#learn to love without consuming

[sponge-goblin-art]

I will look for you as the sun rises higher

As the dry bones dance with the timbrel and lyre

There’s a wind alive in the valley

It’ll fill your lungs if you’ll have it

(Thus Always to Tyrants- The Oh Hellos)

[peachcott]

really normal about this guy. i definitely think about other things sometimes 👍

[uncreative-cryptid]

i cannot believe some people will excuse using GenAI as a "tool" for writing and claim it makes them better.

just saw the most insane take about it in a fanfic communities post and genuinely? you are not a writer. you do not deserve hate and harassment, but you have no place in a creative space like that. YOU are the reason so many people will begin to lock works behind several walls.

your castle is made of cards and built on a foundation of stolen works and lies.

you do not belong in a creative space.

you want more ideas? you want better ways to sort them?

consume more media and engage with them, dissect their themes and identify what you liked about it.

learn to put these themes and identifies down in a mess, make bullet point lists, and sort them later.

however you want to categorize them, do so. use discord servers, use your notes app, for the love of god learn to do your own thinking. you only think you're doing better because you have outsourced a necessary skill to a machine to do the thinking for you.

you have failed yourself fundamentally, i hope you realize that.

[radioproto]

Man who IS this guy. He’s taking over my brain…

[therealnotta]

Yeah you know what? Y'all get this speech too, William Afton is scarier when he's humanized than when he's a yellow bunny joker man, entire deal under the cut bc it's fnaf, there's child murder galore so beware

Like, I remember back when we first realized he had a family, and I remember how mad people got when I said that he clearly didn't want his kids to get hurt. Saying he loved them would be extrapolating, but he actively took actions to prevent them from getting injured. We definitively see this with him insisting that Elizabeth stay away from the animatronics, and if you think plushbear is a nanny cam then he seemed to be trying to help Evan, too.

And like, yeah, you could argue any number of motivations. Maybe he was telling Elizabeth all that because he was trying for reverse psychology. Maybe, even if it is a nanny cam, he was just trying to manipulate his son. But he still did things that could feasibly protect his kids, and he could've killed them easily. They lived with him. His targets were kids where he worked, it's not like he couldn't have just brought his kids with him and said that they went missing, too. And they wouldn't even have to be lured; they'd just follow their dad. So I'd argue that he cared enough about them not to use them for his evil experiments.

And if he doesn't start killing until after 83, then you could argue that he started killing because he was trying to find a way to resurrect his own son. If Plushbear is a nanny cam, then that's William at the end, vowing to "put you back together," more likely than not.

And that's scarier to me. Someone murdering kids for fun? As a villain, it's cartoonishly evil. I don't care about this villain, his purpose is exclusively to be The Bad Guy, I don't have to think at all. A parent trying to bring their kid back to life, losing everything in the process? Losing their sense of morality, losing their other kids, their friends, their job, their very name, and in the end their dead kid hates them? Heck, he keeps his dead kid's favorite stuffed animal on his desk, that's even harder to explain as being just another evil thing. It seems to me like he's a grieving parent who completely snapped. Now it's a tragedy, but not necessarily scarier.

What makes it scarier is the way he's described in the books that, presumably, is something that carries over to the games. He's charismatic, he's "like Santa." Everyone loves him. All the children love him. He's great with kids. In the games, the one time we see him alive is when he's selling killer robots to a company. They realize that it's killer robots, and he convinces them to buy anyway. He's clearly still charismatic.

He's not scary because he's killing innocents, he's scary because these kids would've known him. Charlie didn't run when he pulled up beside her, out in the rain, because he was a family friend. He's scary because that's exactly what happens in real life. I don't have to worry about the Joker running over and blowing up a hospital, but I do have to worry about William Afton, your dad's old college buddy that everyone loves, deciding that what he wants is more important than your life. The family friend whose word everyone would believe over yours is a much scarier villain than the creepy dude in the woods, because it's a real threat.

[essenceofnorwich]

A Pretty, Ugly Thing

I feel like I have to glamorize it. Make this heavy, aching grief beautiful. Happy. My father told me it is good that we can laugh even with tears. I understand that he most likely meant that it is good we can have joy despite the circumstances. But years upon years of having to cover up my tears, of having to put on a smile with my jaw clenching tight to hold in the way my lip wobbles. Having my sadness picked apart and rationalized away. My heart heard him say it is better to be happy. Do not hold your grief for longer than a second.

My grief has always sliced me open, flayed my bleeding palms. Numbness. Quiet. Still. Don’t hold your grief. Instead of laying my grief to rest in the right places I’ve had to swallow it whole.

I’ve felt I have to make up for my imperfections. Make up for my works being written by me. Make my words irreproachable. My work spotless.

I feel I cannot share my grief because it is too raw, too ugly a thing. So my words— pent up— written on parchment in a pile to burn— echo in the chasm of my mind. On repeat for only my eyes and ears. My throat is raw and I remain silent as the tears roll down the sides of my face and into my pillowcase while I stare up at my ceiling and wish for more time. For understanding.

He’s the first person I’ve lost since I stopped believing in a heaven and a hell. The first person I realized I would have no more time with. There are no more chances to talk. No more opportunities to get ice cream. No more days to sit on the porch and drink coffee and lick jam covered fingers. No way to tell him that I don’t believe in his god anymore. Just my memories.

Not believing in heaven is far more devastating than I had ever considered. Because now it faces me directly. A skull staring down at me from the skies. The grim reaper that comes for us all. I’ve spent most of my life considering death. A lot more time thinking about dying than any child should. But I somehow forget every time just how sharply it stings.

[headspace-hotel]

How to begin a sustainable way of life

This is a draft of something I've been writing for a couple months. It is mainly focused on the culture of the USA. Feel free to repost or otherwise share, with or without credit.

Do not tell people what to do—help them do it! 

Give the gift of relief from being forced to engage in society’s unsustainable ways of life. 

“People need to eat more plant-based foods.” ->Talk about your favorite recipes, give others recipes, cook for them, and grow vegetables and plants in your garden and give them away as gifts. 

“People need to repair their clothes.” -> Offer to repair others’ clothes, and teach people how to repair their clothes. 

“People need to buy less clothes.” -> Give them old clothes that you don’t want, help them repair their clothes

“People need to buy less plastic stuff.” -> Learn to make things that can serve the same purpose, such as baskets, and give them as gifts. Let people borrow things you own so they don’t have to buy their own. 

“People need to stop using leafblowers and other gas-guzzling machinery.” -> Offer to rake the leaves. You can use them as compost in your own garden. 

“People need to be more educated about nature.”-> Learn about nature yourself. Tell people about nature. Be open about your love of creatures such as snakes, spiders, and frogs. Do not show awareness that this could be strange. You are not obligated to quiet down your enthusiasm for creepy crawlies to demonstrate awareness that it is weird. Point out at every opportunity how these animals are beneficial. 

