decaying-opossum

[decaying-opossum]

tyler childers new song oneida has me wanting to write (human?) remmick yearning for an older reader. really regular ole vampire remmick would work, reader is hesitant to even humor his pining since he looks too young for their preferences and everytime they tell him that he’s just ‘???’

idk towards the end of the song when he’s pleading, if not to be let in, than at least pass along a message to oneida for him to just let him play his guitar to show the songs he learned just because she wanted to sing them gives me remmick vibes

[decaying-opossum]

hope youre well, miss you n your beautiful work<33

i’m doing well! got caught up with life stuff, working on getting a new job and moving so all my free time has been spent laying around binge watching law and order svu or sleeping lol but now that sinners is on hbo imma rewatch it again tonight and hopefully get some updates out 🙏 thank you for checking in!

[decaying-opossum]

I can’t escape my lust for him

[decaying-opossum]

idk how this would be written but it came to me while i was melting at work- remmick with a reaper reader who’s be stuck following him around since he got turned. with the whole vampires’ souls can’t crossover to the afterlife thing, remmick’s soul can’t be reaped.

so for hundreds of years, readers been stuck following him around due to not being about to complete the job, stuck on the same assignment and only getting to see their “coworkers” whenever remmick turns someone else.

can see remmick getting pissy whenever it’s another reaper reader is especially friendly with; he’s known reader for so long and he can’t wrap his head around the fact that his hundreds of years doesn’t come close to matching up to reader knowing other reapers since death became a thing

[decaying-opossum]

Dealing despair is so good! is part five still a possibility 👀

thank you so much! that means so much to hear! and absolutely, i’m working part five and MAYBE six, depending on how long i decide to make five. i’m doing my best to alternate which story i update, so one story isn’t getting all the attention

[decaying-opossum]

moment’s silence

| cult leader remmick x reader |

| part 2/4 | |word count: 1851|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

when they woke, it was to soft light slanting through the curtain cracks and birdsong too ordinary for how wrong they felt inside.

the bed sheets were tangled beneath them, the pillow damp with sweat. for a few precious seconds, they told themself it had been another dream. a filthy, vivid dream spun too tight with want and guilt. a ghost story of a man with dark eyes and darker intentions, slipping between their bones like smoke.

but the ache was real. the hollow throb low in their belly was real, and when they stumbled barefoot into the living room, it all came crashing back.

the couch was a mess; throw blanket halfway on the floor, cushions sunken like someone had knelt in them for hours. one of the decorative pillows bore a faint but unmistakable stain. a dark, damp patch where a man had rested his head, drooled prayers into their skin.

the air still held a faint trace of him, cedar and old hymnals and something too wild to be named.

he was gone. of course he was. he always left before sunrise. but the promise he’d made in the dark still clung to the walls like soot.

he’d be back.

they wrapped themself in a blanket and spent the better part of the day like that, arms trembling not from cold but from something deeper, something raw and shaken loose. they cleaned the couch mechanically, scrubbing harder than necessary, like they could erase not just the evidence but the memory too.

but the moment they sat, the moment their body settled back into that same groove, it all came flooding in again. his voice, his breath. the way he’d clung to them like they were salvation. and worse, how they’d clung back.

they showered. twice. but it didn’t wash off.

nothing ever would.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

they didn’t leave the house that day. couldn’t. every sound outside made their breath catch, every rustle in the trees, every creak of old wood. they half-expected him to be there again, leaning against the porch railing, easy and patient, with a jar of peach preserves and that same damn tilt of his head.

but he didn’t come.

not that day.

instead, the mail arrived.

the postman, wide-set and quiet, gave them a nod and a glance that lingered too long. his fingers shook when he handed over the envelope.

“from up the hill,” he muttered, barely audible, before turning and walking back down the gravel drive without another word.

inside the envelope, a note. looped handwriting on thick, yellowed paper. smelled faintly of sage and smoke.

“you feel it now, don’t you? that little ache. the knowing. you’re not lost anymore. just being called home. don’t be afraid, sugar. that hunger? that’s just your soul remembering what it’s for”

no name signed, but none was needed.

they shoved the note into the kitchen drawer with shaking hands, slammed it shut like that would keep the words from settling under their skin.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

he came again the next night.

didn’t knock.

just sat in the rocking chair like always, but this time he brought something else, a bundle, wrapped in cloth. left it on the porch steps when they didn’t come out.

only went to retrieve it once the sky lightened with dawn. inside; a jar of peach preserves. just like he promised. still warm from the canning process.

it rained that afternoon, a slow and steady drizzle that coated the fields in silver and made the woods look deeper, darker. like something could slip between the trunks and not be seen again until it wanted to be.

the ache hadn’t left. it moved with them now.

it lived in the curve of their neck where his breath had lingered. it lived behind their ribs, where the hollow buzzed like a tuning fork, waiting for the right hands to strike it again.

they tried to stay busy. repainting cabinet doors, scrubbing old grout, anything to keep their hands from shaking and their mind from fantasizing on its own.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

that night, the rocking chair didn’t creak. that night, there was singing. low, male,drawn out, like a funeral hymn with the wrong rhythm.

it wasn’t close. not at first. it started somewhere up in the trees. carried down on the rain.

by midnight, it was just outside.

their heart thundered. they didn’t move. didn’t even breathe right, afraid the smallest sound might invite him closer.

but then, like always, he didn’t force. he waited. patient in the way that made them feel rushed.

the song stopped.

a minute later, the creak of the porch boards. slow. steady. a weight settling.

then quiet.

the kind of quiet that gets inside your ears and hums like teeth grinding. they pulled the blanket tighter around their shoulders and stared at the door until dawn.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

by mid morning they were in town, eyes tired and bagged as they looked through the hardware store shelves for locks for their door

the man at the hardware counter looked at them like he recognized something in their eyes, fear, maybe.

“you fixin’ somethin’ at that old farmstead?” he asked, voice mild, but his fingers twitched where they hovered above the register “the one up near the ridgeline?”

they nodded. didn’t say much. he sucked a breath through his teeth. didn’t look at them when he added “folks ‘round here don’t go past the tree line much, y’know. boundaries out there…they ain’t just fences and property lines”

they didn’t respond. just handed him the locks, cash folded neat “y’oughta leave that place be” he muttered “whatever you’re fixin’, it ain’t the house that needs savin’” they left without thanking him, tossing their change in the bag as they left.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

that night, the dream wasn’t a dream.

they were in bed, locked in, every bolt and chain and latch secured. they double-checked. triple-checked.

but still, sometime between one breath and the next, he was there.

not breaking in. just being. like mold in the walls. like a word whispered too many times until it lives in the bones.

they were on their back. he knelt beside the bed again, eyes wide and almost…mournful “you’re afraid of me now” he said, not angry. not accusing. they didn’t answer.

he reached out, fingers hovering above their chest, not quite touching. “i hate that. i do. i’ve tried so hard not to scare you. just wanted to be close, to be near”

his hand dropped, resting on his own thigh instead.

“i prayed on it” he whispered “asked if i was askin’ too much. if wantin’ you this way was wrong” he leaned closer, his breath warm and pine-sweet “but i keep gettin’ the same answer. that ache in your belly? the one that don’t go away? that’s us. that’s the bond. you called me, darlin’. maybe not with words, but your soul cried out, and i listened”

they wanted to scream, wanted to sob, but their voice stayed buried beneath the weight of his presence.

remmick’s smile flickered, then faded entirely.

