#bert x reader

[charliedawn]

What If You Get Jealous?

Sinners Vampires X Unhinged!Reader

Remmick

Remmick didn’t think much about it. He just talked to that human so they could get directions. He was gonna get rid of them anyway.

But then…he found you—smashing the human’s head to a pulp.

At first, he’s stunned. Eyes glowing faintly crimson in the low light as he watches you slam the blunt end of a chair leg into the poor person’s skull—again, and again, until the sound is more wet squelching than impact. His eyes follow the streaks of blood on your legs and arms as they slowly gather into the red pool beneath your feet. When you stop though, panting, covered in flecks of red, his head tilts slightly. A faint smile curls at his lips.

Then…he laughs.

A deep, rich sound that rolls out of his chest and fills the space between you.

“Ah…mo chuisle…ye were jealous, weren’t ye?”

His boots crunch on bone fragments as he reaches you. One large, cool hand cups your blood-smeared face, thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. It brushes a splatter of crimson off.

“Look at ye. All covered in red. Panting like an animal. Me beautiful savage.”

His crimson eyes flare as his fangs extend. He’s so damn proud he’s practically glowing. He dips his head, whispering against your ear:

“Next time? Call me over. We’ll kill ‘em together.”

You shiver…But your smile matches his. He then proceeds to lick every single drop of blood off you. Remmick is a dangerous twisted creature—opposites attract is not always true.

Stack

Stack’s hat falls off. Literally. He’d been leaning against a doorway watching, a cigarette dangling from his lips. It drops when you bring the pipe down with a sickening crack.

“Holy shit, baby…”

For a second, he’s frozen—half horrified, half turned on. But when you smirk at him, blood-streaked and triumphant, he grins like a wolf.

“Well, damn…That was hotter than a Georgia summer.”

He saunters over, his tall frame shadowing you as he reaches out. Two long fingers catch your chin, tilting your bloodied face up to meet his gaze.

“C’mere, sugar. Lemme clean that pretty face up.”

He presses a kiss to your lips without hesitation, tasting copper and grinning against your mouth. His hands find your hips as he leans in close.

“Ain’t never been anyone else for me. You really think I’d trade you for them? Hell to the no!”

But later? He brags about it. To EVERYONE.

“Yeah, my baby went full Carrie on some poor bitch. Damn near the sexiest thing I ever seen.”

He winks at you and you smirk. You might be human—but only in name. As far as the pack is concerned? You are as much a member of the family as they are.

Mary

By the time she rounds the corner, there’s already a growing pool of blood beneath your feet. The poor bastard who’d been hanging off Mary earlier—laughing too loud, leaning in too close—now lay motionless, head caved in like a rotten melon. You’re standing over him, chest heaving, your weapon slick with gore. A slow, dangerous smirk spreads across your face as your eyes meet hers.

For a beat, Mary doesn’t say a word. She just stares. Her fangs press into her bottom lip as she watches you—shoulders tight, hands shaking, looking so damn proud of yourself for what you just did.

Then she exhales a long, shaky breath and lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Well…ain’t ya just the prettiest sight I ever did see?”

She steps closer—slow, deliberate, heels clicking on the sticky floor. There’s no fear in her eyes, only hunger and heat and something feral she’s never let you see before.

You tilt your head, smirk widening as you let the bloodied weapon clatter to the floor. “He touched ya—with his dirty hands.”

Mary’s grin flashes sharp and wide. “Damn right he did. And you—God, sugar—you didn’t just tell him. You made sure he’ll never forget.”

She’s in front of you now, cupping your face in her blood-slick hands like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world. Her thumbs smear streaks of red across your cheeks as her voice drops to a low, trembling whisper. “You love me that much? So much you’d break someone apart over it?”

Your smirk softens just enough to show her—yes. Mary lets out a shaky laugh that catches on a sob, then leans in, pressing her forehead against yours.

“Sweetheart…Ya don’t ever gotta fight for me. But God help me—I’ve never felt so loved.” She kisses you hard, tasting the copper on your lips and groaning into your mouth. When she pulls back, her fangs are down, her pupils blown wide with hunger and something else. “You know jealousy looks real fine on ya, sugar. Like a wild lil’ thing protectin’ their woman.”

She presses her nose into your neck, inhaling deep. “Next time? Don’t ya dare lift a finger. You let me do the dirty work. But tonight…oh, tonight I’m gonna show you just how much I adore my wild lil’ thing.”

Mary doesn’t care about the blood, the mess, or the still-warm body at your feet. She kisses you again, slower this time—hands in your hair, her body pressed flush against yours like she’s trying to merge your souls.

“Mine. To the moon and back, baby. Mine.”

Bo

Bo didn’t flinch once during the whole thing. He watched, dark eyes glittering with something unreadable, arms crossed as your work turned the floor into a crimson canvas.

When you’re done, and you lift your chin with that little victorious smirk?

Oh. He’s smirking too.

“Well, I’ll be damned…I knew there was a wild thing in there somewhere.”

He strolls over, his boots clicking softly. You feel his hand on your chin, tilting your head as if inspecting his prize.

“Jealousy looks good on ya, darlin’. Real good.” Bo leans in close, brushing his lips over yours without fully kissing you. “You wanna remind me I’m yours? Baby, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble. I already know.”

But he grins wider, voice dropping lower.

“Still…I can’t lie. I loved every second of that lil’ show.”

He then helps you get rid of the body. He has had plenty of experience with that. But after that night, he knows better than to make you jealous.

Annie

Annie gasps when she first sees you hit them. She presses her hands to her mouth, her big dark eyes full of shock. But there’s no scream. No rush to stop you. By the time you’re finished, she’s flushed and trembling—not with fear, but with an emotion she doesn’t know how to name. She steps toward you carefully.

“Oh, sugar…what did you do?”

Her voice wavers with concern and awe. She cups your face in both hands despite the blood, her thumbs brushing streaks from your cheeks.

“Were you scared I’d leave ya? Sweetheart, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” Annie pulls you into her arms, hugging you tightly. “You’ve got me. All of me. Always.”

She helps wipe your hands clean, kisses your forehead softly, and hugs you tight despite the gore.

“Promise me next time you’ll talk to me first, okay? I don’t wanna lose you…”

But deep down? Annie loves how far you’d go for her. She won’t admit how hot it was—at least not right away. But she loves knowing that you’d go to such extent to protect her.

Cornbread

Cornbread bellows a laugh loud enough to shake the walls when he sees you covered in blood.

“WELL, SHIIII—BABY! I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD THAT IN YA!” He claps his hands once like it’s the funniest, sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Then he stomps over, grabbing you by the waist and swinging you around in his big arms. “God DAMN, you’re somethin’ else, beautiful. Bashin’ heads in over lil’ ol’ me? I’m lovin’ it, darlin’.”

He peppers kisses across your cheek, your forehead, your nose, chuckling the whole time.

“Ain’t no one takin’ me from ya, sugar. Hell, am not leavin’ this fine piece of ass for nothin’ and no one! Ya know what? I’d get jealous too if anyone even tries lookin’ at what’s mine too hard.”

Bert

The sound of wet crunching was the first thing Bert noticed when he came stumbling out of the bar. He’d left you alone for five minutes—five damn minutes…Bert stops dead in his tracks as he watches you bash the poor soul’s brains out. His jaw hangs slightly open, his eyes bulging out in pure shock. But the second you smirk at him, dripping in red and looking all pleased with yourself, something changes in his gaze.

“Oh…baby.”

He’s on you in a flash—pinning you against the wall and kissing you hard enough to bruise.

“You’re out here defendin’ my honor like a goddamn angel of vengeance. “Baby…Goddamn…I’m so fuckin’ turned on right now it ain’t even funny. I don’t deserve you.” He rests his forehead on yours, fingers digging into your hips. “But I’m so damn greatful you’re mine.”

He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, then nips at your ear with his fangs.

“C’mon. Let’s go home. I wanna clean ya up proper…or maybe get ya dirtier first. Either way, I’m gonna show ya just how much I appreciate my scary lil’ sweetheart.”

Joan

Joan had been watching from across the room, her expression unreadable as you tore into the poor fool who thought they could touch what’s yours. When it’s done, she doesn’t move immediately—just blinks slowly like she’s processing it.

Then she grins. Wide. Dangerous. Her fangs gleam in the low light.

“Darlin’…Ya jealous? That’s adorable.”

She walks over, her boots clicking on the tile, and brushes her fingers across your blood-stained cheek.

“Y’know, I don’t much like sharin’. So it’s good to see you don’t either.” Joan leans in, whispering against your ear with a low, teasing laugh. “Next time? Save a lil’ for me. I like playin’ with my food.”

She kisses you sweetly, then licks a drop of blood from your lip.

“God, I love ya. You’re even more dangerous than I am.”

[eatingtitanfood]

Is there a fic where (Y/n) and Bert cuddle while sleeping but (Y/n) finds out her bf has the most oddest sleeping positions and now tangled up with her bf

Like for me if I wrote that (Y/n) be having so much running through her mind and if she wonders if her and Bert ever gonna get to school 😭

[chicaboom-chic]

THIS IS THE SHIT IM TALKING ABOUT

Joan and Bert “My beloved vampires” Need I say more about this post?

They were literal racist klan members. They were not “slapped upside till they understood equality.” They were under remmick’s control. He forcibly made them “unracist.” Just like he made stack and Mary attack their loved ones; something that they would never do.

joan and Bert made no efforts to change their racist ideals before Remmick took control of them, and I bet if they had survived the night and gained consciousness once again they still would have been racist.

