Solace

black girl obsessed with bwwm 20, 🇭🇹 reposting QUEEN

[yapper1020]

Proud to say I finally got out of my writing funk and was able to make something. Decided to try my hand at fantasy!!! So here we have Dark Fairy Sydney and Animal/human Carmy as star crossed lovers. Hope y'all enjoy!!!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85595996

[addiatman]

Off the Record….Chapter 5

info: After a lifetime of inseparable friendship, Y/N and Nicholas’s bond is tested when a night out in college awakens feelings that threaten everything they’ve built together. previous chapter warnings: language, suggestive content, sexual references

Soft morning light spills across the small apartment, the quiet interrupted only by the hum of the coffee maker and the occasional slam of cabinet doors. Y/N moves around efficiently, spooning coffee grounds into the filter while mentally running through her schedule for the day. She’s dressed casually in a T-shirt and flared leggings, her hair twisted into a messy bun, looking exhausted but still put together.

Nicholas stumbles down the hallway from his bedroom, hair tousled, dressed in sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. He rubs at his eyes and yawns loudly as he stretches against the kitchen counter, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal the sharp V-line at his hips. Her eyes flick downward before she quickly turns back toward the coffee maker, blaming the early-morning exhaustion for the warmth suddenly creeping into her face.

“Morning. Smells…dangerous,” he says, reaching over to steal a piece of bacon from the plate beside her. She whips around immediately. 

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Relax. It’s breakfast. Survival of the fittest.” He grins as he takes a bite.

“Survival of the greediest, maybe.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the bacon back and walks toward the fridge to finish making her iced coffee, only to stop as she sees that there is no milk in the fridge.

“And you drank the last of the milk, didn’t you?”

“I…might’ve,” he admits, pouting slightly.

“You know I need that for coffee.” Her shoulders slump dramatically.

“And I need cereal. Life’s hard, princess.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath just as Nicholas’s phone buzzes.

The moment he checks the screen, his expression drops. He drags a hand down his face before answering reluctantly.

“Hey…yeah, I got it. Wait, no-I’m not ignoring you…Yeah…alright…fine.”

The call ends quickly. He tosses the phone onto the counter harder than necessary before slumping back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Everything okay?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah. I’m not going to classes today. I’m just…not doing it today.” His voice sounds drained in a way she isn’t used to hearing from him.

“I’m sorry. Just relax today, okay? Take a breather. I’m here if you need anything.”

She reaches over and lightly pats the top of his head before pulling her hand back. A quiet sigh escapes him as her hand leaves, almost like he hadn’t realized how much the small gesture relaxed him.

After a second, he lifts his head and looks at her. His expression softens noticeably as he studies her, exhausted eyes lingering just a little too long. The attention makes her slightly nervous, so she quickly checks the time on her phone instead.

“I’ve gotta get ready for class, but…seriously, I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

There’s something strange about the moment that sticks with her longer than it should.

Still slouched in the chair, Nicholas watches her finish breakfast and rinse off the plate before disappearing down the hallway. His eyes follow her until her bedroom door clicks shut, and only then does some of the tension leave his shoulders.

—----

The day drags on painfully slowly. During her morning lecture, Y/N spends more time doodling flowers in her notebook than listening to the professor. By her second class, she’s scrolling through Halloween costumes on Pinterest and random costume websites, quietly laughing at inflatable dinosaurs and glitter-covered bananas before forcing herself back to reality.

By the final lecture of the day, the nonstop slides and endless notes leave her rubbing at her temples in frustration. Somehow, her own thoughts are more exhausting than the actual coursework.

The campus café is warm and quiet when she walks in, filled with students eating lunch or typing away on laptops. She spots an empty table near the window and immediately claims it, dropping her backpack beside the chair before opening her laptop and spreading out her notebooks and pens.

After finally getting herself an iced latte, she sinks into the chair with a relieved sigh. The first sip alone feels life-changing.

She’s halfway through a reading assignment when her phone buzzes against the table.

Nicholas: I picked up some more milk!

A small smile pulls at her lips before she can stop it.

Her thoughts drift back to the apartment that morning: Nicholas stealing her bacon, teasing her about the milk, his half-sleep eyes appearing exhausted in the kitchen light, the slight tease of his V line.

Her eyes shoot open as her intruding thoughts catch her off guard. She quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was looking, and lightly smacked her forehead.

“What is wrong with you?” she mutters under her breath, still smiling despite feeling embarrassed with herself.

She forces her attention back onto the reading assignment on her laptop before her brain can spiral any further.

—----

By the time Y/N finally gets home, exhaustion hangs heavily off her shoulders. She unlocks the apartment door, already thinking about collapsing into bed, but immediately freezes in place.

Nicholas and Charlotte are tangled together on the couch. Charlotte sits on his lap with her hands draped possessively around his neck while they make out like they’re the only people in the world. The irritation hits instantly, sharp enough to surprise her, and somehow, that only irritates her more.

“Could you take that shit somewhere else?” she snaps.

Nicholas immediately pulls away from Charlotte, looking guilty and caught off guard, while Charlotte just rolls her eyes with a smug little smirk as she's thrown from his lap.

Y/N doesn’t wait around long enough to hear either of them respond. She storms down the hallway and slams her bedroom door.

The room falls silent except for the sound of her frustrated breathing. She tosses her backpack onto the floor before grabbing the bag of veggie straws from her desk drawer and dropping into her chair. Pulling up her research paper, she tries focusing on work instead of the image still burned into her brain. It doesn’t really help.

After nearly an hour of pretending to work, her attention drifts toward the framed picture of her and Nicholas hanging on the wall. He’d brought girls around before that part never bothered her, but Charlotte did.