“People need to use cars less.” -> Offer rides to others whenever you must go somewhere. Whenever you are about to go to the store, ask your neighbor or your friend who lives along the way, “Is there anything you need from the store?” 

You cannot control others’ behaviors, but you can free them from being controlled. 

If you think to yourself, “But this would be so difficult to do!” ask yourself WHY? Why does your society coerce you into less sustainable ways of living, forcing you to consume excessively? After thinking about this, consider that it is less simple and easy than you thought to make more sustainable choices, so why would you judge others for not doing it? 

Do not act alone—act with others! 

Environmentally friendly behaviors that can be done alone, without collaborating with or consulting another person, are the least powerful of all. Whenever an “environmentally friendly” behavior is suggested, figure out “How can I give this as a gift?” or “How can I make this possible on the level of a whole community?” 

“Personal choices” do not work because every single person has to make them individually. If you are focused on making your own personal choice, you are not focused on others. If you are not focused on others, you are not helping them. If nobody is helping each other, most people won’t be able to make the “personal choice.”

You inherently share an ecosystem with your neighbors  

            Start with your neighbors, the people physically close to you. You live on the same patch of land, containing roots from the same plants and trees. You can speak to them face to face without traveling, which means you can easily bring them physical things without using resources to travel. 

            Always talk to your neighbors and be friendly with them. Offer them favors unprompted and tell them about how your garden is doing. Do not be afraid to be annoying—a slightly annoying neighbor who is helpful, kind, and can be relied upon for a variety of favors or in times of need is a necessary and inevitable part of a good community. If you make the effort to be present in somebody’s life, they will have to put up with you on some occasions, but that is just life. We cannot rely on each other if we do not put up with each other. 

Simply spending time with someone influences them for good 

Every hour you spend outside with your neighbor is an hour your neighbor doesn’t spend watching Fox News. Every hour you spend talking with someone and interacting with them in the real world, eating real food and enjoying your real surroundings, is an hour you don’t spend only hearing a curated picture of what reality is like from social media. 

            Isolation makes it easy for people to become indoctrinated into extremist beliefs. When someone spends more time alone, watching TV, Youtube, or scrolling social media, than they do with others, their concept of what other people are like and what the world is like comes more from social media than real life. TV and online media are meant to influence you in a specific way. Simply restricting the access these influences have to yourself and others is helpful. 

A garden is the source of many gifts 

If you grow a garden, you can give your neighbors and friends the gift of food, plants, and crafted objects. This is one of the foundational ways to form community. When you give food, you provide support to others. When you give plants, you are encouraging and teaching about gardening. It is even better when you give recipes cooked from things you grew, or items crafted from things you grew. You can also give the gift of knowledge of how to grow these plants, cook these recipes, or craft these objects. 

More on gift-giving

            Some people are uncomfortable with receiving items or services as gifts. They want to feel like they are giving something back, instead of having obligation to return the favor hanging over them. 

            It can help to ask a simple favor that can be easily fulfilled. People generally like the feeling of helping someone else. 

When you give someone a gift, it can help to say something like “Oh, I have too many of this thing to take care of/store/eat myself! Do you think you could take some?” This makes your neighbor feel like they are helping you. 

When allowing others to borrow items, you might not get them back. Don’t worry about that. It just means the item found a place where it was needed the most. You can ask about the item if you think it might have been forgotten, and this can create an opportunity for a second meeting. But don’t press. 

If the person you give to insists upon some form of payment, this is a good opportunity to negotiate a trade. 

Ask to be given compostable or recyclable things 

Ask your neighbor to save compostable scraps, biodegradable cardboard and paper products, and any other items that might be put to use. Use them in your own compost pile. Or, start a compost pile at the edge of the yard where you both can add to it. Remember that “wet” compost like vegetable and fruit bits needs to be mixed with twice as much of “dry” and “woody” compost like cardboard, leaves, small twigs, paper and wood bits. 

Use the front yard for gardening

Overcome the cultural norm that the front yard is only decorative. Use the front yard for gardening so you can be seen by others enjoying your garden, and others can witness the demonstration of the possibilities of land. In the front yard, anything you do intentionally with your land can be witnessed. It also makes you a visible presence in your community. 

Grow staple foods 

Don’t just grow vegetables that cannot be the core component of a meal themselves. Grow potatoes, dry beans, black eyed peas and other nourishing, calorie-dense foods. Grow the ingredients of meals. You could even build a garden around a recipe.

Invite neighbors and friends over to eat food made from things you grew 

Be sure to send them home with leftovers.  

Grow plants for baskets 

Containers are one of the fundamental human needs. If we had more containers, we wouldn’t need plastic so much. You can learn to make baskets, and to grow plants that provide the raw materials for baskets. 

If someone rakes their leaves, ask to have the leaves  

If you see someone putting leaves in bags, don’t be afraid to ask if you can have the leaves. More likely than not they will be happy to agree. 

Collaborate with neighbors to plant things in the no-man’s-land of the property line 

In the border land between your neighbor’s yard and your yard, it is almost always just mowed grass because no one can plant anything without it affecting their neighbor. But these border lands add up to a lot of space. It would be much better if you talked to your neighbor about what would be nice to plant there, and together created a plan for that space. 

Give others the freedom to wander 

Make it clear that you will not get mad if the neighbor’s kids play in your yard or run across it. Invite the neighbors onto your land as much as possible. Tell them they are allowed to spend time in a favored spot whenever they would like.  

The power of the hand-made sign 

If there is a yard sale, you always know about it because of the hand-drawn signs placed around. Therefore, a cookout or unwanted item exchange can be announced the same way. In rural areas I have seen hand-made signs that say: FIREWOOD or WE BUY GOATS or EGGS. This is one of the few technologies of community that remain in the USA. If someone who looks to buy and sell can put up a hand-made sign, why shouldn’t you?  

Religious people or people with strong political opinions like to put signs everywhere. If they have the confidence and courage to do so, why shouldn’t you? 

So if there is a message you would like everyone to see, use the simple power of the hand-made sign. Proclaim “BEE FRIENDLY ZONE!” above your pollinator garden with all the confidence of a religious fundamentalist billboard. Announce to the world, “VEGETABLES FREE TO ALL—JUST ASK!” “WE TAKE LEAVES—NO PESTICIDES.” Instead of YARD SALE, or perhaps in conjunction with YARD SALE, you can write, PLANT EXCHANGE or SEED SWAP or CLOTHING SWAP. Who can stop you? 

Someone has to do it for society to change  

Some of these ideas might be eccentric, strange, or even socially unacceptable, but there is no way to change what is normal except to move against it. Someone has to be weird. It might as well be you. 