Also, let’s talk about how you make them these uwu people instead of the idiot racists they are.

[APPARENTLY THIS PERSON IS BLACK WTF]

[sweetlyychuu]

Im tired of it (sinners rant)

Yall ass always find some way to be in black people SHITTTTT. You botched body ass bitches (yk who u are) can’t ever leave our fucking community alone for a second I swear. How tf we go from appreciating the message the movie holds for black history to obsessing over remmicks basic ass?? Not only that , you guys with y’all weird ass fetish y’all have for gay men started shipping male characters when that’s not even the point of movie like at all? And y’all might think “ damn she’s overreacting” . But I’m not though, I’m genuinely tired of the bullshit. You guys would never know how it feels to finally get something that depicts your culture in such a beautiful but heart wrenching way only for ppl outside of your culture to turn it into some yaoi and completely forgetting the black main characters. This is why I’m genuinely starting to believe in gatekeeping our culture cuz when it does get shared stuff like this happens. Obsessing over klan members in the moves then creating fics where the reader is the daughter of a plantation owner is insane. You guys don’t realize how irritating it is until y’all start getting hate then now of a sudden your using the excuse of being interesting in black culture and being a victim. #FUCKYALL

[stilessp]

don’t play with me princess

zach justice x fem!reader

warnings • smutty smut smut, zach : daddy, kissing, use of yn, pet names, oral sex, flirting, angst, jealous zach, swearing , 18+

summary: you went on dropouts after being friends for years and him begging you for ages to come the podcast , you finally give in and things kick off.

*Do not copy my work*

*zach has his own place in this*

you were messaging zach all last night about the podcast, what time to come etc he was being so sweet telling you he’s gunna be with you the whole time but knowing zach he will probably bully you for it tomorrow on the podcast “i’ll be fine” you mumbled before dozing off to sleep.

you wake up at 11:06 to zach phoning you making sure your awake as you always sleep in, unfortunately you had just woke up and had an hour to get ready and leave as you had to be there for 12:30 and it takes 20 minutes to get there “yea you just woke me up” you say rolling out of bed “good can’t have my star guest not come” he says, you hang up the phone starting to get ready doing a natural look as you didn’t have time nor effort to do a glam look, once you finished your makeup you chose your outfit then left.

you got there about 5 minutes before the pod started saying hi to everyone “omg yn” alyssa shouts across the room running towards you engulfing you in a big hug “alyssa ahh i missed you so much” you say with a massive smile “alright alyssa she’s mine calm down” zach says appearing around the corner with a smug little smirk on his face “oh shut up zach” turning around to face alyssa again and walking into the studio.

“hello welcome or welcome back to dropouts today we have an extra special guest, my girlfriend yn y/l/n” looking at u in shock “oh you wish” looking at the mic “i do i really do, so yn” your quick to answer as your nervous as what hes gunna say “yes zach” already dreading the question “how have you been” relieved with this you start to smile “yea it’s been great honestly i’ve started my own clothing line and makeup and it’s going great!” smiling knowing how far you’ve come “wow that’s great! any boys recently ?” jared says adding to the convo “oh jared you know” you say winking at him before you both start bursting into laughter, you look over at zach and he looks like he’s burning a hole into your brain, he looks mad ? you chime in “no guys i’m jk don’t clip that” you say with a nervous laugh zach still does not look impressed until he spits out “oh yn you wouldn’t even kiss jared on the cheek never mind do the devils tango with him” smirking you reply “oh and how would you know that” he stares at you for a second “okay guys if your not subscribed to the patreon you get a 7 day free trial, you get extra bits from these podcasts also you get them earlier plus extra videos like the drunk episodes when we get me and some other people drunk and try spill some secrets” you just look at him unimpressed as he carries on.

by now your on the subject of sex and relationships jared talking about this girl he is going out with tonight and how he would love to have something with her as theyd been speaking for months “yea jared i think you just gotta go for it, no woman wants a man who takes their time, and they don’t want to beg for it either ” you say giving him a woman’s perspective “oh yn you were begging for it last night” zach says smirking earning an oh and oh shit from jared and alyssa you just completely gobsmacked on what this man just said to you “oh please like i would go to you for that your probably not even as good as you make out zach, actually alyssa can you relate to this a man always says he knows what he’s doing yet he can’t get it in the right hole” jared and alyssa start laughing hesring a very quiet yes from alyssa as zach says “oh trust me i know what i’m doing” you didn’t look impressed “hm ye still don’t believe it sorry zach” he’d had enough at this point he wanted to throw you over his shoulder, take you upstairs and prove it while you were screaming out his name “don’t play with me princess”, jared just gasped and alyssa just started laughing you however just turned over and said “of course i’m gunna mess with you other wise your gunna wind me up so” looking over at him letting your eyes drop for a mere second you saw him readjusting himself seeing a massive bulge in his pants looking up with him smirking at you.

alyssa and jared start having a conversation about something i’m not sure what i was zoned out thinking about what zach said and his bulge until you were pulled out by zach coming closer to you wanting to whisper something “i’m gunna fuck you so hard after this your not gunna be able to even speak and say i didn’t know what u was doing, you understand me gorgeous?” you nod while backing away just smiling jared and alyssa obviously caught on “um guys what you saying over there” knowing you were caught until zach chimes in “oh i was just asking yn about something i heard about her clothing line and it’s true but not able to say sorry. it’s a secret” you sigh knowing zach just saved your ass and his.

after 1 hour of you and zachs glances you started you flirt with jared to get a reaction out of zach, must say he contained himself pretty well until the pod finished you said your goodbyes to jared and alyssa claiming you were gunna hang out with zach for a while as you haven’t seen eachother in months they believed it obviously as it is true you did miss him but you needed him now, as soon as they walked out that door you said “so you gunna prove it to me or what?” walking over to him looking up batting your eye lashes without a word he smashes his lips into yours quietly letting out little moans and gasps as he picks you up taking you to his room he throws you on the bed hovering over you “hm you look so good today” moaning while he’s kissing your neck “you too baby, wanted to have my way with you since i first met you” you moan against his touch not knowing this as you thought you guys were just friends with the occasional flirt “take your clothes off princess wanna see you” he says throwing his shirt some where across the room, after hearing those words you have never done something quicker you were lying there naked while zack still had his jeans on he slowly started kissing down your stomach reaching down to your bare dripping pussy “this wet already baby? hm someone’s needy” saying with a grin before you could answer he dived into your pussy sucking your clit making you scream out in pleasure “hm zach more baby please” he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you sucking and licking your clit, you could hear his tiny little moans and the vibrations coming off, “could jared eat your pretty pussy like this baby?” he says hint of jealousy in his voice you shake your head unable to focus “words princess” he says picking up his pace “no! daddy you do it better than anybody” you say about to come until he stops what he’s doing and looks up at you “what did you just call me?” you now are very embarrassed yet the words come out you couldn’t stop it “d-daddy” he smiles looking at you “fuck princess i cannot do this i need to be in you” you sigh then spreading your legs for him as he unbuckles his belt letting the cold air hit your core “fuck gorgeous such a good girl for daddy” he says slipping into you, he’s massive so much bigger than you thought “fuck daddy your huge” that just gives him a boost and he starts picking up the pace, “oh baby you don’t how long i’ve wanted to do this” he says moaning in your ear “me too daddy needed your cock for so long hmm” screaming without a care who heard you “your mine princess” you moan at the words nesrly making you cum alone “all yours daddy” you say trying to fight for breathe “what princess didn’t quite hear you?” ramming into harder and deeper “i’m yours daddy all yours!!” shouting even louder before he utters “good girl” as his thrusts get sloppy “where do you want me beautiful” without even thinking you say “in me daddy i’m on the pill” he does a couple more thrusts before you both are cumming the hardest you ever have, nobody has ever made you feel this way and you loved it, he pulls out of you now all cocky “that prove it to you huh” saying all confident “wasn’t even that good” you say smirking “hm i wish i could believe that but your moans and words say different gorgeous” he says before getting something to clean you both up.

as you were laying there he says “i meant it you know” you look up at him confused “your mine now, not letting you go” you just kiss him as you fall asleep tangled up together.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I hope you enjoyed leave me things to write in my inbox 🤍🦭🌟

[shoujo-wizard]

can we fic writers agree to use a common tag on our fics for cloudward ho? so tht it's easier for ppl to find fanfic just for this campaign rather than rummage through & guess at what tags to filter, I've seen one already in use but bc it isnt established as the overall tag to use a person is gonna miss out on a lot of fic written for this campaign & I don't think that's fair to anyone: not to the reader who wants to find fic for this campaign & definitely not to the writers who bless us w their creations & deserve to have ppl finding & reading & reacting & commenting on their hard work... here's a screenshot of the tag I've been seeing ppl use & have been personally following/filtering for & think we should use

IMPORTANT EDIT: it is not too late, writers who've already published cloudward ho fic, to go back into ao3 & edit the tags to include the above👍🏻

[eternalstrigoii]

You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

Remmick x F! Reader x Joan x Bert Fluff-adjacent? Vampire-kissing bisexuality with no real plot.

