keeperskey

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So what cinema are all of us Jackie fans going to as a group so we can all circle jerk experience him together?

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So I've been inspired by

@spikedfearn Brett One-Shot

and @scrprints Remmick One-Shot

To write my own dark noncon/dubcon one-shot. I loved the way they wrote the most disgusting(ly delicious) dark themes while also keeping their writing so fluent, so I wanted to try my hand at it.

Here's my idea, I'm hoping to have it finished and posted by the end of the week, fingers crossed:

You'd always been curious about the old Wilson's Mansion tucked away at the end of your driveway. Whispers of hauntings and disappearances rattle the town, leaving the property untouched. That is, until curiosity gets the best of you and you break inside one night. You are quickly met by a vampire who plans to make you regret visiting his mansion uninvited and will use his hive mind to teach you a lesson you won't soon forget.

(Warnings ahead: dubcon/noncon, public humiliation, public sex, degradation, blood play, dark elements etc., etc etc)

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Of Monsters and Men

Chapter Eighteen (All Chapters Here)

Dom!Remmick x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Remmick tells you the story of why he turned your Pa those many years ago.

Author's Notes:

1) I imagine David to be built like Henry from The North Water. Just really wide and thick, if that helps with the visual.

2) That sad little pic in this post of Jack crying is how I also imagine Remmick looks when he cries in this chapter. Just full of youth and a soft little red face.

Thank you to everyone who supports my work and waits for updates, I've been struggling with writing, life has been brutal recently. Xoxo

Warnings: This fic is heavily NSFW, gory, and depraved. Please read warnings. 18+ only.

Tag List: @kurapikasslutw @jimmys-tiara @just-jack-oconnell @cocochannelmoi @fiction-fantasy-folks @scrprints @jackoconnellarchives @mariayjws5

“Why did you turn my dad?” Your question catches Remmick off guard as he lies with you in your bed.

His fingers stroked the raised cuts on your back, he’d cleaned them tonight and applied salve to them. Kissing his way down the divots of them as he did. The moments you guys were having sex, it was dark and deranged and heavy. But once you were done, a gentle soul splits from Remmick, and he tends to you lovely. Any cut, scratch, or bruise you had always was detected by him, and he would ensure he took time to help the healing the best he could.

“He was sick,” he replies. As if it's that easy to justify.

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t continue explaining. He simply says that and shuts his eyes once again, relaxing into the bed. He wasn’t getting off that easily, you sit up, propping your head on your hand to look down at him.

“Please tell me, I deserve to know.” You keep your voice quiet, brushing a thumb over the stubble on his chin.

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours for a long time. His thoughts stir, you can read them all over his face.

“Please, I need to know the whole story,”

He sighs, the sound is heavy in his chest with the memory. You watch his jaw clench some, flexing that muscle in the side of his temple. You continue stroking his chin and up his face, waiting patiently.

He closed his eyes before telling you the story.

Remmick:

“No, ya press it through like this,” David instructed, folding the worm up in his fingers before slipping its middle over the hook.

It wriggled around on the hook, thrashing and tossing. Remmick watches it struggle with fascination, a smile spreading over his lips. Since David had found him that frigid morning six years ago, the two had been together nearly every day after. Remmick disappeared most of the day but always returned in the evenings. David never asked where he went or what he got into and Remmick never told him. It didn’t come up, so it was never discussed. David quickly took an interest in the young vampire, teaching him basic life lessons he should have learned when he was a child. Though, he never got to be a child, he never had a family to teach him. David took him under his wing, and though Remmick never told him, he felt him as his father since they’d met.

“Now, night fishin’ is much different than day fishin’. You gotta let your other senses take over. Feel the pole, allow it to move in your hands,” David casts the line and it dapples over the moonlit water.

Remmick could see clearly in the night, he could see everything on the surface of the water, but David didn’t know that. Remmick cherished that David treated him like a human, nothing more, nothing less, just a human.

“Go’on,” he hands the pole to Remmick and takes a seat on the edge of the boat, it rocks heavily with his weight. He was two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and fat and wider than a train. He was incredibly intimidating when you first met him, with his heavy black beard covering his face and his dark tired eyes. He always wore dark clothes that were too large on him, never liked a snug cloth, he would say. He was a gentle soul though, patient, calm, and loving. Not once had he raised his voice at Remmick, though, Remmick has done his fair share of stupid things around the man. He’s never cursed, never spoken foully of anyone. He was truly and surely one of the most wonderful humans Remmick has met and in his centuries of living, he’s met quite a few.

He's taught Remmick many things through the years together. How to sew, how to tend to a garden. How to bathe a horse and fix a sink. He taught him how to play music – guitar and banjo. At night, after all the chores were done, they would sit together in the living room, playing a rhythm on their instruments to a song they’d made up. That’s when Remmick felt most human, when playing music with David.

Remmick takes a deep breath of the still air of the night. It was late fall - crisp and cold. He wore a long brown wool trench coat over a burgundy turtle neck and brown slacks. David ensured he always had clean, new clothes when he needed them. But he also taught him to tend to the clothing he had. How to polish his shoes, sew the holes in his shirts, mend the hems in his trousers, and press the collars of his nicer shirts. He never had reason to wear nice shirts, but David always ensured he had them, just in case.

‘A man always needs a good pair of clothes, in case a moment hits em’ he’d always say. That moment hasn’t happened for Remmick yet.

David cracks open a beer, slumping down into the boat more. He watches Remmick steadily as the young man slowly reels in, the water pattering as the lure draws over it. These are the moments Remmick looks forward to every day. Simply being with someone who treats him normally.

David takes a swig of the beer, grunting out as it slides down his throat. The stars sparkle overhead, covered by a patchwork of clouds. A storm was rolling in on the horizon, painting the moon in dark gray. The beauty of silence shared between two men, between them and the world, truly was a remarkable thing. Remmick didn’t have to be on edge, worry about his next move, or shy away when David moved toward him. He could unwind and let his shoulders relax, they were achingly tight all too often.

The lure jiggles for just a moment and Remmick straightens up, an excited smile spreading across his face. “This might be it!” he jerks on the line, reeling in quickly.