[thosia]

actually it is very funny that even though myella treats naula very differently from how neryla treated her, the same thing lies at the heart of it. neryla is distant and shes harsh and her offered affection is a rare thing, obsessively chased, but at the centre of it shes the way she is because she wants myella to be better than her. she considers herself to be a weapon, so in birthing a child, all she thinks about is crafting a weapon stronger and sharper and better than herself. myella becomes what she does because of that, and takes a different route with her own daughter. is present, and gentle as she can be, stumbling through some bastardisation of kindness, but naula is her sign of peace. her promise of a white flag at the end of things and a basin to wash away the blood on her hands. naula needs to be better than myella had been, needs to be able to bring peace and keep it, needs to be enough to keep a nation of disunity and decades of bloodshed together. ultimately, the ythaeras are doomed because the parent loves their child too much to accept staticity, too much to accept them being like themself.

[hanavbara]

support HUMAN artists, not AI‼️

AI generated images are NOT art. art is CREATED, not GENERATED.

this is not just about taking jobs from artists (which is already a huge deal), it’s also about devaluing art itself, turning it into mass-produced, empty and soulless content. it’s heartbreaking to see AI stealing from real artists: from Studio Ghibli to smaller creators like us.

personally, we started our art journey by reinterpreting what we love: music, TV series, anime and transforming it into our vision inspired by the 90’s anime that we grew up with. when we create our illustrations, we try to capture the emotion and love we feel for the subject, aiming to tell a story with each drawing. ever since AI was created, we have had many people asking if our art is AI generated. honestly, it’s heartbreaking every single time. for us, art is a deeply human experience that we’ve been dedicating ourselves to for seven years. creating from nothing takes dedication, skill, and an emotional investment that, in our opinion, AI simply can’t capture.

you’ve probably seen your feed flooded with AI generated images in a “Studio Ghibli style”. trends like these reinforce the idea that art can be easily replicated and devalued. the future of artists is more uncertain than ever. we don’t know if in a few years we’ll still be able to make a living from this, since many companies are adopting the mindset of “why should i pay someone for their well-earned work when a machine can do it for free in an instant?” that mindset is the real problem: the way society is starting to perceive art.

art is essential to human life. many people realized this during the pandemic: what would we do without music, movies, books, that bring us comfort? art is more than just the final product. it’s about the process, struggles, and personal growth that comes with it. when you create, you grow, learn, and challenge yourself. AI erases that, replacing it with instant and shallow replication. real art brings people together, evoking emotions and reminding us of what it means to be human.

relying on AI to make art isn’t innovation, it’s avoiding the challenge of creating something meaningful. AI tools like these are being pushed as "the future," but what does that say about us? replacing human artistry with shallow, mass-produced content takes away humanity from art, do we really want to be part of a world where art is just another disposable product? what value do we place on creativity?

if you’ve made it this far, it means you care about these issues. let’s raise our voices together and speak up. don’t consume AI generated images. value and respect creativity. SUPPORT REAL HUMAN ARTISTS.

[gay-caesar-truther]

Thinking about Gabes shitty mental health and his feelings about himself and his dad again *chewing on the bars of my enclosure*

Cw: Mentions of suicidal ideation and general shitty mental health stuff that I have no idea how to categorise

Gabe is convinced HE'S the reason his dad left vault 101, and sacrificed himself to protect Project Purity from the Enclave. That it was his father finally being sick of him, wanting to get away from his filthly, unfixable, blood-soaked killer of a son, and just needing an excuse.

Like OUUUGH Gabes low self esteem, abandonment issues and like his borderline obsessive want to be The Perfect Son are all mixing together in a horrible cocktail to make a dude who wonders around the wasteland wanting to die and beating himself up over things that are not his fault or arent true at all - but he won't kill himself because religious doctrine tells him he won't get into Heaven if he does and the one thing he wants is to go to Heaven so he can try to be a good son this time.

Nothing he does is for Him- it's all to try and make his father proud of him (James already is, Gabe just doesn't recognise it) or chasing some nebulous concept of Being Good (He's already Good but, again, doesn't see it). Not matter what he gives- possessions, food, money, pieces of himself Gabe will never be satisfied, and will never be convinced he's done enough.

He's put his father on some sort of pedestal in his mind, and is convinced himself that he'll never live up to that image. That he's not given enough, not suffered enough, not martyred himself enough to be as Good as his father was, and his life isn't worth living if he couldn't save this one person he had in his life, and a man who was capable of doing so much more Good than he will ever do.

[neverendingford]

.

[n1pp]

quit brainrot. unfollow trolls. read essays. go down rabbit holes. have a calendar. maintain a todo list. read old books. watch old movies. turn on dnd. walk with intent. eat without youtube. chew more. train without music. plan for 15 mins. execute. organise your desk. take something seriously. read ancient scripts. act fast. find bread. eat clean. journal. save a life. learn to code. read poetry. create art. stay composed. refine your speech. optimise for efficiency. act sincere. help people. be kind. stop doing things that waste your time. follow your intuition. craft reputation. learn persuasion. systemise your day (or don't). write. write. write. write more. iterate violently. leave your phone at home. walk to the grocery store. talk to strangers. feed the dogs. visit bookstores. look for 1800s novels. experience art. then love. sit with a monk and offer them lunch. don't talk shit about people. embody virtue. sit alone. do something with your life. what do you want to create? turn off your mind. play. play a sport. combat sports. notice fonts in trees. fall in love. notice patterns on a table. visualise it. talk to people with respect. don't hate. be loving. be real. become yourself. cherrypick your qualities. discard the useless. rejections aren't permanent. invite what aligns. accept what does not. read great people. be different. choose different. do great work. let it consume you. lose your mind. value your time. experience life.

[dollgxtz]

Hide and Surrender

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: A simple game of hide and seek turns way more intense than you thought it would.

“I caught my prey, it’s only fair I get to eat my catch right?”

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, cnc, cunnilingus, predator play, predator x prey, hide and seek with roleplay, restraining, chasing, slightly rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex, overstimulation, forced blowjob

AN: Another fic idea that wouldn't leave my head. Can't remember which Touring in Love chapter it was, but in it Sylus plays hide and seek with us. And I was like, yknow what would make this 100x better? Predator play :3

"What would you like to play? I'll join you."

Those were the words that started it all.

You had half-expected Sylus to scoff at your suggestion, to find you childish for wanting to indulge in a game meant for children. But to your surprise, he agreed without hesitation, not even asking why. There was something in the way he said it, though—something that made your pulse quicken.

"You've played this before, right, Sylus?" you ask, covering your eyes with your hands to demonstrate. "You cover your eyes like this and count to ten. Then you come find me."

A moment of silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. Then, warm fingers wrap around your wrists, prying your hands gently away from your face. Your breath catches as you find yourself trapped beneath Sylus’ gaze—two crimson eyes watching you with something unreadable, something dangerous.