“i was gentle ‘cause i thought you needed time, thought i could wait. but i see it now” he leaned in until his lips nearly brushed theirs “you don’t need gentle, you need truth”

he kissed them, slow and bruising and full of claiming, not passion. not lust. claiming.

and something answered inside them. something buried deep and scared and ancient.

when he pulled away, he was breathing hard, eyes wide like he’d seen a vision “you felt it,” he said, wonderstruck “didn’t you?”

they didn’t remember falling asleep. just the feel of his mouth and that heat inside them answering, answering, even when they didn’t want it to. even when they swore they’d lock the doors, burn the linens, run for the hills if they had to.

but by morning, they woke with that taste still in their mouth. salt. sap. smoke. iron. and the sound of the door softly latching shut behind him.

the locks were still in place.

they checked.

again.

and again.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

they didn’t go to town that day.

didn’t shower.

didn’t eat.

they sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty chair across from them, waiting for it to creak under invisible weight, waiting for the sound of breath that wasn’t theirs.

it never came.

but the silence was worse. the note in the drawer pulsed like a heartbeat. they could feel it, somehow, through the wood. like it wanted out. like it had more to say.

they left the house around dusk. just to breathe air that hadn’t filtered through him. just to try. the rain had cleared. the road was wet and steaming, the trees glistening like they’d been dipped in oil. everything shone too sharp. too awake.

they walked to the old fence line at the edge of the property. the spot where the woods got thick and the light went strange.

that’s where they found the second bundle. smaller than the last but wrapped in the same cloth. tied with twine that smelled like singed herbs.

inside; a set of old rosary beads. blackened with time. a single feather, coppery red. and a scrap of mirror, edges dulled, but not enough.

etched in the back; “Your reflection lies”

they dropped it. left it there in the dirt and walked back fast, fast enough to feel the hitch in their chest, the pounding of blood that didn’t feel like just theirs anymore.

the sky was black when they reached the house. but the porch light was already on. they hadn’t left it that way.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

that night they dreamed in fire.

not burning. not pain.

but flame. moving like breath, like voice. filling the rooms of the house, licking the wallpaper, singing in the walls. it hummed the way he hummed, off-key and holy yet wrong.

in the center of it all, he stood with his palms open, eyes dark and wide as a midnight church. he smiled like it hurt “you’re catching now” he said, voice reverent “starting to burn just like me.”

they woke choking on smoke that wasn’t there. skin slick. throat raw. the room cold as a crypt, but their body flushed.

the rocking chair creaked once and stopped.

they didn’t go look. couldn’t.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

a week passed.

he didn’t come again. not in body, not in song, but the ache didn’t leave.

worse now, somehow. like it had teeth. like it was gnawing its way inward, trying to reach the place he’d touched, the place he’d spoken to in the dark.

they started dreaming in twos.

double images, double voices. themselves and not themselves. a version that leaned in when he spoke, that smiled when he whispered “you called me, and i came”

they stopped trusting mirrors. the reflection lingered a second too long. they covered them all. sheets. towels. duct tape if they had to.

but the ache only got louder. so did the voice.

not his voice. the other one. the one that lived in their blood now. the one that sounded like their own.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

@positivitylane112 tumblr won’t let me actually reply and i’ve tried 4 different times and it’s driving me insane so this is the best i can do lol

most definitely, like i love a desperate loser as much as the next person, but he gets boiled down too much. he is a desperate pathetic loser but he’s a manipulative desperate pathetic loser, which is very important, that one trait is extremely important to his character.

i’m doing my best to convey that in my stories, i’m real rusty with writing so idk if it’s being conveyed but imo all his cries and begs come from a place of manipulation, which is why in dealing despair he hasnt really begged any, he’s more just a bother because he knows the reader won’t fall for his crying. they’ve known him a hundred years, he knows they know his tricks. moments silence reader is unaware of his tricks, so they work, the begging and false promises of being gentle works on them. but the edges are gonna unravel in the next parts, because he’s a creature, he can only hide instinct for so long.

he’ll be pathetic as long as it benefits him, as long as it gives power to him, he’ll let reader view him as some desperate thing that just needs their attention but he knows he has the real control. he knows that at any point when the reader gets to confident he can turn them and literally have complete control over them, he’s just biding his time in hopes they give in willingly, make it more intimate and human feeling rather than the animal attack it will be.

[decaying-opossum]

dealing despair

| remmick x werewolf reader |

| part 4/? | | word count:2960|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

they weren’t planning on staying long.

one drink. Maybe two. Just enough to keep sammie from worrying, from asking questions with his too-kind eyes and quiet voice, and to show support for the music that came from his soul. just enough to play normal for a night. but the drink he handed them went down smooth, the next one even smoother. and then someone handed them a shot, clapped them on the back like they’d been friends for years, and they laughed. not because it was funny, but because their body remembered how.

the music helped. sammie up on the small stage, guitar resting on his hip like it was part of him, voice cutting through the din like a balm. they didn’t know the song, didn’t need to. it was the sound of something slow and aching, something human.

they leaned against the wall near the back, eyes half-lidded, heartbeat finally settling into something close to calm. it was warm in the way old quilts were warm, in the way hands used to feel when they weren’t used for hurting. people danced in loose, shambling circles. laughed loud. spilled cheap whiskey and didn’t care.

time blurred.

another drink.

the beginning of a half-hearted dance with a stranger whose name they didn’t catch. spinning, dizzy, laughing with too many teeth showing. something uncoiled in their chest, something they hadn’t realized had been held tight for too long. the ache of it made them reckless.

the lights blurred. the ground tilted slightly when they moved. everything was honey-warm and slow and just a little too easy.

sammie’s music, voice and song was something they hadn’t felt before, spiritual in ways that made the room feel alive with people no longer around, laughter of memories. they spun, giggling before they opened their eyes, face falling as a lump formed in their throat as a vision clouded their eyes.

stumbling out the door they mumbled an apology for bumping into cornbread as they rushed around the corner of the mill. hunching over as the whiskey and beer came back up and onto the ground, tears prickling in their eyes

the vomiting came in waves. heat rising in their throat, breath shuddering through clenched teeth as their stomach twisted on itself, rejecting all that false ease.

they braced a hand against the mill’s crumbling brick, the other gripping at their ribs like they could hold themselves together by force alone. the laughter and music still drifted through the walls behind them; muffled now, like it belonged to a different world. a world they’d tried to visit for the night, like trying on someone else’s life.

it didn’t fit. it never fit. hadn’t in a long time.

they spat, wiped their mouth with the back of a shaking hand, and tried to catch their breath. it wasn’t the booze. wasn’t just the spinning room or the closeness of too many bodies.

it was the feeling. the one they couldn’t name.

that thing uncoiled in their chest, it wasn’t joy, not really. It was grief, dressed up in warmth. the pain of remembering they’d been something softer, once. memories of laughing without truly deserving it yet still selfishly enjoying it. remembering nights they shared with remmick, focused on him and the life they had, not the acts they committed together.

they heard the door creak behind them. a pause.

then footsteps, measured, careful.

“hey” came sammie’s voice, soft and laced with concern. they didn’t turn, just hunched a little lower. “thought you were workin’” they rasped, voice raw.

“i was. still am, technically, slims giving me a break” a beat “you alright?”

they laughed once, a hollow sound, sharp as a broken bottle “what do you think?”

sammie didn’t answer right away. just stepped closer, enough that they could hear the worry in his breath.

“you didn’t have to come tonight.”

“yeah, I did,” they whispered, sitting on their butt in the dusty lot “i wanted to remember what it felt like, been a while..i used to spend all my nights like this…me and..my husband, we’d spend nights going between clubs and jukes..i’ve heard all kinds of music sammie, but you got a real special gift sammie, something powerful…it was like i could see someone i lost spinning around again…”

sammie sat down beside them, not crowding, just close enough to share the quiet. he didn’t speak right away. just pulled a pack of matches from his pocket and struck one for their cigarette, cupping it with both hands to shield it from the lazy wind.

the flame danced, caught. they leaned in. lit up. inhaled like it was something holy.

smoke curled from their lips as they stared at the ground, eyes glassy, cheeks damp. the back of their hand came up, wiped without grace. “sorry” they muttered. “didn’t mean to ruin your night”

“you didn’t” sammie’s voice was steady. like a fence post sunk deep in the earth. “music’s just noise without someone feelin’ it”

they let out a long, shaking breath. “felt too much of it, i think…enough of my pity party, go on back in, that woman you were making googoo eyes at where making them back at ya. go have fun, enjoy your debut” they patted him on his back, offering a tight smile as they stood “imma go for a walk”

sammie didn’t get up right away. just looked up at them from the dirt, thumb still worrying the corner of the matchbook like he was working something out behind his eyes.

“you sure?” he asked, voice soft but not hesitant. “you don’t gotta go be alone if that’s not what you really want”

they smiled again; small, crooked, not really a smile. more like the shape of something that used to be one. the kind of smile worn down by weather and time.