The hook comes from the water with no bait and no fish. Just the silver hook glistening in the starlight. Remmick grunts in frustration, all this time outside in the cold, and not one bite. David lets out a soft snicker, telling him to try again. Always try again. Never give up. When Remmick cast this line, it was met by a loud cough on the other side of the boat from David, it’s heavy and wet. His chest heaves painfully forward, jerking him where he sat. Remmick quickly discarded the pole to make his way over to the man as he continued to hack, unable to catch his breath.

He didn’t know what to say or how to help, so he simply placed his hand on the man’s shoulders, scanning over his face with wide eyes. David finally recovers after a minute and he slumps back in the boat, panting. The stench of blood fills the air and Remmick feels his pupils dilate from instinct. His eyes slip down to David’s palm which he used to cover his mouth and the lines inside were painted red. Remmick’s eyes widen before they meet back up with David’s, that’s when he sees the smudge of blood over the man’s lips and glistening in his beard.

“Take me home, boy.” David pants, gripping the lapel of his jacket over his heart. Remmick nods quickly and stands, paddling them back to shore.

David continued coughing the whole ride to shore and as they made their way back to the cabin. Remmick tosses the man’s arm around his shoulder and carries him, David’s legs drag in the dirt as he gasps, unable to catch his breath. Panic, pure and hot and full, pumps through Remmick’s veins as he pulls the man through his front door and tosses him onto the couch. The smell of blood reeks, drifting into the air like a fine perfume, filling his senses with hunger. He couldn’t help the flick of red that washes over his eyes as he scans over the crimson washing David’s shirt.

“What’s goin’ on David?” Remmick tries to level his words but there is no denying the press of worry. He kneels before David, watching as the man catches his breath.

“Just ain’t feeling well,” the older man replies, coughing once more and blood slithers down his beard.

Remmick’s jaw clenches at the sight of him and he shakes his head once. “You are feeling more than unwell. What is this, David?”

David clears his throat, wiping his hands down his face. “I’m dyin’ boy. Been for months now.”

Remmick’s world shatters.

A sickness heats his body all over, painting his skin with sweat almost instantly. Nausea, pure and vile, grips his throat, rattling in his gut. David begins coughing again, but the noise bounces around in Remmick’s ears, muffled and distant.

He’s dying. David was dying.

He shakes his head, a nervous smile breaking out over his mouth. “No, you’ve been perfectly healthy before this point.”

“Ain’t true. You ain’t with me for most of the day when the coughin’s the worst. I’m melting away, ma insides are comin’ out. I’m nearly gone now.”

“No,” Remmick laughs, it’s a laugh that isn’t true, doesn’t meet his eyes, it’s a laugh of disbelief, of pain.

“Have I lied to you before?” David’s brown eyes catch Remmick's in the dim candlelight. David’s never lied to Remmick, he had no reason to and Remmick knew that.

Remmick's lips jerk down, quivering with the sudden ache of tears. They burn his eyes and set his body on fire. This couldn’t be true. This isn’t true. David hasn’t reached his fifties yet, and he hasn’t taught Remmick to play the fiddle. He promised he’d teach him to play the fiddle.

“I can save you,” the words gush from Remmick’s mouth, fast and hurried like they were on fire on his tongue.

David snorts, and it turns into a cough that he stifles with his jacket sleeve. “You ain’t touchin’ me, boy. I won’t forgive you if ya do.”

“It won’t hurt. I can take your sickness away, and you can live longer than you ever imagined. You can stay to teach me the fiddle, and we can finally catch that fish.” The quiver in his words was obvious but he smiled at the man, hopeful.

“No,” the word was heavy with authority, it was a direct blow to Remmick’s heart.

“I can save you. I can protect you as you’ve done for me these past years, please just-”

“Remmick,” David cuts the man off with just his name. His eyes are black in the light, set and decided. “You will not touch me. You will let me die like a man. You sit there and ya promise me you won’t drag me into your darkness. I ain’t meant for that life.”

Silence – a deadly long ringing silence was Remmick’s answer. He was shattered, completely and fully ripped apart.

Every. Single. Time.

Every time he drew close to someone, they’d leave in some sort of way. Every goddamn time.

He drops his head, clenching his fist in his lap, digging his nails deep into his palm. He fought the tears, because he wouldn’t cry in front of David, he hadn’t cried since he was turned, and he couldn’t do it now. Though, as he listens to David’s wet breaths, the familiar cadence of them, his eyes burn with the threat.

“Go’on over there and play me a song.” David nods at the banjo and guitar propped in the corner of the room beside the lit fireplace. “I need to rest. I’ll be peachy by the mornin’.”

Remmick’s jaw clenches as he opens his hand from the painful fist, he watches blood line the moon shapes from his nails. He stays like that for a couple of minutes, frozen in time. David doesn’t press him further, he allows the young man to sit, his other hand resting on David’s chest which shutters with every breath he takes.

Finally, Remmick's eyes flick to the older man and the look that meets David is shattering. One of his eyes was red, fluid, and bright as his vampire form fights to come out with the smell of blood in the air. The other was the light, milky blue human eye. Both were lined with tears and bloodshot. His nostrils flare as their eyes fix on one another. His mouth pinches together, fighting the quiver in his lips and the pounding ache in his chest that floods his eyes with pain. David does not attempt to comfort Remmick, knowing the boy well enough that if he did, it would make things worse. So, he simply lay there, eyes steady on the boy ahead of him as he processed.

“Go’on, now.” his heavy, deep voice was gentle, layered with love.

Remmick struggles to leave the man’s side, feeling if he did, he may never see him again. He may never feel him again or smile with him. He couldn’t be a coward, though, so he climbed to his feet and walked over to the banjo. Sitting on the floor in the corner, he began strumming the instrument. David’s eyes close as Remmick begins singing a familiar song of Ireland, of its hills and its romance. It was one of the first songs Remmick asked David to teach him. It was the song his Pa would sing him before bed. He couldn’t help the shake of his voice as the tears finally slipped from his eyes, dropping to the instrument in his hands. David was too far to notice the tears, he was nearly asleep now anyway. So Remmick allowed himself to silently cry during his song, taking pauses in between each verse to suck in a breath. It was broken – shattered in his chest. He was broken. He was shattered.