Those eyes—burning, searing, all-consuming—lock onto yours with something unreadable, something dangerous. It’s not just amusement or curiosity; it’s something deeper, something that snakes around your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. The way he looks at you is slow, patient, as if he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece, as if he’s already thought of a thousand ways this game will end.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, loud, deafening, a traitorous thing that gives away too much.

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, as if studying you. The corners of his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something just as unsettling.

"I didn’t have time or interest for such games when I was a child," he murmurs, his voice low, almost predatory. His lips curl into something between a smirk and a smile, and the way he looms over you makes you feel smaller, caged. "But for you? I’ll learn quickly, kitten."

The pet name slithers through the air, coiling around you, sinking into your skin like a brand. A shiver ripples down your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving a molten trail in its wake. Heat pools deep in your underwear, an unwelcome warmth that you fight to ignore. Your throat goes dry, and you tear your gaze away, desperate to escape the weight of his stare. But it’s too late—he’s already seen it.

A low chuckle spills from his lips, rich and smooth, yet laced with something dark. Something knowing. The sound wraps around you, thick with amusement, but there’s something beneath it, something that burrows under your skin and makes your pulse falter in a way that has nothing to do with fear. It’s dangerous—not because of what it is, but because of how your body reacts to it.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

He lingers, close enough that the heat of him prickles against your skin, close enough that you can see the glint in his half-lidded eyes. Yet, just as your breath catches in your throat, just as the tension coils so tight it threatens to snap, he takes a step back. Barely. Not enough to be safe—never enough to be safe—but just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

His head tilts slightly, gaze lazy, his voice dipping into something slow, syrupy, dangerously smooth.

"Go on, then."

The words are soft, but there’s no playfulness in them anymore. No lighthearted teasing. Only promise. A single word, unspoken but heavy in the air between you.

"Hide."

There’s definitely no playfulness in his voice now.

Your pulse roars in your ears as adrenaline surges through your veins. Fine. You weren’t going down easy. This was just a simple game of Hide and Seek—nothing more. You force yourself to ignore the way your stomach twists, how your breath feels too fast, too shallow. You're overthinking it. Sylus loves to tease you, to get under your skin, to watch you squirm. He loves making you flustered, and you know that. But still…there's something in the way his lips curled into a smirk before he turned around to count, something in his tone when he called out, that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"One…two…three…"

The second his eyes leave you, you bolt. Your feet pound against the tile floor as you dash up the stairs, each step groaning under your weight. Your movements are clumsy, fueled by nothing but instinct. You wince at how loud you are, practically announcing your location, but at this point? Who cares. The only thing that matters is finding a place to hide before—

"Ten." His voice is slow, deliberate. You swear you hear amusement laced in it.

You don't stop running. You throw yourself into his room, nearly tripping over your own feet as you spin wildly, scanning the space for the perfect hiding spot. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession, air burning in your lungs. The bed? No, too obvious. Under the desk? Not enough coverage.

Then, you hear it.

"Let's see where my little kitten decided to hide."

Your blood turns to ice.

Without thinking, you dive toward the closet, yanking the door open just enough to squeeze inside before gently—so gently—pulling it shut, leaving only the smallest crack to peek through. Darkness swallows you whole, the scent of Sylus’s cologne thick in the enclosed space, invading your senses. Your back presses against the wall, every inch of you wound so tightly that your muscles ache. Your breath comes in rapid, uneven pants, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to silence yourself.

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs, so loud it feels like it’s betraying you, threatening to give you away. You try to steady it, to slow your breaths, but every little sound—the creak of a floorboard, the soft click of a door opening—sends another jolt of panic surging through you.

Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Getting closer.

You hear him before you see him.

The door creaks open, a slow, deliberate sound that cuts through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. The room seems to shrink, the air thickening as his presence fills the space. It’s not just the sound of his footsteps—it’s something deeper, something intangible, an unseen force that presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Your heart pounds in response, the steady thump-thump-thump filling your ears like a war drum. Even as fear coils in your stomach, there's an undeniable thrill laced within it, a rush of something you refuse to name.

Through the narrow crack in the closet door, you finally see him. Sylus moves with practiced ease, unhurried, precise, like a predator that knows its prey has nowhere to run. His crimson eyes flicker with something unreadable as they scan the room. He doesn’t fumble, doesn’t hesitate. There’s an unsettling certainty to his movements, a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken.

His fingers trail lazily along the back of the couch before he crouches, peering beneath it. “Not under the couch, I see,” he muses, his voice smooth, almost casual. But there’s something beneath the words, something sharp, something laced with amusement, as if he already knows exactly where you are.

"Behind the curtains, maybe?" He doesn’t sound like he’s searching. He sounds like he’s toying with you.

He straightens, then shifts his focus to the glass windows, where the heavy curtains hang still. He moves toward them, fingertips grazing the fabric before he suddenly jerks them aside. You tense instinctively, though you know you aren’t there. He pauses, as if savoring the moment, before releasing the curtain and letting it drift back into place.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. Your lungs burn with the effort of staying quiet, of keeping still.

Then he turns, and your heart stutters violently in your chest as his gaze lands on the bed. No way he doesn’t already know where you are. No way his senses are that dull. You watch, frozen in place, as he slowly kneels, resting a hand against the mattress as he leans down to inspect the space beneath the frame. He hums softly. "Hmm...not under the bed either."

The moment he stands, you know. His next stop is the wardrobe.

A faint chuckle spills from his lips, low, knowing, as he starts toward you with slow, deliberate steps. Every cell in your body screams at you to move, but you remain paralyzed, pressed against the back of the closet as if you could somehow will yourself into the shadows. You can barely hear over the deafening thud of your heartbeat.

"Y’know, kitten," he drawls, his voice a lazy, syrupy purr that drips with something thick, something dangerous, "the sooner you come out, the gentler I’ll be with you."

Your breath catches violently in your throat. His voice alone sends a jolt through you, a sharp, involuntary response that leaves you feeling raw, exposed.

Then—he stops.

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, before abruptly turning away. "Oh right, I almost forgot to check the living room."

This is your chance. Your only chance.

No time to think—just move!

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. With a burst of energy, you shove the closet door open and bolt. The sudden shift from stillness to motion is disorienting, but you don’t stop, don’t hesitate. Your feet slam against the floor as you propel yourself forward, the only thought in your mind being run.

You don’t dare look back.

But then—air shifts behind you.

A sharp inhale. A pivot of movement.

And then—footsteps. Fast. Closing in.

Panic surges through you, raw and electric, as you push yourself harder. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you don’t stop. You just have to make it downstairs. Just a little farther. Just a little—

A rush of air. A presence at your back.

And then—a hand. Wrapping around your wrist.