You rolled up to the street fair on your bicycle. You weren't supposed to go. It was late, and you'd had work; you'd passed through when the sun was still high in the sky and the vendors were freshly assembled. You knew it would be back tomorrow. That you should go tomorrow, instead, but you hadn't. The sun was a gilt orange streak in a watercolor sky. Globe lights cast a welcome warmth over the throngs of party-goers, and you were just gonna stop real quick. Just for dinner. Nobody wanted to cook on a Friday, least of all after work. But they were playing good music in the big, white tent. It had been a long time since you let music get to you. Music made people honest, and, shit, you weren't ready to be honest with yourself again. You wandered a little up and down the repurposed road. Didn't look at anything beyond the edible offerings -- not yet. Didn't have the money; didn't have the time. There was only supposed to be an hour left when you'd left work, so you foot-tapped to the band while a woman about your mother's age made you a burger over hot coals that you devoured a little too quickly. They were playing songs you knew. Songs you sang in the bath this morning. Your friend's house had just gone onto market almost nine months to the day after she died. (She wasn't the nice old woman she pretended to be, and you resented that when she was alive. But she used to ask you to go dancing. Don't you ever have fun?

No, you'd said, and you'd tried to sound like you hadn't meant it.)

Music made people honest, and, tonight, you were being honest with yourself.

It took you a minute to get closer to the stage. To work your way from parking your bike at the sidelines to lingering on the fringes. A girl you knew from school all those years ago was dancing with her parents. She was engaged, now; led a damn successful life in your eyes. A beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a floral dress kept smiling over, inviting you to join the group of dancers in front of the stage.

You didn't even notice them, at first.

Card tables dotted the occupied street, docked with folding chairs. They weren't out of place at one, but there was still something about them that drew your eyes. Maybe it was her, her knowing smile a familiar twist upon scarlet lips. Maybe it was the man whose knee she sat upon; he looked at her like the sun rose and set because of her, like the thunder of the music was all her doing. Maybe it was him. The one alone. The way he looked at you, as if he had never laid eyes upon so divine a splendor.

You smiled to yourself as you looked away. The bright, brassy horns had you swaying. If you'd had a place to lock your bike, maybe you would’ve gone closer. You had to keep an eye on the small things left in your basket, didn't you?

They didn’t say a word to one another. She just stood, taking her man’s hand in one of hers, and led him through the narrow pathway between tables to where everyone gathered to dance to a song you’d never heard.

You’d decided that you liked it before they ever reached you. Their friend hadn’t gotten up, yet; he watched them make a bee-line for you, her hand outstretched to take one of yours. She had two, after all. One to hold on to her man, and one to welcome you.

Oh, hell, you had your money on you. You could be brave for a couple minutes.

You shifted away from the poorly managed park tree you’d been standing under in order to take her hand – and, almost automatically, offer your own to her man.

He caught it as tenderly as he held hers. Brought your knuckles to his lips. You liked the way it felt – the kiss for a greeting and the still-rough callouses that told you he was good with his hands. Some evil little part of you wanted to file that away for later, like it was something you should come back to. Like there was gonna be an after.

Maybe there was. They sure were pretty enough.

You stepped off the curb and practically into her arms. She was just a little taller than you, and the way her eyes caught the light reminded you of the way fireflies danced at midsummer. That close, you had to blink to try to corral your thoughts – pretty didn’t cut it. Not face to face.

“Come dance with us, sugar.” Her thumb traced your knuckles on the opposite hand. “We’ll let’cha go when you’re ready.”

You let them both guide you into the throng, maybe intentionally avoiding the part of you that knew you weren’t ever gonna be ready to leave.

You knew the next song. So did they. Steps morphed into swaying, and then into dancing, as easily as the music carried you. Her man used your interlaced hands for an excuse to loop his arm over your head, to guide your body in between theirs. You gave yourself over to how it felt to be against another person, your head tipping back against his chest as you ran your thumb over her gold wedding band.

His teeth looked sharp when he smiled down at you. Oh, if your feet weren’t occupied, it would’ve curled your toes.

Remmick got up while you were dancing, finally leaving the fringes for the refuge of the party. He liked the way your voice lilted when you sang back to them. It fit into their harmony. He stood nearby just a little longer, perpetually waiting. Perpetually hopeful that, despite the lack of liquor in your system and knowing that you had not meant to stay, that you would. That you might linger, still, after the band was done.

The song ended. The band took a minute to absorb cheers – including the rowdy white boy whoo! from over your head that made your laughter sound like bells against it. You had to let go of one another to clap for them.

You looked back toward the card tables when you did. But you didn’t see him.

Remmick avoided acknowledging the pleasure he derived from your momentary disappointment. He wasn’t ready to break the seal, to let himself have that temporary freedom you, and they, were already reveling in.

Not when another song started and Joan’s sweet-cream laughter bubbled into the still-warm night. They sounded different when he wasn’t holding them back. Everyone did.

It was easy to dance like you were the only two people in the room when she had a hand on your waist. When dancing with her became dancing with him, and you had to laugh at your newfound ability to avoid stepping on his toes by staying light and bouncy on your own. You twirled back around to her, your arm draped around her shoulders. Her skirt fanned out around both of your legs as you roped her into the spin.

You weren’t thinking. Granted, you’d made a point of it thus far, but you really weren’t thinking when you were that close, and she was that beautiful, and her red lips were parted in the most ecstatic smile you’d ever seen.

You kissed her. If you didn’t do it then, you never would. You kissed her in front of her husband, in front of who knew how many strangers in however many degrees of sobriety, and you couldn’t even blame anything but yourself. You kissed her, and she sighed against your lips like she’d been waiting for you to do it all night, and the whole world let out its breath. Because she kissed you back. Because her hand stayed at your waist to keep you close to her while she did, and her fingers pressed ever so tenderly into the baby hair at the back of your neck, and the part of you that should’ve been asking questions and voicing doubts had gone completely silent.

She kissed you the way love builds, letting you have the lead until she was ready to take it from you. Until you remembered, with a quiet hitch of your breath and the sudden jerk of your head upward at the hands that settled on your waist – one over hers, their wedding bands overlapping – that you weren’t, in fact, alone.

“Don’t quit on accoun’a me,” he drawled, so low and inviting that what was left of your good sense dropped right out of reach. He moved in when your wide eyes and parted lips uttered no objections, and you found yourself straightening to meet him. Kissing him was deeper, somehow; his teeth were as sharp as they looked, and you couldn’t help but run your tongue along them as he drew your back against his chest. If she kissed you like how it felt to fall in love, then he kissed you the way it felt to be wanted – so hot it was heavy, so slow that the taste of him, whiskey smooth, lingered in your mouth afterward. Her fingers trailed sweetly down the front of your throat while you kissed him, and your insides came alight the way a spark starts a wildfire. Her stroking thumb became a kiss along your pulse. Another, a little lower. Again just above your collarbone.

He withdrew slowly. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his. It might’ve been the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

“You wanna see them out, baby?” he asked. Maybe you, maybe her, maybe both of you. “Or you wanna head out before they’re done?”

You didn’t have the words to answer. You didn’t have the words for much of anything. Your eyes dropped from him to her, and that darling, doe-eyed look made her smile as she brushed her lipstick and his spit into your lower lip with her thumb.

Your insides quivered.

“Couple more songs won’t hurt.” She sounded satisfied with the way your breath trembled against her skin. She withdrew her red-stained thumb and, almost like your eyes weren’t locked on her, popped it into her mouth to taste you both.

You could’ve swooned. Might’ve, a little. His hands never strayed from your waist, though his low, warm laughter sounded an awful lot like agreement.

“I’m Joan, by the way. This’s Bert. Remmick’s around here somewhere.” She reminded you of their third so casually that you couldn’t restrain the urge to look for him again – at the packed card tables, first. Then along the tree-lined fringes. You could feel the guitar in your chest, all of a sudden, and the thrum of it felt like celestial relief when you finally met his eyes.

He smiled. Raised a hand to wave like they weren’t both just kissing you for anyone in the world to see.

And you, you dumbass, you waved back.

At least they didn’t laugh. Even if they smiled at one another like you couldn’t see them in your periphery.

He moved more easily through the crowd than you’d imagined. He was a lot better built than you realized, up close. The warm light made his eyes shine. They were beautiful. He was beautiful, and you might’ve been the luckiest person in the world for bein’ the one he looked at like he did.

“Can I cut in?” he called over the song. He extended his hand to you, not that there was much in the way of room to do so.

 “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you can!” You gave him your hand.

Maybe some part of you expected to dance with him the way you danced with them, but, no – his eyes softened when he touched you. He drew you close like you were old lovers in a polished dance hall, his free hand coming to settle at your lower back. Yours rose instinctively to rest on his thick bicep. (You had to stop yourself from flexing your fingers around it – dear lord, had Aphrodite ever made a man, it would’ve been this one.)

“I hope you don’t mind,” his accent seemed to shift with his steps – a little southern here, a little foreign there – “I know you were havin’ fun.”

“I’m havin’ fun now,” you admitted. “I don’t usually do things like this.”

“Dance with strangers?” he asked, like he hadn’t seen you kiss both halves of a married couple. His married couple friends, no doubt.

“Any of it.”

No, the kind of dancing you did had no rhythm or time with the music. Being in his arms was being in another world. He danced with you like there was no one else on the street.

“This might sound sad, but this is the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.” You always understood why people did things they shouldn’t do, but never quite like this. The rush of it was supposed to feel good, it wasn’t supposed to feel clean. Honest.

He gave you a close little twirl, like he couldn’t dare let you get far. He might’ve been thinking of what to say to you so it didn’t sound like he was put off by that. Maybe he was. Maybe he was put off by all of it and that was why it took him so long to join the three of you.

You draped an arm over his broad shoulders. Brought his finely muscled chest closer to yours. There was a flicker of surprise in his face that he had a hard time keeping hidden.