Blood smears over the face of the instrument from his palm, it continues to bleed, but he ignores it and continues to play. Music soothed him. Healed him. Helped him feel connected to himself and David. He wasn’t going to stop now.

David’s breath levels out as he slips away into sleep, his body slumping when his muscles finally relax. Remmick watches the man sleep, keeping close track of each breath, how it sounds, and how his body reacts. He was panicked. The panic that smashes through your whole body and sets it on fire. His heart slammed into his chest, pumping too fast for the thickness of his own blood. It hurt, the liquid ran through his veins like a clot, jamming through the thin openings and forcing its way through his body.

He couldn’t let David leave. He wouldn’t let David leave. Even if it forced David to despise him, to never forgive him, he wouldn’t allow this world to go on without him. He stood, hooking the banjo around his shoulder by the strap so it sat on his back. He knelt before the sleeping man once again, placing his hand over David's heart. He felt the blood pulsing through it, saw it thread itself through the vein in his neck. His mouth watered, head pounded with his natural need to devour.

“I’m sorry,” Remmick whispers, perched on his knees to hover over the man’s neck, but he hesitates. David would never forgive him for this. Remmick was nothing if not selfish, he wouldn’t live without David. Even if it meant just watching him from afar, that would be enough for him.

After one deep breath, Remmick’s jaw locks over the man’s neck, piercing through skin and deep into veins. David jerks at the feeling, fists winding into Remmick’s jacket. He throws himself up, but Remmick is locked into his skin, sealed over him.

“What are you doing?” David’s voice was thick with anger.

Remmick ignored it, sucking deep, savoring the cherry wine taste of David’s blood as it washes over his tongue. David shoves Remmick one time, hard, causing the vampire to separate from his neck, but not before a layer of flesh comes with him. David’s neck gushes blood, pouring down his shoulders and layering his clothes. He doesn’t seem to take notice in this moment, a look of pure betrayal was all that met Remmick when their eyes finally connected.

“You fucking bastard.” David cursed at him. He’s never cursed around Remmick, let alone at him.

His blood shoots from his neck, bathing the couch and pillows. He pulls Remmick in close, choking around the blood slithering down his throat, filling his lungs.

“I will never forgive you for this.” These were the last words he spoke before he slumped back on the couch, eyes fluttering and death took him. Somehow this gruesome sight was much more soothing for Remmick to look at than him dying peacefully in his sleep from his sickness. Because Remmick knew he would be back, he would rise and be himself again. Or a form of himself. But he would still be here, in this world, the same world as him. That’s all he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” He mutters again, stepping back once, just long enough to take in the man ahead of him and etch him into his mind. He spins on his heels and rushes for the door before he could stay any longer.

The banjo sat in the corner of the villa now, smeared with the same blood from that night. Painted with memories from then and the many other nights he and David spent together. No matter where he went, how he traveled, or what he went through, that banjo stuck by his side. It was his only remaining piece of David, and he couldn’t lose him again.

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personally i don't prefer him blond but what the actual fuck

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Ah thank you @scrprints you are fantastic! I'm so glad your work is getting the love it deserves. And thank you for adding me to this list, I'm honored! I didn't know of some of these writers, I'll have to go check em out! 🤍

Your fic Darkside was so great! I'm flying through your Remmick works and am LOVING the way you write!

I'm fairly new to Tumblr and looking for other Remmick fic's and writers too, do you have any other fic writers you suggest I check out??

Keep up the awesomeness. LYL

OMG thank you so much for reading my stuff. So glad you like my Remmick stuff. Makes my little heart flutter. 😊🥰 I appreciate you.

As far as other Writers you gotta check these fine ppl out. Their stuff is way better then mine.

@mingapace @spikedfearn @flixpii @remmicksgf @scannainscanrula @keeperskey @feralforfangs

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Inktober, day 7

Roy Goode

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Remmick 🤤..

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Paddy Mayne x Remmick

I'm honestly so shocked that fic writers haven't written more Jack character crossovers!

The Remmick/Paddy Mayne relationship tag had to be made on Ao3 and here for my fic dabble Domesticated cause it's never been made a pairing before, I guess?

Hey well, check it out and let me know if you think I should expand on the world of Paddy Mayne x Remmick further. I think it could be real steamy 😍

Two Jacks kissing each other is such a delicious thought no?

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Jack O’Connell for At Large Magazine 2014. I was wondering what was the meaning behind his Jack The Lad tattoo that he used to have (I think that he’s getting it removed)

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ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ

Pairing: Remmick x Paddy Mayne

Summary:

Here, humanoid creatures are domesticated as pets and Paddy Mayne needs a distraction once he finds himself back home. While visiting a facility called The Emporium, he quickly becomes fascinated by a vampire named 27182-1, who has killed many, is considered highly dangerous and by law is to be euthanized. Despite the warnings, Paddy decides to adopt the vampire, feeling a strange connection to the creature.

A/N: This is just a little dabble of an idea I had based on this post. I figured I'd upload the first part I have written and see if it piques anyone's interest. If it's something that you'd like more of, please let me know! I think I'd love to expand on this story.

Warnings: none yet, more than likely will be gory, fluffy, and also smutty? (Jack v. Jack anyone?)

“Have you thought about a dog?” Jim asks over the glass of whisky pressed to his lips.

Paddy snorts at the notion, glancing past Jim at a couple dancing on the floor ahead of them. Another night at home in England, another night spent at the bar. Paddy really saw no better way to speed through his time off than getting plastered at every joint serving alcohol in this town and driving his knuckles through a nose or two when the warm buzz of the liquors finally made his limbs pliable. And God, were the English just so easy to rile up.

The skin over his knuckle’s blister, raised and bruised. Each movement of his fingers cracks open the healing skin, reminding him of his fight last night.

That bloke almost tied with him – almost.