“i do, Sammie,” they said, gentle but firm “just for a bit. i appreciate it, though. more than i got words for”

he nodded once, slow “alright. but you change your mind, you know where to find me”

that made something twist in their chest again, but it wasn’t grief this time. or at least, not only grief. it was something softer. a thread of warmth tangled in all the cold. a small mercy that he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed. just offering presence, steady and real.

they turned and started walking, boots crunching over gravel, air cooler now against their sweat-damp skin. the night stretched out around them, wide and humming. the juke joint faded behind them, its light, its music, sammie’s voice still ghosting out into the dark.

they took a long drag from the half burnt cigarette, the smoke helped. gave their hands something to do, their mouth a reason to stay quiet.

they didn’t know where they were going. maybe back home, but for now ig was just for a moment away. just moving to keep their mind behind.

sometimes that was the only thing that ever helped.

somewhere in the dark, a cicada screamed. another answered. the summer night shivered with heat and memory. somewhere else, far from here, there was a bird nailed to a door. a husband who wasn’t their man anymore. strangers with eyes like mirrors and teeth too perfect.

but here, just for now, there was music and a boy with a voice like salvation. there was gravel and smoke and the ache of missing who they used to be.

they walked until the sounds of the juke joint were gone. until the cigarette burned to the filter and their heartbeat calmed again.

then they sat down on a fallen log beside the road, looked up through the trees at a sky too big to hold, and let the silence settle around them like old skin.

they’d go home, rest up, tell sammie tomorrow the alcohol was too much and they had to go rest..

it was a solid plan. they nodded to themself, reaching down to snub out their cigarette in the dirt when a glint caught their eye. rustling the leaves off it their heart dropped. gold coin.

the night broke open around them, legs pumping hard against the earth, boots sliding on the loose gravel of the road. no more haze. no more soft music and easier lies. just breath ragged in their throat and the burn in their thighs, sharp and immediate, keeping them here. now.

the coin burned cold in their pocket. Familiar weight, unfamiliar timing. they found themself praying to whatever was listening not to be too late.

“calm down darlin’ they ain’t invited us in yet” they skidded to a stop, looking at remmick who sat on a leg with a banjo and a grin, a man and woman sitting on either side of him with their own instruments.

they stared at remmick like he might vanish if they blinked hard enough.

but he didn’t vanish. he just kept smiling that impossible, easy smile. loose-limbed and cocky, like he was lounging on a porch and not sitting in the dirt off a back road, banjo across his knee like a weapon disguised as music.

“didn’t mean to ruin your little night out,” remmick drawled, picking lazily at a string. “heard some singin’ from half a mile out. pretty thing, that voice. you always had pretty taste”

they took a half-step back, one boot heel catching on a rock. remmick’s grin widened at that.

“still quick on your feet,” he said, not unkindly “that’s good. you’ll need that.”

“what are you doing here,” they said. not a question, not really. Just trying to fill the silence. trying to keep the pounding of their heart from drowning out the moment.

remmick shrugged, gave the banjo a soft, tuning pluck. the sound rang out thin and strange in the heavy night air. “didn’t I tell you? you don’t leave me. you don’t run and just expect I won’t follow, a man’s gotta keep his house in order, and even if you don’t wear your ring no more, we’re still married sweetheart. you left the door open, love. we just took our time comin’ through it.”

they could feel the weight of the coin again, pressing sharp and accusing through their pocket. their fingers twitched.

the woman with the fiddle smiled suddenly. All teeth. “ain’t you gonna invite us in?” she asked, voice sing-song, eyes full of something that shimmered just on the edge of madness. “we brought music.”

“got a band together,” the man added, finally speaking. his voice was low and slow, like molasses over a knife edge. “be a shame to waste a night like this”

remmick stood then, slow and unhurried, dust shaking from his coat as he slung the banjo over one shoulder. he walked toward them with the confidence of someone who’d already won.

they didn’t move. couldn’t. every instinct screamed, but the part of them that used to lie beside him, sweaty and satisfied and full, still remembered the way he looked when he was close. still wanted to reach. still wanted to believe.

“you looked happy tonight” remmick said, close now, voice pitched low and intimate “almost real. thought about lettin’ you have that. let you dance a little longer.”

he leaned down, his face inches from theirs, voice dipping into something quiet and poisonous.

“but then you left that bird up on the door like a fuckin’ dare.”

their breath hitched.

“i don’t like my gifts being ignored..” he reached out, brushed a knuckle down their jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. they flinched back hard, stumbling, the spell broken.

“don’t touch me,” they snapped, breath gone sharp again.

remmick’s grin twisted.

“i miss that fire” he said, stepping back like he’d been testing something and got his answer “but we ain’t here to fight. not yet. we came to watch. listen. maybe say hello to your little friend with the voice, if he’s still singin’.”

their hands curled into fists. “leave him out of this”

“oh, honey” the woman said from the log, standing now, fiddle raised to her shoulder, bow already dragging across the strings in something slow and discordant “that ain’t up to you”

“don’t you talk to me, either of you” they pointed at the woman and man “now, you, leave” they growled out to remmick. his eyes lighting up, like he’d been waiting for that edge in their voice.

“now there’s the tone I remember” he said, teeth flashing sharp beneath the smile “but you’re a little rusty, sugar. that threat don’t bite the way it used to”

the fiddle behind him wavered into something shrill, near-feral. the man sharing a look with the woman and chuckled, a dry, cracking sound like dead leaves underfoot.

“i said leave, remmick.” their voice shook, but it didn’t break “this ain’t your town. ain’t your night. and sammie sure as hell ain’t your business”

that was the wrong name to say. they knew it the second it left their mouth.

remmick’s expression didn’t change much, but the light behind his eyes cooled. flattened. he took one step forward, and then another.

they held their ground until they couldn’t anymore. until the pressure of his presence started pulling the air out of their lungs, memory pressing in around them like a closing fist. that same scent, like sweat and blood and fresh-turned dirt. like a home they had to burn down to escape.

“you always talk so big when you’re scared, always so quick to growl and bite” Remmick murmured “that’s alright. i still love that about you. fear’s honest. and you ain’t been honest with yourself in a long time”

he leaned close again, voice so low only they could hear it.

“you been pretending you don’t miss it. don’t miss me. but I know what lives in you, darlin’. i fed it”

their hand moved without thinking, fast, desperate, and shoved him back.

he didn’t stumble, just laughed. Loud, unbothered “you always did like foreplay”

“…i don’t want to hurt you remmick..”

the air felt thinner now, like it had to fight to get in their lungs. remmick’s laughter still echoed, too loud in the quiet dark, too familiar in a way that made their stomach twist. the woman’s fiddle dragged long and sharp, an off-key lullaby for something wicked. the man hadn’t moved, just watched, dark eyes glittering with disinterest, like he was waiting for the real show to start.

“i should kill you” they said. voice low, shaking, teeth clenched like they were afraid of what else might slip out

“you tried that once darlin” Remmick replied, still smiling “didn’t take, did it?”

he stepped back just enough to give them space to breathe, to think, but not enough to feel safe. remmick never gave you safety. Just the illusion of it, sweet and rotted.

“we ain’t here to hurt nobody,” he said, tone all lazy hospitality, like a neighbor stopping by with lemonade “not unless they give us reason. we’re here to save, you remember how it works.”

their hand twitched toward their pocket, the coin heavy there like a curse.

“you leave sammie out of it,” they repeated, quieter now “he’s got nothing to do with this”

“don’t he? you heard him sing, you know what he could do for us..we’d get to-“ “leave him out of it remmick!”

the air snapped.

their voice cracked through the space between them, louder than the fiddle, sharper than the tension twisting every shadow into something mean. the silence that followed didn’t last long, but it felt like it stretched between stars.

remmick tilted his head, smile falling thin. less pleased, more…thoughtful. he studied them the way a butcher might study a trembling calf, curious if it was worth the trouble.

he just sighed, long and patient. like he was tired of repeating himself. like he still loved them, in that terrible, tangled way that turned affection into possession.

“i ain’t touched him” he said at last, voice even “not yet”

that yet was a blade. small, but sharp enough to bleed.

he stepped back fully now, raising his hands in mock surrender, banjo still slung over one shoulder like a holy instrument. his eyes glittered.

“we ain’t monsters, sweetheart,” he added, still smiling “you know that” they didn’t say anything.

couldn’t.

the truth of that burned in their throat, thick and rising, something that sounded like liar if they said it out loud.

because remmick did know them. knew the part of them buried under laughter and smoke and second chances. the part that howled when it was alone. the part that used to sing harmony with him while the world burned.

but knowing them wasn’t the same as owning them, and he didn’t own a goddamn thing. not anymore.

“you show your face around sammie” they said, slow and cold, “i’ll remind you what happens when i stop being polite”

remmick’s grin flashed sharp and delighted.

“there they are”

the woman lowered her fiddle at last, head cocked.

“you gonna come home, sugar?” she asked, her voice dripping something sweet but rancid “he keeps a spot warm for you every night. we’ve seen it in his memories”

“no” their answer came fast, clean, a growl. a truth with no room for softness.

the man made a noise low in his throat. disappointed, maybe. maybe excited.

remmick sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw like they’d just inconvenienced him instead of held him at bay “you ain’t going in that building, ain’t letting you” they said spinning around and heading off back to the mill.