You scream, a sharp, startled sound that barely has time to leave your lips before Sylus yanks you back with a firm tug of your wrist. The sudden force sends you stumbling, crashing into his chest, your breath hitching as his arm snakes around your waist, keeping you locked in place. He’s warm, solid, unyielding, and far too close. His scent—something dark and intoxicating—invades your senses, making your already racing heart hammer harder.

“Found you, kitten,” he murmurs, amusement dripping from his tone. His lips curl into a smirk as he tilts his head slightly, eyes glowing with satisfaction. “I was starting to worry I lost you forever.”

The mockery in his voice is unmistakable, but inwardly, you’re grinning, nearly laughing. This was exactly what you wanted—a chase, a fight, a chance to push back. But you don’t let him see that. Instead, you put on your best scowl, defiance burning in your gaze.

"Your acting’s gotten worse," you spit, jerking against his hold. You bring your knee up sharply, aiming for his groin with all the force you can muster.

But he’s faster.

Before your knee can make contact, a thick tendril of red mist swirls around you, his Evol surging to life in an instant. The energy coils around your limbs like living chains, locking you in place just as he moves.

In the blink of an eye, he shifts, twisting effortlessly, using his grip on you to throw you onto the bed with little more than a flick of his wrist. The mattress dips beneath your weight, and before you can even think of scrambling away, he’s already on top, looming over you, his expression smug, too amused.

You lash out.

Your fist shoots toward his face, but he leans back smoothly, just enough for your knuckles to miss his jaw by mere inches. You shift, twisting your body, using the momentum to kick upward, aiming for his ribs. Again, he dodges—his body shifting effortlessly, as if he already knows exactly what you’re going to do before you do it.

“Tsk, tsk,” he hums, easily maneuvering around another wild swing from you. “You’re getting sloppy, kitten. I thought you were actually trying.”

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You manage to free an arm from the tendrils of mist, and without hesitation, you try to land a punch to his shoulder. This time, he catches your wrist mid-air, his grip tightening just enough to still your movement.

“You bast—” You twist your hips sharply, using every ounce of strength to break free, but he barely even moves. If anything, he looks bored, like he’s humoring you.

Sylus chuckles, low and deep. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you?” His grip on your wrist shifts slightly before he suddenly pushes you down hard, making you gasp as your bodies gravity shifts, forced into submission once again.

You feel your pulse jump when his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to something even smoother, even softer, but no less dangerous.

“And here I thought we were just playing.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists, his body pressing just close enough to remind you how little control you actually have in this moment. “I guess it’s my turn to get serious, hm?”

Your breath catches.

Something shifts in the air.

"S-Sylus, wait—" you gasp, your words catching in your throat as the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. In one swift motion, he's ripped your shorts apart, leaving your legs exposed to the cool air, the sudden chill a stark contrast to the heat still simmering between your thighs. Your underwear is the only thing left, a flimsy barrier between his intentions and your already soaked folds.

You start to protest, a mix of shock and anticipation swirling inside you, but the words die on your lips as Sylus shushes you softly, his voice a low, calming murmur. "Shh..." he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver racing up your spine.

"All that fighting, and yet you're soaked down here, kitten".

With deliberate slowness, he lowers his head between your thighs, the anticipation building as his lips hover just above the thin cloth. His tongue flicks out, tracing the outline of your folds through the fabric with agonizing precision. Each stroke is slow, torturous, a teasing promise of what's to come, and your protests dissolve into soft whimpers of need.

"An orgasm or two should get rid of that feistiness," he murmurs against you, his voice a rich, dark promise that leaves you trembling with anticipation.

Sylus's fingers deftly hook into the elastic of your panties, pulling the cloth aside with a practiced ease that leaves you exposed to him, vulnerable and aching. The cool air brushes against your skin for a fleeting moment before his mouth descends, and all coherent thought shatters as his tongue finds your aching cunt.

"Ah!"

The first touch is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that arches your back off the bed, your hips lifting to meet him with a desperate need. His tongue works with a deliberate, maddening rhythm, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks that have you gasping for breath.

Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you hold him to you, guiding him closer even as your mind spins with the intensity of it all. He doesn't mind in the slightest, his low, satisfied hum sending vibrations through you, drawing a gasp from your lips.

"This—is c-cheating..." you manage to whine between ragged breaths, though your actions betray you as your hips move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, seeking more of the pleasure he's so expertly giving.

“I caught my prey, it’s only fair I get to eat my catch right?” he says, before continuing his assault on your clit. His words send your head spinning and you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe.

With a renewed dedication, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that leaves you trembling. The world dissolves around you, leaving nothing but the exquisite sensation of his mouth on you, driving you relentlessly toward the peak of ecstasy.

The sensation of his tongue slipping inside you leaves you reeling, each thrust a masterful stroke that has you feeling drunk on the sheer ecstasy he’s delivering. It’s a skill that seems almost divine, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to make you moan and whine so uncontrollably that it borders on begging.

Your body responds helplessly, hips bucking against him as your hands clutch at the sheets, trying to anchor yourself in the storm of pleasure. His tongue moves with purpose, each flick and thrust pushing you closer to that precipice, until finally, he shifts his focus, sucking on your clit with a precision that sends you spiraling over the edge.

The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking, your cries echoing in the room as you ride out the waves of bliss. But even as you begin to descend from the high, you’re dismayed to find that Sylus isn’t stopping, his mouth still working you with relentless dedication.

“P-please...no more...” you plead, trying to twist away, your body oversensitive and overwhelmed. But he simply adjusts his grip, his hands firm on your waist, holding you in place with an easy strength that keeps you from escaping.

“Still a little feisty, hm?” he teases, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Like I thought. One more should do.” His words are a promise and a challenge, and as his mouth returns to its task, you know you’re helpless to resist the pull of his mastery, your body already surrendering to the inevitable wave building once more.

"Mgnh...ah..."

And just as promised, the fight within you starts to ebb away, like sand slipping through fingers, as Sylus's tongue continues its relentless, masterful assault. The pleasure builds higher to the point where it almost hurts, a crescendo that leaves you breathless and trembling, unable to do anything but call out his name, your voice breaking as your body jerks and shakes under his skilled touch.

"Sylus!"

The second orgasm crashes over you, pulling you under its tide, leaving you riding the waves of ecstasy until you finally collapse, utterly spent, like a boneless heap of jello. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath, tears of overstimulation gathering at the corners of your eyes, evidence of the intensity that just ripped through you.

Sylus leans back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you. He studies you with a mixture of amusement and triumph, taking in your ragdoll form sprawled before him. "Going to try and fight me again?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You manage a weak shake of your head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your own lips, despite the exhaustion. Damn this slick bastard and his godly tongue, you think, a mixture of exasperation and admiration swirling within you.