Paddy’s friends seemed to think he wasn’t spending his time wisely, giving him useless ways to pass the time during the mundane days here at home. Jim was convinced he needed a distraction ‘a pet?’ He says.

A pet.

“A cat then? There's a lot of strays runnin’ these streets. You could just pick one up, they are easy to take care of.”

Paddy lets a breath out through his nose; it flutters over the brown liquid in his glass as he takes another sip. “I have no interest in a pet,”

It's Jim’s turn to laugh, it jerks at his chest, but his face doesn’t change. “Well, my friend, you can’t continue to spend your time off drinking all day than blasting through innocent bar hoppers.”

“Why not?” the question was asked with sincerity from the Irishman, his brows raised at Jim, expecting a good explanation.

He and Jim shared a long look, Jim’s face briefly wrapped in worry, while Paddy returned the look with calm regard. They both downed the last of their whiskies and Jim waved down the nearest waiter to ask for the tab. Paddy wasn’t nearly done drinking his fill for the night, he was just getting started, the night was still young and so….so long.

He asked for another whisky when the waiter finally made his way over, not quite feeling the warm buzz that he loved so much. He hadn’t gotten to the point where his mind stopped reeling with the need to be busy, to move, to shoot into the air and hear cries of war. That’s where he wanted to be, right in the heart of battle, not in the seat of a sweat-soaked pub in England.

“Maybe you should look into The Emporium then? When my mum was sick, we bought a nice Fae from there who tended to her when we couldn’t, she was kind. They have all sorts of creatures there that you can adopt. I’m sure they have something that will keep you busy.” Jim offers, letting his voice drop low under the music so the patrons hovering couldn’t hear.

It wasn’t taboo to adopt humanoids, put them in your house, and train them like a lap dog. Many families in the surrounding area have spent their money to adopt a creature that will help them garden or nanny their kids. They were only to be kept as pets though, never used for anything malicious, no hunting or killing. The notion itself was idiotic to Paddy.

“I’m not spending my coin on a monster,”

Jim shrugs, fumbling through his wallet to pull out some money and a black business card. “Well, I’m sure they have something there that will try to kill you every day, which is also something you’d enjoy, knowing you. Here’s their card,” He smacks the card down next to Paddy before he slips his hat back on and exits the bar without saying another word.

Paddy glances at the card, which reads: Lady Lucille’s Exotic Pets. Where your imagination meets your home.

He picks it up between his pointer and middle fingers and flips it around in them before shoving it into his pocket.

Fucking ‘exotic pets’

Who would truly want a monster in their home?

He stood ahead of a brick-lined building, taking a drag of the cigarette propped between his fingers. When he exhaled, the smoke rose into the frigid air, swirling around his head before dissipating. It was the arse-crack of winter, when the cold dives deep into all layers of clothing you had on and settles heavily in your bones. After spending years in areas that only offer blazing heat, relentless, and smothering, the adjustment has been harsh for Paddy. Snow flutters to the ground, covering the cobblestone streets that are wrapped around all the industrial buildings ahead. Each copied the one adjacent to it, matching the ridged brick layout, the battered wooden door, and six glass windows on the face. Repeating all the way down the road, fading into the snowy fog of the town. Edison’s Village, it was named, and not a soul visits except to come spectate at some monsters in a cage.

He flicks his cigarette to the ground after taking one last inhale, watching the hot tip of it melt into the snow before it disappears from view. He cursed himself for even taking the cab here, thinking this would be any range of a good idea. But he was curious, and he did love a good thrill. His adrenaline fueled his curiosity, so he stepped through the wooden doors without any other thought.

The smell of sterile metal hit his senses first, metallic and overbearing, his nose bunched up at the scent. He took his hat off, smacking the snow from it as a man at the front desk leaped to his feet.

“Oh hello!” his chipper tone rang through the dim atmosphere. “Are you here to adopt?”

“To look,” Paddy replied, eyes scanning over the cement-sealed walls and metal-plated ceiling. This place was secured tighter than any prison he'd been to, and God has he been to too many prisons. Or maybe, not quite enough?

The man claps his hands together, offering Paddy a wide, toothy smile, though, he gets no smile in return. “Great! My name is Xander, and I'm the exhibit specialist here at The Emporium. Anything you’d like to look at in particular? We have some Dryads, they are fantastic at tending to nature, in case you are a gardening kind of fellow. We also have a new shipment of Nymphs in too. They are a little shy, but they are great at assisting with entertaining children. We also-”

“What do you have that will try to kill me?” Paddy’s blunt question causes the man’s mouth to clamp closed, the sound of his teeth clanking together with the abrupt movement was loud in the silent building.

He laughs, it’s nervous and empty. “Kill you?” he repeats, shifting some.

Paddy simply nods at Xander, giving no further explanation. Xander clears his throat, grazing his fingers over the many pamphlets on his desk. They offer explanations of the creatures they offer and just how beneficial they can be to include in your home. He shuffles through the top layer of pamphlets and squints at the small pile of crudely laminated ones underneath.

“We have a few,” his tone is even now, no sign of that saccharine excitement he had earlier. “I’d suggest a werewolf…if you are looking for a loyal sorta dangerous.”

“Show those to me,” Paddy straightens his back, pressing his hands in his jacket pockets to get some reprieve for his frozen fingers.

The man gives him a curt nod, opening a drawer in his desk and retrieving a pair of keys on a ring. He walks past Paddy to the steel door labeled: ‘Dangerous, Unauthorized Personnel Not Permitted to Enter’

He flips through the keys before shoving one into the lock, twisting once before the lock gives way. The thick metal bar that’s secured over the front jerks, screeching at the hinges as it slowly lifts toward the air, stopping with a loud clank. The man yanks the door open and the two step inside.

The hallway was lined with dim yellow lights hung from the ceiling by metal baskets, they flicker, if only some, giving very little light. The hall smelled of musk and wood, mud and sewage. Barred cages line the walls, all occupied by shrunken bodies inside. The werewolves stand as soon as they smell Paddy, gripping the bars with their long taloned hands. Paddy steps in toe with the man as he goes on about each creature, reading off their names and where they came from. Their eyes were deep golden yellow, glistening in the lowlight as they followed each step the Irishmen took – starving. A low growl from each creature bounces around on the walls, seeping deep from their souls. To any other person, this hallway would be terrifying, to Paddy Mayne, it was Christmas.

