, sliding along your folds without pushing in. Teasing.

You whimper, push back slightly, silently begging, and he chuckles behind you.

“Desperate now?” he says, leaning over your back, his mouth warm against your ear. “I warned you, didn’t I? You show up in that dress and expect me to behave?”

And then—finally—he pushes into you.

A long, slow thrust that fills you completely, taking his time so you feel every inch. Your hands twist in the sheets, a broken sound tumbling from your lips.

“Fuck,” Pedro groans behind you, grip tightening on your hips. “You’re perfect—always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

He pulls out just enough to make you ache before thrusting in again—deeper this time, more force behind it. His pace builds gradually, controlled but hungry, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the quiet room.

You arch your back, moaning with every stroke, and his hand slides up to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly in place. Not hurting—just anchoring you. Letting you know exactly who’s in control.

"You take me so well," he growls, hips snapping harder now. “Every fuckin’ time.”

His other hand slides down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease, circling in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s too much and not enough, your body strung tight between the way he’s fucking you and the words spilling from his mouth—rough, reverent, utterly unfiltered.

You can feel your second orgasm rising sharp and fast, your body clenching around him, and he knows. He always knows.

“That’s it,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

You do—helpless and loud and shaking apart beneath him as he rides you through it, his rhythm never faltering. He fucks you through the waves until your legs give out and your arms collapse beneath you, face pressing into the mattress.

Pedro slows just enough to pull you back upright, wrapping one arm around your waist and dragging your body against his chest as he thrusts up into you from behind, now deeper, rougher, needier.

His mouth finds your neck again, his voice broken with restraint.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Fuck, I’m so close—wanna come inside you, baby.”

You nod, gasping, grinding back against him.

“Please,” you manage. “Want it… want you to—”

And with a deep, guttural groan, Pedro buries himself to the hilt, his whole body tightening as he comes hard inside you, holding you there, letting you feel every pulsing wave of it.

You both collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and sweat and breathless sounds. His arms curl around you as you come down, his hand sliding up your stomach, holding you close like the world outside the room doesn’t exist.

You can still feel the press of him inside you, warm and full, and the slow kiss he plants behind your ear is a silent promise—one that says this isn’t just about lust or need.

It’s him. It's you. It’s always been more than what anyone sees at a premiere.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter ten, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, reunion with kie and jj, erm KIE DIES sorry, pack mutts, blood, death, me giving the characters no time to process anything LOL no time to waste, me also showing jj and kie’s relationship a bit more, rafe lowk likes y/n

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

you and rafe move slowly through the forest. you’re not talking much, just walking, listening. when you do talk, it’s something you usually laugh at. you’re not sure if you’re looking for food or people. maybe both.

“we fought pretty well together, yesterday,” rafe says suddenly like he’s just now thinking it.

you glance over at him. his face is still bruised and he’s walking with a bit of a limp, but he’s got that same confident tilt to his head, like he’s pretending none of it hurts anymore.

you tug a leaf off your jacket sleeve and mutter, “could’ve been better.”

“could’ve been worse,” he counters, stepping over a thick root. “i mean, we’re still alive.”

you shrug, but there’s the hint of a smile on your face. “you took most of the hits.”

rafe huffs, dramatic. “don’t remind me.”

you laugh under your breath as you duck under a low branch. the painkillers helped, at least for a while. they dulled the edge enough that you could sleep without flinching every time you moved. it was a small kind of mercy.

“we just . . . went too hard too fast,” he says. “should’ve had a plan.”

you sigh. “you mean i should’ve had a plan. you were too busy getting kicked in the ribs.”

he snorts, but then he glances at you more seriously. “you were good, though. you were quick. it worked.”

you feel your mouth twitch. “maybe we need something smarter.”

“right,” rafe mutters, nodding. “like maybe this time, you should be the one getting everyone’s attention, and i can be the surprise.”

you glance at him again. “what, like bait?”

“like a distraction.” he shrugs, teasing, still walking. “you’re pretty. they’ll look at you first.”

you laugh once, but then you stop walking.

rafe notices a few steps ahead, turning around. “or—”

“no, that could work,” you say, thoughtful now. your eyes drift to the side as you think aloud. “if i make noise or show up first, they’ll come to me. if they’re cocky, they’ll think it’s an easy takedown. but then you’re waiting.”

rafe stares at you. “. . . i was kidding.”

you look up at him. “but it’s smart.”

he frowns, almost defensive. “you want to be the one people target?”

“i already am sometimes,” you say. “i’m shorter, younger. people either think i’m fragile or stupid or both. that’s what they see first. that’s the trap.”

you see the way he stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“you literally got an eleven in the private sessions. no one’s targeting you.”

you step forward, bumping his shoulder. “what? you don’t like that plan?”

“no, i just . . .” rafe sighs, runs a hand down his face. “you’re right. it is smart. i just don’t like the part where someone tries to fucking kill you.”

“then be faster than them,” you say, grinning. “plus, i can handle myself? how do you think i got that eleven, anyway?”

rafe looks at you, and then he shakes his head. “you’re an idiot, we can try that out though.”

you’re about to say something else, maybe joke again about your new role as tribute bait, when you see it. it’s faint at first. just a wisp, a thin trail of gray curling up through the canopy. it’s smoke.

you stop in your tracks. rafe halts beside you. you both stare. it’s not much yet but it’s too defined to be fog, too slow and rising to be steam. it’s unmistakably fire smoke.

you look up at the sun, still climbing the sky. not even noon. “who the hell lights a fire this early in the day?” you murmur.

rafe doesn’t answer. his eyes stay on the smoke, squinting slightly. you can’t really see what’s burning. it’s stupid, reckless. it screams trap, but it could also scream something else: someone got comfortable.

you glance at him to see what he’s thinking, but he’s already looking down at you. his lips twitch like he’s trying to fight off a grin.

“what?” you ask.

he shrugs, then nods toward the smoke. “you wanna go play bait?”

you huff out a breath, but your heart’s already beating faster, “do you wanna run into an axe again?”

his smile grows. “not really.” you laugh.

you take off first, but rafe follows close, matching your pace. your blood’s humming. the smoke gets darker the closer you get, and there’s something about how bold it is, how careless, that makes your skin itch, and then there’s laughter—yours first, then his.

it’s a terrible sound.

it’s not joyful, not even amused. it’s manic, feral, the kind of laughter that slips through when you’ve been pushed too far and the edge starts to feel like the most stable place to stand. it might be adrenaline, or grief, or both.

you dodge a low branch, leap over a fallen trunk. rafe nearly slips on a slope of wet dirt and laughs even harder.

then your steps slow. instinct kicks in. you hold up a hand, and rafe mirrors you, falling into step right behind as you crouch and creep forward. the flames come into view first. it’s a weak fire, barely controlled. it’s not going to last long.

but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. it’s the voices.

“holy shit, kie!”

jj’s voice is frantic. you hear the slap of palm against fabric. a rapid-fire patting, followed by dying embers.

you freeze behind a tree. rafe’s body is close behind yours, one hand gripping the trunk just above your shoulder. he leans forward slightly, head tilted so he can see too, and you both stare.

it’s not a trap. it’s them.

jj is half crouched, stomping out the last edge of the fire he clearly didn’t mean to make that big. his face is scraped, his hair wild, but he’s alive.

and kie’s standing not far off, but even saying that she’s standing is being generous. she’s barely upright, one leg shaking, face pale as hell.

you don’t even glance at rafe. you just move. you’re gone from behind the tree before you consciously think to run. “are you guys fucking insane?” you hiss under your breath as you break through the smoke.

jj jumps so hard he nearly trips over the smoldering fire. kie gasps, hands going up before she even registers it’s you. relief hits them so fast it’s like someone dumps water over their heads.

“y/n,” kie breathes.

“holy shit,” jj echoes, again, though this time it sounds more like praise than panic. he’s panting, eyes wide, the dirt on his face streaked with sweat. “you scared the hell out of me.”

“you scared us!” you snap, but your hands are already on kie’s arm, gently lowering her onto a flat rock nearby. “what the hell were you thinking lighting a fire this high in the day? are you fucking stupid?”

kie groans softly. “i couldn’t— i can’t walk well. we needed heat. we didn’t think it’d spread like that.”

“clearly.” you glance at her knee and flinch. it’s swollen and red, dried blood crusted on the edge of the pants she tore open. you rip open your pack without thinking. “you’re lucky no one else found you.”

“uh,” jj says behind you. rafe’s standing directly in front of him, just looking at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. like he’s trying to decide if he should punch him, hug him, or both. “what?” jj raises his hands slightly. “you gonna say something or just stand there judgin’ me?”

“you look like shit,” rafe says flatly.

jj scoffs, offended. “thanks.”

“not a compliment.”

you lean forward with your elbows on your knees, eyes scanning the woods, though your ears are locked in on them now. jj and kie are sitting just a few feet across from you and rafe.

you start to hint toward his death when topper’s mentioned in a brief moment, “so, did you guys . . .”

“we saw topper’s picture the night it happened,” kie says first, voice quiet like it still hurts to say aloud. “was it with you guys?”

you nod. “we were running from a mutt. it got him.”

rafe doesn’t add anything. he’s quiet beside you, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent with an arm slung over it. the bruises on his jaw still peek out under his jacket collar when he shifts. he’s healing, but not fast enough.

“what kind of mutt?” jj asks, cautious. he needs to see if you guys saw the same thing.

you look over at rafe, meet his eyes for a second, then say, “big, looked like a komodo dragon, but . . . wrong? its skin was patchy, like someone stitched it together. it had too many eyes and legs that didn’t even match the body. like . . .” you pause, jaw flexing. “human limbs. twisted. didn’t move like anything that should be alive. and it was fast. nearly got me if rafe hadn’t been there.”

jj swallows. kie looks like she’s holding back bile.

“and it made this clicking noise,” you add, your voice quieter. “like bone against bone.”

“we haven’t seen that,” jj mutters. “thank god.”

“but we’ve seen something different,” kie cuts in, leaning forward slightly. her hand hovers near her thigh like it’s instinct to protect it. “smaller. not as showy, but there were more of them. they hunted in a group.”

“they kinda looked like coyotes,” jj adds, nodding slowly, like he’s trying to piece it together again as he speaks. “but all their limbs were too long. like they were stretched out. and their fur was, i don’t know, patchy. and oily. smelled like wet iron.”

“and their jaws don’t shut all the way,” kie says, lifting her hand now to mimic the way they moved. “it’s like their mouths are permanently open. but instead of barking or growling, they whistle. i started thinking that that’s how they communicate.”

your skin crawls just imagining it. rafe exhales beside you and mutters something under his breath about the gamemakers losing their minds.

“they got kie pretty good,” jj says next, eyes narrowing a bit. “ripped open some of her old wounds.”

kie sighs like she hates having attention on it, but still shifts her leg to the side, carefully unwrapping a piece of gauze that’s already half-stuck to her skin with blood. it’s the gash from the ambush a few days ago. it doesn’t look fresh, but the edges are pink and raw, and the bandaging is stained rusty. it’s not nothing.

you flinch slightly. “yikes.”