"Good, just how I like you," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that sends a shiver through your already sensitive body. His hands move to his belt, fingers working with deliberate slowness to undo it, each click of the metal buckle a promise of what's to come. "Seems you're ready for the last phase of our game," he declares, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with a hunger that promises there's much more yet to be explored.

You lay there, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the intense pleasure he had delivered, your eyes heavy-lidded, your breath coming in short gasps. Sylus, ever attentive, noticed your gaze drifting downward, a mix of anticipation and desire in your eyes as you took in the hard and prominent bulge in his pants.

Your cheeks flushed as you realized the effect you had on him, his hard length straining and throbbing against the fabric of his pants, a testament to the pent-up desire that had been building throughout your little "game." He had only eaten you out and yet his cock seemed like it was about to burst and break the zipper.

Sylus finishes undoing his belt, the soft clinking of the metal a rhythmic counterpoint to your pounding heartbeat. The anticipation is electric, a live wire thrumming between you as his pants finally fall away, revealing the impressive length of him. Even after all the times you’ve had each other, his size never fails to elicit a sense of awe.

Your eyes widened as Sylus, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, moved closer, his hard length throbbing in front of your mouth. You shook your head, a silent refusal, playing hard to get, but he was having none of it. With a swift motion, he cupped your chin, tilting your head back and guiding his throbbing cock towards your mouth.

"Open up, sweetie," he whispered, his voice a low command. "Good little prey does as they're told."

Your heart raced as you felt the heat of his cock against your lips, his hands firm on your head, guiding you to take him in. You strained for control, but his grip tightened, and with a gentle yet insistent pressure, he pushed his length past your lips, filling your mouth with his hardness.

You gagged slightly, your eyes watering, but he held you firmly in place, his cock sliding deeper, his hands holding your face still, ensuring you took him all the way down your throat.

"Good girl," he moaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "Breathe through your nose, kitten."

You did as he commanded, your mouth working around his length, your tongue swirling, your throat constricting around him, the sensation of his hardness and the taste of him overwhelming your senses. He began to thrust gently, his hips moving in a slow, controlled rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, his moans filling the room.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath ragged. "Take all of me, claim me as I'll claim you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you redoubled your efforts, your mouth and throat working in unison, your hands gripping his thighs as he used your mouth for his pleasure. But just as you thought he would climax, he pulled out, his cock glistening with your saliva.

"Not yet," he said, his voice hoarse. "I won't miss the chance to claim my freshly caught prey with my seed."

He catches the wide look in your eyes and grins again, a wicked gleam lighting up his features as he moves closer, positioning himself between your trembling thighs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, brushing against your slick folds with a touch so light it sends a tremor of anticipation through you.

"Stay still." he murmurs, his voice a low purr that vibrates against your skin. You nod, breathless, as he begins to push forward, the slow, steady pressure parting your folds and stretching you inch by inch. The sensation is both exquisite and overwhelming, a delicious burn that leaves you gasping, feeling impossibly full as he sinks deeper inside you. You unknowingly tense up, and Sylus pauses.

Sylus's voice, low and soothing, filled the room as he slightly broke from his rough and demeaning role. His hands gently caressing your hips, his body still poised at your entrance. "Might as well relax" he whispered, his breath warm against your neck. "You have no choice but to take it anyways, kitten".

His words, spoken with tenderness and experience, were a balm to your nerves. You recognize this as his way of checking in and reminding you to relax without fully breaking the mood. He began to move with slow, gentle thrusts, his length sliding into you with deliberate slowness, allowing your body time to accommodate his size. "That's it, squeeze around me," he encouraged, his lips brushing your ear. "Feel me filling you, stretching you, making you whole."

The pain began to subside, replaced by a building pleasure as your body accepted his intrusion, the discomfort transforming into a unique blend of sensations. You moaned, a mix of relief and arousal, as he continued his slow, steady rhythm, his body moving in sync with yours, his hands guiding you through the waves of pleasure and discomfort, until the pain was a distant memory, and all that remained was the exquisite sensation of being filled by his hard length.

Your fingers curl into the bedsheets, clutching them for support as he begins to move again, each thrust firm and unrelenting, setting a rhythm that has you moaning helplessly beneath him. The friction is intoxicating, the sound of skin against skin mingling with your cries as you arch into him, your body alight with pleasure.

Sylus's breath came in short, sharp gasps as he thrust into you, his voice thick with desire. "So tight, so fucking wet," he growled, his words a testament to the pleasure you were providing. His hips moved in a relentless rhythm, his powerful strokes driving into your core with a force that left you breathless, your body trembling with each impact.

As the pleasure mounted within you, swelling like a storm threatening to break, Sylus transformed his movements into a slow, torturous dance. Each thrust was languid and deliberate, a teasing rhythm that played your body like a finely tuned instrument. You were on the brink, right at the precipice, but he held you there, tantalizingly close yet agonizingly far from the release you craved.

"Please, Sylus..." you whimpered, your voice a desperate plea, raw with need. "I need to...I need to finish..."

He leaned in, his breath a scorching whisper against your ear, his lips brushing your skin with feather-light caresses. "I'll let you cum, my love, if you tell me who won."

This bastard. Of course he wasn't going to make this easy.

The challenge in his words sent a shiver racing through you, a heady mix of excitement and frustration. You yearned for the release, but admitting his victory felt like a concession too steep. "Fuck you" you spat, your voice caught between resistance and the relentless pull of longing.

Sylus's pace slowed further, each thrust a deliberate tease, his body a contradiction of slow, sensual movements and the raw, simmering desire you could feel pulsing in every inch of him. "Mmm, not quite the answer I'm looking for. Tell me, sweetie," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, sending tingling sensations along your skin. "Who won this little game?"

Your body trembled beneath him, caught in the crossfire of need and stubbornness. The sweet torture was a dance of agony and ecstasy, and it was almost too much to bear and you snapped. "You w-won," you finally admitted, the words spilling from your lips like a confession, tearing free as you surrendered to the pleasure he offered, your body arching toward him in a silent plea. "Please...let me cum!"

"That's my good girl," he growled, his voice a low, primal rumble that resonated through your very core. "Now, cum for me."

His pace shifted, each thrust gaining force and urgency, driving deep and hard, a relentless rhythm that pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed around him, muscles tightening in a wave of release, the climax ripping through you with a sweet, shuddering ferocity that left you breathless and utterly spent. In that moment, the world dissolved, leaving only the blissful aftermath of his mastery, the sweet torture finally giving way to a bliss that wrapped around you like a warm, comforting embrace.