He stops before a cage where a towering black werewolf watches him with intent. The beast bares his teeth once, eyes set. His nostrils flare when heated breaths press from them, then he launches at Paddy through the bars, swiping his claws toward his face. With just a blink in reply, Paddy stands his ground as the claws sweep past his vision, not even an inch from his face. Xander watches the interaction, confusion, and shock bunch his brows up. Maybe these wolves aren’t the monsters in this room, maybe Paddy was?

Paddy saunters past the cages, taking in each of the wolves, folding his arms behind his back, and he clears his throat. “You have anything else?” The bored lacquer in his voice was undeniable.

The man’s mouth pops open in shock for a moment before he scans over the clipboard in his hands. “No, looks like this is all we have for werewolves. 27182-1 isn’t up for adoption, so you can’t see him, how about we look at the Golem? They can be frightening.”

“27182?” Paddy catches the look of the man when he realizes he said it aloud, and he smiles, but only to cover up his mistake.

“Oh yes, he’s not up for adoption. He’s due to be euthanized…” he glances at his watch. “Probably within the next couple of hours. I can’t show him to you, laws in place for that…”

“I don’t care about your laws,” his accent was thick in his throat. “I’ve served in the British army long enough to know I will never give a rat’s arse about laws. Show him to me.”

The man blinks at Paddy, his face was muddled in shock, he pops the tip of his pencil in his mouth, chewing it between his teeth.

“I can’t. He’s a liability. He’s killed six of our night guards. He should have been put down a long time ago. We just can’t get close enough to him to handle him properly.” The man’s voice shook, deep and low in his throat. This creature has woken something deep inside him, something beyond fear.

“Perfect,” Paddy’s eyes glow with intrigue.

Xander takes a deep breath, letting it sit in his lungs before he exhales it sharply. Unclipping his walkie-talkie from his belt, he mutters something inside. He turns and walks back to the door as the person on the other end curses at him. They exchanged a heated debate before he spun the dial on the top, shut off the device.

Without a word to Paddy, he exits the Werewolf Hall and crosses the building to a set of stairs dipped behind a cement arch carved into the wall. Paddy follows without question; his boots make an audible clank as they make their way over the metal floors. They climb three sets of stairs, winding in circles before they get to a heavily secured metal door. A large red light sits over a thick steel frame. Two bars secure in an X over the front and a keypad blinks to the left. The man types a code into the pad and the light above the door begins blinking, echoing a sharp alarm as the bars lift from the door.

“His enclosure has electric bars. Don’t get too close and no matter what he says to you, don’t believe him.” he enters the door without another word.

Paddy follows behind, stepping into the dark room. Unlike the werewolf room, this one had no other smell to it except the overpowering stench of alcohol and bleach. The whole room was freezing, lower than any temperatures outside, like they were trying to preserve whatever lies in here. There’s a low hum of electricity that buzzes in the air as the men draw closer to a wide enclosure basking in darkness. The only light in the room is the flickering red light that spins outside the door, otherwise, it was pitch black. Xander pulls his flashlight from his trouser pocket, clicking it on and shining it into the voided space. The creature inside flinches away from the beam of light, tossing its face to the side to avoid the direct shot of it. Paddy steps closer to get a better look at the beast ahead of him.

In the corner was a man, wearing a jacket that tied his arms together across his chest. He sits on his knees, feet digging into mud and wet puddles covering the floor. His eyes were surprisingly soft as they finally looked into the light – they are a glossy blue, but dull and tired. He looked unassuming, seemingly just a man in a straitjacket, but then Paddy’s eyes met the muzzle over his mouth. It was a rusty metal-wired muzzle, wrapped with thick leather straps around the base of his head and up to the crown. It pressed into the pale skin of his cheeks, leaving a blood-crusted rim around it.

“This is 27182-1 - a vampire. He was found wandering near the Mississippi Delta in America. He was transferred here after the circus freak show he was an exhibit on was suddenly disbanded. He is believed to be centuries old, from the research we’ve done into the circus,” The man flips through his clipboard, reading steadily. “He’s managed to wriggle his way from this enclosure three separate times before we made the bars electric, that’s the only thing that’s kept him inside. So far, he’s killed six night guards, seemingly just by tempting them to open his cage, even after we switched them to electric. There was never any forced entry or exit, not one time…”

Paddy shares a long look with the creature, and its eyes scan down his body, though he stands in darkness, the creature can see him clear as day. A smile spreads over his lips under the muzzle.

“He’s one of the most dangerous creatures we’ve had in this facility; from the number of fatalities just in this building alone, due to that we are legally obligated to euthanize-”

“Paddy Mayne,” the two words slither from the creature’s lips in a raspy mutter as he tilts his head, studying his prey.

Xander’s eyes dart over to Paddy, blinking in surprise. “Do you know each other?”

The silence in the room was loud, only interrupted by the low buzz of the bars. Paddy lifts his chin as he examines the vampire, then a brief smile wipes over his lips. He’s never met this man, never laid eyes on him once, but he feels a draw to the vampire that he can’t explain. Maybe it was sympathy, seeing the state of him or maybe it was something much deeper - intrigue. Just how far would this beast go to get what he wants? How crazy will he allow his desire to drive him? If he truly is as deadly as Xander claims, what will this beast do when he is finally one-on-one with Paddy Mayne, alone with no restrictions?

Paddy runs his fingers over his lips, rubbing over them, exchanging the tense look they share. The vampire steadily breathes as they watch one another and it beams a sweet smile that reeks of something sinister under that muzzle.

“I’ll take him,” Paddy shoves his hands in his jacket pocket, fumbling around in them for his wallet. “Where can we do paperwork?”

The man snorts a laugh, flashing his light over the creature, up and down his frame as if to put him on further display. “Were you not listening to what I just said? He’s not up for adoption, he’s killed hundreds-”

��So have I,” Paddy cooly interjects. “I think it’s my decision what I can or cannot handle. So, where do we do the paperwork?”