“it’s not that bad,” kie says, but her voice is thin. “i got a sponsor right after it opened up again. like bam, there it was. some ointment for infection and healing. it came down fast, almost like they felt bad for me or something.”

there’s something strange about how she says it, awe and bitterness twisted together.

“it’s amazing what they can do,” she continues, her fingers smoothing the clean part of the gauze before she starts to rewrap. “how quick they are when they want to be.”

you glance at rafe and catch the faintest twitch of a smile on his face. and you smirk quietly too because yeah, you both know the feeling.

“this is great and all, but remember that there should only be three others left, guys,” rafe says. he’s crouched down now, back straight, eyes focused somewhere over jj’s shoulder, like he’s drawing a mental map of the arena in his head. “aside from us. seven total. four of us, three of them.”

you glance at him, brows pinched.

“we don’t know who they are,” rafe goes on. “and that means we have to assume the worst. they could be a team. they could be tracking us right now. hell, they could’ve been watching you two light the fire earlier.”

he doesn’t look at kie when he says it, not directly. but it’s there. in the pause. in the slant of his eyes. in the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly as he says, “we can’t afford to be sloppy again.”

kie shifts, jaw tightening. you can see the way her mouth twitches, how fast the reaction wants to come out yet how fast she bites it back.

“are you trying to say something?” she finally asks, blinking. “or what?”

rafe turns his head just slightly. “you’re limping, kie,” he says. “and jj’s the only reason you’re still walking, which means he’s watching your back more than his own. it’s practically two of us against three of them. n’ if they’re smart? they know we’re already down a number.”

she folds her arms tight over her chest, like they’re the only thing keeping her from exploding. “so what, i’m just dead weight to you?”

rafe blinks. there’s not even a hint of apology in his face. “i’m saying you’re hurt. and if you weren’t so caught up in being offended, you’d realize that means we have to play smarter. either jj sticks with you, or—”

“or what?” she cuts in, voice rising. “you ditch me?”

he exhales through his nose, not even flinching. “or we go down because you slowed us all up.”

you’re looking between them now, jaw locked, hands clenched into fists at your sides. jj’s silent, but you can feel the frustration radiating off him. he’s not defending kie, not because he doesn’t want to, but because deep down, he knows rafe’s technically right.

with the fire, there was the noise and the panic. if you and rafe hadn’t been the ones to find them . . .

“jj’s leg was on fire, kie,” he says. “whether you guys meant to or not, you think the others wouldn’t have heard the yelling? seen the smoke? they’ll come looking. if it wasn’t us, you’d be dead already.”

kie just glares, arms crossed so tight they’re nearly shaking. her mouth opens once, twice, but nothing comes out.

“we didn’t ask you to save us,” she spits finally. “we would’ve figured it out.”

“would you have?”

silence again.

you try to be the one to be there to step in between in case you need to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to push harder. he said what he had to say. and now he’s just watching.

kie doesn’t back down, but she doesn’t argue more either. she just stares at him like she wants to.

jj finally breaks his silence, muttering low, “we’ll keep up. don’t worry.”

you nod once, quiet. you believe him, but the worry’s already there. rafe was right—it looks like a two and a half against three at this point.

jj scoots closer toward kie, muttering something under his breath, trying to settle her down, but she doesn’t look away from rafe.

rafe doesn’t say anything else. he just gets up. he doesn’t make a show of it either, doesn’t huff or roll his eyes or even glance back. he bends slightly to grab one of their water containers, checks the cap with a flick of his thumb, then starts walking toward a slope a few yards away where a low creek snakes through the undergrowth.

your gaze is somewhere far off, unfocused. your mind is too. you rub the back of your neck, the skin hot, then let your fingers drag down your face. and then you’re on your feet too. you follow him.

rafe doesn’t turn around, but he hears you. he slows a little without making it obvious to let you catch up. you fall into step beside him and peek at his face. his mouth is set, jaw tight. not angry, just braced. like he knew the blowback would come and decided to lean into it anyway.

“you didn’t have to say it like that,” you say gently.

he lifts a brow, doesn’t look at you. “say what?”

“you know what.”

there’s a pause. he exhales slowly, shifting the canteen in his hand. “but i’m not wrong.”

“no,” you agree. “you’re not.”

another pause. the creek’s close now, and you can hear it trickling just ahead.

“she’s probably just pissed because . . .” you trail, “you made it sound like she’s dragging us all down instead of being part of this.”

“she is part of this,” rafe says, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. “but pretending like she’s not hurt doesn’t help anyone. if someone’s gonna get killed because she can’t keep up, i’d rather we talk about it now than deal with it when it’s too late.”

you hold his gaze. there’s something hardened in his eyes, yeah, but there’s worry under it too.

you sigh. “i know. i do too. i’m not saying you were wrong. just . . .” you shrug. “maybe we don’t have to set her on fire the same day she nearly actually caught on fire, you know?”

that gets the faintest twitch of a smile from him. it’s barely there but still. “right,” he murmurs.

you both slow as you reach the creek. rafe crouches down, unscrews the cap, dips the container into the water. you crouch beside him.

“i think they’ll be okay,” you say softly. “jj’s still got it in him. and kie’s not like . . . i don’t know, she’s not useless. she just needs to feel like she matters right now. like she’s not just a liability.”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. he watches the water rise in the canteen, then caps it and shakes off the excess droplets.

“i don’t care if she hates me,” he says after a moment. “i care if she gets you killed.”

your chest aches a little at that. not because it hurts, but because it means something. you don’t say anything. just nudge his arm with your elbow gently, enough to say i know.

he looks at you again. and this time, the edge is gone. there’s just understanding. you can tell he’s tired, but there’s a hint of something almost tender.

“c’mon,” you whisper, standing up. the two of you start walking again. “so there’s seven people left,” you say, mostly to yourself, but rafe hears it anyway.

your boots crunch over the dried leaves as you move through the trees. it’s warmer than it was this morning. the sky’s so bright it almost doesn’t feel real.

he doesn’t say anything right away, one hand loosely resting near the knife at his hip.

you exhale, slow. “i knew i could get this far,” you admit, “but actually being here . . . i don’t know. it’s weird.”

rafe glances at you sideways. “yeah?”

you nod, rubbing your hands together to keep them busy. “it’s like, surreal, knowing that you’re one of the last people left. it messes with your head. i’m like, excited, nervous, anxious. i’m probably feeling it all too early and then i’m gonna fuck it all up.”

he lets out a quiet hum of agreement.

you kick a rock with the toe of your boot. “i wonder what my parents are thinking right now. if they’re watching every second or if they have to look away when it’s me on the screen. do you think about that?”

rafe’s quiet for a beat.

“mine are definitely watching,” he says finally, voice flat. “they’re probably arguing about it, rose telling my dad to shut up and stop pacing. my dad would probably gonna get mad if people didn’t bet more on me.”

you look over at him. he doesn’t meet your eyes, just squints into the distance.

“do you think the capitol likes us?” you ask softly.

he shrugs. “we’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“yeah, but,” you trail off. “that’s not the same.”

he sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “i think they like you,” he says eventually.

your brows lift. “me?”

rafe looks at you now, really looks at you. “yeah. you’ve got that hero edit shit going for you.”

you snort. “hero edit?”

he grins a little, crooked. “yeah. you look good when you’re bleeding and killing people. makes for good tv.”

you laugh under your breath, brushing a branch out of your way. “what about you?”

he shrugs again, but this one’s more casual. “they like me enough. probably made me the stoic or something. the one that no one’s sure about.”

“that’s not a bad thing.”

“no,” he agrees. “but it’s not always good either.”

you walk in silence for a few steps. birds rustle somewhere high above, wings flapping.

“we’re really down to seven,” you whisper again.

he nods. “soon to be four.”

you glance at him, and even though he’s staring ahead you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. soon to be four. you, him, kie, and jj unless someone fucks it up.

you swallow hard. your hand brushes his as you walk. neither of you pulls away.

“you think we can actually do this?” you ask, quieter now.

he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah,” rafe says. “we can.”

and somehow, you believe him.

our fingers loop a piece of thin cord through a split branch, while kie tugs on a nearby root to use as tension.

“after we split, we found this hollowed-out ravine. took cover there for the night,” she’d been telling you. “we didn’t stop for long though. those mutts came back. the, uh . . . pack i was telling you about.” she mutters the last part like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “not even an hour of peace before they were swarming again.”

you glance at her, but she doesn’t look back.

“we ran. again.” she gives a half-hearted shrug. “they scratched jj up pretty bad. and my leg, well, you saw that.” she shifts her weight onto her good foot and grimaces slightly, but doesn’t stop working. “still surprised we made it out without worse.”

you nod slowly, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “at least you did.”

“barely,” she scoffs, and wipes her hands on her pants. “you see anything new out there? anything else we should be watching for?”

you pause. your hands are halfway through tying two sharpened sticks into a hinge for the trap, but your mind shifts back. your eyes flick up for a second, then drop back to your work as you answer.

“yeah,” you say, a little hesitant. “roses, i guess.”

kie blinks. “what?”

you nod slowly, tightening the knot. “i didn’t think much of it at first. just thought they were weird but,” you glance up briefly, then back down, “me and rafe, yesterday, we caught a rabbit for lunch. but it wasn’t moving right. it wasn’t scared of us, didn’t even flinch when we stepped near it. just laid there.”

kie furrows her brow.

“it was in this part of the woods nearby where a bunch of roses were just laid out here and there like decoration,” you continue, “and then later we found this girl, like another tribute. i checked the back of her neck where a few of them were just lodged in her skin, and . . . she couldn’t move. barely blinked. i dont know, i’ll show you tomorrow.”

you finish the knot, pull it taut.

“i think it’s a paralytic or something. whatever’s in those roses.” your voice drops quieter. “i don’t know how it works exactly, if it’s when you touch it or if it just builds up. but it’s real.”

kie whistles low. “sick bastards,” she mutters, then rubs her forehead. “great. add ‘don’t sniff flowers’ to the survival checklist.”

you huff a laugh, even if it’s short-lived. the tension hasn’t gone anywhere. and neither have the boys.

kie sighs as she straightens up, brushing dust from her hands and scanning the trees. “how long does it take to catch a damn squirrel?”

you glance toward the direction they left from too, lips twitching. “think they’re hunting or avoiding us?”

“if it’s both, they better come back with two squirrels.” she grumbles and shakes her head. “unbelievable. we’re out here saving everyone’s lives, and they get to play with weapons.”

you snort and crouch back down to prep the next trap. in a way you’re quietly grateful for the company, for the small moments, for the rare laugh. because even though this isn’t over, not by a long shot, there’s still something about sitting in the woods with kie, bruised and blistered but alive, that makes surviving feel just a little more bearable.

you lean back on your heels as the second snare tightens, wood creaking just slightly as it locks into place. you test the pressure. you tug once, then again, and nod, satisfied. when you glance over, kie’s checking the first trap again, brows drawn together like it’s a test she has to ace. there’s something rhythmic about the way she moves, like she’s done it a thousand times before.

you tilt your head and ask, “so have you always been good at this?”

she flicks her eyes up at you, one brow lifting.