“I’m not like this usually. I think a lot. About everything. Maybe too much.” You usually articulated yourself better, too. “I just wanted to let go for one night, you know? Not even a night, an hour. I just got off work, and life’s been hitting below the belt, and I’m just…”

He knew. That was the kind of person who gravitated to him, in the end. The ones he gravitated toward. People called it a radar, nowadays, didn’t they? Birds of a feather and everything associated.

“Doubt you wanna hear me preach about the ails of society on a night like this,” he teased.

You laughed, but gods did it feel nice to hear someone else say it. To know, just for one night, that you weren’t alone.

“Not tonight,” you admitted. “But maybe some other.”

Remmick looked at you like he didn’t understand, at first. You weren’t quite sure how to interpret that. You were worried, all of a sudden, that the look on his face was not one of surprise that you were asking him to see you again, but that you would ask him to see you again. And maybe it was the borderline self-destructive urge to do something with your life before you completely lost control of it rearing its ugly head, maybe it was the candied taste of Joan’s lipstick on your mouth reminding you of your ability to do brave and brazen things even when you felt insignificant, but you leaned in one more time, and you hoped to whatever god might hear you that he didn’t think that being kissed meant less because you’d already kissed someone else.

He didn’t.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. The one that had been at your lower back while you danced stayed there. The other came up to cup your face. He started kissing you back, then, as the wonderful callouses on his fingers brushed over your skin.

Turns out you liked kissing him. You liked the way his touch shifted from tenderly exploratory to settling at your jaw with his fingers splayed around your earlobe. You liked the pressure of his mouth and how it steadily increased; the way his lips parted against yours just enough for your teeth to catch on his lower lip. You sure liked the sound he made when they did.

Some part of you noticed the off things. You could feel your heart drumming on your ribcage, but not his, not even with him this close to you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t felt it from Joan or Bert, either. Maybe you just weren’t paying close enough attention. Maybe there was nothin’ off about the consistency of his spit when he slipped you tongue – it was viscous, like plasma. Like a big dog’s post-drink drool. And it tasted raw.

Didn’t stop you from letting him draw as close as your covered bodies would allow. He tipped your head back a little, his fingers knotting in the fabric of your shirt like he wanted something he didn’t have the words to ask for.

Your hands ran down his arms, praising and appreciating at the same time. You would’ve kept going if he didn’t pull back just a bit to let you breathe – to let the sweet night air whisper for you to gather your senses.

“Alright, everyone, there’s two songs left. Let’s give it up for the band,” the lead singer called, and you could hear them cheering, still close to you.

“I’m not ready for this to be over,” you told him. You weren’t ready to hop back on your bike and ride home. Pretend that you hadn’t eaten until your mother went back to bed and you could sit around without making yourself something else. You didn’t want this magic to fade.

“Doesn’t have to,” he replied. Each section of the band took their turns getting cheers – the horns, the drums, the guitar.

“You wanna come home with me tonight?” You shouldn’t offer, but you shouldn’t have done a lotta things. That was the problem with breaking seals, you could never get them back on again.

He searched your face like he was looking for something in those words. Some insincerity, maybe. The idea that it wasn’t him you were inviting home. Or that you weren’t inviting him home at all – that, somehow, in the flicker of a second, you’d changed your mind.

“I’d like you all to come back with me, if you’d like. If you don’t have somewhere else to be.”

Joan leaned back so you could see her all wrapped up in her husband’s arms. “We’d love to.” The look she gave Remmick was a little pointed, a little more on the loving side of chastising than you should’ve been familiar with.

“Let’s let ‘em play us out.” You shouldn’t be making that decision for everyone, but, “You owe me a couple more dances.”

He had that look on his face again, like you were the most divine of splendors. Like there was something about you that he simply couldn’t put into words. Maybe into song, if he was lucky. Maybe one day.

Half the town knew you got home safe, that night. Between you and Joan climbing on your bicycle together to try to outrun your boys to the clamor of your voices as the four of you walked along singing. At least you were in harmony. At least, at last, you were finally having fun.

© eternalstrigoii 2025, no part of this shall be fed into AI devices or reproduced without author's permission. Thank you! dividers by me, saradika-graphics and kaitsawamura edit: Because so many people have asked / II

[480pfootage]

Reiner's here to wish everyone a happy valentines

[cryptidvillage]

Bullying Remmick Series, Part 2:

The Not Good, Very Bad Blind Date

Author’s note: People seemed to really like the first one I put out, so I’m delivering another one and I want to make a series out of bullying Remmick. Except this time, I poured more love into something via my laptop and Microsoft Word versus just pulling it out of my ass on my phone's notes app on a whim. We all need our regular dose of making fun of a 1300 year old Irish vampire who doesn’t have a lick of sense. This is a modern setting, and it reflects some of my personal experiences in the dating realm. I hope that I was able to make Remmick as cringe and embarrassing as possible. Happy reading!

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Dating in general nowadays was an all-out horror movie. The route that most young people seemed to resort to when seeking out a potential mate was online, but that can be ripe with dangers of all shapes and sizes. Tinder houses cheaters, catfishers, potential serial killers, and the like. Hinge? A cesspool for men who were pseudoliberal bags of dicks that make themselves sound like promising feminists, but turn out to be raging lovebombers who "aren't ready for commitment." When it came to women, you often found that maybe you'd get a reply once or twice, or even get as far as to making plans, only to never hear from them again, as though they were ghosts lost at sea. It hurt your heart. And everyone seemed too afraid to approach in person. Must be something in the water, you thought.

You had taken a vow to lay off of dating for a while. There certainly isn't anything wrong with pouring love and care into yourself. Besides, you only seemed to pile other peoples' dating horror stories on top of your own. Life was so much more peaceful when you didn't center yourself around finding a potential partner. The event that made you swear off dating for an extended period of time was when you had a man come over for a second date. Bad mistake on your part, you admitted to yourself. He took far longer than he said he would, even though he was only fifteen minutes away (how the hell does a fifteen minute commute turn into nearly two hours, you would never understand), and when he finally arrived, it was then he revealed to you that he had pinkeye. "I still worked today at my restaurant job," he told you. You then told his ass to turn right back around. The ick from the encounter was impeccable and it was nearly enough for you to become a nun. You still shuddered even thinking about it.

Lately, though, you had been warming up to the idea of putting yourself out there again. Maybe it was all the cheesy romance novels you had been reading, or movies, or seeing your friends with their significant others. You felt the pull of want, of exploring the dating world once more and feeling out your options. Humans are social creatures. You were still young and vibrant. The world was still your oyster yet. Part of your standards were that you'd make more of an effort to seek out partners organically. Although possible, it was rare to find a good mate through online dating. As previously mentioned, dating sites were...highly questionable at best. You didn't want another incident of The Pinkeye Guy.

You heard from many a source that most people met their mates through friends, school, or work. You chose the first option: Stack and Mary had been together for quite some time. You had described to them your woes of wanting to get out into the dating scene again. "Oh, we know a guy," Mary said with a sly grin while her gaze slid over to her partner. "His name's Remmick, and he's like us. A night owl. And he’s a little bit of a lonely guy, but he makes for some sure interestin' company," Stack affirmed.

Given that your pair of friends were of the nightowl variety themselves, and had some peculiar habits, you figured they knew some eccentric folks. Despite your better judgement, you agreed. Sometimes, “interesting” wasn’t all too bad, if done in the right spirit. And you couldn’t be too judgmental for Stack having described his friend as “lonely,” as that would have been hypocritical on your part. You just hoped this guy they mentioned, for the sake of your sanity, wasn't...too interesting. That’s how you got freaks (derogatory) and serial killers. If you were in The Good Timeline, you would have consulted a more mature couple like Smoke and Annie first. They would never have set you up with the specimen known as "Remmick." Hell, they probably would have made sure you never came into near proximity of the man. Maybe they'd have gotten you a restraining order before you had the chance to even meet him. But, as fate would have it, it was not how things would play out.

Mary had given you this man’s contact information, while Stack set up the time and location of the date: a dive bar downtown called The Crossroads, Friday, at 8PM sharp. The only way to contact this man was through email: Yahoo. Only being available via an older email seemed to be the mark of an unhinged college English professor, but maybe, this man just wanted to be overall unreachable. You couldn’t find him on social media, for one, through your mutual friends’ profiles (side bar: Stack and Mary were arguably very attractive people, and you found it odd that they never had pictures of themselves up…only picrews and bitmojis. To each their own.). Sometimes, people just wanted to be off the grid. It either meant that they genuinely wanted to connect with others through more meaningful methods, or they were the embodiment of another true crime docuseries waiting to happen. The thought of him being able to look you up on social media, but you not being able to do the same for him, was more than a bit unnerving. To be on the safe side, you used your email that you had retained from middle school: unicornspacerainbows456@gmail.com.

You sucked in a deep breath and went into your gmail app. You hit new mail, and typed in “remmick@yahoo.com” into the receiver column. You titled it simply, “Blind Date,” and introduced yourself by name, writing out the following message:

I’ve never been on a blind date before, but I gotta say I’m excited about this. I’m looking forward to meeting you in a couple days! I think this’ll be fun. Hope to hear from you soon.😊

WED 7:15PM EST

After signing with your name and pressing send, you sighed and prepared to put your phone back down when it buzzed with a notification. You checked to see what it was, and you had already gotten a response from remmick@yahoo.com. That was quick. Curious, you opened your email to see the content:

FEELING IS MUTUAL. DIVE BARS ARE NICE. I TRUST STACK’S JUDGMENT.