The vampire lets out a low hiss through his teeth in reply, jerking once under his suit. The two spin to exit the room and as they do, two dark red eyes trail after them, accompanied by an excited purr.

This should be an exciting game – a game this vampire had every intention of winning.

[keeperskey]

◖𝔚𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱◗

This edit is dedicated to @bloodandbutts who assigned Remmick with a deer, which also happens to be one of my favorite animals.

[ Inspired by this movie poster ]

[keeperskey]

He got to see the sun one last time

[keeperskey]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter Seventeen (All Chapters Here)

Dom!Remmick x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary:

In 1337, Remmick and his mum travel to a witch doctor who promises to bless his mum with her greatest desire, but only for a large price in return.

Author's Notes:

I had a blast writing this chapter, maybe because I love writing gore and anguish. Maybe cause sometimes I like to see our little Remmy in pain.

Warnings: This fic is heavily NSFW, gory, and depraved. Please read warnings. 18+ only.

Tag List: @kurapikasslutw @jimmys-tiara @just-jack-oconnell @cocochannelmoi @fiction-fantasy-folks @scrprints @jackoconnellarchives @mariayjws5

Remmick

Year: 1337

They had been traveling for days, maybe even weeks at this point, by mule. The Irish countryside was relentless this time of year with icy rains and below-freezing temperatures to match. Remmick’s Ma took no notice though, she had one thing in mind, and she was going to accomplish it.

She hadn’t been the same since his Pa died. She shut down, isolated, and grew cold toward him. He was unsure why, and never found the nerve to ask her. She spent many nights by the fireplace, soaking in the warmth with a paper and charcoal pen. Many days she left him alone.

‘I have to get more information.’ She’d tell him in a hurry before rushing from their home.

Remmick was freshly twelve years old, spunky, and keen. He was incredibly smart, top of his class. He’d bring home his school papers, his Ma would put them up, but never truly looked at the grades he was given. He had his first kiss behind the school in the courtyard, shielded by a brick wall. She was moving with her family to England, and she said she wanted him to remember her. He never told his mum…. He never told anyone.

After the fourth day of travel, Remmick was exhausted. Spending many nights freezing under the stars, shielded only by a hastily put-together tent, takes all the life from you. His mum packed them rations and they shared them beside the fire every evening, but it wasn’t nearly enough for the number of days they had traveled. By the third evening, they had nothing to eat and the snow-capped hills gave no fruitage from the land. So he pushed further, with an empty stomach and aching bones.

During the day he would walk beside the mule, guiding it down steep hillsides and gravel streets while his mum rode it. He’s slipped more times on the iced snow than he could count, it was solid and endless, blanketing every inch of land ahead.

She had a piece of paper in her hands the whole trip, it was tattered and worn, like she’d crumbled it and smoothed it out over and over again. This is what she used to guide their travel, she consulted it on and off, but she never allowed him to see it.

His legs felt numb during the trek, past the point of the painful tingling that scratches over your skin when you grow cold. He was fully numb now, aching down deep into his organs. He swore he could feel them sloshing around in him with every step he took. His boots were a size too big, causing the skin to scrape raw on his heels, soaking the back of the boots with his blood. It was rubbed down deep, having been shaved layer after layer of skin until it was nearly to the tendon. He tended to it when his mum fell asleep at night, so he could cry from the pain without her knowing because she would never forgive him if she saw him crying over a wound.

After the fourth day, they made it to a shadowed forest. It was early morning, and the snow blanketed the forest floor in a shimmering glow. A fog danced over the trees, swirling around him and his mum as they walked deeper in. There was not a single sound to be heard as they traveled through the trees, everything was dormant, and the world was fast asleep. He and his mum sucked in painful breaths, the freezing air dried out their lungs long ago replacing them with brittle retaliation. His face was wind-burnt over his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose, red and raw and stinging continuously as the gusts of winter whipped around them. No matter the layers he had on, the scarves he had over his head and around his mouth, the cold sank deep into his bones, settling heavy in the marrow.

In the distance, a hut sits in the emptiness of it all. The windows are lit with a fluttering yellow glow, the boards on the outside arch and crumble. The home hadn’t been tended to for a long while. Smoke rose from the chimney, collecting over the treetops and up to the heavens.

“Thank you, God.” His mum breathed, folding her hands together in praise as they drew closer. This is where she wanted to be, where she’d been pointed to. This is what will fix everything.

“What is this?” Remmick’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper in his raw throat.

“A doctor. She’s going to bless us.” She throws her leg off the mule and ties him in a hurry to a tree beside the hut.

She races to the door, knocking frantically. Under her breath she sings praises to some God she’s never worshipped before. Remmick steps in toe, with no further questions.

The door cracks open with a sharp noise at the hinges and a pair of eyes meet them both. Dark brown, almost black pupils squint at the pair, studying their worn expressions and ice-whipped skin.

“M’ so sorry, are you Lady Miriam?” His mom’s voice was desperate and thick with her Irish accent.

The women’s eyes shift to her before she nods. “Aye.”

“Thank you, God,” She praised again. “Can we please get a blessing? I’m in great need. I can pay.” She rifles through her jacket pocket to brandish six silver pennies.

The old woman scoffs at her and begins to shut the door, but his mum interjects before she can fully shut it.

“I have him…too.” She flicks her hand at Remmick. “He’s strong. He can help you around if you need it.”

Remmick shoots a look at his mum, the familiar ache of rejection wrapping around his heart and squeezing. She was offering him as payment, to a woman they’d never met. The frozen wind pressed past them and bit at the tears that threatened his eyes, he felt sick, he felt betrayed.

The woman looks to him for a few long seconds, black eyes scanning down his lanky build. There was no way to tell what she was truly thinking, but then her mouth stitched into a powerful smile and she nodded before opening her home to the two travelers. As they step inside, she shuts the door securely behind them.