“traps and stuff, i mean,” you clarify, pulling your hands into your lap. “were you a fisher? ‘cause you’re from four, right?”

“born and raised,” she says, relaxing a little, her voice softening. “and yeah. pretty much grew up on the water. my parents taught me everything with fishing, tying lines, mending nets, baiting traps. i was practically rigging snares before i could write my own name.”

you smile at that. it fits her, somehow.

“they were both fishers?”

“yeah. some days we’d be out before the sunrise.” her eyes flick to the sky for a second like she can still see it. “it’s hard work, but i loved it. still do. if i win, i’d still keep doin’ that with ‘em.”

you don’t miss the fond curve of her mouth, the way her shoulders ease just slightly.

“they must be watching,” you say, voice quieter now. “bet they’re proud.”

kie nods. “i think about that a lot,” she admits. “like, if they’re screaming at the screen or covering their eyes. if my mom’s crying. if my dad’s yelling at the tv at home like that’s gonna change anything.” she laughs a little under her breath. “they’re definitely rooting for me, though. i know that.”

you smile softly, then look down at your hands before asking, “and you and jj knew each other before the reaping?”

“kind of,” she says, brushing some dirt from her palms. “we met in school. had mutual friends, same classes, that kind of thing. we weren’t close or anything. but he was loud. and he was always, always joking.”

“sounds familiar,” you say with a small smirk.

kie snorts. “yeah, but we didn’t really start talking until we got stuck in here. and now?” she glances over her shoulder, toward where jj and rafe had wandered off. “i’ve got his back, he’s got mine.”

you nod once, absorbing it. “you’re lucky,” you say.

“yeah,” she replies. “i know.”

kie stretches her legs out in front of her and leans back on her hands, giving you a small, pointed glance. “okay, but what about you and rafe?” she asks, all casual curiosity with the slightest grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys seem really close.”

you pause, fingers reaching to tighten the knot on the last snare just to keep your hands busy. your hands slow, and you glance down at the thread of bark in your grip. “i mean,” you start, “i’ve known of him. not really him, though. does that make sense?”

kie hums like she’s waiting for you to say more, so you do.

“like we’re both from two, but we live on opposite sides. it’s kind of a split district. different zones, you know? i only ever saw him at the academy when we were younger for training.”

kie raises a brow. “so is it, like, tradition for all district two kids to be training that early?”

you shrug. “mostly everyone in two does, whether they want to or not. some are let off, most go because they want to. but yeah, he trained hard. was always focused. i stayed away mostly. tried not to get too close to the peacekeeper families even though i come from one too.” you look up briefly, meeting her eyes. “before the games he told me his dad’s a high-ranking officer, one of the top ones. it kind of made sense.”

kie whistles low, eyebrows lifting. “that explains a lot.”

you smile faintly but don’t deny it. then there’s a pause. you shift back from the trap, brushing your hands off on your pants. “and i think he knew who i was too.”

kie turns to face you, curious.

“like, at the reaping, he didn’t need an introduction. it was like he already recognized me. so maybe he’s seen me around more than i thought. or maybe he doesn’t know me at all and he’s just good at hiding it. i don’t really know.”

kie’s silent for a moment, then shrugs. “you could always ask.”

you huff a small laugh. “i could.”

but you don’t sound too sure you will.

“the guys are gonna get back soon.”

you’re on your feet before you fully register kie asking, like something about kindling, or maybe the flint she buried earlier by the log. you hum in response and rise, already halfway turned toward the tree line where you think she left it.

“gotta get that fire going,” you murmur to yourself as you crunch over fallen twigs and loose leaves.

but then there’s a yell that cracks through the quiet. it’s distant, but not that distant. you freeze. completely still.

your breath catches in your throat as the noise fractures the silence, followed by a rush of sound. there’s something barreling through the forest. it’s heavy, too fast to just be a person. it’s not like when jj trips through the woods and curses about it. this sounds like thunder, like hooves and claws and bones cracking under pressure, leaves shaking loose from branches.

your eyes shoot west.

it’s too dark to see anything clearly, just the suggestion of movement in the gaps between the trees. something brushing hard past bark. and it’s not one direction either. it’s . . . everywhere, like the forest itself is coming undone. like something that far is playing tricks in your head about where it’s really coming from.

“no,” you whisper, voice trembling as your hand slowly reaches behind you, searching for kie’s arm without breaking your gaze. “no, no, no, no.”

kie goes stiff behind you. you feel her straighten, catch her sharp inhale. she doesn’t speak, probably because the sound is getting louder, and it’s impossible to tell how far away it is. like now it feels close. it feels like something’s hunting and not trying very hard to be quiet about it.

you know kie can’t run, not well. not with her leg like this. the thought alone turns your stomach into a pit of nerves.

your hand hovers near your belt, fingers finding the familiar curve of your dagger’s hilt. you grip it even as you keep the rest of you still, breathing shallow. you don’t want to make a sound. don’t want to—

to your left.

you yelp, stumbling back a step as your head whips toward the noise. before you can even draw the dagger, a figure barrels out of the dark.

you don’t see a face, at least not at first. all you see is motion, like limbs flailing, arms pumping, a look of blind panic etched into whatever blur of expression this guy has as he slams into you, hard. the impact sends you both flying backward, your back slamming into the dirt and sliding with the force, dry leaves scraping against your skin and getting tangled in your hair.

you hit the ground so fast you don’t even have time to scream. you just feel it. your shoulder knocks against something solid, your dagger ripped from your grip before you could even raise it.

you’re still spinning when you hear kie shout your name in panic, “y/n!”

you try to react, like try to throw your arm up, block whatever’s coming, but it’s a mess of tangled limbs and your attacker’s weight is keeping you pinned. he’s not trying to hurt you, you realize that fast. he’s terrified, panting hard like he’s been running for a while.

you blink, your head snapping back against the ground again as you struggle to get your bearings. the guy’s on top of you, breathing in gasps, shaking so badly it vibrates into your own bones.

that sound hasn’t stopped. it’s still coming.

your fight instinct kicks in like it always does. you twist hard and roll the guy off you with a grunt, your hand flying to your belt, fingers fumbling for your dagger. your heart is pounding in your ears, like it’s trying to drown out the sounds behind you. but it can’t. it can’t mute the noise. but you need to kill him and get to kie.

you don’t even have time to get a full look at him. he’s bloody, barely conscious, his chest heaving as you straddle him. he doesn’t fight you. he’s too exhausted. it’s like he’s already given up.

but you haven’t, especially because you can hear her. you can hear kie.

her voice cracks through the trees like a whip: “jj!!“

your head snaps toward her. but then comes the noise. it’s these awful, guttural, teeth-tearing sounds. there’s another kind after. bones are being crushed. something screaming. someone’s screaming.

is that—?

no.

your gut sinks like a stone as your body freezes. it hits you all at once. kie’s practically left out in the open because this guy tackled you, and now she’s paying the price.

you hear it before you see it. paws pound the ground like hammers. your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see one of them charging at you like a bullet with teeth. you don’t think, you just react.

you grab the guy’s shoulders and shove him to the side with all the force your body can give, rolling the both of you, repositioning until your body hits the ground and his is on top, and then it hits.

the mutt’s jaws clamp down on him first.

there’s no scream at first, just a brutal crunch, then a howl’s yanked from the guys throat as the mutt drags him back. you see the blood spray across the ground like it’s nothing, a slick of it across your arm as you stare, numb, horrified, breath caught in your lungs.

you don’t argue with fate.

you scramble up the second he’s gone, your feet sliding on the dirt as you shove yourself to your feet, and your legs move before your mind does. you’re sprinting away, but your eyes flick toward camp, or what's left of it.

kie is screaming. no, was screaming. now it’s just gurgled cries, half-swallowed. you catch one glimpse of her. she’s blood-slick, reaching, her mouth open but soundless as something claws at her back, another already dragging her leg. you don’t see rafe or jj anywhere. your stomach turns.

you should go to her. you should. but it’s already too late. you can’t die here, and you won’t.

you keep running and you don’t look back because you know exactly what you’d see.

“kie!” jj’s voice eventually cuts through.

you’re already moving the second you hear him. you push past branches, try not to trip on roots, try to keep your head above the fear that’s dragging you under. you don’t even realize how far you've gone until someone grabs you.

“y/n,” rafe breathes, his hands gripping your arms to steady you, eyes wide and scanning your face like he’s trying to piece something together from it.

you barely process it, just that it's him. you’re not alone anymore. jj’s right behind him, pausing just long enough to look around you, looking for her probably. he’s looking for kie. his brows twist the second he realizes you're alone.

“where is she?” he asks, but he's not really asking. he already knows. he turns, about to run.

“no— wait, jj,” you say quickly, spinning around and catching his arm before he can take off. your fingers dig into his sleeve, heart beating so hard you can feel it in your mouth. “please, you can’t—“

“i can’t what, y/n?” jj snaps. he jerks forward, dragging you a step with him, not caring. “i can’t go to her? she could be dying and you want me to just— what? hide?”

he steps closer, jaw clenched so tight his whole body is shaking with it. “i can’t what?”

“she’s dead,” your voice gives out like you don’t want to admit it, but it rips out of your throat before you can stop it. you try to reach for him again as he pulls away. “she’s dead, jj.”

you’re looking at jj but can’t help but notice the way rafe’s face drops beside you. he must feel awful. one of their last conversations was heated, you’re sure he didn’t want to end it like that. jj looks more mad than anything though. he probably doesn’t want to believe you. a part of you even thinks for a second that he’s about to kill you just for saying that kie’s dead, even if it’s true.

the forest is silent for just half a second before the whistles start. your stomach twists. those must be the ones kie and jj talked about, the ones that the mutts use to communicate. you barely turn your head before rafe’s already grabbing you, one arm locking around your waist, the other reaching out for jj as you do the same, clutching him by the back of his jacket.

you all freeze. you don’t move. you don’t even breathe.

you can’t see anything in the dark, but you hear it. it’s fucking awful. can they smell your fear?

it feels like a lifetime before rafe whispers, “come on.” he’s tugging both of you with him. you don’t hesitate. none of you do.

you run behind him, duck low, weave through the trees, staying close but quiet. everything aches. it hurts so bad you want to scream, but you can’t. you just keep moving until rafe slows, his hand up, signaling for you to drop low behind a thicket.

you all pile into a cramp of brush, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, and you curl in on yourself as rafe stays near the edge, watching. your hands shake as they clutch your knees, and eventually you bury your head between them, trying to block out the sound of breathing that isn’t yours.

you don’t even look at jj, but you can hear him. he’s muttering curses under his breath, biting down on something loud and ugly that’s begging to claw its way out of his chest. you can hear him pacing a little, shuffling, then slamming his fist against the ground before quickly pulling it back with a hiss.

there’s nothing you can say.

because she’s gone now too.

and you couldn’t save her.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[skywlkrhoney]

The echo of the dead

Scott Barringer x Fem!reader

Jepeers Creepers!AU

Terror, angst

Warnings: Explicit deaths (not Scott or reader), panic attack, a demonic creature hunting and killing teenagers (Scott being a great, protective boyfriend)

Author’s Note: I just LOVE this movie — it’s one of my favorite classic horror films. So I thought, “Why not mix two things I adore?” In this imagine, I changed a bit of the original plot and also renamed one of the main characters, Scott Braddock, to Jack, just so your beautiful little heads don’t get confused. Hope you enjoy!!