“see you soon darlin!”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

moment’s silence

| cult leader remmick x reader |

| part 1/? | |word count: 3k|

[warnings: 18+. religious themes, obsessive behaviors, cult stuff, remmick stuff, smut, oral sex, reader is referred to with they/them but is written with afab anatomy, i’ve never written smut before and am a loser so i apologize if it’s bad]

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

the locals of coalbranch knew better then to poke around the compound further up the mountain, knew better then to actually help search for any missing visitors, knew better then to acknowledge the screams that’d ring out, knew better then to actually accept any kind of invitation to church or a potluck from any of the congregation that lived up there.

they, however, didn’t know any better. growing up further east, in the foothills instead of full blown mountains. their knowledge of coalbranch being sparse childhood memories of visiting their grandparents, which were now faded boasts of nostalgia, up until a few months ago when their grandpa passed away and their chunk of the inheritance was that old farm that hadn’t been touched in over a decade.

the lawyer was tight-lipped “bit of a fixer-upper” she’d said, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror as they drove up the winding road. she didn’t offer much else, not when they asked about the old congregation or the compound. just chewed her gum a little faster and dropped them off without so much as getting out of the car.

it wasn’t long after they moved in that he showed up.

remmick.

he was just there one evening, right after sunset, leaning against the post of the front gate like he’d been invited, like he belonged there more than they did. eyes sharp and too still, lips curled into something halfway between polite smile and private joke. dressed plain, collar buttoned to the neck, sleeves rolled with casual exactness. dust on his boots. stillness in his stance, like he could wait forever.

“i figured i should welcome you proper,” he said, voice low and warm like summer honey “seeing as we’re neighbors now.”

they should’ve closed the gate.

instead, they nodded. said something dumb, probably. his presence did that, scrambled words, made the air feel thinner. they didn’t notice how he didn’t blink much. didn’t notice the way he kept looking at them like they were already his. didn’t notice the way his breath would hitch up in a smell when they were close enough.

he came by often after that. never asked for anything. just brought things, jars of canned peaches, homemade bread, a crooked little wooden charm he swore was for protection. he’d linger on the porch long past their first attempt at ending the conversation so they could go inside and sleep, talking in riddles, eyes half-lidded like he was dreaming while awake.

they started to get used to seeing him. that was the scariest part. how quickly it all turned normal.

remmick was always just…there. not intrusive. not demanding. just present. a steady rhythm, every other evening or so, a knock on the screen door, a low evenin’ and that familiar tilt of his head, like he already knew what they’d say before they said it. like he was waiting for them to catch up.

he’d lean on the porch railing, compliment the new paint they managed to slap on the barn, talk about the weather, ask little things; Were you sleepin’ alright? That cough clear up? You eatin’ enough?

and somehow, they’d answer him. somehow, they’d start offering coffee, or letting him sit inside when the nights got colder. somehow, they stopped noticing how his eyes lingered.

he never touched them. not at first.

but his voice would drop, quiet as a prayer, when they were close. he’d say things that didn’t sound strange until hours later, when they were alone, lights off, trying to sleep.

“i dreamed about you again last night. You were singin’. You ever sing, darlin’?”

“you’d like the chapel, i think. real warm. real quiet. like bein’ inside a body”

“you got the kind of soul that don’t come around often. the kind that calls people home”

it was easy to brush off. he was just weird, right? just one of those overly polite, southern-mystic types, all charisma and cryptic charm. and it wasn’t like he ever crossed a line.

until they found the charm again.

they’d tossed it. that little carved wooden thing he gave them, left it in a drawer and then, weeks later, it was back on their bedside table. sitting on top of their pillow like a forgotten gift. they didn’t remember putting it there. didn’t remember even seeing it again after that first night.

when they brought it up, he just smiled wider than usual. touched the corner of his mouth with one knuckle.

“it found its way back. that’s how you know it’s workin’”

that night, they dreamed of him. not the polite version. not the porch-sitting, bread-bringing version. no, this one knelt beside their bed, breathing slow and deep, his hands resting gently on their throat and thigh. not squeezing. just there. like a promise.

and his mouth moved like he was praying.

and when they woke up, they were full of shame at the mess they became in their sleep over a man who, from what they understand, was a man of god.

that night they couldn’t bring themself to answer the knock at the door, hiding in their bedroom too ashamed and still feeling the aftermath of that damned dream too much to face the star of it. but he didn’t leave, sitting in his usual rocking chair like he owned the place, like a man coming home after a hard days work.

they didn’t answer the door the next night either. or the next, but the rocking chair stayed occupied.

every evening just after dark, they’d hear it creak, slow and steady. no knock. no footsteps. just presence. just patince. just the sound of wood sighing beneath weight and time and something older than either.

by the fourth night, they peeked through the curtain, jumping back with a curse when he was already looking at them.

he didn’t wave. didn’t smile. just tipped his head, slow and reverent, like he was beholding a miracle.

their stomach dropped like a stone.

the next day, the gate was open when they came back from town. they never left it open. and inside was the scent of something burning faintly sweet. wax. smoke. and something else.

they followed it to the kitchen.

laid out on the table, a little bundle of herbs, tied with black string. a fresh loaf of his bread. and a single page torn from an old hymnal, folded and tucked under a mason jar of creek water that was still cold to the touch.

Written in looping ink on the back:

“You don’t have to be afraid of what already belongs to you.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

the next time they saw him, really saw him, was at the edge of their field, just after dusk. he was backlit by the slightest end of the sun through the pines, haloed, shirt sleeves rolled high, collar open this time. the first time they’d seen his neck bare. a cord hung there, just barely visible. something wooden strung on it, shaped like the charm.

“i’ve been prayin’,” he said softly, almost like he was shy, though he never seemed anything but certain. “prayin’ for clarity. for patience.”

they didn’t know what to say. just stood there, hands in their jacket pockets, heart going sideways. he stepped closer.

“you dream of me again?”

they froze. couldn’t lie. couldn’t speak. he smiled slow, like he already knew.

“i ain’t ashamed to say it, i think i was made for you. all my days before now feel like waitin’. and I’ve been good, haven’t I? gentle?”

his eyes darkened, voice still calm. still low.

“but it’s hard, sugar. it’s hard bein’ near you and not touchin what calls to me like a hymn.”

something inside them twisted. fear. want. shame. awe.

“come to the chapel,” he murmured “don’t even gotta stay long. just a little while, i wanna show you where i keep you. where i built the whole altar.”

they shook their head, breath catching.

“remmick, i ain’t sure how exactly i’m supposed to react to this.”

he jaw tense for a moment before he sighed, grasping their wrists “then lemme in, darlin’, ain’t gotta come with me tonight but i know it’s driving you up the wall too..lemme help, just for a moment..”

they barely remembered letting him in.

one second they were staring at him from the doorway, heart punching the inside of their ribs.

the next, he was inside.

not loud. not sudden. just there. like fog under the door. like prayer in the back of your throat. a warm, slow rot blooming sweet inside the ribcage.

remmick didn’t speak at first.

he just looked at them. that same reverent tilt of the head. that same quiet, boiling hunger simmering behind his dark eyes. something between worship and possession.

“you look like you ain’t been sleeping.” he broke his silence, softly, like concern. like love.

like a knife sliding easy through butter.

they flinched when he reached for them, just to brush their cheekbone with the back of his hand, like he was scared they’d vanish if he touched too hard.

“i see you in my sleep, you know” he whispered “every night. bent over that altar, light on your shoulders like God himself was callin’ you home.”

he stepped closer. no sudden moves. just slow and sure and inevitable.

“and i pray, real gentle, that he lets me have you just a little while longer.”

their mouth was dry. their pulse a frantic little rabbit in their throat. he smelled like cedar smoke and sun-warmed flannel and something too old to name “…darlin’ lemme have you for the night, please, been good and gentle..i promise i’ll keep being good and gentle..just lemme have ya..”

the words were more breath than sound. desperate, not rushed, like he was praying again, and they were the altar. his nose pressed into the crook of their neck, breath hot and shaky. and then the wet heat of his mouth, open and reverent. drool soaking into their nightgown, slick against collarbone.

they should’ve pushed him off. should’ve gagged in disgust. should’ve screamed.

but all they could do was nod.

just once. a small, trembling thing. something ancient inside them rolling over and exposing its belly.

remmick shuddered like he’d felt it, like that nod struck him right down to the root. he let out a sound then, soft and guttural, full of gratitude and hunger. his hands, which had been hanging at his sides in disciplined stillness, finally moved.

one cradled the back of their head like it was breakable. the other curled around their waist, warm and careful but firm, like he thought they might change their mind if he didn’t hold on.