As your body shudders around him, gripping him with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Sylus's thrusts grow more frantic, driven by his own approaching climax. The room fills with the sounds of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

His movements become erratic, each thrust deeper and more urgent, as if he's chasing the very edge of his own orgasm. You can feel the heat building within him, a primal energy that seeks release, and you arch into him, encouraging him to finish inside you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Sylus groans deeply, his body tensing above you as he finds his own release. You feel the hot rush of his climax inside you, a flood of warmth that fills you completely, making you feel full. His body shudders, muscles taut, as he pours himself into you, the sensation a sweet, intimate mingling of pleasure and finality.

Sylus, his breath ragged, withdrew from your body with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent understanding passing between you. He laid down beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, his hand gently caressing your sweat-slicked skin, his touch tender and possessive. He peppered kisses on your lips, cheek, forehead and neck before settling next to you.

Both of you lay across the bed, chests rising and falling in sync, the aftermath of your "struggle" leaving a lingering heat in the air. The sheets are a mess beneath you, tangled from the chaos of it all. Your limbs feel heavy, aching from exertion, but there’s still a stubborn pout on your lips as you turn your head to glare at Sylus.

“Not fair!” you huff, breath still uneven. “I should’ve known you’d pull your dirty tricks…You owe me a new pair of shorts, by the way.”

He merely chuckles, the sound deep and rich, and before you can react, he shifts, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you flush against his side. His warmth seeps into your skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing despite everything. He squeezes you playfully, pressing his face against your hair as his laughter rumbles through his body.

“I could buy you a hundred new shorts if you wanted,” he murmurs, his tone amused.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight his hold. Instead, you melt into him, letting your body relax as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. His scent is familiar now, something dark and warm, laced with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s comforting, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

For a moment, there’s peace. Just the steady rhythm of your breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the ghost of a smirk still tugging at his lips.

Then, his voice, soft but teasing.

“I definitely wouldn't mind a second or third round if it ends like this every time. What do you say?” he says, his breath hot against your ear.

Your breath catches, and you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The way his smirk deepens tells you everything you need to know.

[fordtato]

Ford's arc in the Book of Bill is literally how he overcame the trauma of the abusive ex-partner who ruined his life, and how Ford learned to not be consumed by that fear through the help of his family and IF I NEED TO BE THE ONLY ONE WRITING TUMBLR THINKPIECES ON IT, I'LL DO IT, BUT WHY AREN'T MORE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THIS?!?!?!?!?!

Bill literally lays out how he preyed on Ford's insecurities and his quirks, how he saw Ford as the perfect candidate for Bill to take full advantage of, and how Bill purposefully did what he could to convince Ford that NO ONE ELSE WOULD LOVE HIM if he got rid of Bill, that he was nothing without him.

And it's the story of how Ford overcame, how Ford shot Bill with a shotgun and spat on the ground where he stood, how Ford does everything he can to warn the reader before realizing that Bill is not an all-powerful being to be feared, but a sad pathetic man. Bill is charismatic, but he's not a god. He's just someone Ford can leave behind.

It's not even subtext, it's text. It's a story told with queer undertones, with the language of abuse built in. AND NO ONE IS TALKING ABOUT THIS?

[chrlisangels]

𝐁𝐎𝐁 𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐅

constantly following you around the tower like a lost puppy to the point the other avengers start just assuming he’s always where ever you are. (he usually is)

“is your little puppy with you? its usually the time me and him train.” bucky asks as he walks into the common room.

“why do you always assume he’s with me?!?” you practically cut yourself off mid sentence with a laugh “but no he’s not, he’s in that beanbag thingy reading that new book yelena bought him.”

bucky nods “ya know that’s really surprising right?” you cut off his laugh with a throw pillow to his face.

he’s not new to relationships, i mean he had a few back in florida but this is the first one he’s completely sober for, one he wants to last so bad cause he loves you much.

he’s such a clingy person, not in a bad way just a he wants to consume you whole being way. like cant sleep without him being in your arms or vice versa.

“bobbb” you groan as you try to push him off you to no avai, “wake up baby! we need to get up for training..” you trail off.

“be quiet and stop moving please, ya know im trying to sleep here!” bob mumbles his voice all groggy.

you let out a soft groan leaning you head back against the pillow before continuing to try to push him off (the sentry strength sucks ass when it comes to trying to get him off) “bob seriously i love you and your clingy self but we seriously need to get up before john comes in here again like last time to get us up.”

“you my pillow sweetheart and pillows don’t talk so shushh..”

loves cooking for you well he cooks for the team but he doesn’t do it because the team loves his cooking and they lowkey expect it but he does it because he knows how happy it makes you.

he totally just buys you flowers for no reason! theres this cute flower shop that’s down the block from the tower and he’s definitely a frequent customer.

“what are these flowers for this time?” the florist teases as she scans the flowers “is it cause she breathed your way? maybe she called you pretty?”

“nooo.” bob drags out while shaking his head “im getting them just because, i mean shes great so yeahh.” he says as a smile graces his lips.

“well thats certainly very sweet of you. she sure is lucky to have a guy like you in her life, you totals $15.99 by the way.” she says as she hands bob back the flowers.

bobs definitely a experienced guy i mean he was addicted to meth and due to research i’ve learned it can make you very horny so i think he takes sex very personal because i mean during his past experiences he was high, he wasn’t fully coherent to experience it as well so when things get streamy (i hate that word) between you guys hes very sweet i wouldn’t say vanilla but hes not gonna hurt you, he wont hit you, he may be a bit rough but not enough that would cause pain.

lei lei’s notes… this is inspired after lacyydollette post for s2!rafe as a bf !! um lewis pullman brainrot has taken over and i am in love with this man <3 also this got a little nsfw at the end so this is 18+ i guess

[kayharrisons]

Will you go, lassie, go? [Remmick x fem!Reader] [18+] [1 of 11]

Remmick has been drifting for a decade now, aimlessly passing from one town to the next as he hunts and feeds and fucks and-

And. And. And.

One could go mad after a while with all those ands.

Loneliness threatens to consume him, to pull him right over the brink and into insanity.

Until, that is, he hears a voice sweeter than a nightingale's and with a haunting, melodic pain that buries itself deep in his chest and takes root there.

Until, that is, he meets you.

A/N: hey guys!! My first attempt at a Sinners fic o o p I LOVED the movie sm and Remmick was just 😩 😩 Jack O'Connell the man that you are fr!! Anyway, idk if I'll write a LOT for Sinners, my brain rot is still very much Romulus focused BUT HEY have this lil two shot for now! Scottish Reader x Remmick oh no oh DEAAAAAAR!!! I'm not a native Gaelic speaker by any means (I know a couple basic words lol), so any future Gaelic sentences will be in italics! This fic is set some time in the 20s before Sinners! Next chapter will be up soon hopefully!! Apologies if there's any mistakes we rock and roll buckaroo over here ✌️

Series warnings: younger woman (19-21) x older man (literal vampire), blood, biting, sexual acts, mentions of immigration and racist/xenophobic attitudes towards Scottish and Irish communities, colonisation mentions (Ireland in Remmick's past), manipulative Remmick, naive Reader, Remmick was at one point Jack the Ripper 💀

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Time.