It was supposed to be just a school trip for the basketball team.

In broad daylight, everyone was excited—Scott and the other guys were singing loudly, while Minxie, Rhonda, Chelsea, and I laughed at their antics. Everything was going well. Everything was fine. Until that bone-made throwing star pierced one of the bus tires.

Now, the sun had vanished from the sky, replaced by a deep darkness, illuminated only by the moon and stars. That horrid creature was flying above us, over the bus—which was now completely destroyed: shattered windows, the roof torn open by a grotesque drill, and our friends’ bodies scattered on the ground, mercilessly killed.

Scott, Rhonda, Jake, Minxie, and I were crouched between the seats. Rhonda was hiding with Jake in the aisle ahead of us, and Minxie was in the seats beside us. Scott’s arms were around me, trembling, just like I was. Both my hands covered my mouth, trying to prevent any sound from escaping. My cheeks were wet with tears that wouldn’t stop falling—tears of pure fear.

I flinched at every little noise—the distant crack of something breaking, the sound of the wind hitting the broken windows, the metallic creak coming from the roof. Everything made me shudder. Scott held me tighter, as if he wanted to protect me from all of it. I felt him gently press his face against the side of my head and, with a slow and tender kiss, he whispered in my ear:

“We’re going to be okay. We’ll get out of here, I promise…”

He lifted one hand and began to gently stroke my hair; his touch was almost like an antidote to the panic. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to explode inside me, and just nodded, too scared to speak. A muffled sob escaped, low and stifled between my fingers.

Then, the ground trembled slightly. The bus vibrated entirely, as if something very heavy had landed on it. The silence that followed was dense, suffocating. Everyone held their breath at the same time.

Then, like a nightmare taking shape, he appeared.

The deformed silhouette of the Creeper emerged through the rear window, his eyes glowing a sickly red under the moonlight. The creature pressed its monstrous face against the cracked glass, scanning the bus’s interior, sniffing out fear. Panic was immediate. Everyone stood up at once, running toward the front exit, bumping into seats, shoulders, and stumbling in desperation.

Jake was pulling the door latch hard, but it was stuck, as if fear had materialized there too, in the details. Rhonda looked back—and her choked scream came out as a ragged sob. The Creeper was now inside the bus, crawling upside down along the ceiling like a hellish spider. Its clawed feet scraped the metal, making a sharp, cutting sound.

“Hurry, Jake!” Scott shouted, going to help him.

With a dry snap and painful creak, the door finally opened, revealing the night. A strong wind blew into the bus, as if calling them.

“Run!” Jake shouted, pulling Rhonda by the hand. 

We all ran into the field, our feet sinking into the uneven ground, not looking back, thinking only of escaping that cursed creature. The bus was left behind like a war scene, a tomb of memories we’d never forget.

And the Creeper… he was coming after us.

He exited through the opening in the bus roof—that grotesque drill he had created—and watched us as if we were mere pieces in his demonic game. The Creeper’s eyes scanned the field with sadistic calm, as if he knew that no matter where we ran, he would eventually find us.

Scott held my hand tightly, keeping me close as we ran side by side. Our feet sank into the dry, rough ground. We were silent, but terror roared inside. Then we heard the sound. The unmistakable sound of wings cutting through the wind. Strong. Fast.

I didn’t have the courage to look back.

I just kept running, aimlessly, until we spotted a seemingly abandoned barn in the distance. It was old, with creaking wood and broken windows—but it looked like a refuge.

Suddenly, behind us, I heard a strangled scream, a sound that cut through the air and made my blood instantly freeze. My body stopped instinctively, and I turned around. And there they were. Rhonda and Jake, my friends… their necks pierced by those same bone-made throwing stars—the same ones that had punctured the bus tires earlier.

A desperate scream escaped my throat, involuntary. Tears flooded my vision, and for a moment, I couldn’t move.

“Run!” Scott shouted, pulling me back to reality. “Let’s go!”

I ran.

We entered the barn, breathless, consumed by a fear that no longer fit in our chests. We desperately searched for a place to hide until we found a corner between hay bales and loose boards—a narrow, tight space that would protect us for now. We squeezed in there, clinging to each other.

It was only when the adrenaline began to subside that everything hit me at once.

I started to cry. They weren’t silent tears; they were trembling, uncontrolled sobs. My whole body shook as scenes of the deaths replayed in my mind: the blood splattering, the echo of the dead, the screams that still echoed in my ears. Each one was a memory too painful to bear.

Scott hugged me tightly, wrapping his arms around me. He lowered his head and rested it against mine, not saying a word for a few seconds, just breathing with me. He was comforting me, but I knew… he had lost friends too. He was also shattered inside. But even so, he was protecting me. He was putting his pain aside to take care of mine.

I felt him take off his team jacket and place it over my shoulders, wrapping me up. It was warm, smelled like him—earth, sweat, and something familiar. I was trembling less now.

“I’m here with you…” he whispered, almost like a prayer.

We stayed like that for hours. Sitting on the cold floor, leaning against the aged wooden boards, holding onto each other as if we were the last refuge for one another. The night outside seemed endless.

At some point, my eyes began to grow heavy. My sobs ceased, turning into broken sighs. I dozed off there, on Scott’s chest, while he absentmindedly ran his fingers through my hair, staying awake, watching, protecting.

A dry noise outside—a mix between the creak of a stepped-on board and the muffled dragging of feet—startled me awake. My body reacted before my mind could understand what was happening. I sat up with a jolt, heart racing, and looked at Scott, who was already on high alert. He slowly rose, crouching, eyes fixed on the barn entrance. He extended an arm backward, creating a protective barrier, keeping me hidden behind him.

My breath caught in my throat. The ensuing silence seemed eternal—until two figures emerged from the shadows.

“It’s us!” said a muffled, almost desperate voice.

It was Chelsea, her face dirty, eyes brimming with tears. And right behind her, Andy, also breathless, clothes torn with dirt and sweat, his face covered in blood.

An overwhelming relief washed over me. I stood up, staggering, and before any words were spoken, Chelsea ran to me and hugged me tightly, holding me against her chest.

“I thought you were dead…” she whimpered against my shoulder, squeezing me as if to make sure I was real.

“I thought you guys…” my voice faltered, and all I could do was hug her back with all the strength I had left.

On the other side, Scott quickly embraced Andy, and without wasting time, he whispered urgently:

“Minxie found help. A man—I think it’s the Taggarts. They’re on the other side of the field.”

The mention of Minxie being alive made my chest tighten. Scott looked at me with determination, wrapped his arm around my waist, and helped me stand up completely.

“Let’s go,” he said without hesitation.

We left the barn quickly, careful not to make too much noise. The stars still blanketed the sky, but a faint gray glow was beginning to stretch along the horizon—dawn wasn’t far off.

The moment we stepped into the open field, my body froze.

There he was. The Creeper.

His grotesque, twisted body lay motionless on the ground. A long spear pierced straight through his chest, pinning him into the grass. Standing beside the creature was an older man with a hardened expression and eyes locked on the monster—old Taggart. Even wounded, he held the spear firm, his gaze steady with the resolve of someone who had waited a long, long time for this moment.

Around him, the few kids who had made it out alive were falling apart. Minxie was on her knees, hands over her face, crying softly. The others whispered, some in shock, some trying to comfort each other—but none of them looked like they truly believed we’d survived.

The tense silence was broken by a hoarse, guttural shout—Taggart.

He gripped the spear with both hands, arms trembling from the effort, eyes locked on the fallen creature. The Creeper didn’t move, but that didn’t satisfy him. With a roar full of years of hate, he drove the spear deeper into the monster’s chest.

And again.

And again.

Each stab came with a wet, sickening sound—bones snapping, flesh—or whatever passed for it—being ripped apart. It was brutal. Merciless. But no amount of revenge could ever bring back the ones we’d lost.

I couldn’t keep watching.

I turned my face away, eyes clamped shut. The tears came before I even noticed—tears of sorrow, of injustice… for my friends who would never come back, for the screams still echoing in my head, for the memories I’d give anything to erase.

I felt Scott’s big, warm hands gently touch my face. He cupped my cheeks like I was made of glass, pulled me into him, and kissed my forehead over and over again with a tenderness that broke something inside me.

“It’s over,” he whispered against my skin. “It’s over, Y/N. We’re safe now… you’re safe.”

His voice trembled just slightly. I knew he was crying on the inside too, even if he tried to stay strong for me.

That’s when Minxie, still kneeling in the grass, her eyes locked on the fallen creature, spoke—softly, distantly, like she was in a trance:

“He’s not dead… he’s just sleeping.”

“He’ll be back… twenty-three springs from now.”

Everyone turned to her. The air seemed to freeze.

Old Taggart, hands still resting on the spear driven into the Creeper’s chest, looked at us. His face was sweaty, lined with age, and calm with the weight of someone who’d already made peace with his purpose.

“Twenty-three years from now,” he said, voice steady. “I’ll be right here waiting for him. With this aimed straight at his face.”

The field went quiet again.

Only the sound of wind rustling through the trees remained—a dark whisper of what was still to come.

Scott turned back to me, his eyes red from exhaustion and emotion. He didn’t say a word, just pulled me into his arms like the world was still falling down around us and I was the only thing that mattered. The hug wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was steady. Like someone holding on to what they’d nearly lost for good. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his warmth, his scent, the impossible sense of safety in such a broken night.

And there, in the middle of that field, surrounded by silence and loss, we stayed.

Just two survivors learning how to breathe again.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

Just finished reading this and I LOVED IT!!!

May I ask for another part but with Jade, Kalim, and Silver??? Pwetty pwease??? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

If you read this, thank you for taking the time to do so and please have a nice timezone!!!

A/n: Hihi!! Srry I just woke up a few minutes ago!!! And sure I can! Thank you for the request, @onegianthotmess !!! And thank you for the kind request!!! Love your pfp btw!

💋🪽Wifey material, but can still kick ass💋🪽

Characters: Jade Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Silver Vanrouge (omg I'm so terrible at writing Silver-)

Warning ⚠️: fem!mc is the warning itself, OOC(cuz I'm not sure if I wrote it right.. I mean, hc, yes?), I'm terrible at describing fights (help), maybe slight cussy as well??, Reader takes a random brick somewhere (Jade's part), violence(?), <-idk it's just the guy bleeding, Jade is a warning bc I said so (and his stupid gorgeous face), idk what else is in here, amazing Grammer/j, it is not accurate since it's future 🫶, idk what else to add.