“you’re doin’ so good darlin” he whispered, mouth dragging up along their jaw, voice wet and wrecked. “letting me touch what’s mine. been dreamin’ of this so long it hurts.”

they whimpered, soft, pathetic, because he was saying all the wrong things in all the right ways. because their body was betraying them, leaning in, craving more warmth, more pressure, more him.

remmick didn’t kiss them, not properly. he just held his face there, pressed close, breathing them in like incense.

“you don’t gotta do nothin’, sugar,” he murmured, guiding them back, step by slow step, toward the couch. “just let me… hold what’s holy. that’s all. just let me rest with you. i’ll be so good. so quiet.”

they sat when he nudged them down, dazed. their knees barely worked. he knelt in front of them, eyes wide and glistening like he was already halfway crying.

“i knew you’d feel it,” he said, cupping their calves like a man anchoring himself to the earth “been so patient. So gentle. didn’t even touch myself after those dreams. swore i wouldn’t stain it ‘til you wanted me.”

their breath hitched.

“remmick-”

he surged up, not to kiss them, but to lay his head on their chest. just rested there, mouth parted, hands fisted in the hem of their nightgown.

“you feel that?” he mumbled, voice muffled against their skin. “that’s you makin’ me better. you calm all the hunger in me, darlin’ even when it hurts.”

and it did hurt, they could feel it, the tension in him, the tremble in his arms, the barely contained shaking in his legs. he was trying. not to break them. not yet. he was on his knees at the altar, and they were the god he worshipped.

they didn’t know what to do with their hands. every instinct screamed to push, to pull away, to break the spell, but their fingers curled instead. first into the cushion beneath them, then into his hair.

that broke something open.

he let out a sound so soft and wrecked, it didn’t sound human. a choked whimper, like someone crying into a pillow. his whole body sagged between their knees, and when he spoke again, it was like the words were bleeding out of him.

“you touch me like that, i ain’t gonna last long,” he breathed “ain’t even laid a hand on you proper and i’m already halfway ruined” it was a desperate whine, like the thought of being ruined before he actually got to have them hurt.

“i can’t take you tonight, i’m sorry darlin’, gotta be able to do it right” he mumbled, hands bunching up their nightgown “but imma still make it worth it for you”

they were confused until his hands hooked around their knees, yanking them closer to the edge of the couch as he slipped under the fabric of their nightgown, kissing up their thighs. nails and teeth feeling to sharp but they chalked it up to over sensitivity and anticipation, ignoring the inhuman noises he made while working up and down their legs.

his teeth scraped too close to the soft skin just above their knee, and something inside them jolted like a warning bell. but then his tongue followed, warm and wet, and it was like the warning turned into a hymn. his nails dug in, hard enough to sting, soft enough to feel like worship.

“sweet thing” he murmured, voice almost unrecognizable now, hushed and broken “you don’t even know what you’re lettin’ me taste. what you’re offerin’ up like it ain’t the holiest thing i’ve ever touched.”

the nightgown was bunched at their hips now, the thin cotton hiding nothing. remmick’s breath hitched when he looked, really looked, and his forehead bowed to the inside of their thigh like it was sacred ground.

“one night,” he whispered, almost to himself. “just one night to ruin myself on you, and then i’ll go back to bein’ good. i promise.”

but they both knew he was lying.

he licked a slow line up, and the whole world narrowed to that heat, that pressure, that impossible sound of him sobbing quietly between their thighs.

he licked a long strip up their folds, groaning as he rolled his hips against nothing. their head lolled back against the couch, legs shaking as he buried his face further into them

his mouth moving like he was speaking in tongues, like he was praying into them.

they couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. every part of them was trembling, half from fear, half from the kind of want that burrowed into bone. he lapped at them with slow, reverent strokes, moaning like each taste was a salvation, a reward, a piece of divinity he’d been denied too long.

and then, his voice again, low and ruined

“you make me believe again, sugar. I forgot what that felt like. forgot what it meant to feel this clean…this full”

his tongue worked deeper, firmer, and they cried out before they could stop themself. He shuddered at the sound, hands clutching tighter at their hips.

“that’s it. that’s it, baby. don’t hold back. let me hear it- don’t you know I live off your sound?”

something in his tone snapped around the edges, less prayer now, more fever. less reverence, more ritual. and still he didn’t stop, didn’t relent, tongue relentless and mouth messy and open and too desperate to care if they shook or wept or whispered please into the stale air of that little farmhouse.

they clutched at his shoulders now, unable to stop themself, nails digging into the hard line of muscle beneath his shirt. he whimpered against them, like that was the holiest thing, like being touched back was what would finally break him, pants being marked with a wet spot that should’ve had him embarrassed and apologizing but all he wanted to do was continue his worship and work on them.

he pulled back, just slightly, just enough to look up- face wet, lips red, eyes glassy and wide with something between rapture and hunger. he dragged his cheek along their inner thigh like a cat marking its territory, nose nuzzling like it belonged there.

his hand slipped under their shirt now, palm flat over their stomach. he wasn’t groping. he was feeling. savoring. worshipping.

“you don’t gotta decide soon, i’ll still be here. just like i am now. on my knees. every night. dreamin’. touchin’. pray’n for the moment i can finally be in you..it’ll be on that altar like you deserve”

they should’ve been afraid. and maybe they were.

but the worst part -the damning part- was that they didn’t want him to stop.

not even when he buried his face again and moaned against them like he was drinking straight from a grail. not even when he said, over and over, “mine mine mine” between each kiss.

not even when the night stretched longer than it should’ve. when the moon didn’t move. when the air got too still.

and outside the window, just past the fields, the chapel lights flickered on.

like they knew.

like they were waiting.

like something inside was preparing the altar.

and remmick didn’t stop until they were limp and gasping, boneless and slack, head fallen back, every last bit of resistance milked out of them with his mouth.

he rested his forehead to their thigh again, breath slowing.

“you rest now,” he said, gently, like a lullaby “be back tomorrow with s’ more of that peach jelly you like so much” he pressed his wet mouth against their thigh for one last kiss.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

tags: @001-side

[decaying-opossum]

op i just wanna tell you your werewolf reader x remmick is so so good and cool so far🥺🥺🫶🫶🫶 you have no idea how much ive been yearning for this kind of pairing like i went feral when i saw and even more so now after reading... thank you<3

omg thank you so much!!! i ain’t written much except little shorts the past like 3-4 ish years so getting back to actually writing is kinda weird so hearing it’s not as bad as i’m thinking fr means a lot. hopefully i can get another part done tomorrow since it’s my off day 🙏

[decaying-opossum]

like a little midnight mass kinda moment..

Am I wrong for saying that I want to pound town priest! Remmick? And I’m not even that religious

[decaying-opossum]

i will 🙏🙏

cult leader remmick??

keeps mostly human followers so there’s people to tend to the animals and crops, finding new members/sacrifices during daylight, ‘chosen ones’ he turned for better, stronger guards and to help show the ‘benefits’ of listening to him and following his teachings

got 2 ideas with it, either reader is a (new maybe? idk which would be better) follower and gets chosen OR reader just lives near the compound and meets remmick one night and then starts getting harassed by the cult to join them

i’ve never really written smut before but whiny cult leader remmick desperate to worship the reader is burning a hole in what’s left of my brain

[decaying-opossum]

cult leader remmick??

keeps mostly human followers so there’s people to tend to the animals and crops, finding new members/sacrifices during daylight, ‘chosen ones’ he turned for better, stronger guards and to help show the ‘benefits’ of listening to him and following his teachings

got 2 ideas with it, either reader is a (new maybe? idk which would be better) follower and gets chosen OR reader just lives near the compound and meets remmick one night and then starts getting harassed by the cult to join them

i’ve never really written smut before but whiny cult leader remmick desperate to worship the reader is burning a hole in what’s left of my brain

[decaying-opossum]

dealing despair

| remmick x werewolf reader |

| part 3/? | |word count: 1447|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

they tried their hardest to go bed early that evening, tossing and turning before sitting up in defeat. laying on top of the covers, hands anxiously clawing at their own arms. the heat didn't help, thick and wet, like breathing through cotton soaked in spit. crickets and cicadas had grown quiet shortly after they got home, the silence it left seeming more alive than anything.