It's a funny thing. Especially to someone like him, to someone with this affliction.

It both passes in the blink of an eye and goes by slower than those snails that used to infest his mother's garden when he was a boy. He can't remember her face much, but he remembers how she used to rant and rave over the little creatures as they ruined vegetables and plants she'd oh so painstakingly grown.

He's had many families over the centuries. Many mothers, many brothers, sisters.

The faces blend, sometimes, when you're as old as he.

His birth mother had eyes like his, he thinks. She had his laugh.

He recalls having been told, frequently, that he takes after his father.

He wonders if that was before or after his skull was cleaved in two. He can't recall his father's face before it was split in half like a log for the fire.

Fire. Warmth.

He misses that.

Misses sitting with his brothers and sisters around the hearth as their mother hummed lullabies in their native tongue. Síthmaith had been his favourite of the bunch, his precious sister only nine when her throat had been cut to the bone.

Remmick had been the oldest of the bunch.

He'd failed them, and this, he thinks, is retribution.

He's never done well without people to care for, could never cope knowing people were sad. His mother used to smile and call him her mo mhuirnin whenever she'd catch him being kind.

The last time in his human life that he'd been kind, he had invited a sobbing stranger inside of his home, a frail woman begging for shelter against Protestant brutes, could he please help her?

The children hadn't survived the turning. They never did, according to the woman.

His mother had taken one look at her dead children and screamed an almighty roar of agony before walking out into the sunlight.

Remmick can't remember his mother's voice anymore, but he remembers that scream.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The centuries passed. He spent it learning, teaching himself.

He occupied himself with hobbies, with history, and eventually with song.

That was the one thing he'd never allowed himself to forget over the years. The act of putting pen to paper and letting pain spill out as ink, of taking the time to sit back and think of melodies, of chords and notes.

He loves to sing.

Sometimes, he can still hear his mother when he sings, can hear his siblings laughter around the fire.

There is rarely anyone around to hear him, however.

New families come and go; not everyone is suited to this way of life, a lot lack survival instinct he's found. Lovers are there for an hour or two or three, the ones that linger end up drained upon the bed, his songs still lingering in their dead ears.

Perhaps one time he'd been overzealous in Whitechapel, had earned himself a nasty moniker and had had to hastily retreat to the countryside for a few years all while the public pondered over the identity of this Ripper fellow.

Animal blood wasn't quite the same as a human's, it must be said.

It's rather like drinking tar, he's come to find. Unpleasant and thick down his throat. Only worth doing in a pinch.

He hasn't met anyone else who's even tried it.

The others he'd been with on the ship, the ones who had burnt brighter than the sun, had rolled their eyes at him for that admission.

Lions were not expected to eat plants and nothing more, so why should they?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He hasn't eaten in weeks.

He could. Easily. Easy pickings don't even begin to describe half of the people he's come across as he wanders the earth.

New York had been ripe with bodies, and he'd indulged himself more than necessary during the ten years he had spent there.

But his legs were leading him south. And who was he to go against them? Taken him this far, hadn't they?

He is curious to see the rest of the continent, to meet people, hear stories, to rebuild that which he's lost time and time again.

He can help people, like he used to, he can give them a family, can take all their petty human squabbles and differences and turn it into something good, can't he?

He hums to himself, a melody he has hazy memories of his mother singing. The words are lost to him now, taken from him by time, but he recalls the melody, at least.

Over and over, he hums, his fingers brushing over brick and stone and cold hard suburbia, before eventually his fingers run over trees and leaves and life itself.

He never did like cities much.

Remmick hums into the dimming light of the night, with no expectations of a response, an answer, of divine intervention.

He gets one anyway.

A little miracle in its own right.

"-the blooming heather, will ye go, lassie, go?"

His blood ignites in his veins just as brightly and fiery as it had the day he'd been turned into this.

If he had a pulse, he is sure it would be racing in his cold dead chest. If he could blush, he's sure the tips of his ears would be a burning red.

Your voice creeps through the trees like that of a fine mist, and it settles over him like dew on grass during a summer's morning. Refreshing, soothing, anchoring.

When was the last time he had felt anchored?

Voices, he's found, have a way of carrying stories, of harbouring emotions in a way that sometimes merely speaking doesn't even begin to encompass.

Sadness, anger, love, lust, loss-

It all sounded beautiful, in song.

Your voice reaches out like that of a beautiful plant, wraps around his soul like vines in the forest, takes root upon his very being like that of the strongest of trees.

Nature personified.

His pace quickens, the damp grass and dirt cliging to his bare feet, his hair sticking to his forehead.

He only wishes he was more presentable for you. Remmick is far from vain, but he's certain he's about to waltz into the den of perfection, an alter of beauty that would put Aphrodite herself to shame.

And he finds it.

Your back is to him, your hair is down loose around your shoulders. Your blouse is a few sizes too big and clings to your shoulders, your waist cinched by your skirt. You sway softly, like that of a flower in the breeze. Your fingers move effortlessly over the strings of your guitar, your voice having lowered to that of an airy hum.

He damn near almost collapses at the sight before him. Of such beauty here before him, untouched by the world outside of this forest. He's not a religious man, hasn't been in centuries, but Remmick is struck by the urge to collapse by your feet and cling to your skirts as if you were a Saint of utmost divinity, one he would swear his life and soul to.

Such natural, effortless beauty, and he hasn't even seen your face yet. Persephone can weep for all he cares.

A branch snaps beneath his feet, and your hair whips your face as you whirl around to face him.

Oh.

Oh.

Remmick staggers back a step, unusual for someone with supernatural grace on their side.

You're more radiant than a sunrise on a winter's day, more beautiful than poetry itself.

He could weep in your presence.

"Can I help you, sir?" you ask, pausing your guitar strumming and setting the instrument aside, leaning it against the tree beside you.

Your accent isn't from here. Scottish, the highlands, he thinks. He smiles at the sound, at the knowledge that he won't have to use that goddamn ridiculous Yank accent that helps him blend in.

"Aye, lass'," he nods, hands in his pockets as he steps closer. You watch him with a furrowed brow, with complete and utter confusion across your radiant face.

He stops short of you, leaning back against a tree, crossing his legs at the ankles as he studies you.

His eyes...

You straighten a hairs breadth, the same way one does when they spy a wolf in the distance, when you know a predator is watching you.

Remmick merely hums, unbothered at your reaction, even as his eyes gleam unnaturally in the darkness of the night.

"You can help me somethin' fierce, darlin'."

You smile, a touch uncertainly, your head cocked as you patiently wait for him to explain whatever it is he needs help with.

Remmick can only smile.