Fem!Mc [<-but the kid calls you momma bc u give off those vibes.]

The last part here <-💋🪽

Jade Leech (When was the last time hisui-dreamer was active on Tumblr??)

You and Jade were a very happy couple, a bit too perfect (ahem). You are a very sweet and dedicated wife, yet you tend to forget things. Oh, no worries, my dear~ sit back and relax, he'll do it for you. He insists. But, of course, in the end, you'll give him a nice reward. The two of you are just lovey-dovey behind closed doors or subtly outside until both of you had [insert name]. [Insert name] was almost like a Jade 2.0 (when will there be a timeline your kid gets most of your genes? Idk), but had the same fcking compassion for mushrooms as your husband... oh dear heavenly fathers... but it's okay, you still loved them. [Insert name] was kind of like you, having the same hair color and that distinctively obvious black hair strand from Jade's [If your hair is black or dark, just pretend the strand is longer than the rest of the hair, and tends to stick out]. So, your kid was sweet... And cunning asf. Floyd liked calling the kid 'sea bunny' but since the kid was a half-mer (<-eel), it was an inside joke... now, how would you feel if your man/kid got hit/kidnap?

Your man gets hit:

•Idk how that happened. But, let's say he got caught off-guard for once and didn't expect the weak looking client to jump him like that.

•Well, isn't that interesting? And, to think that this client was capable of packing a punch-

•Oya?~ who's that- *A brick being thrown at the assailant with sound effects.*

•Ah... Well, if it isn't his lovely wife coming to the rescue!~ and, to think that you had this wonderfully fierce side of you? How delightful. It felt like he was at the courting stage all over again.

•So fiery, so protective... How come you haven't shown this behavior in a while? He'd love to see more of it. Come, after this, let us go to a private dinner, yes?

•So Cue to weeks later from the incident, he's here just spoiling you, oh. Don't mistaken him for being afraid of you, no, no, what a silly thought. He's just... a bit more infatuated than usual...

Kalim Al-Asim

•No, he isn't planning anything (other than torturing the poor soul that you had to deal with) he just wants to spoil you.

•And keep you to himself, making sure you wouldn't have to deal with 'those' anymore.

When your child gets kidnapped:

Your child isn't really going to get kidnapped. Rather, it was the opposite. It was the kidnapper getting kidnapped. No, your child isn't weird, they're doing the right thing, momma! Look! Aren't you happy?

So your child gets hit instead.

•Jade is enraged. No one should be touching his family. Not his kid, nor his wife.

•So imagine he masked all that, but then you bolted in again.

•With an aluminum bat with spikes. (Club? Bludgeon?) Sprinting toward the assailant with the speed equivalent to a horror movie chase.

•Oh, my. You're wearing the formal dress he gave you when you two were attending an important event! How interesting it is, seeing you wear it now. And in that state of anger as well. Ah, and look at his child, giving you words of encouragement. He beams, revealing all razor-sharp teeth he has. His co-workers trembling, because WTF? WHY IS THAT FMAILY FILLED WITH PSYCHOS?? They really thought you were the normal one (but comparably saying, you ARE the normal one in the family of Leech).

•Then you went back to normal (and no, let your imagination go wild with whatever happened to the guy you hit with the bat..), oh, it's playtime! C'mon [insert name] let's go to your favorite location! Yayayay!

•Yes, a normal family...

Your man gets endangered (<-yes):

So, you were doomed by the narrative bc you're being married to a merchant's son. Not only that, he's the HEIR to a massive FORTUNE. So, what I'm saying in short is... you're cooked. Especially your child. But you two can watch out anyway (maybe not Kalim, but you). But Kalim is emotionally intelligent (hc), so, he's not entirely dumb about his situation either. He's worried you'll be next, getting poisoned, assassinated, kidnapped for ransom, blah, blah, blah... yeah, you had to shut him up for that. And you two eventually had a kid. [Insert name]. Or more, depends. But, nonetheless, what's happen is your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

•He knew this would come, but he didn't know exactly WHEN. But it did anyway, so as he was preparing- what?

Silver Vanrouge

•You were there, tackling armed men. Throwing one assassin to the other (<-accidentally kissed), threw the other one downstairs(<-broke his spine and more), another one was hanging on the ceiling (<-doesn't know how to get down bc equipment broke), the rest was being whooped by you.

•Oh...guess he didn't need it anymore! (<-what was it? Don't ask me.) Haha! Whoa! You can fight!??! Hey, teach him! Or both our child! Haha! That being said, the family said no (bc Kalim doesn't need too, the next heir as well. But, shh you snuck the kid out to practice), so let's not tell anyone what you and your child do at night, okay? You totally weren't teaching the kid how to swiftly attack your beloved archenemy. Haha, never.

•Okay, maybeee a little. But hey, never too careful in this family, right?

When your kid gets kidnapped:

•Fuck no. The kidnapper should've heard about the motherly beast of Al-Asim (whom, is you),and they should know. NOT to touch your child, right? But...money... well then they die like [dumbass] men.

•So que to you snapping one of their necks, choking some of them, half of them killed themselves bc they didn't wanna deal with you, most of them pissed their pants seeing you, then getting crushed by a big-ass pillar (dk where you got that from), and using one of their men as a weapon itself.

•Uhm, well...nvm they're letting your child go now... IS THAT A BLINKY- *POW POW POW POW*

•Kalim arrived just in time to see his wife and kid safe. Phew!- wait. Huh?

•How are you guys- nvm. He remembered now, you probably pulled the gun on them. Well, uh... now he knows his wife is fully capable of protecting his family! No, he does not want you to be an servant. You are his wife, not maid. Get back here, and cuddle with him.

You and Silver lived happily ever after. A simple life, a simple house, Silver financially supporting you, and the cycle of love (between his parents) happens all over again. With you being his sweet and dedicated wife, although tending to forget important things, you know you'll never forget to wake up your important Silver, and [insert name]. Actually, [insert name] looks a bit like you, and has the eyes of their father. They have your dedication and tendency to forget, while they also have the determination, soft-spokenness, humility, and kindness from their father (And sweetness from you). So what happens if your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

Your man gets hit:

•Ain't no way.

•huh. You really think you could be slick with all that? No. Don't touch Silver dumbass.

•Though, personally thinking, I don't think he needs much protection so let's say you and Silver team up and jump the guy (Silver was doing the talking, he was holding his feral wife back...) but when he couldn't get the message? Oh no, all of a sudden. His hand slipped. Oh, and if they hit Silver's wife? Wallah. That guy asked to meet God.

•So after the entire conflict was over (personal crash-outs, BBW-ing the guy, doing a sumo stance, literally every martial art mechanism) the guy (crawled) ran away.

•Safe to say no one messed with you or him.

•Never.

Your kid getting kidnapped:

Okay so maybe your child was sleeping (like Silver), and unfortunately, Silver was sleeping. He didn't know there was a stranger coming in to take his kid away, thankfully you were awake. You heard the scream, Silver woke up to a very normal morning of you beating the shit of an intruder...

•Ah...What a fresh start in the morning. Really. *Watching you throw hands with somebody while spitting bars of insults.*

•What? You said that [insert name] almost got kidnapped? Ah, well it can't be helped when he felt the feeling of uselessness in him. Because he couldn't protect his child. What kind of father is he?- "Silver! A little help here!" Yes, he's on it.

•*Unsheathes sword.* No Silver, not like that/j

•But anyways, after this, the child was safe, "Momma!" [Insert name] cried out. The child was safe, you were safe, and lastly, Silver's family is unharmed.

•But he must be vigilant from now on, though.

The End

A/n: OMG IM SO SRRY FOR POSTING THIS IT WAS MEANT TO STAY IN DRAFTS??? BUT ITS OKAY ITS DONE ALREADY

[ttdamian]

Rock your world !

⸺ summary ; In which Jason todd falls in love with a rockstar (˶˃ ᗜ ˂˶)

⸺ Authors note ; Jason todd x fem ! reader. reader smokes and uses make up here. lowk was thinking of nana osaki as i wrote this.. I'll probably write this trope for different characters as well, but for now it'll be just Jason (ily april for the trope). English isnt my first language. feel free to send requests (please..) while i figure out how tumblr works. Wc: 1,1k. Not beta read.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Wrong bar. Wrong night. Wrong side of town.

But the music—God, the sound—dragged him in like a lit match to gasoline. Raw, unruly. Loud enough to shake the bones beneath his skin.

It hit him like a punch.

And then your voice— Velvet and venom. Cold as frostbite and just as sharp.

He found you center stage, bathed in red light. All lips and leather. Legs crossed like a warning. Eyes like a dare.

Your guitar hung low against your hips, your fingers wrapped around its neck like you meant to strangle every last note out of it.

The rest of your band blurred in the background. You? You burned.

Every line of you was unapologetic. Bold lipstick. Bare skin. The kind of outfit that didn’t beg for attention—it commanded it. You moved like you owned the night and everything it touched.

And when the set ended— You didn’t bow. Didn’t beam. Just tossed your pick into the screaming crowd like a coin into a wishing well and walked off the stage with the cool detachment of a god leaving her altar.

He watched you disappear behind the curtain like a man hypnotized.

Just a crush, he told himself.

But then he saw you again.

Different bar. Same grit in the air. Brick walls sweating from the weight of a hundred secrets.

You were alone this time— Or maybe not, depending on how you counted the cigarette smoldering between your lips and the flock of hopeless girls orbiting you like moths.

You didn’t even look at them. Just leaned against the wall like you were the headliner. Smoke curling from your mouth like a love letter no one deserved to read.

He stayed back. Eyes on you.

Every now and then, one of the girls would laugh too loud, hoping you’d look their way. You didn’t.

You just exhaled, slow and bored, flicking ash to the ground like you were snuffing out stars.

It took everything in him not to step into your orbit. Not to push past the swarm and see if you’d look at him the way you looked at that guitar—like it might bleed for you if you pressed hard enough.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

He just watched.

And wondered what kind of God you prayed to— To be born with that kind of fire.

You noticed him before he thought you did.

He was good at watching. Subtle. Quiet. Like a wolf pretending to be part of a flock. But you’d been on stages long enough to know when eyes lingered. And his lingered like they had nowhere else to be.

He stayed back, half-shadowed, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other around a drink he hadn’t touched in ten minutes. You could tell by the way his fingers curled around the glass—tight, knuckles pale. Like he was holding onto something he didn't trust himself to drop.

Cute.

You blew smoke to the side and let your eyes drag toward him. Just once. Just long enough to let him know he was seen.

He straightened. Barely. A shift in the weight of his stance. A tell.

So you smirked.

And turned away.

Let him simmer in it.

The thing about men like him? They never expected the fire to look back.

It took ten minutes for him to approach. Ten minutes of pretending not to notice him noticing you. Of leaning just a little more languidly against the wall. Of laughing too softly at nothing. Of licking your bottom lip when your mouth went dry from the cigarette.

He came like a storm trying to be polite.

"You always this generous with attention," he said, voice low, rough. Controlled.