they kept waiting, ears ringing in search of creek of the porch, the scratching, the whiny beg of remmick against the door, too soft, too close, syrup thick and sugary desperation; 'darlin let me in'

but none of it came. just the weight of the bird still hanging on the door. they'd left it there. didn't need to bring it in to know what it meant.

remmick was here. but it was the others that made their spine tighten. strangers, ones they didn't know how to track; no scent, no sound, no shape to fear yet. that was the kind of danger that got in before you saw it. that meant keeping out of crowds, away from warm bodies and borrowed smiles.

they dropped their gaze to the floor. ran a hand across their forehead to gather the beads of sweat. then stood and walked to the window. looked out in thought.

sammie's voice still echoed in their head: "you think about comin' out tonight, alright? music, drinks... I'm playing" they chewed their bottom lip, indecisive. they should stay in. they should keep their head down, keep their trail cold. but the house felt like a mouth. like they were sitting in its throat, waiting to be swallowed.

so they sighed and walked to the closet and pulled a shirt off the hanger.

one night of music and drink couldn't hurt.

they couldn't smell remmick. couldn't taste the others. so maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't be followed. not tonight.

maybe tonight, they could just be someone in the crowd. someone who almost belonged.

almost.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

1832

the body was still twitching, lungs still managing to let out gurgled moans. they hadn't meant to make such a mess of it, but hunger didn't leave room for manners. bones cracked between their teeth like dry twigs. hot blood clung to their hands, wrists, mouth.

they weren't fully shifted, no, this wasn't clean like that. this was the in-between. jaws too wide, teeth too long for a person but not long enough for the beast. eyes like glowing amber. fingers too-knuckled, claws tearing through skin like wet paper.

they'd be gone by morning, they thought.

no one would find them here. but then, a voice. low, curious. dangerous in the way still water is dangerous.

"well now... look at you"

they froze, turned their head slowly.

and there he was.

remmick.

not afraid. not even surprised. just leaning against a tree like he'd been watching for a while. boots muddy, hat tilted back, smile like a knife unsheathed.

"didn't mean to interrupt," he said, stepping closer, eyes locked on theirs like he was memorizing something important. "you always eat with your mouth open like that, or am I just special?"

they snarled. barely human. barely animal. all instinct.

he didn't flinch.

"Relax," he murmured, holding up his hands, empty. "ain't here to judge. hell-" he glanced at the ruined body between them, "-i've made worse messes myself" they should've run. should've ripped out his throat and buried the evidence beneath six feet of pine needles and rot.

but they didn't. because something about him felt... old, familiar.

he smelled wrong, irony rot but strangely enjoyable in a way that felt like a guilty pleasure.

he crouched, boots creaking softly "you ain't like nothing i've seen" he said, voice gone soft now, like he was speaking to a spooked dog. "you're something else, huh?"

they didn't answer, couldn't. he leaned in, just enough to be foolish, and smiled "that's alright. I like different"

they stayed crouched, breath snarling through cracked lips, blood still warm on their tongue. their body trembled, not from fear, but from restraint. every part of them screamed to lunge, to finish what had started with the man at their feet, and end whatever game this stranger was playing.

but remmick didn't move like prey. he tilted his head just slightly, watching them like a man watches firelight. his voice, when it came again, was low enough to crawl across skin "You ever get full?"

the question hit something raw. they blinked, confused by it, the kind of question no one asked. not hunters. not priests. not the folk who burned things they couldn't explain. full? no. not really. not ever. hunger was a constant. something stitched into the gut like old thread.

remmick saw the answer in their silence. he chuckled, warm and humorless, and settled onto one knee beside the dying man, whose chest now only rose shallowly every half-minute.

"see, most folks'd run screamin'. most would've put a bullet in you already, if they'd had the sense" he looked at them, his smile turning lazy. "but I ain't most folks"

he touched the body, gently, almost reverent. then without flinching, he drove his thumb into the man's eye socket until it gave with a wet pop.

they didn't react, but their shoulders tensed "death's a teacher," remmick said, voice calm as a hymn, sucking the blood off his finger with a hum "people just forget to listen"

they finally found their voice, rough and unused. "what do you want?"

remmick sat back on his heels, eyes glinting beneath the brim of his hat. "want? not much. curious, though." he pointed at them. "you ain't made like others. you're stitched from something older. like me. raw. honest. that's rare"

he paused, something thoughtful threading into his tone.

"maybe i just want to see what you become"

their lip curled, and their claws flexed. "you don't know me"

"no," he agreed. "but i know what lonely looks like. i know what hungry sounds like. and i know you ain't got anyone waitin' for you back wherever it is you crawl off to when you're done chewing bones"

he leaned forward again, voice a whisper now.

"you need a friend, sweetheart. or at the very least...a witness"

they didn't answer. but they didn't leave either. and remmick took that as permission. he stood, brushed the remaining blood from his hand onto his coat, and looked down at them like he already belonged to their story.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

they didn't have shoe options. or really clothes options. one of the many curses of living life with one foot already halfway out the door. still, they did what they could, scrubbed the dried field dust off their boots, tugged on the cleanest shirt they owned, sleeves rolled just enough to look deliberate, not desperate. even managed to tame their hair with a bit of water from the pump out back and a somewhat clean bandanna. didn't make them look any less haunted, but it helped them pass.

they drove their hands into their pockets, scuffed the toe of one boot against the gravel, and stood at the edge of the old mill's dirt lot; watching.

the building still looked like it was made for labor. broad shoulders of rusted sheet metal and timber beams, paint long since peeled to bone. but someone'd dragged in string lights and noise, scrubbed the inside down just enough to make it hum with life instead of echo. music leaked through the seams, lazy drums and warm brass. people trickled in with loose limbs and laughing mouths, work-worn hands reaching for bottles, boots tapping toward release.

the kind of joy that always felt a little foreign to them. a little earned, but not theirs.

they shifted their weight, one step toward the door before freezing again. maybe they shouldn't have come. maybe they should've listened to the part of their gut still burning with that bird-on-the-door omen. this wasn't a place you could carry dread into. joy could smell it. would turn on you for it.

they turned slightly, ready to head back the way they came.

but Sammie caught them.

"hey!"

his voice cracked out sharp and sweet over the crowd. he was slinging his guitar over one shoulder, cutting through a knot of people to lean halfway out the doorway, face lit by strings of flickering yellow bulbs.

"you gonna stand out there all night lookin' like a kicked dog or you comin' inside?" he grinned, already waving them in like the answer was yes.

they hesitated, then sighed through their nose. no use fighting gravity.

"don't look at me like that," sammie called. "ain't nobody here who bites harder than you"

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

dealing despair

| remmick x werewolf reader |

| part 2/? | |word count: 1694|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

a drifter; that's all they were. town to city, boxcars and riverboats, stolen cars, miles of dirt road under blistered feet. they'd lived under bridges and in borrowed barns, taken work wherever it came. never too long, never long enough to be known. long enough to eat. long enough to disappear.

but Clarksdale had a strange kind of gravity. three years. the longest they'd stood still since they'd clawed their way out of the blood and bone of the old life. out of remmick.

they'd earned the sweat on their brow honest here. their hands, once soaked in red, now cracked with sun and soil. no one asked too many questions, and they gave even fewer answers. that was the unspoken trade.

still, a few people managed to press through the silence. sammie moore, for one.

preacher's boy, all loose limbs and tired eyes, with a voice like church bells even when he cursed. he didn't talk much either — not about the big things. just enough to pass the heat and move the day along. they never said it, but there was a rhythm between them in the fields, a kind of quiet companionship that didn't demand more than the work required.

but now... something was shifting.

for three mornings in a row, sammie had been out there before them. and not just by a few minutes, by the kind of gap that meant something.

they stayed in bed, eyes pinned to the ceiling until the sun stretched long enough to bleach out the shadows. until they were certain Remmick was gone.

or at least, gone enough.

the smell of him still hung around the edges of things, the porch boards, the well pump, the base of the cypress tree out back where the wild dogs wouldn't go anymore. like old smoke in fabric. like something waiting.

they'd thought about leaving.

pack the bag again. take the northbound train that hissed just past the edge of town every third night. take what little they'd earned and vanish before remmick caught scent again.

but they hadn't. couldn't.

not yet.

not because of hope remmick would loose interest. not because of cowardice either. but because of sammie.

because if remmick got bored of stalking, if he realized they'd slipped through his fingers again..well, then he'd lash out. and small towns had short tempers and slow response times. sammie wouldn't see it coming. mone of them would.