REMMICK

WED 7:16 EST

SENT FROM MY ANDROID

Your eyes widened as you read the violently all-caps message, overwhelmed by the large letters loudly barking at you through pixels and phone glass. Why is he yelling? Shrugging, you put your phone back down, pursing your lips in thought. Some people really have their quirks. Maybe he’s compensating for—nevermind. You opted to not respond, instead making yourself a nice dinner that evening.

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Friday came sooner than you had anticipated. You did your makeup and styled your hair to your heart’s content, choosing to wear a flattering burgundy dress with classy heels (sure, you were going to a dive bar, but you always had to present yourself elegantly). You had emailed Remmick that you were on your way, and that you were excited to meet him, to which you got another aggressively caps-locked message expressing his enthusiasm in return. Arriving a few minutes early at The Crossroads, you took your perch at the bar. You drummed your fingertips anxiously against the wood of the counter’s surface, nervous about how this evening would go. You checked your phone and glanced around at the other bar patrons, trying to see if you could spot someone you thought you could put the name “Remmick” towards. Your phone buzzed, and you read the email notification:

SUSPENDERS. AT DOOR.

REMMICK

FRI 7:59 EST

SENT FROM MY ANDROID

Turning your head to look over your shoulder, you could see a figure standing in the doorway of the bar. A white man who stood at about 5’8, with short dark brown hair , a little scruff, and the dorkiest suspenders you’ve ever seen. His fashion reminded you a bit of the 1930s working class. Nothing wrong with some period wear. You smiled and waved, to which he returned a large, wolfish smirk with an awkward little wave. He stood there at the door, unmoving, still grinning at you. Your smile faltered when he didn’t simply step forward and join the seat next to you at the bar. The hell is he standing there for? Brows furrowing, you gestured to the seat next to you. He still continued to stand in the doorway, stupidly grinning. You felt yourself grimace, sucking a sharp breath in through your teeth. This encounter was already starting to feel quite graceless. You rose from the stool where you were seated, walking to where your date stood, folding your arms over yourself. Giving you an eager nod of his head to greet you, Remmick asked, “May I come in?”

You bit your lip as your eyebrows knitted together further, a soft scoff erupting from you. One corner of your mouth tugged upwards. “Why do you need to ask me? This is a public place. Anyone can come in, silly,” you replied. Remmick still held his awkward, leaning on creepy grin, nodding at you as he leaned an arm against the door frame. “But may I come in, please?” he asked, his grey eyes looking at you hopefully.

You’re a grown ass man and you can’t walk into a bar without someone telling you it’s okay for you to do so. I’m a little embarrassed for you. You briefly thought about just flat out telling him no, just to see what would happen. But you weren’t feeling that mean…yet.

You let out a nervous laugh which you hoped was masked, unfolding your arms and gently slapping your sides with your hands. “Uh, sure, come on in. You, specifically, the dude in the suspenders.” His smile seemed to widen impossibly, and he let his arm rest at his side as he stepped through the entrance. He reached out his hand to shake yours, and you noted that he had rough, calloused hands that still had dirt caking underneath the nails. “Name’s Remmick,” he spoke matter-of-fact. “I figured,” you laughed, still dripping with nervousness while you gave him your name. You did your best to keep your composure, but the grime of his hands and the awkward greeting made you cringe. What the hell is he doing, crawling out of dirt holes? He has the manners of someone who does. You cleared your throat, more so for yourself to shake your thoughts. Don’t judge lest ye be judged, or something like that.   

The pair of you take a seat at the bar, you settling into your previous bar stool while your date clumsily scrambled onto the spot next to yours. It reminded you of the way small dogs tried to jump up onto chairs and tables in order to feel tall. Usually it would be cute, but in this instance of a white guy who appeared to be in his mid-thirties doing it, you found it lacking in charm and rather disconcerting. You forced a small smile at him, really trying to give him a chance but his awkwardness made it damn near impossible.

He waved the bartender down, and ordered two glasses of merlot. Humming, you told him he had classy taste. “Anything for a classy human like yourself,” he replies, smirking lazily. He probably meant it in a silly and flirtatious manner, but the way it came out made it sound like he was something waltzing around in a man-shaped suit. You wouldn’t be surprised if Remmick was actually just three and a half raccoons in a pair of suspenders. More like two and a half, given his stature. Maybe that’s a little generous for him. The glasses of merlot arrive shortly after, and the two of you clink your drinks together. “To a blind date,” you toast before taking a generous sip of the deep red liquid. I can’t be completely sober for this, with the way things are already going, you thought. No, don’t get drunk with this man the first time you meet him, but get a little buzzed to take the edge off. You set your glass down, and notice he’s still swirling his drink in his hand, having not taken a sip himself.

“Aren’t you gonna drink to the toast, Remmick?” Better not be trying to pull a fast one on me.

“I don’t drink…wine.”

Then why the fuck would you order two glasses? I’m sure as hell not drinking both.

“Uh…okay. You the type of guy that just poses with wine to look sophisticated?”  He just returned your question with a creepy leer, saying nothing. You were starting to think this was a mistake. Sighing, you took another sip of your wine.

“Sooo…how do you know Stack and Mary?” you asked, attempting to break the ice. They were the entire reason why the two of you were able to meet in the first place, and given this guy’s more than strange demeanor, you were at least curious to know how they kept his company. Maybe he was one of those people they were only friends with just for the entertainment, not because they actually cared about him. Ouch.

“I know ‘em from the club and music scene,” said Remmick, nodding as remembrance flickered over his features. “More particularly, through Stack’s little cousin, Sammie. I went for his very first breakthrough concert at a predominantly Black venue,” he felt the need to emphasize his following words by drumming his first two knuckles on the hard wood of the bar counter, “I went because I consider myself a damn good ally who believes in equality, fellowship and love,” his eyebrows raised and he bit his grinning lips as he said this, nodding while looking at you to hopefully recognize any semblance of approval on your face (he also stopped himself to gleefully inform you that he very much would have voted for Obama for a third term) (do you want a goddamned medal?), “and by the gods, the guy had talent. His music practically pierced the veil, it was so goddamned terrific. Everyone went crazy for him, myself included. I became so much of a superfan that the feller got a restrainin’ order put against me the same night.”

Well that sure is something you tell someone on a first fucking date.

“Oh, that’s…” you started, slowly nodding your head. He mimicked your movements. It didn't make it any less creepy. “That’s…impressive?” His smile tightened, taking your unsure words as a compliment. “How did you become friends with his big cousin and his girlfriend, then?” “They thought it was right funny,” Remmick answered, grinning. “They won’t let me anywhere near him, oh no, but we share memories of that night.”

You were right. They were friends with him solely for the entertainment value.

“I see.”

Glancing down at your lap as you folded your hands together, you carefully thought over the alarming input Remmick had too voluntarily given about himself. Sure, you’ve been on your fair share of bad dates where the other person shared some rather questionable information about themselves a bit too soon, but admitting to a restraining order was something else. Batman himself couldn’t have pulled that out of you.

“How do you know the pair?” he asked, leaning in a little too close. You subconsciously leaned back from him, letting out a timid echo of a laugh. “Well, I know them through work, would you believe it,” you started, trying to dig into your memories while processing the psychic damage you were briefly dealt. “I’m a phlebotomist, so I get to take needles and draw blood samples from patients into vials, then send ‘em off for the doctors to look at. It’s a fulfilling job.” You noticed, much to your disgust, a thick glob of drool trickling down from the corner of Remmick’s mouth as you discussed your blood-heavy career. Clearing your throat, you gestured at your mouth. “You got a little, uh..” The man sat next to you seemed to be jolted back into the present, and he quickly swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Apologies, miss. I just do that sometimes. Got a condition,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards sheepishly.

I’m sure you do.

“Anyways, yeah, I know them through work. I mostly do second shift, but every now and then I’ll pick up thirds. I met ‘em a few times while working third shift, and we hit it off. What I like about them is that Stack is a funny guy with the gift of gab, and Mary is an it girl who knows what she wants and how to carry herself. They always seemed to be in the lab though, filtering through samples. Never saw them out on the floor. Funny how you can only seem to find your coworkers in specific places, no matter what, right?”  The more you thought about your recollection of knowing Stack and Mary as it left your mouth, the more strange it seemed. Maybe they had pretended to work at the hospital in order to gain access to vials of patient blood, for whatever reason that may have been. Who knew, in this day and age.

You winced when you noticed more drool gathering on Remmick’s chin, trying not to gag. Maybe it was a neurological condition he had, given his surpassingly odd etiquette as a human being (if he even was one). Or maybe, the thought of blood just made him salivate, because he was a fucking weirdo. “Enough about my job, what do you do?” you asked, trying to pry more into him, even though the possibility of receiving more psychological whiplash would greatly increase. Much too proudly, Remmick revealed that he was a local musician. Great. One of those. You found yourself nursing your good friend merlot once more. It was the only saving grace of this godforsaken date.

“That’s neat,” you smiled, pretending to be interested. “What instrument do you play?”

Maybe it was the wine, but for a brief moment, you did consider sex. He wasn’t bad on the eyes, no, but it could only go one of two ways. The first scenario that played out, you’d be in the middle of the act when you’d think to yourself, “I could be a turtle having more fun with a shoe in someone’s back yard right now.” He was awkward enough that he had the potential for bad sex, and bad sex had the potential to build character. But, unfortunately, it tends to drain more than it builds. The other option was that it would be a mind-blowing sexual adventure for the books, given that he was a musician—lord knows the all too experienced whores that musicians often are. But, consequently, you’d get violently ill and be diagnosed with a new STD that no physician has yet seen. The only upside would be that you’d get to have a disease named after yourself while on your death bed. The dreadful visions were enough to rip you out of any further consideration.