You turned slowly. Met his gaze like it was a game you were born to win.

"Only when it’s earned."

That got you a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The barest hint of a smile.

"And what did I do to earn it?"

You looked him over. Up. Down. Not rushed. Not shy.

"You looked hungry."

He laughed. Quiet. Dangerous.

"And you like feeding wolves?"

You stepped closer. Just enough to blur the edge of the space between you.

"I like seeing how close I can get before they bite."

That was how it started.

A game.

You’d play with him like you played your guitar and tones—with skill, with rhythm, with a smile that dared him to keep up.

He’d show up to your gigs without announcing himself. Sit in the back. Watch like he had a right to be there. And you’d let him. Because it was fun. Because it was easy.

Because you were bored.

At first.

But then—

It stopped being just a game.

He learned the songs. Could hum the solos. Knew when you were playing angry and when you were playing sad.

He noticed when you switched your lipstick shade.

He never pushed. Just watched. Waited. Let you come to him.

You started finding him outside the bar after sets. Leaning against your bike. Smoke curling from his lips. He never said much at first. Just offered you a drag and watched the night settle in your bones.

Eventually, you started to linger. Shared silence turned into shared stories. Dumb ones. Sweet ones. Things you never thought you'd say to a stranger.

Then came the nights he walked you home.

Not because you needed protection.

But because he wanted to.

And you let him.

One night, you kissed him.

He was halfway through a sentence, saying something stupid, something low and teasing, and you just leaned in and shut him up with your mouth.

His hands found your waist like they’d been waiting their whole life for that moment. He tasted like heat and cigarette smoke and something you couldn’t name.

When you pulled back, he didn’t say anything.

Just looked at you like he wasn’t sure whether to run or fall to his knees.

Neither of you ran.

You started leaving your window unlocked.

He started knocking less.

The fire turned soft in the quiet hours. Your guitar in the corner. His boots by your door. His head on your lap while you smoked and played with his hair.

It snuck up on you, the love.

Not in fireworks.

In little things.

In the way he knew how you took your coffee. In the way you started writing new songs just to see if he’d recognize himself in them. In the way his name sounded better than the applause.

You fell. Slowly.

All teeth and smoke and danger—

Until you were his.

And he was yours.

And the game?

Over.

Or maybe just evolved.

After all—you still liked to see how close you could get

Before he bit.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[moneyonthesideee]

Dating Tommy Miller Pre-Outbreak Headcanons

Pairing: Tommy Miller x Reader

Word Count: 419 Words, 2195 Characters

The Last of Us Masterlist

He was never really the dating type. Even when he first met you, he’d liked you but never really expected it to go anywhere.

He met you when he’d been dropping off his niece, Sarah, to school, which was the same school your younger brother attended.

He liked your presence and he enjoyed hanging out with you, and before he knew it, he was going out for lunch and sometimes dinner with you, nothing fancy, but still. He hadn’t realised he asked you out until after you were already dating.

Sarah had taught him how to use Snapchat, and he’d send you snaps, albeit he called them ‘little videos,’ while he was at work. Sometimes it’d be him sitting in his pickup having lunch and chatting to the camera. Sometimes it’d be him holding up a peace sign on the construction site.

He’s great with kids. Whenever he came over to your place, for dinner or to pick you up, he’d make sure to get a little something for your brother, anything from a toy car to a little snack.

He thinks you’re so smart for having a job that isn’t what you call ‘sheer labour,’ like his job. You could never do his job either, but he somehow thinks you’re a genius, because once or twice you threw in big words that he didn’t get the meaning of. 

A date isn't an extravagant dinner at a fancy restaurant for the two of you. Some days, he’d come over to your place and you’d put on music on the radio and cook dinner for the two of you and your little brother while dancing all around the kitchen, and then the three of you would sit down to watch a movie while having dinner. Some days, he’d take you on late night drives in his pickup.

When he first met you, settling down and marriage had been the funniest little ideas to him, but fast forward two years of dating, the idea no longer seemed as ridiculous to him.

He starts saving up some money to get a nice ring for you. He knows you’d be overjoyed at a simple one, but he wants to give you something a little special. He even considers making a reservation at an expensive restaurant for once, but then decides a quiet late night date in his pickup under the stars would be much more personal to the two of you.

The Outbreak hits before he ever gets around to buying that ring.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lemme know what you think of these headcanons. I'm always open to constructive criticism.

This is my first post on this blog, and I'd really appreciate any feedback, and I wanna hear what y'all thought of it.

Love y'all ♥︎

Toodles ♥︎

Vi ♥︎

[jjungkookislife]

Slay

pairing: prince!taehyung x princess!reader

genre: established relationship, royal au

summary: Taehyung will stop at nothing to get you back.

wc: 671

warnings: talking horse, mention of kidnapping, implied side character death, broken nose by punch, swords/weapons, threats, manhandling and violence (towards reader and side character), blood mention

date: May 9, 2025

“This is a bad idea,” Taehyung’s horse, Onyx, told him as they arrived at the chapel. 

“Come on, Onyx, I slayed a two-headed dragon to get here. Are you giving up just when we get here?” Taehyung asked his four-legged best friend.

“You go get her,” Onyx huffs. “I’ll wait right here.”

“Fine,” Taehyung scoffs. “But don’t go running off like last time.”

“The dragon breathed fire from one head and ice from the other!” Onyx protests. “It singed my tail!”

“Minor details,” Taehyung waves off the horse, who neighs and shoves Taehyung in the direction of the chapel doors with its snout.

“Geez, I get it. I get it,” Taehyung mumbles as he straightens his jacket. The wind blows his black hair into his eyes as he stares at the chapel. You were only a few feet away from him. He had come a long way to rescue you, but now the greatest battle lay ahead of him as he ran up the steps without a chance to second-guess himself further.

The white chapel doors slam open as he pulls them apart. Everyone turns to face him, mouths agape as he stands at the entrance, but he pays them no mind, his gaze is locked on yours as you stand at the end of the white wedding runner in a white gown that doesn’t complement you at all. It must have been picked out by the groom, Derek, the sleaze who had you kidnapped from your kingdom, days before you were to be wed to Taehyung.

The news had hit him hard, as your mother collapsed in a heap once she informed him of your situation. He hadn’t wasted any more time, calling his noble steed, Onyx, and setting off into the woods in search of Derek and his kingdom.

“Tae!” The nickname escapes your lips as you take a step toward him, but Derek grabs your arm roughly, holding you in place.

“Get on with it,” Derek commands the priest, who is now sweating as he looks at Taehyung and then Derek. A knight comes to Derek’s side, his blade at the priest’s neck.

“I won’t marry you!” You proclaim as you pull your arm, but Derek holds it tighter. You’ve had enough of his manhandling, of his shit treatment toward you. You thought yourself hopeless, but with Taehyung here, you felt like anything was possible.

You inhale sharply, glaring at Derek as you pull back your free hand and punch him in the nose. You hear a crunch, and Derek goes down, a pool of blood flowing from his nose. 

Cautiosuly, you make a run for Taehyung as the knight focuses on the both of you instead of the priest.

“Release her,” The knight demands, but Taehyung slides you behind him. You rip the veil off, reaching for the dagger in Taehyung’s boot to help defend yourself.

“Get her!” Derek shouts, but the knight is catapulted out of the chapel with a sickening crack as Onyx neighs, two front legs still in the air.

“Onyx!” You grin in glee.

Derek shuffles backward, one hand on his broken nose, the other reaching for his sword. Onyx stiffens as they lock eyes, and Derek releases his blade, giving up.

Moments later, Derek is tied up while you wait for Taehyung on Onyx.

Taehyung mounts the horse, and your arms wind around his waist, your head resting on his broad shoulders. 

“You came for me,” you whisper into his back as his fingers lace with yours. He meets your gaze over his right shoulder, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. 

“I’ll always come for you. I love you more than anything.”

You take a moment from the chaos to press your lips against his. Taehyung kisses you back slowly, wishing he could do more, but that will have to wait until later. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you to your kingdom, and then your wedding to Taehyung, the love of your life, your hero, your only.

[laniemae]

Fuck after the stream it’s really hitting me that Tetro Danganronpa Pink is over. Like it already ended a week ago, but now I just got flooded with emotions that it’s really over. All the students and their stories and their relationships, it’s all come to an end now and we’ll never see them again. I’m one of those people lucky enough to have both of my absolute favourites survive and return home safety, and I always think of how theirs and the other survivors lives will be after that. But it’s all just a thought, as pink has ended their stories have ended and I have to accept we won’t be seeing any more of them.

And not even to mention the students who died. Tetro danganronpa pink has had such a likeable cast that I’ve gotten so used to and it’s hard to think that 11 out of the 16 who came in has perished and likely no one in the outside world would learn what became of them. And even if their stories were cut short in the series, we still got to see the impact that was left by their deaths and their relationships and the ripple effects from that. So now that the ripples have finally calmed down it’s just heartbreaking processing all the experiences that have happened.

It’ll be hard to come to terms with tetro pink Fridays being over and we’re saying goodbye. But I’m satisfied in how it’s ended and truly made as much as it did telling the story it wanted to tell. I’ve had a lot of fun within the tetro fandom, especially on tumblr, and seeing all the fanart, theories analysis on the series. So much stuff is up to interpretation and people can come out with multiple perspectives on what it truly meant and the stories behind the characters and I love seeing how everyone’s experiences make everything they take out of the series is unique.

I never be expected to be touched this much by a piece of media ever, like yeah I’ve ugly cried over fictional stories a lot but this is a proper time I’ve been in one start to finish and especially with tetro’s weekly uploads and the smaller community it was something completely new to me.

It’ll be really hard saying goodbye to the pink students and either wishing them to live happy lives in the post game or mourning their tragic loss of lives within the killing game. But it’s so nice to have been with all of the other fans and being able to make all this fan content, and from how nice it feels getting so much support from everyone else as well.

Thank you so much von & the team as well as the other people who are really cool in the fandom. It’s been a wild ride and even though we put pink to rest we’re still with each other and can look back and build off all the amazing content we’ve already gotten. Love y’all!

[para-shoelaces]

Just a silly ramble on some psycho-analysis on a few of the characters! Shrimpo, Glisten and Sprout!

———

- Shrimpo:

Anger issues and openly expressing it constantly tends to come to ppl as a coping mechanism, a protective defense because if you have a bigger bark than everyone else you will be heard no matter how small you are. I think his anger issues come from how small he is as well as just a cover, not being a main toon and likely having heavy difficulty making friends, being literally MADE to be the bully.. its all he has to be close to people in any resemblance of the word. I feel like he does like hating genuinely, because its protection. But he does get hurt when people distance back from him or actively ignore him. But that hurt turns around into begging for their attention to be heard how HE hates THEM so of COURSE HE ISNT MAD!!! Cause THEY SHOULD BE MAD!

I love him, I also have a hc that when he was made he was made like a stuffed animal basically so if he punches ppl it wouldnt actually hurt them in the slightest. So in any physical fights he carries contraband weapons or otherwise is demolished by other toons.