The hut was tiny, with only a bed, table, and hearth taking up most space. The stench of incense sank in their noses as soon as they entered the hut, three lit sticks sat on the table, smoke billowing low. Hanging from the ceiling on burlap strings were bottles filled with items. Bones, liquids, and some small animal heads. They have wax dipped over the tops, sealing the contents forever. Her table was scattered with bottles and flasks of all sizes, some broken, some aged around the edges like sea glass. Candles rested on most free surfaces, burning low, wax caking in a puddle at the base of each. Old papers were scattered about, with scribbled writing on them, some words large and urgent, most small and unreadable.

A bluebird lay on its back over a strip of leather at the open spot at the table where the woman was sitting. The animal’s chest was cut from beak to tail, innards were placed in a line beside its body. Most of the blood from the bird was in a bottle, dried fingerprints of blood crust over the outside of the glass.

The atmosphere was heavy and thick with darkness. If you stood perfectly still, you might just hear the whispers emanating from each bottle of curses. Souls trapped for eternity, never to be regarded again.

Remmick dodged around the bottles hanging to shoot straight for the fireplace, soaking in its warmth to thaw his aching frozen bones. Nothing felt better than the pricking burn of skin warming up after being frozen for so long.

His mum sits with the women at the table, watching as she continues to dissect the bird, not regarding his mum.

“I was told you can bless me, with a child?” Her eyes scan the open bird before she looks away, covering her mouth to contain the disgust in her throat.

“You have one,” The woman dryly replies, slipping a slender finger inside the fold of skin over the bird’s stomach.

“Ah, indeed. I just…” She shifts, eyes flicking to her son for just a moment. “I would like another. Since him, I’ve been barren. I need another, to give him a sibling. He’s always wanted a sibling.”

Remmick loved being an only child, he never once asked for a sibling.

The woman pulls a bone from the bird’s rib, examining it under the candlelight. A sickening smile of wonder spreads over her cracked lips, as if she were looking at a newborn child or a field of wildflowers. She submerges the bone in a jar of black liquid, dunking it a few times before dropping it in the bottle with its blood.

“That’s a miracle sorta thing. I ain’t offer that.”

Remmick can just barely hear their conversation over the sharp ringing in his ears from the wind. It was a relentless noise that bounced around in his head, splitting through his temples in a pounding headache.

“Please,” His mom arches over the table to sit eye to eye with the women, whispering. “Please. I’ll do anything. I need another. I’ve never had a connection with my son, he was his father’s child, you see. Maybe, given another chance, I’ll find a bond with this new one. You must understand.”

The woman breathes in deeply through her nose, whispering something under her breath that was not meant to be heard. She takes her fingers from the bird, wiping the blood on her skirt before standing.

“I only got one thing that may work. Never used it before, from North America. A Haitian voodoo doctor made it.” She steps past Remmick to sort through some bottles on a shelf. She finds it and sets it on the table ahead of his mum. The contents were congealed inside, settling to the bottom in a thick sludge.

“He guarantees me it works, promised it was potent. It does require some sacrifices…though.” Hesitation lay heavy in her tone, thick like the incense in the air.

“Anything, what is it?” Ecstasy flooded over his mum with the prospect of another child. A child she’d made on her own - the perfect child.

The woman sits once more, glancing back at Remmick before bending in close. “That one. You’ll have to sacrifice that one.”

Silence melts over the heat in the conversation and the woman sits back in her chair, folding her arms, waiting for his mum’s decision. To the witch's joy, she nods in agreement.

“How so?” She whispered under her breath, her words shaky and barely audible.

“His youth. His life. His humanity. All of it would have to be syphoned for this spell to work on your new little one.”

Though his mum was desperate, she still loved her son. She was scared to know what that prospect could mean. What would be involved for him? She was conflicted. But, not nearly enough.

“If I do that, will I become pregnant?” She asks steadily.

The woman nods – certain. “You will. It’s promised you will deliver a healthy child in nine months from this date.”

His fate was sealed with one word from his mum. “Please.”

That was all the confirmation the women needed. His mum placed her six silver coins on the table and the ritual began. Unbeknownst to him, as he sat at the fire, his mum was selling his soul.

The woman rolls out a velvet cloth on the table, scattering a number of items over it in a circle. A jawbone, herbs, a few silver charms, and wood. A silver dish sits in the middle of the cloth where she pours the liquids of the promised bottle, the contents reek with the smell of death and decay.

“Come boy,” She calls to Remmick.

He makes his way over to her, eyes drifting over the layout on the table. They flick to his mum for answers, but she doesn’t look at him. Her eyes are on the opposite wall – ashamed.

“Give me your palm,” She instructs, one hand out for him to put his own in, the other holds a shaved bone. It’s sharp and curved over the edge.

He hesitates, suddenly feeling panicked. He shakes his head. “I don’t…” he trails off, stepping back just once.

“Give me your palm,” Her voice grew dark, seeping with something wicked and threatening.

He looks to his mum again, for answers, reassurance, or kindness. She still doesn’t look at him, she couldn’t.

He lays his palm flat into the woman’s splayed hand, swallowing heavily over the ache in his throat. “Is it going to hurt?” He asks.

“Yes,” Was her simple reply before she dragged the sharpened bone down the arch of his palm.

He lets out a sharp cry, biting deep into his bottom lip to stifle any further noises. The skin flays open with ease and blood begins to pool in the crook of his palm. The woman begins to chant something as she sprinkles some herbs over the gash. She lifts the silver dish with the liquid inside, holding it high above her head. Closing her eyes, her chants grow louder, rattling the bottles on the ceiling and the floorboards below. The chants were desperate, begging to some unknown entity. At the end of her chant, she pours the liquid into his palm, pressing her thumb deep in the cut. He gasps, jerking, but the woman keeps a hard grip on his palm.

“May you ascend. May you be reborn. May you feel darkness.” She sings now, gripping the back of his neck in her free hand and drawing his face to hers. She continues to repeat those words, her eyes swirl with something crazy.

May you ascend. May you be reborn. May you feel darkness. May you be darkness.

Then, she steps back, far into the corner of the home, ushering his mum into the corner with her.