“I play the banjo,” Remmick replied, his eyes twinkling. If the scenarios in your head about the doomed sex outcomes were already enough to turn you off, then you were drier than the goddamned Mojave at his choice of instrument. As you listened to him ramble about every song he could play the banjo on, your gaze caught a sharp, gold glint from his left hand. Eyes widening in horror, you sat straight up while glancing between him and the wedding band that adorned his ring finger. Stack and Mary said nothing about this. What the hell kind of people were they, setting their friend up with a married man? “Excuse me, Remmick?” you interjected, speaking with a louder and clearer tone. All effects of the alcohol seemed to be sobered right out of your system.

He paused, following your highly disconcerted stare to the wedding band. “Oh,” he laughed, lifting up his hand and motioning it front to back. “You worried about this lil’ ol’ thing?” he asked, folding down all fingers except for his ring finger. At first glance, it would look like he was flipping you off—given his eccentricities, you were half expecting him to. Why wouldn’t he? He was, derogatorily, a weird little freak. Another frightening factor to the dating pool was the anxiety of going out with, sleeping with, and forming a deep emotional connection to a man who was not only in a relationship, but fucking married; and not only married, but married with an entire family.

Yes, I’m fucking worried. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed the little fucker until now.  

“I may not be a perfect person, but I highly renounce extramarital affairs,” you asserted, seconds away from giving him an old-fashioned Irish goodbye, raising your left hand to emphasize your point. “Explain.” Men like him “explaining” themselves were more often than not just full of shit-stained excuses that made you lose brain cells with every passing minute, and precious time that you will never get back because you took the time to listen to them waste oxygen.

He let out a breathy laugh, nodding at you. “Yer a lady with standards, I respect that,” he drawled, drumming his fingers on the counter surface. “Well, I ain’t a married man, not anymore,” a look of forlorn sadness sagged his increasingly punchable features, “my wife passed away, a long time ago.”

You felt a soft sting of guilt briefly hit you. You couldn’t imagine the loss of a spouse—the love of your life, gone and never to have shared joy with again. Internally, though, you shook your head. No, don’t fall for a sob story on the first date, you told yourself. Men lie all the time. You then wondered if Remmick was possibly divorced—no, no, it was the most likely scenario. He was pathetic enough to have the papers terminating their marriage handed to him by his ex wife, and his coping mechanism was to tell everyone that she died. Not that it would make the ring situation any better, but he did give you the energy of a youth group pastor that was dealing with a divorce and was struggling to play it cool.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Must be hard.”

“It is, but you know, it’s okay,” he beamed, reaching over and clasping your hands in his (you felt like your hands were a wrongfully convicted man while his were Guantanamo Bay), “because you are actually so much like her. Forgive me for saying this, but you remind me of her in every possible way.”

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Talking about your ex on the first damned date was bad enough, but going as far to tell the person you’re on a date with that they remind you of your ex was diabolical. You could see flashes of The Red Flag Guy running circles in the back of your head. This could not get any further downhill. But oh, it could. It can always get worse. And it surely did.

Forcing a grin, you pulled your hands away from his. “Tell me more about your music,” you deflected, not appreciating being compared to a woman who likely had a few books’ worth of dirt on this man. “Oh, yes! Did I mention that I’m also in a band? My two other bandmates are Joan and Bert, a married couple. Joan plays the fiddle and Bert the guitar. They actually used to be in the KKK, with white hoods and everything, but I was able to lobotomize them out of it. Fellowship and love!” This new bit of information made your brain short circuit. It’s like this guy wanted the Nobel Peace Prize or something. You were sure as hell not going to be the one to grant it to him.

Between that and the restraining order that Stack’s cousin Sammie had gotten against Remmick, it all seemed to check out quite well. Once again, this was information that Batman could not have beaten out of you. Awkward behavior at the threshold of the bar; almost immediately admitting to a restraining order; drooling like a dog every time you talked about your job where you work with blood; the scenarios of ill-fated sexual encounters playing out in your imagination; him playing the banjo; the wedding ring; talking about his goddamn ex-wife and comparing you to his goddamn ex-wife; being close bandmates with two former KKK members (what the fuck do you mean lobotomize)—it was all too fucking much. All of it was overwhelming psychological warfare, an onslaught on your poor brain. The man had to be some kind of psychic vampire, draining you of your brain cells (you were partly right). The date could not end faster.

Remmick was trying to show you his band’s Spotify on his phone (so yes, he technically did have social media other than his Yahoo email, but it was still obscure as fuck and maybe had three listeners monthly at best) and attempting to play the first track on their album entitled, “Kindness is Family” when you evacuated the premises. Even though you were wearing heels, you impressively managed to run in them and escape the date from hell. Remmick called after you as he stumbled in pursuit, and you could hear him pleading trying to garner your attention. You weren’t having it, your heels furiously clicking down the street as you made your way to your car. Your annoying date grabbed your arm from behind, yanking you back. He had terrifyingly extraordinary speed. While he started to berate you that his band’s music was damn near perfect and you were being incredibly rude walking out on “true art,” an older man dragging a food cart happened to walk up to the pair of you. “Pickled garlic! Do you want to try a sample?” he offered, his face wrinkling with optimism as he held up a jar of garlic cloves dancing around in juice. Your mind was almost in an animalistic place, grasping onto any and all methods of getting this creep the hell out of your hair. You had to outdo him, you had to out-freak the freak by any means necessary. Remmick’s suddenly trembling and fearful voice letting out a “no, thank you” was drowned out by your scheming thoughts.

Desperate, you swiped the bottle from the older gentleman and screwed the lid off with adrenaline-filled intent. You took a swig, the bitterness of the cloves and pickled liquid swirling in your mouth and burning your senses. You then made like an alpaca and spat it all out at Remmick, spit and juice and garlic cloves firing at him like a cannon ball during war.

You were expecting him to curse and flail his arms in the air.

You were not expecting him to burn like you threw acid on him.

Remmick shrieked, the skin on his face melting and peeling from the impact of the garlic. As he cried out in pain, both you and the old man bore witness to rows of pointed fangs protruding from his open mouth. They were old and grey and cracked, but nonetheless terrible. Exchanging a petrified glance with the senior citizen beside you, you threw the rest of the jar of pickled garlic at the monstrosity before taking flight to where your car was parked. Everything was moving so fast that you hadn’t realized that you’d grabbed the old man by the arm and pulled him into the vehicle with you, but even though he wasn’t the one that went on the date with Remmick, he needed to get the hell out of there too.    

Drive. That’s all your mentality screamed at you to do.

You sped down the street and into the night, putting as much distance between yourself and the freak that turned out to be a goddamned vampire as possible. Your mind was racing as you processed everything that had transpired. It was almost numbing. No amount of alcohol or therapy would ever make this okay, and maybe you needed to discard your friendship with Stack and Mary for setting you up with the man who was such an affront to all things natural (did you do something to piss them off in order to warrant this? Or was this a game to them?). You almost didn’t hear the poor old man beside you confess to having pissed himself from the encounter, and that he was so sorry for the smell in your car.

Maybe the nunnery wasn’t such a bad idea after all.    

[braunslover]

BF BERT HC'S🪽

general bert hc's 🎸

☕️: this boy luvs music with his whole heart, like he's always listening to music with his tangled wired headphones.

☕️: he has a dedicated playlist for you that he listens to when he's missing you. all the cutest romance songs from the 50's and 60's. from elvis to sinatra to nat king cole, every song was perfectly curated to what reminds him of you, his darling.

☕️: his love language is quality time. this man is so deeply inlove and he just wants to share every moment with you — good and bad.

☕️: he has remnants of you all over his bedroom. a love letter with your lipstick stain in the corner, photos from a photobooth, a ticket from your date at the theatre, a trinket you gifted him, and his sweater with your perfume on it.

☕️: bertholdt is an amazing guitar player. he's in a little band and spends a lot of his free time playing guitar for you. he really enjoys teaching you guitar, he finds it adorable how hard you try to focus on it.

☕️: he's also a sucker for physical touch, especially in public. bertholdt can be quite an anxious boy, so he is always reaching out for your hands to hold when he's nervous.

☕️: bert is genuinely such a romantic guy it's sickeningly adorable. his favourite thing to do is pick wildflowers for you and present them to you, and to keep them alive, he presses them.

☕️: in school, he's ever so quiet, except around his bestfriend reiner. you honestly find it endearing how close the two are. you're close with reiner yourself, and he's a forever third wheel.

☕️: bertholdt luvs sharing his headphones with you, he just thinks it's so lovely to be so close to you, listening to the songs he loves.

☕️: this guy LUVS books with his whole heart, like genuinely he's always reading. he's a sucker for classics, but his dirty pleasure is a good romance novel.

☕️: he also takes photos on a cute little digital camera, he takes pictures of you through his eyes. anything he takes, he takes with luv and prides himself on how absolutely gorgeous you are.

☕️: ANDDDD he paints. there's nothing this man can't do. he's such a creative soul, and such a talented artist. he paints the sweetest portraits ever of you💘

☕️: bertholdt luvs dogs. like. LUVVVSSS them. he always sends u cheesy photos of him and his dog (like the one above) and it just melts your heart.

☕️: bertholdt luvs laying against you and having you rake your fingers through his black locs. he almost always falls asleep to it, hands gripping onto whatever sweater of his you have on, mumbling quietly about how much he adores you.