BUT… Finn saw how Shrimpo needs to take his anger out through words/actions and ever since realizing is one of the only toons to if hit by shrimpo, use his power (the water splash) to look like shrimpos fist sent him FLYING

Love Shrimpo….Anger is super difficult to deal with and being in a tiny body MADE to be harmless… he NEEDS to let it out through actions and words.

I like to think if he just had someone whod listen to him, overtime his harshness’ll simmer down into a genuine care as he gets quieter before building it up again. Hes terrible w/ words but his ACTIONS??? They speak SO loud.

———

-Glisten:

Glisten having CANONICAL self image issues is everything to me and you bet I took and ran with it, I LOVE THINKING ABOUT HIM!!!

I think he likely has RSD which he overcompensates for with a self inflated image, but in reality no matter how many compliments he receives it will never outweigh the perfect image bar he set for himself, something he will never be able to reach, always falling short and always desperately trying to cover up who he sees as useless for it </3

at the end of the day what really gets past that for him isnt just words but shows that he is enough just how he is. People seeing him not for the showstopper he wants to be but the quiet nerd with a love for reading and pretty things. I think he definitely hides parts of himself he thinks dont “fit his role” or are things to be ashamed about. But being seen for those things AND loved for those things is what’ll actually help him grow and he doesnt want to acknowledge that

———

-Sprout:

Fav main, I love thinking about his dynamic so much. Its so easy for ppl to just see him as the “helpful” one, but he is so much more than that lemmie tell you. He is overworked, and the only one causing that is himself. Constantly helping others at the expense of himself because he cant see that the true way to grow together is if you show your own insecurities in the process. He will rather die than show anyone if hes hurt, or if he needs help. He will mentally run himself into the ground just to get a glimpse of a friend smiling. But instead of focusing on himself, he does ANYTHING to avoid the building issues hes not confronting within himself, insecurities and shames. So he helps others, and NEEDS to keep his bakery exactly how he likes it. If anything is slightly amiss, if a friend is hurt? It is a personal failure for HIM. He stakes his own worth on his friends stabilities and its constantly to his own detriment

</3

———

Can you tell I love psychology?? VERY self indulgent ramble over, if theres any other toons you’re curious my thoughts on feel free to comment!

[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.

[alexanderwales]

do you have thoughts on marination as a worldbuilding process?

you know the saying that about having a lifetime to write your first novel, but a few years the second. works like Worm or your own Worth the Candle could only take the shape they did because they're drawing a deep well of past endeavors and (inadvertent) preparatory work

often, it seems, authors won't, can't, spend nearly as much time sitting on their next ideas. and, arguably, they shouldn't.

cook up enough worlds and plots, and you learn which questions are interesting to ask, you develop a repertoire of favorite themes to vary and truck around cuttings to give new homes. so much of initial "marination" is spent in blind alleys and skill-building

i don't want to write a blogpost in your inbox (sorry), so i guess to hone in on what i want to ask: how highly do you value marinating on ideas? how much is it something you try to leave slack for, or occasionally sacrifice? do you have general recommendations for or against the approach?

this is one of those topics where the simple, sure, and unsatisfying answer is "it depends" or "balance the extremes", but maybe there's personal notes to add - or toss out the framing?

I tried to answer this three times and threw away those replies, so let's hope this fourth time is the charm.

I guess if the question is "how much does giant amounts of upfront work that you simply throw away or distill down to almost nothing help" then my feeling is that there are a lot better ways to get virtually the same result. If you're going to spend 100 hours getting ready for a story, then I think you can do that in ways that are much more effective (but maybe less fun) than writing test chapters for different characters.

So how important is spending those hundred hours, or however much time it is? Assuming that we're talking about just worldbuilding, or characterbuilding, getting lots of ideas lined up and ready to go, rotating them in our head to make the connections with each other and spark inspiration ... eh? Kind of not really that important?

That is to say, I think that there are really incredibly heavy diminishing returns on worldbuilding, and it's usually not that hard to pluck the low-hanging fruit, especially if you've had some practice with that.

Two caveats to that.

First, I think the thing that web serials do is kind of different in some significant ways from what a novel does. They tend to have lots of characters, and they tend to switch locations. If you're putting out two chapters a week, it actually is important than you have a lot of stuff ready to go, because otherwise you can find yourself creatively tapped when you find yourself in need of a new superhero team, or a new nation to come in for their story arc. It's great to have things in your back pocket, a stack of ideas that you can mine out, old works you can cannibalize, etc. This is much different from writing a short novel, where you're not constantly pushing to new frontiers.

Second, there's a difference between spending a lot of time-at-desk, and spending a lot of time-in-days. If you're spending time-at-desk, I think you start hitting the diminishing returns fairly quickly: if I spent a 40 hour workweek bashing out a world, I actually kind of doubt that it would be all that much better than a world I'd spent 10 hours on, there would just be ... more of it, I guess? It would be fleshed out in ways that are good, but not vital to the story, and which wouldn't reflect themselves too much in the narrative, maybe mostly being things that I would come up with during writing anyway given a solid base?

But if you spend time-in-days where you have this idea and it's sitting there in your headspace, I think that can be extremely valuable. You're just going about your normal life, reading fics, watching TV, doing dishes, cooking, etc., and something sparks a connection, or you just deliberately contextualize a topic within the context of your world, and that gets jotted down somewhere so you don't forget it. Eventually, if you do that enough, your world develops and deepens and gets richer, just from being kept around.

So these are very different, I think. One is "put in a bunch of work" and the other is "don't put in a bunch of work, just keep this background process running". And it is very valuable to have time-in-days, because you get this trickle of associations and more depth that can only come from new connections forming. (Note: probably there are other ways to get this, probably you could substitute some amount of time-at-desk, or do deliberate exercises)

But I don't even think time-in-days is that valuable, either! One of my maxims is that "you won't have all the ideas you're ever going to have when you sit down to write the story", and that's true no matter how much you prep, unless it's a pretty short single-sitting story. All that time-in-days, you're still getting that while you write the serial, and you're probably getting more of it than you would if you weren't writing the serial, so it's just a matter of leaving yourself enough room to plop in the good ideas as you have them, and not be completely locked in with nowhere for the ideas to go. (This is one of the reasons that endings are hard, because you stop being able to introduce new cool things, and you're left only using the cool things you already set up.)

Fuck, I don't know if this was helpful or even what you were asking.

tl;dr: it depends, balance the extremes

[fanfictionsweetheart]

Third Times the Charm-ing

Pairing: Jax Teller x Reader

Summary: Jax has been married twice before and swore he was burnt out on love, until he met her. And he thinks maybe this time he’s got it right. Maybe this time his family will stay together.

Trigger/Content Warning(s): light angst at the start, tooth rotting fluff, domestic bliss

Word Count: 1611

A/N: It’s 2AM and I can’t sleep, so have another Fic. I think this is one of my favorite SOA Oneshots I’ve written. Cross posting from my ao3. I love Tara, but I needed a reason for them to not be together in this Fic. I don’t know, I just like this one.

Jax had been lost since Tara left him. Left the boys. She had threatened for months to just take the boys and leave. But realizing that she would have to deal with a lengthy court battle to take custody from Jax just to spite him had led her to just leaving and abandoning her family. The last words she spoke to Jax were that she never wanted to be a mother or raise another woman’s child.

He couldn’t believe how she could abandon him like that.

How she could abandon their boys like that.

She paid child support but didn’t visit the boys and rarely called them.

Jax had to watch his sons cry every night and ask why Mommy left them. And supporting them was all he had to keep from spiraling. His sons needed him.

He could still feel the sting of his mother’s slap all these years later from when he was already giving up on Abel right after he was born with severe health risks.

That sting which had literally knocked some sense into him had saved him from that spiral. And he had thought that his heart had hardened completely to love. And then he met his new neighbor. A child psychologist of all things.

Meeting when her chocolate lab, Makoto, dug under the fence to play with his boys.

He remembered how she blushed telling him she named the dog after her favorite character from an anime she loved. Makoto Kino, Sailor Jupiter, from Sailor Moon. He’d never heard of the show but asked then listened as she explained why she liked the character. All while his sons ran around and played with the playful and lovable dog.

Everything from there moved so smoothly.

She gave him gentle advice with ways of helping the boys cope without the only mother they had ever known. She would watch them if he needed help. It had even become a habit of hers when she took Makoto for a walk to stop by and and pick up the boys to bring with her.

He didn’t realize that he had fallen for her until the first party his mother had invited her too. Trying to get him to make a move. She’d realized how he was feeling before he did. As usual.

When he saw her laughing while talking to some of the guys. And how she could shoot a damn good game of pool.

She fit in better than anyone before. Better than Wendy and definitely better than Tara.

They spent the night in his dorm. They didn’t even have sex that night, rather made out like teenagers and lay side by side talking into the early hours of the morning and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

She kissed him goodbye that morning as she drove home to check on her dog. (Who was a total hit with the guys as well as his kids).

He took her on an official first date the week after.

A month later they were official.

A year later she was moving into his home.

Three months after that she found out she was pregnant.

One month after finding out he proposed.

Seven months after that their daughter Serena was born.

Now three months later they were planning a real wedding. And he was so happy to come home to a house full of love and peace.

(Name) brought him peace.

Something he hadn’t ever truly known.

He came home to a house where there was food cooking and happy children and a dog. A picket fence life he was shocked to find he liked.

Today he walked in to smell a roast in the oven, it was one of her favorite things to make on her days off. He grinned as he heard the excited voices of his sons in the living room. He walked in and laughed as he saw boxes of pony beads all over the table and floor a tub of already made bracelets on the table. His sons jumped up and ran over to hug him screaming happily.

“Did a craft store blow up in here?” He teased his fiancé.

“I am making friendship bracelets for the preteen and teen group therapy day camp I’m doing this summer. It starts tomorrow and A goal of mine is that the first bracelet they get from will be from me but will not be the last.” She explained looking up at him and smiling.

She finished tying the stretchy thread on the bracelet she had just made and put it in the tub. She stood up and walked over to press a kiss to his lips.

“Thomas and Abel wanted to play too so they made some pipe cleaner charms that I can use as reward badges for the kids I’m counseling.” She said, “And they are the best little helpers.”

Jax smiled, “They’re the best boys ever.” He said making the boys grin, “How about you two go play with Koto out back.”

The boys cheered and ran out the backdoor to do just that. Jax wrapped his arms around (Name) and kissed her once more. She smiled, the love she felt from him made her heart swell. Before they could say or do anything else the sounds of Serena fussing through the baby monitor on the table had them breaking apart and laughing.

“Go check on our girl, I’ll watch our boys.” (Name) said making Jax beam at her as she called Thomas and Abel her boys.

—

(Name) didn’t return to the beads and bracelets until after all the kids had been put in bed for the night. Jax joined her in the den smiling as she went back to work on her project while they had a movie playing on the TV. He just watched her though, smiling.

“You want to make one?” She asked without looking up from her current bracelet.

“Nah, I’m not creative like you.” He said.