Nothing happens at first and Remmick stands in the home by himself, or at least it feels like he is. His mum was far from him, a distance he felt in more ways than one. Her face was painted in panic and horror, as if she were looking at a disgusting creature and not her twelve-year-old son.

The pain was sudden and immense.

He feels his blood first, feels it with acute awareness how it flows through his veins. It runs through him at a swift pace, he swears he can see it sparkling as it swims through the intricate pathways. In an instant though, his blood clots. It thickens throughout his body, through his limbs, up his neck, and down his legs. As his veins rapidly expand to accept the new heavy blood, his body is set on fire. It was a burning pain unlike anything he’d felt before, as if someone injected his veins with acid and lit it ablaze. He lets out a shattering scream as he falls to his knees, gasping for air, his lungs are wet, unable to accept any breath.

His mum flinches at the noise and hides behind the woman, who stands in awe. She had no idea what was happening to her son, but her selfishness outweighed any sort of sympathy.

Next, he feels his bones shifting. They begin lengthening, moving, and shattering under his skin. Bones expand further, stretching his skin tight, splitting it, whipping it with long red gashes. He transforms at a rapid rate, his childish features being sucked from him and replaced with a man’s. His light brown hair sluffs off his head, floating to the ground below and haloing around his skull. It's readily replaced with inky black hair, thick and long. His arms and legs grow, ripping the clothing from his body, shredding it into pieces on the floor. The sounds of his bones cracking and shifting fill the home, accompanied by his anguished cries. In a matter of moments, the twelve-year-old child was replaced with a grown man. His skin was worn with creases and lines, weathered by years of growth, though, there were no years to be had. Stubble scattered over his face and up his jaw, hair ripped from the skin on his chest.

He’s rolled in a ball, sobbing out loud and unrelenting cries.

“What’s happening to him?” His mum asks, feeling the sudden panic in her over her son’s anguish.

“As I said, his youth, life, and humanity.” The women remind her, her eyes wide with wonder at the sight ahead of her.

Pressing the pattern of the cross over her chest, his mother begins to pray. Lacing her fingers together until her knuckles turned white, she dropped to her knees, jamming her eyes closed.

“Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he saveth them out of their distresses. He sent his word, and healed them, and delivered them from their destructions.” She repeats this scripture into the air, over her son’s cries. Over his screams for her, for her to stop the pain. She relies on the Lord to help. He will save her son.

The hunger was next. His stomach shrank, sank, and shriveled. It was filled now with a burning hot void, ablaze with a need that washes his skin with sweat. His eyes ache, throbbing in the sockets as they morph into red. The pupils feel as if a knife is scraping the surface, shaving away his humanity and injecting them with poison. He claws at his eyes, ripping at the lids, blood streams down his cheeks, it’s mixed with tears. Every part of him was broken, shifting, burning, throbbing. It was too much pain for any human to suffer, let alone a child, or, what was a child.

Next, his teeth. The roots begin aching, deep in the center of his jaws, shooting a searing pain straight to his nerves. New teeth grow under the old ones, forcing his human teeth to push out. One by one, his human teeth pop from the gums, clattering to the floor in a puddle of blood. The new sharpened teeth slice through his gums and past nerves like shards of ice on a cave ceiling, then the fangs protrude. Blood pours from his mouth, drenching the floor below him, soaking the floorboards. He whips up on his knees, panting. When he tosses his head back, screaming into the air, blood slips down his neck, soaking into his nice winter coat. Saliva, thick with crimson and phlegm, clings to his teeth in strands as he screams, it flies into the air and splatters on the floor.

The fingers shift last, popping at the joints as they expand into talons. Each joint cracks, arches, and expands to accompany the sharp nails and lengthened bones.

Then it was over. As sudden as it began, it was over. He was empty. He was a shell. He was a monster. He was nothing.

Bloody, anguished cries bounce around the walls, coating them with a pain that’s sucked straight from his lungs. He pants in a ball, weeping weakly. The child was gone, and a man was replaced in anguish. In return, his mum felt her stomach flutter and the transfer was complete. A child for a child. A soul for a soul.

The forest lay quiet that night, the morning's moon full above the snowy clouds. Deer shuffle through the snow, grazing for any sign of food. A whistle of wind bustles through the trees, singing a snow-capped song. In the hut, however, it was loud. It was heavy, it was time.

As he makes it to his feet, black shadows surround him, swirling around his new form and sinking into his skin. He’s a monster of darkness and shadow now, seething in anger and betrayal.

“The Lord giveth,” his voice was black, warped, and demonic. “and the Lord shall taketh away.”

A cry of fear echoes through the morning air as Remmick takes his first meal, his mum and her unborn child. That was the beginning of his lineage. That was the beginning of his rule.

[keeperskey]

Remmick from Sinners. Marker on sketch paper.

[keeperskey]

So based on the great feedback from this post regarding me writing a fic with Remmick and Paddy, I have thought of a storyline, potentially a one-shot, and here's what I've got in mind so far:

While the others of the SAS spend their time off at home with their families and loved ones, Paddy Mayne spends his time off with whisky in hand and blood cracking his knuckles. Needing a distraction from his destructive behavior, Jim suggests that Paddy busies himself with a pet, mentioning "The Emporium," a place where one can adopt exotic creatures. Paddy visits the Emporium and is quickly fascinated by a vampire named 27182-1, who has killed several night guards of the facility and is considered highly dangerous and by law is scheduled to be euthanized. Despite the warnings, Paddy decides to adopt the vampire, feeling a strange connection to the creature.

"Because if he bites me. I'll just bite back harder."

!Dabble Story-Idea Here!

[keeperskey]

But wait what if I wrote a little one-shot (or longer?) of Paddy and Remmick meeting?

Remmick would try to sweet-talk Paddy

Paddy would just shoot him but he doesn't die cause he vampire and he LOVES being shot

They eventually bond over music/poetry

Two Jack's together in one fic??

OR

Paddy needs an animal to assist him in the war and he adopts Remmick to be his attack dog and they work together to defeat the enemy

Could be fluff, could be smut, the world is open. How do we feel chat? 👀

!Dabble Story Idea Here!