and worse than blood on their hands was knowing they'd left someone, a kid in their eyes, behind to face it in their place.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

that morning, they rose just after first light. not a second before.

the house creaked like it had a warning to give. the air felt heavy, still holding onto the last traces of night. they pulled on their shirt, shoulders stiff, every nerve humming just beneath the skin.

body ache from a suppressed shift. fortunately. it was Saturday so all they'd have to do is just get through today and be able to somewhat rest tomorrow. normally they wouldn't look forward for the day of rest so much. working kept their mind clear, they'd work themself to the bone if they hadn't lost that ability years ago.

stepping out onto their porch they already felt the heat and humidity of the mississippi sun despite it still resting low on the horizon. remmick's stink wasnt as strong as usual, faint and mixed with something "...hunters" they shook their head stepping down their steps "idiot"

the dirt stuck to their boots before they hit the fields. dew-wet and warm, like the ground itself had started to sweat. every breath they took was a slow negotiation between instincts and control. they tasted the world more than smelled it now; the copper tang under the air, the faint grease of gun oil, mud churned by unfamiliar soles.

hunters. close.

remmick was always dramatic, but he didn't work with others unless he was trying to make a point. and remmick never made a point unless it came with a body count. he was easy to track via missing people reports and maulings of a creature most couldn't understand.

they gritted their teeth, jaw tight as they approached the fields. sammie was already there, sleeves rolled and hat cocked, pulling cotton off the dried plant "bout time," sammie said, not looking up. "you miss the rooster's sermon or just felt like bein' fashionably late?"

they gave a quiet grunt, setting into the row beside him, hands working by muscle memory. "didn't sleep good" haven't slept good in days, not with remmicks nails scratching at their window and his desperate begs to be let inside "storm comin'?" he asked, not unkind

"somethin' like that."

they didn't speak after that. didn't need to. work filled the space like prayer, steady and repetitive, the kind that held a soul together by routine alone.

but the quiet between them didn't feel as easy this morning. it felt like waiting. they could feel sammie watching them, not directly, just... glancing, like he wanted to ask something but didn't know where to begin.

"y'ever... think about leavin'?" Sammie asked finally. their spine straightened a notch too tight. "i've left more then i've thought, i'm more leaving about thinking..why?"

"dunno. Just... been feelin' off lately. like eyes on me that i can't see" he laughed a little, like he didn't want to believe it either "maybe I'm just gettin' spooked."

they paused, pulled too hard and took half the plant from the soil "that's the kind of feeling you listen to, sammie. don't talk yourself out of it."

that made sammie look at them, really look. "you mean it?" they met his eyes. "every damn word. listen to that pull, instincts are there for a reason" hypocrite

for a moment sammie hesitated, then nodded and looked back to the ground. "you're different lately. like a dog with its hackles up. ain't seen you jumpy like this since those hogs broke the fence last spring."

they didn't answer. couldn't.

sammie didn't know how right he was. and he couldn't. he couldn't know what kind of dog they really were. couldn't know how easily they could tear through bone and muscle, how much effort it took to not be that creature every single day.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

they'd hit their quota by mid-morning, same as usual despite their late start. as they dusted off their hands, they muttered something vague about heading into town, a quick stop for supplies before heading home to clean up. sammie walked with them until the road split, his path curved back toward the church, theirs snaked into town.

it was a long walk under a heavy sun, the kind of heat that made the air feel like soup in your lungs. but the discomfort was welcome, in its own way, something sharp and tangible to focus on, something to drown out the pull. his pull. remmick's.

that gravity hadn't faded, no matter how many years they tried to live clean.

about a mile out from the edge of town, a shiny new car crunched onto the shoulder beside them. sammie leaned out over the passenger side door, grinning like he'd won something. the man behind the wheel, older and broad-shouldered, nodded once in greeting. sammie introduced him as his cousin, stack. name like that belonged to someone with dice in their pocket and blood on their boots.

sammie, ever the gentleman, offered them a ride. they shook their head, low and firm, not unkind, just unwilling.

too close. too familiar. the kind of mistake that ended with someone ripped in half if remmick got curious again.

sammie shrugged off the refusal, easy as ever. "suit yourself. you think about comin' out tonight, alright? stack and his brother just opened a spot in the old mill. music, drinks. nothin' wild..i'm playing"

they hesitated, guilt tugging at their gut for turning him down cold. so they gave a half-nod, mumbling, "i'll try to make it." sammie smiled like that was enough, then the car peeled off, and the dust settled behind it.

the rest of the walk into town dragged slow, every step baked into the road. cicadas screamed from the trees like sirens, and the oaks offered just enough shade to tease. the path wound through brush and red clay, until pavement took over, cracked and sun-bleached, lined with faded storefronts and creaking porches.

clarksdale didn't have much. a grocery, a barber, a few churches — and more eyes than it should've. the kind that lingered too long, always curious about what they didn't know.

they ducked into Chew's Grocery, the bell overhead shrieking like a wounded thing. Inside was cooler, dimmer. they grabbed flour, canned beans, coffee — the staples — and made it to the register without a word.

as miss lisa, the young daughter of the owners, rang them up, a noise outside caught their ear. raised voices. Then- bang

gunshot.

they winced "...always something," they muttered, shouldering their bag as they stepped outside.

across the street, a man was clutching his backside and hollering about being shot, and standing over him, someone who looked like they should've been stack, stood calm and expressionless, lowering a pistol like it was nothing more than a cup of coffee.

they narrowed their eyes. no. that wasn't stack. didn't smell like stack. but it sure as hell looked like him.

their lips pressed into a line. another gunshot rang out behind them as they turned, choosing not to linger. whatever that was, it was chaos. the kind that was familiar. too familiar.

and they wanted no part of it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

later, near dusk, they found the dead bird nailed to their doorframe. not a warning. A message. remmick's version of a letter.

black feathers. throat slit clean. no scavenger had touched it.

they didn't touch it either. just stared at it long enough to feel their stomach churn. it wasn't the bird that made their skin crawl. It was the smell beneath it, not remmick. not hunter.

community

old. familiar.

their gut sank.

remmick hadn't come alone after all, or at least wasn't alone anymore.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

dealing despair

| remmick x werewolf reader |

|part 1/?| |word count: 789|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

they smelled it before they ever saw anything, the freshly dropped rain making it almost burn the inside of their nose, iron and rot, a thick musk that made their teeth chitter as they stared out their wide open front door, yellowed eyes frantically searching for the source without allowing themself to go outside no matter how much of a pull they felt.

"now that's just hurtful darlin..always a tease" they snarled despite the ache his voice caused as they looked over to him, leaning against the porch's railing his familiar grin plastered on his face "ain't nothing here for you remmick, you keep moving" they stood ridged in the door way, eyes searching for any others in the dark.

"i'm alone, ain't gotta worry...just got into town and all..lemme in darlin, let's catch up.." he pranced forward, expecting them to invite him in like old times "no remmick, let's not" they sniffed the air "..i can smell the hunters, you ain't leading them into my house. i've been living clean and fair, ain't hurt no humans"

remmick clicked his tongue, slow and theatrical, like he had all the time in the world and didn't give a damn about being unwelcome "well now, you always were good at sniffin' out trouble" he said, stepping up onto the porch, his boots leaving muddy prints on the warped boards "guess that nose of yours didn't dull none under all that righteous livin' still sharp as ever."

they didn't move, didn't blink. their hands were clenched white around the doorframe, breath held just beneath the surface. it was all muscle memory not to lunge, old instincts howling against the bones of their restraint.

"you smell like blood," they said. "not old, neither. fresh." remmick's smile twitched, a little tighter now. "not mine."

"then whose?"

a silence stretched between them, thick as the air before a storm. somewhere in the distance, thunder muttered low like an omen.

remmick tilted his head. "y'know, i thought maybe you'd be happy to see me. thought maybe you'd remember what it was like, runnin' wild under the full moon, teeth in meat, hearts beatin' like drums in our ears"

"you think i forgot?" their voice cracked on the edge of a growl, all gravel and memory "i remember every scream. every vein i tore open with you grinning at my back like the devil's shadow" they stepped just one foot forward, still inside the house, still on the clean side of the threshold. moonlight caught on their eyes; gold and sharp as cut glass.