☕️: bertholdt luvs to cook dinner for you, and he's damn good at it too. he's always coming up with new recipes for you to taste, and as much as you let out small groans, you wouldn't change it for the world. (seriously, his foods so good it's annoying.)

☕️: bertholdt can be sort of insecure in your relationship, but only because he doubts himself so much. for the life of him, he can't wrap his head around why you chose to be with him.

☕️: but, once you stand up on your highest tippy toes and wrap your arms around him, pulling him down into a deep kiss, all worries and doubts melt away.

☕️: bertholdt also struggles with comparing himself to others, especially his bestfriend. i mean, reiner is every chicks wet dream, and bertholdts just... there.

☕️: you're quick to shut that down though. you always remind him of how handsome and pretty he is, and you're obsessed with him. it honestly makes him feel so much better about himself.

☕️: bertholdt genuinely treats you like you're a princess in your own little fantasy world. he's forever gifting you things, he refuses to let you pay for things like nails, hair, and clothes. he just loves seeing you happy, even if it's coming from his pocket. you're his little baby and he luvs you sooooo much.

☕️: he will always call you "honey" always. it's his thing, and you ADORE IT. coming from his lips, it is the smoothest and sweetest thing. always makes you tingly.

☕️: speaking of, bertholdt is a FIEND for tickling you. even if it's him playfully brushing his lips against your neck to make you squirm, he just luvs hearing you laugh.

☕️: bertholdt is such a good boyfriend, honestly. he treats you so perfectly, and he's always checking up on you, bringing you lunches to school and telling you how much he luvs you.

☕️: if you are struggling with your mental health, bertholdt will always be by your side. he's no stranger to struggling. some days are worse than others, and on particularly bad days, where you find it hard to move or eat, he'll do everything necessary.

☕️: no, really. he'll clean your room up, run you a bath with some epsom salts, he'll cook you dinner. he'll even feed you. zero embarrassment with him. he wants you to be okay first and foremost. once your bath is done, he'll gently help you dress and he'll brush through your hair.

☕️: if you get periods, you couldn't ask for a better boyfriend to have. he's one message away, and he always has supplies at the ready. chocolate, salty snacks, water, heat packs and whatever hygiene products you prefer.

☕️: this boy is NOT one to be embarrassed by a little blood. (or a lot) it's a natural process the body goes through. what on earth is embarrassing about that??

☕️: he treats you like a princess all the time, but even moreso on your period. he'll lay in bed with you and let you cry it out for hours. he'll hold you and assure you that everything will be okay.

☕️: he's just a literal angel.

physical bert hc's 🪼

🌧: biggggg nose. so pretty on him. so perfect. so sexy. sculpted by the gods themselves.

🌧: freckles scattered all over his nose! >_< they make him even more adorbs, they really pop up when the sun comes out.

🌧: longggg thin fingers with prominent veins. they're perfect for... holding! that being said his hands are large. he's a tall guy!

🌧: sleeper build. majorrrr sleeper build. like it shocked you the first time you seen his muscles because he hides them behind his sweaters.

🌧: that being said, his spine is very prominent. he's quite lean, so his spine pokes out from beneath his skin. so beautiful, though.

🌧: SUCH a prominent adams apple. like, your eyes are naturally drawn to it. it's so attractive.

🌧: greyish green eyes that are enchanting. they genuinely hypnotise you. he knows this, and so he purposely leans down to "hear" you, doing that little "mhm."

🌧: so tall. it's literally canon. this guy is TALLLLL so, it's unlikely you're taller than him. (hey, if you are, he finds that hot.) he uses his height to his advantage, especially lifting you up to kiss you.

🌧: despite being slim, he's a strong guy. like, surprisingly freakishly strong. his strength is super attractive, because he lifts you with such natural ease.

🌧: bertholdt prides himself on being clean. like, he showers every single day. he can't stand the feeling of not being clean, it freaks him out.

🌧: adding onto that, he's a well groomed guy. he shaves frequently, and he isn't overly hairy despite his dark hair.

🌧: he always smells woody and earthy, with a hint of spice that you go FERAL for. he always smells good, always. his hair smells fresh every day, and it's honestly addicting.

🌧: he has quite thin lips, but he always keeps them fuckers moisturised. he always has the softest fucking lips it lowkey pisses you off.

🌧: bertholdt's voice is low and sensual, even moreso in the morning. like, waking up next to him is a DREAM because you could just listen to him talk for hours upon hours.

🌧: he's always dressed nice. always. even if he's just staying home, he's in slacks and a sweater with a leather belt. it's super attractive that he actually puts in the effort to look nice everyday.

🌧: whenever he's nervous, he's prone to fidgeting and cracking his knuckles. poor boy is extremely anxious, that's why he always reaches for you — you're his support system.

🌧: bertholdt wears rings and a watch. you bought them for him and he just adores them — like he adores you. he actually uses his watch though, it's not even for show. he's old-school like that. (bro can read clocks...)

🌧: bertholdt has quite fair skin, with olive undertones. he's definitely prone to sunburn, so you always nag him to wear suncream!

🌧: he also has a birthmark on his collarbone. specifically a café-au-lait one. it suits him really well, even if he can be insecure about it.

🌧: firm believer that bertholdt has a natural wave to his hair which is SO ADORABLEEEEEEE.

🌧: also his eyebrows. not insanely bushy, but just a little bit. (so cute omg...)

berts favourite dates ⚘️

💋: bertholdt loves cosy dates. like, they're his favourite thing ever. bring this man to an art gallery and he's the happiest man alive.

💋: seriously, this man will spend HOURS analysing paintings and yapping your ear off about the deep meanings behind them all.

💋: he's so cute like this, so obviously you encourage it!! art is something he's so passionate about and you adore it!!

💋: he is a sucker for a calm date. sitting by a pond on a cool, foggy day, feeding the ducks? the dream. being with you is like a slice of heaven.

💋: he does, however, love surprising you with things you're interested in!! for example, if you love theatre, he will always take you out to shows and plays. seeing you happy is the best thing in the world to him.

💋: bertholdt is such a romantic man, it's insane. he's the type to scatter rose petals intricately around the bedroom floor whilst he sets out the gifts he carefully and picked for you on the bed, with a stunning cake he handmade himself.

💋: he loves going out to dinner in small, warm restaurants. dimly lit candle light, talking over a huge bowl of pasta and some wine? a life he could certainly get used to.

💋: however, he loves inexpensive dates like a theme park, the arcade, or even a picnic! he always makes fresh finger foods for picnics, and takes the cutest pictures of you for your instagram.

💋: i'm convinced you could never find a better man. he IS the standard, and he worships the ground you walk on.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Idk who here is an mcr fan but…

Reader x Gerard fic where she’s talking to someone else after feeling like she’s going nowhere with Gee and so she starts to talk to someone else in a different band (maybe Bert from the used?) and Gerard gets super super jealous?

If you want it… request it besties

[charliedawn]

Charlie dear, I would like to request Reader making flower crowns for the vampire darlings and surprising them by putting it on their heads. Just. Puts a flower crown on the mid conversation. :)

REMMICK

He was mid-rant, pacing with a cigarette burning between his fingers, hands flailing as he grumbled about “idiot doctors,” “this bloody century,” and someone named Gary.

“And then the bastard—the bastard—had the nerve to—what are you doin’, sweetheart?”

He froze when you reached up on tiptoe and dropped the flower crown on his head. It was lopsided. It had a big daisy sticking straight up. It made him look like an angry woodland bride.

“…Did ye just crown me?” he blinked.

“Yes,” you confirmed, adjusting it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Remmick blinked again. And then, despite himself, he broke into a slow, bewildered smile. “…I love ye, me cute lil’ weirdo.”

Hours later, he was still wearing it, even when Stack burst out laughing at the sight of him. But he DID growl at him for mocking his precious lil’ love’s work that she had spent time making him.

STACK

He was pacing, hands in his coat pockets, ranting about something.

“—and I swear to hell if they say one more fuckin’ word I’ll—wait—what are you doing?” he paused as you stepped up.

You placed the lilac-and-rose crown gently on his head, adjusting it with careful fingers. “There.”

He blinked. Then blinked again. He then looked at himself in the mirror—even if he couldn’t actually see himself in it. He still could see the flower crown.

“…Wait wait wait. Why is this lowkey real fuckin’ cute?” he said with a smile. “You just—you made this for me?”

“Of course.” You nodded.

He whistled and giggled. “…Shiiit. Ya got talent. Feels like I oughta frame it or somethin’.”

He wore it the rest of the day. Nobody dared say a word.

MARY

You caught her mid-story, arms gesturing, cigarette dancing between her fingers. “—and that’s when I told the fella, ‘Sweetheart, the knife goes in the neck, not near it—’”

Flower crown. Right on top of her messy ponytail. She paused. Blinked. Then grinned.

“Well, shit, sugar. If I knew bein’ crowned royalty came with you as the queen/king, I’da asked for one ages ago.” She tipped her head towards you with a cocky smirk. “Does this mean I’m your favorite?”

You kissed her cheek in reply, and she whooped, lifting you off the ground in a bear hug. “Awww. My sweetie pie. Damn right I’m wearin’ it. You made this with your lil’ hands? Gonna kill a man in it. But first, lemme kiss those hands.”

She proceeded to pepper kisses on your hands.

Annie

She was fixing the old radio, muttering under her breath and cursing modern wiring. You waited until she stopped zapping herself before dropping a pastel crown of clover and bluebells onto her head.

“…What the hell is this?” she said, pulling it forward slightly to squint at it.

“Spring fashion,” you teased.

Annie rolled her eyes—but didn’t take it off. She wore it the rest of the day. Didn’t say a word about it. But you caught her adjusting it every time it started to slip.