“Come on, have some fun.” (Name) teased and stuck her tongue out at him.

Jax laughed, “Alright, alright, you win.” He teased.

“Always do.” She giggled, “Won you didn’t I?”

“Won me, huh? I mean I am a prize catch.” He laughed with that cocky grin she loved so much.

“I mean, you’re a little banged up for a trophy...but...definitely more than a consolation prize.” She winked.

“Banged up?” He asked.

“Three baby mamas, three kids, soon to be three wives?” She joked.

“Ha, okay, I get it, I got some mileage on me.” He admitted, “But I mean...third time’s the charm right?”

“Oh my god!” (Name) laughed and shook her head, bumping his knee with her shoulder from her place on the floor, “Asshole.”

“You love me.” He said leaning down and kissing her temple.

“I do.” She said and turned her head to catch his lips with a kiss before he sat back up.

They sat in silence for a moment while he worked on his bracelet. Taking more letter beads than she expected. She wondered what he was making. He watched how she tied it off and followed along. He sat back when he was done, playing with the bracelet he had made.

When she finished for the night and stood up stretching he helped her pick up and shut the movie off. He went to put her tub of bracelets in the trunk she had in their bedroom for all of her work craft stuff. Before they went to check on all the kids.

Stopping first at the boys room they peeked in the cracked door. Abel, Thomas, and Makoto were all curled up in Abel’s toddler bed sleeping soundly. Jax smiled at the sight. The soft shine of their motorcycle shaped night light glowing to keep the monsters of their nightmares away.

They checked on Serena who was sleeping so deeply. They watched her for a moment, arms around each other. Her soft baby snores warning their hearts.

“We made that.” Jax murmured.

“We did. And she’s perfect. So are the boys. Our family is perfect.” (Name) said.

Jax smiled and kissed her quickly before they walked back to their bedroom and he grabbed her wrist before she could pull her pajamas out of the dresser.

“Hey, I never showed you the bracelet I made.” He said.

“It’s not in that tub is it?” (Name) laughed because finding it would be nearly impossible.

“No, I kept it out, because I made it for you.” He said.

She let him slip it on her wrist and when she read it she laughed.

THIRD TIMES THE CHARM

Was spelled out in black and white plastic beads surrounded with light pink and dark green pony beads. He remembered the colors Sailor Jupiter wears. She laughed and shoved his shoulder playfully.

“How romantic.” She teased.

“I’m all about that fairy tail, baby.” he said and pulled her into a kiss.

She laughed and called him an idiot against his lips before kissing back.

—

The next morning (Name) was getting ready when Jax woke up. She kissed him and promised to be home by six. She was going to be dropping the kids off with Gemma while she worked at her day camp.

He kissed her again and said he would see her that evening.

He helped her get the kids ready and into the car before waving as she drove off. A smile stayed on his lips.

Not in the least because when he leaned in to kiss her through her car window he saw that she was wearing that silly little kandi bracelet he had made her the night before.

End.

[starmahgalaxies]

The sibling energy starting off this movie I am dying for. Hikari is such a troll; I love her.

I want! The little notice and delivery message is so goddamn cute. Early 2000s web and mail pages whiplash tho.

Egg!

I will never not laugh at this dumb joke. Doesn't matter the language or anything else. Whenever I see it I'm just like "egg!" Makes me think of Tamagotchi too.

A nuke destroying the credits is morbid as hell. My first reaction seeing the Japanese credits was ...okay then. lmao.

Kuramon is so cute. A little gremlin in disguise but so cute. I like how they compare it to a jellyfish... and continue refer them as a jellyfish even as I will call Infermon and Diablomon more of a spider with the spindly legs (not enough of them, first thought is still spider though).

The desktop layout and everything is sure taking me back to my childhood. I love depending on the program or file he has a bilingual desktop

...IS THAT NETSCAPE?!

Taichi, there's no reason to be jealous of Koushiro's penpal. The first person Koushiro decided to come to was you, chill. lol. They're such silly beans.

TSUMEMON MY BABY!! I love you lil' one so much, even if the anime gives you the least amount of time to shine. (this is literally it for this movie. Kuramon is everywhere is the whole point next time around. I may be a little bitter as it is my favorite stage and favorite lil' lil' guy, but I still enjoy the other evos)

I get the POS failing at the cash registers, but I always found it a bit weird that the prices for already printed barcodes and labels are changed when they're not connected to the internet? They are printed; they are done, how? Unless they are implying they've been labeled in the last few minutes or something else.

So begins a long game of phone tag.

Koushiro silently judging his friends for not being able to communicate.

It could be like an old battle screen or menu for a game ❤️

I love the impression that if Hikari was losing she would have taken the out. "Yeah, bro, I'm losing bad, I'll come home when I can." That would be out of character for her, but it is funny to think about.

So continues the game of phone tag.

Taichi not being straightforward with Hikari. I'm like... you could have tried "it's urgent and people are in danger;" or "you'll get to see Tailmon again;" or anything really that is not sounding like a bossy older brother demanding her to ditch her friend's birthday party. Find better leads for the conversation next time XD.

My guys trying so hard to find a working computer, and they almost hit the mark right off the back. Nope, nope... no.

No, no! Koushiro, do not fall for empty stomach. You are going to get distracted, and then you are going to regret it!

Infermon is such a troll. I didn't recognize I took a screencap while the sign was spinning upside down, but here we are. Another thing is that adds a lot of character is communicating mostly through electronical text messages (makes the phone call creepier, which I would have included if I had room).

A single motionless frame is hard to give as an example saying I like the animation in this movie, so I picked two that conveyed motion the best I could.

It's okay, little one. Next movie you'll get to spread your wings 👼.

Not to say I told you so, but I told you so.

I would say this is why you don't thump computers. I won't though (with any heat at least), poor kid is about to have a heart attack.

LMAO, HOW?!?

BBY SPOTTED!

Also damn Miyako hit a growth spurt in the next couple years. Girl is tiny.

*wonders in befuddlement once more why Adventure 2020 started with Our War Game when it can not hit these feels on the basis of being an introduction and not a sequel, which the original movie was* (I do actually like the start of 2020 reboot but I am much confusion)

That said... *rips heart out, steps on it* That feeling almost equates here.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO!!!!!!

This is such a 2000s movie. The antagonist being beaten by poor internet speeds and influx of hundreds of thousands of spam mail. I love it so, so much.

If you didn't make it, you would already be dead.

Unless I keep on missing it, they never clarify/know that Odaiba is ground zero in the original. They mention they can't guess the trajectory or where it's going to land until... it happens. That would be heartbreaking. For the audience in a tragedy. Everyone at ground zero would already be dead.

I'm pretty sure neutralizing a nuke isn't as simple as they have it, but I'll let it slide. I love this movie. I don't want precious kids (and countless people) dead, so it's fine.

Thank you for sticking with my meme-y long posts. I like that 54 episodes + movie easily are divided into weekdays over a couple months. If you don't care, well, you probably aren't seeing or reading this far so... XD

I will likely do a post about when I'll start 02 posts (the season itself I am almost done with watching). I know I'll be taking a break but still should start this summer.

👋

[kralierror404]

SIT DOWN CHAT. ITS RANT TIME.

What do you mean Alex started making his actual film when he was aroud 20 and then at age 27-28 he fucking dies. I cant. He was so young and it ruins me man, i gotta rant about my fave.

Alex seemed so determined and happy about making this movie, it had auditions, a trailer, a few recorded takes that never released, his “best” friend literally got cast as the main character for it!! - bro was so excited for ppl to audition for his project (you can hear it in his voice when hes talking to Brian abt asking Tim to try out). Alex also literally declined going to dinner so he could work on things for Marble Hornets. He had such a nice like friendgroup too Brian, Tim, Jay.

Like Alex pre-operator was probably the sweetest guy imo, he was proud of the people working with and for him, he cared about them (he says hes very proud of Jay and also asks Tim abt his like coughing), he was also quite patient i believe.

Then yk shit hits the fan over the 3 months Marble Hornets is being shot and he changes so so much its so insane - he gets paranoid and irritable and his passion isnt all there anymore :C which probably was really upsetting, and maybe caused some internal confusion and conflicting feelings in himself of: “Why cant i just be normal!?” meaning he’s kinda at war with himself. Also not to mention he was going through the operators effects alone at the time so its not like he could just bring it up without sounding crazy, he probably felt so alone and that no one would understand.

As we know he moves away, probably to hopefully escape whatever was happening to him and to put things behind him, to start over in a new place, where its safe and thats with Amy!. Now ive brought this up before but idc- he says on the phone to her

“Im gonna come visit you soon okay?”

“Okay.”

“And while im up there we might actually film a few things for Marble Hornets”

“Good i could use the company.”

“Actually uh..ive been thinking, i might try to transfer there after im done shooting all this.”

(That to me is Alex already planning to stop shooting it, already making plans to move with Amy but hes still unsure if he’ll be putting her in danger)

“For real?”

“Yeah, i mean the film program is better the one im at now so..i mean well thats what ive heard at least”

“Also i just dont like being this far away from you.”

(He says that so ominously but hes definitely like sure of himself and obviously Amy sees nothing wrong with it, she’s probably just happy that her boyfriend is going to come see her for the first time in..however long. Alex probably thinks he can keep her safe too)

MY POINT WITH THAT PHONE CALL ISS: His solution of escape was to 1. Burn the tapes and 2. Go to Amy to be safe but also to make sure SHES okay

Literally he thought that the operator and him murdering Brian would magically go away if he just left the area to be with someone who loved him, it was probably also his way of ignoring those things which all in all was a HORRIBLE coping mechanism (yk ignoring it) but heyy its Alex, he is not healthy. So, for 4 whole years he lives with Amy, away from everything and then WHOOPS Mr pale tall and skinny is there again to fuck up his day.

I honestly dont even wanna go in depth about how Alex mustve felt, how bad it must have hurt for his past to come back on him and find him somewhere he was meant to be okay. Also the way he probably killed Amy, did he make her feel secure then did it as she died in his arms? did she fight him? Amy does seem confrontational in a way- then he had to leave her behind, start anew AGAIN.

Except this time, he finds Jay has gotten himself involved and there is Alexs new goal, his new task that continues to drive him throughout the series that absolutely turns him into more of a horrible person: STOP THE SPREAD OF THE SICKNESS AND ‘SAVE’ EVERYONEE…except for that one guy he just killed while he was going insane.

One person i doubt he was trying to save eventually, was Brian, given that apparently Brian has been killed multiple times, instead Brian became like a pest getting in his way which makes sense. SO OVER THE COURSE OF 3-4 years, all this shit his happening and it gets to the point where Alex admits he thought HE was the problem (which in a way, he is), he shifts that blame onto Tim, then the big fight happens where they’re ultimately trying to kill eachother.

Alex is dying but as he is, he seems sorta sad, he fully believes he was doing the right thing and now, the only “right” thing to do, is die.

God its just his transition from making a silly student film and then 7 or 8 years later, dying due to an Eldritch being really messing up his and everyones life.