"i remember what it cost me to stop."

remmick's jaw flexed, the smirk slipping, just for a breath. but his eyes never left theirs "always did have a taste for penance," he said, soft now "you think if you work hard enough, sweat into this dirt long enough, plant enough cotton for rich folks, that you'll earn your soul back?"

they bristled, not at the insult, at the familiarity. he still knew exactly where to push "better than still runnin' through backwoods like a rabid dog," they snapped "i've made peace here"

remmick laughed then, low and humorless, the sound scraping like nails down bark "peace?" he echoed "this ain't peace. this is starvation dressed up as righteousness. you think they'd still let you plow their fields if they knew what you were?"

that stung, they flinched, and remmick saw it.

"don't matter" they said, quieter now "they don't ask, i don't tell. i work, i eat, i sleep, and i don't kill no one. that's the deal" "deal with who?" he said, stepping right up to the doorway now "yourself? god? you think that old bastard even looks this far down anymore?"

"i don't need god." their voice dropped, a warning "i just need you to leave." he leaned in, breath mingling with theirs across the barrier "but see...i need you."

they didn't breathe. didn't blink. every part of them screamed run or kill, but they did neither.

"you always were the heart of it" remmick said "without you, the family just... splintered. ain't been the same, ain't felt the same, but me? I stayed true. kept the flame burning, for you."

"it won't a family, you stayed blood-drunk and feral" they snapped "and you stayed hungry" he said it like gospel, like prophecy. for a second, the wind howled just right, and something inside them stirred, the part that remembered moonlight on bare skin and remmick's teeth in their neck. that dangerous, wild love. that terrible, beautiful freedom.

they snarled and slammed the door in his face.

through the thin wood, his voice curled like smoke "i'll be seein' you, darlin, moon's comin' full real soon"

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

[decaying-opossum]

| tyler owens x reader x scott |

|unofficial part 1/?| |word count: 1418|

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Their eyes widened in awe as they stood ankle-deep in the rapidly rising floodwater, completely captivated by the ominous view of the dark, turbulent sky above. Despite the urgent cries of a desperate voice calling out their name, they couldn't tear their gaze away from the raging storm brewing over the churning sea. The immense power of nature seemed to hold them in a trance, even as the water threatened to pull them farther from the safety of the shore.

the storm, with its relentless fury, appeared simultaneously terrifying and breathtaking, like a vengeful goddess unleashing her wrath upon the earth. It was a sight to behold as it ripped trees from the ground and transformed solid ground into a turbulent sea, claiming it as her own domain. Only the gasp of surprise as they were abruptly pulled back brought them out of their reverie, their father swiftly scooping them up and rushing them away from the water's edge and back toward the road.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

the motel bed creaked, old metal frame whining under the weight that shifted on it "scott...scotty..baby wake up!" they shook the man, who shifted, giving them a half asleep look of annoyance "stop it, go back to sleep" he dismissed them rolling over "come on" they whined back putting their face against his neck "it's 6:15! let's go find some storms to chase!"

"we don't leave until 8. go back to sleep"

they huffed, flopping back next to him "ya know tornadoes don't have office hours" "yeah well storm par does, now at least be quiet so i can sleep" they sighed, knowing not to push him anymore, especially in his sleepy state.

"i'm sorry, 'm just excited..it's gonna be so fun, my first official chase!" they gushed, sitting up again "it's not fun, it's work, you have to stay focused today. you don't have a hall pass to be stupid and reckless just because we're engaged. on company time you're a stormPar employee first and foremost"

their shoulders drop at that "..i didn't expect special treatment.." a lie, of course they had expected a little special treatment, they were engaged and scott was the only reason they had even met the 'qualifications' for storm par, having helped them go to school just so they could work with him instead of staying at 'home' working a shitty job and waiting for the season to end for him to come back home.

deep down they were nervous to work along side him, nervous of his expectations. he was harsh, they had seen it the few times they visited him at work, something that ever so often made them question their relationship was the way he treated others, he was so degrading to the stormPar crew. but at the same time they all just took it, the storm par team stayed the same, so perhaps what they've seen was just bad days. they hoped they were.

"well boss, what're we doing today?" they said getting off the bed and beginning to get dressed despite scott attempting to coax them back to bed. he sighed their name, shoving his face further into the pillow "..we gotta get some kinda data for riggs, so probably find a storm" "don't get sarcastic, im excited" they sat on the edge of the bed, almost sitting on his long legs "i know you're sleepy but show me a lil more excitement please..we've been working so hard for today"

their words finally made him melt enough to roll over on his back and look up at them "god you're pathetic, come here" he said at their hurt puppy look, tugging them to lay on his chest "..javi convinced his little girlfriend from new york to come out, so your first day unfortunately probably won't be great" they slumped at that, face falling at his negativity "but...there is supposed to be some interesting systems rolling in west of here, you'll see a tornado eventually...get you're little adrenaline junky rush you want so bad"

his reassurance made them giggle, pecking his lips before resting their head down on his chest "..i guess a lil more sleep won't hurt.." they mumbled with a small smile as scott wrapped his arms around them.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

the small truck stop was rowdy, full of people rushing about in cheap rain ponchos, some drinking despite the earliness of the morning, music played from various cars making it all a little overwhelming "god damnit.." scott sighed at the sight as they walked down towards the storm par vehicles "what is all this?" they asked, confused at the state of once empty lot, yesterday when they arrived the truck stop was creepily empty and not even 12 hours later it was packed.

"it's nothing, just ignore it" he took their wrist and tugged them alone "don't seem like nothing..seems like a party.." "it's a circus of idiots, ignore them" they silence nodded, pulling back their arm back so scott was holding their hand instead.

it wasn't too complicated once scott went over all the equipment, they weren't entirely sure why they even needed a degree when the computers did everything but they wouldn't tell that to scott, simply nodding along as he showed them everything.

"..are you even listening to me?" scott's annoyed tone brought them out of their thoughts "no..i'm sorry, you're just so handsome in uniform" they smiled but it didn't waver his annoyance "i meant what i said, no special treatment" his finger in their face like a scolding parent "my expectations for you are higher then anyone else because i know what you can do" they looked down and nodded "alright, alright, sorry"

his hand briefly landed on their shoulder and giving a light squeeze, it was a subtle gesture of an apology and an i love you while he maintained his professional persona "there's javi" he sighed as javi got out of his truck with a blonde woman, javi calling everyone to huddle up and introducing her to the group and vice versa, giving the crews colleges rather then names. they awkwardly stood off behind scott, offering a tight smile to the woman, kate, as javi had introduced "only the best" javi grinned after kate dryly joked about it being the whole alphabet.

"except for scott, my partner here, he went to MIT instead of muskogee state, but uh he makes for it with his beautiful amazing personality" javi joked shaking scott's shoulder slight, they peaked around scott's shoulder as scott gave a sarcastic smile.

"well kate's only giving us a week, but while we have her ooh it's gonna be the wildest tornado you've ever seen, fellas" javi said causing the crew to laugh in anticipation "this is gonna be so fun" they muttered lowly to scott, rubbing his back "don't get your hopes up..everyone with a ten dollar weather app knows it, we gotta stay ahead of this circus" they followed his gaze to the large crowd they had questioned him about earlier "don't be mean" they tapped his back in  a scold.

over the commotion of the crowd, one source of music seemed to be getting louder, closer, and people started moving towards where it was coming from in excitement. a red dually leading a van and RV, horn blaring over the music the RV played.

hm, that truck looks familiar..

"hey, stormPar! we're live on youtube, say something!" oh god "blow me boone!" scott put a hand up to hush the guy from acting up in front of the camera "don't engage. don't engage" their heart felt like it was simultaneously in their feet, gut and throat all at once as they spun around to face away, a quiet prayer that they wouldn't be recognized; a hope that by some miracle their entire being would morph into someone else.

"hey, smile, man, science is fun right?" they wanted to vanish. needed too. their face burned with embarrassment, and shame almost, as they tried to think of how to wiggle their self from having to explain some loop of excuses as reasons, or even just having to have awkward small talk with tyler like they hadn't completely ghosted the poor guy 6 years ago "who are they?" "chasers out of arkansas" "hillbillies with a youtube channel"

"scott- i gotta uh use the bathroom- imma be back.." they tapped on his arm "..you alright?" he glanced back at them, an eyebrow peaking out from his sunglasses " 'm perfect..find us a good storm for my first official chase" they gave a tight smile before jogging off.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

{idk, this is kinda short. i was gonna write a little more on here but i’m completely stumped on what to do with them meeting tyler, so i’m hoping having if be a separate part will help, or who knows, i might even rewrite this whole thing since i’m not sure how i feel abt it. feedback would rlly appreciated it’s been forever since i’ve actually wrote something}