BO

He was sitting on the windowsill, shirt unbuttoned, smoking, looking all sad and tragic. Until you clambered up and dropped a crown of yellow wildflowers on his head.

“The hell—?”

“Surprise.”

Bo sputtered. He tried to glare at you. You grinned harder. He grumbled. Then he caught his reflection in the window to look at the crown.

“…Tch.” He didn’t smile, but he didn’t take it off, either. He eventually leaned back, letting you sit on his lap before he kissed your temple. “You wanna make a matching one and be my queen o’ the garden?”

BERT

“Don’t move,” you commanded.

Bert immediately froze like a deer in headlights. “What’d I do? Wait—are ya mad? I didn’t eat your snacks—okay, I did but only a lil’ with a bit o’ blood from last week—”

You set a crown of deep red and indigo wildflowers on his head and beamed.

“…Oh.” He stared at you, dumbfounded. “Oh.”

Then he slowly lit up like the sun. “Holy shit, you made me a hat?”

“It’s not a hat.”

“It’s a love hat.”

“It’s a flower crown—”

“MY LOVE HAT.”

You gave up.

“Well. Guess I better live up to the part.” He puffed out his chest and saluted. “Bert, flower husband. Reporting for cuddles.”

JOAN

You stepped behind her and placed a thin, lovely band of violet flowers onto her dark hair.

She froze. Completely.

Then her head turned slowly, eyes locking with yours. “…You made this?”

You nodded and she smiled. She then removed it to examine it.

“…Thank you. I won’t let anyone else see it though.”

You frowned. “Why?”

She hummed. “They’ll all want one.”

CORNBREAD

He was dozing on the porch in a rocking chair, a toothpick dangling from his lips and a lazy hand resting on his chest. A low country tune played from the old radio beside him. You crept up quietly and slipped a thick, sunshine-yellow flower crown over his hat.

His eyes opened slowly.

“Pumpkin’…?” he rasped, voice still heavy with sleep. “What’s that on m’head?”

“A crown,” you whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

He blinked. Then grinned. “Well shit. Guess I am royalty now.”

You laughed and went to move away, but he caught your wrist and pulled you down into his lap.

“Ya made this for me?” he asked, tilting his head up to catch your eyes.

“I did.”

He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and held you there, flower crown tipping slightly askew.

“Thank ya, sugar,” he whispered. “Feels real nice bein’ thought of.”

[eatingtitanfood]

i need to make comic strips wuuu i keep having this cute Bert x Y/n x Reiner idea where (y/n) made Bert a long weird looking scarf and Reiner a sweater 🤭

[ghostlybfgf]

So I think you'll write for most characters in Sinners- can you please write something for Bert? I know he's a klan pos but the way he said that hey baby line had me feeling something🥵🥵 I understand if you don't want to, thanks

hey i'm not one to yuck other peoples yums anon, I can kinda get it from that line like that. 👀

but just given the history and the kkk stuff i'm not too sure. so its going to be a no because I don't support that and I don't really want that in my work or my voice or to take away from the film itself - there are many beautiful storylines and characters in the film that play their part for a purpose - Bert included but I don't think that's something I can write, sorry anon. NOT HAPPENING.

but let me know ur thoughts peeps..

[cook1emadness]

Your honor, i felt silly i didnt hit that baby 😞/j

I hope your having a greay day, and if you have time, can you make a oneshot of Deimos and Q-bert x Reader where the reader just hangs around with them around the base, goes out to eat burgers and more things ^^ (they are silly and smily in my heart)

Take care, and happy early pride month <3!!

I'm not good at oneshots, so I'm sorry if it's not good....

Sorry if I haven't been on. i was stressed over a lot of work and family stuff.

Your honor, your are the Arena Player. And it's going to be platonic. Might be some spoiler.

FRIENDS AND BURGERS...

Ever since you been imprinting more and more, you begin to be distant and forget mostly everything except for the same mission over and over again. Skinner asked you, but you brushed him off, Dave try to cheer you up, but you couldn't muster a smile, 2bdamned noticed ypu change of body and habit but didn't care to give you a break.

And soon everyone started to ignore you, and you were fine with that. Without connections, they won't be sad about you disappearing, and you won't feel bad hurting them.

But one day, Q- bert friend came to visit, who knew Q-bert was friends with one of the highest wanted criminals. You were back from a mission. You were walking your way to Q-bert shop after you brought some things from crackpot. You hear q- bert laughing but also head someone else. You turn to your left to see who Q-bert was talking to. You see a grunt with grey cap and headphones, smoking along with Q-bert.

deimos, you remember in one of your past imprints, about Q-bert mentioning you about him. You never thought about it much until now.

Q-bert kept talking until he noticed you in the distance, he removes his cigarette, and smiles at you.

"Hey, kiddo, back from your mission, didn't think you finish that quick. Got new weapons for you to buy, " Q-bert replied with a chuckle. Hw pulls out the new guns he has while he smokes the cigarette deimos gave him.

You hum in response, you and deimos looked at it eachother for a few minutes. You expected him to as you were about to grab some of the guns Q-bert showed.

"So you're the y/n that Q-bert been talking about, I thought you be bigger," deimos spoke, his voice sounding raspy. He had too much smoke.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you. You froze for a few seconds. "Oh yeah... what about it?" You respond back. You're not sure how to respond to him.

Deimos looked at you, not slightly surprised the way you responded. Q-Bert was right about you. You are not good with words.

"Not the social type, right?" Deimos replied. You slowly nodded even though it was clear. You're not one for speaking.

"Anyway gonna buy something, Kid?" Q-Bert looked at, still trying to get you to buy something, showing some variants of guns nad bigger ones. You bought the desert eagle, why? it looked nice.

You were about to leave for a mission, but Deimos stops you. He puts his arm over your shoulder.

"Hey, i was gonna invite Q-bert at Burger Gills, and now that you're here alive, how about you join us? Don't worry, I'll pay. " deimos looks at you, he noticed your body stopped, you don't know how to answer this.

You have been so busy torturing yourself with the timeloops and imprints, ignoring everyone that you didn't think anyone would try to pull you in a hangout session.

"No I'm fi-"

"Cmon kiddo, you hadn't eaten at all. Look at you. It looks like a poor grunt. " Q-bert also tried to grab you in. He wasn't stupid. He knew you had been ignoring everyone for something he doesn't understand.

He saw the way you ignored Skinner the way you tried to force yourself to not show emotion when Dave spoke. He saw the way your expression plead for a break, only to be ignored by you on 2bdamned. Depsite only wants money. He wants you to be healthy and not lose his favorite customer.

You wanted to say no, but you're hungry. You've been ignoring your body until now. You sigh and decide maybe some burgers won't be that bad.

"Sure, never been at gills before"

"Really? Well, buddy, you been missing out!"

And with that, all three of you went to Gils burger place.

.

.

.

That did not go well. Deimos was finally got burgers, while both Q-bert and you were covered in blood.

"You never told me there were zeds.." you replied

"My bad should've told you about that." deimos replied back with a smile showing his sharp teeth.

"Are you sure the burgers are not infected. I would rather be eating hotdogs than zed burgers." Q-bert replied, looking at the burgers with disgust.

"Totally! Sanford and I did this a bunch of times." deimos said, and he was right. After finding a table to sit, you were the fist to bite. It wasn't infected, and it was good, too.

Deimos and q-bert kept talking about guns he bought got destroyed by some agents, you can see q-bert despair.

You joined in trying your best to start conversations, to your surprising, deimos laughed at one of your mission and embarrassing moments that happened.

Slowly and slowly, you began to open up. You start to realize how much you miss those conversations with Skinner, Dave, Q-bert, chef and boss man.

the next imprint, you try to start conversation with the others and maybe visit deimos. You wonder if he'll still invite you to gils burgers. For now you enjoy what you have now...

[stardustedseas]

'took a break from tma because i was being too insane over it but im normal now' i says while lying

thought about doing domestic stuff with gerry and almost dropped dead

could you imagine just like doing chores or cooking or shopping with him

gerry never really had any normalcy in his life even when growing up so now that he has it he isnt fully sure what to do. yeah he knows how to do laundry and buy groceries, but doing those things with another person feels different. not bad, just new. he never thought hed get something like this, a simple little life where no entities or other evil beings exist. yeah, those things are still out there and he can never truly escape it, but in the little bubble of you and him, he can almost pretend everything is normal.

he can build little routines with you where you fold pants and towels while he hangs up shirts and matches socks. he can pretend you are just two normal people snuggled up together in bed watching a show on his computer, that the other tabs saved are more movies for you to watch and not leads to leighters or reports of gruesome encounters with a fear. he can pretend that the aches in his body are from long shifts at work and not him actually fighting for his life while you rub his shoulders and give him an ice pack. he can sit in comfortable silence with you while he paints and you do your own thing, neither speaking but both still enjoying the others company.

he may not feel like he belongs with everyone else, that he doesnt fit in now that he knows the truth of the world, but with you? hes never felt more at home.

god shopping with him and quietly talking about what you wanna make for dinner, if you feel ambitious to cook a meal or if you just wanna get something to toss in the oven. knowing eachothers likes and dislikes, so when you look at the ingredients in something, you are conscious of if its something both of you will enjoy.

waking up in eachothers arms before getting ready for the day, comfortable enough that one person can brush their teeth while the other takes a piss lmao

sweet kisses goodbye before you head out to your separate lives, maybe not fully knowing if youll see eachother again but having hope you will reunite like you've been able to thus far