There’s something about the way she constantly clings to him, especially whenever Y/N is nearby, that gets under her skin. Like she’s trying to prove something. Mark her territory after barely knowing him for a month.

The realization leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe everyone else is right. Maybe she actually does need to go to the Halloween party. Maybe she needs something outside of school, outside of routines, outside of Nicholas constantly occupying space in her head. Maybe she needs someone else to focus on for once. The idea alone makes warmth creep into her cheeks. She grabs her phone and pulls up ‘Messages’.

Group Chat: Hailey & Mia

Y/N: Okay, I’m going to the Halloween party. You guys wanna hit the costume store tomorrow?

Hailey: Finally 😭 Took you long enough.

Mia: Yessss! I already have ideas 😈

By the time she shuts off her laptop and crawls under the blankets, quietly laughing at the incoming texts from her friends.

—----

Nicholas has been staring blankly at the television for over an hour.

The apartment feels weirdly empty without Y/N moving around down the hallway or laughing loudly from behind her bedroom door. The silence feels heavier tonight.

He checks his phone again. 9:57 PM.

With an annoyed sigh, he tosses it onto the couch cushion beside him and flips on some random action movie he isn’t even paying attention to.

Time passes. Eventually, a creak echoes from the hallway, and his head immediately turns toward the sound before he can stop himself. Nothing. No Y/N. His disappointment is evident as he groans with frustration. Rubbing a hand across his jaw, he sinks farther into the couch cushions.

By 11:15, he’s rummaging through the kitchen for a granola bar just to give himself something to do. He eats it absentmindedly while the television murmurs in the background, the noise doing little to fill the apartment.

A dull ache settles heavily in his chest. He doesn’t like how quiet it feels without her around. The realization unsettles him more than he wants to admit.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out. Within minutes, his head tips back against the couch cushions, and he falls asleep with the television still flickering across the room.

—----

The next morning, soft sunlight spills across Y/N’s rumpled blankets while distant city noise hums outside her window. The smell of bacon tugs her awake. She thinks to herself: Is Nicholas really cooking?

Still groggy, she shuffles out into the kitchen, blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, only to stop short at the sight in front of her.

Nicholas is cooking. Actual cooking. Not microwaving something questionable for once.

“...What are you doing?” she asks sleepily. He’s startled slightly before turning toward her.

“Cooking breakfast… duh,” he says, dragging out the last word with a hesitant smile.

She walks farther into the kitchen, the blanket slipping down her shoulders as she takes in the scene: pancakes steaming on the stove, slightly burnt bacon sitting on a plate, and a Dutch Bros coffee cup covered in condensation. Her favorite order.

“You really made all this?”

“Well… the pancakes, yeah. The bacon I mostly supervised. But the coffee’s from that place you like.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Figured it might buy me some forgiveness.” A laugh slips out of her before she can stop it.

“You’re lucky you didn’t burn the apartment down.”

He laughs under his breath while she takes a sip of the coffee. For a moment, neither of them says anything. Then his expression shifts more serious.

“Look, Y/N…about last night. I should’ve told you Charlotte was coming over. I didn’t mean for you to walk in on that.” Leaning against the counter, he folds his arms across his chest, looking unusually sincere.

“Yeah, that was hard to miss.”

“I know. I thought I told you already, but I guess I only mentioned it Sunday night. That’s on me.”

She takes another sip of coffee, giving him a flat look.

“It’s fine, but if you’re about to get in each other’s pants, maybe take it somewhere besides the couch. I really don’t wanna think about Charlotte’s ass cheeks touching my blanket.”

Nicholas immediately laughs.

“We haven’t even fucked on the couch-”

“Uhh uhh uhh. Nope. Don’t wanna hear it.”

“Well, actually, we haven’t fucked at all-”

“Nicholas Alexander!” Her face drops straight into her hands while he laughs harder. 

She tries scrubbing the mental image of them fucking from her brain, but a tiny flicker of relief catches her completely off guard. That reaction bothered her far more than the conversation itself.

“But seriously,” he says more quietly after a moment, stepping a little closer, “don’t let some girl get between us, okay? You’re more important to me than that. I don’t want things getting weird because I’m an idiot sometimes.”

The sincerity in his voice catches her off guard. Her chest tightens unexpectedly. For a second, neither of them moves. The kitchen suddenly feels too quiet, too small, morning light catching in his tired eyes long enough to make her look away first.

“Fine,” she says eventually. “I’ll accept your apology. But only because this smells amazing.”

Relief immediately flashes across his face.

“That’s all I ask.”

“Next time, though, maybe warn me before you turn the living room into a porn set.” She tries sounding annoyed, but the smile tugging at her lips ruins it.

“Deal. But next time, you’re making the bacon.” He pouts at the burnt strips on the plate.

“Absolutely not.”

Their laughter blends softly into the quiet morning air. Nicholas watches her happily place pieces of bacon on her plate and douse her pancakes in syrup, completely unaware of the way he’s looking at her.

Something unfamiliar twists in his chest again. No relationship he’d ever had felt this easy before, and the realization lingers longer than he wants it to. He tries brushing the thought aside, but even as Y/N reaches for another piece of bacon with sleepy satisfaction, the thoughts refuse to leave.

[quietchaosclub]

Melancholy

remmick x reader

an impossible connection awakens between reader and remmick, allowing them to share thoughts, emotions, and even memories

(gif by: @stray-cat-with-internet-access) The bar sat at the edge of a dusty highway in Louisiana, glowing gold against the humid night. Inside, the air smelled of whiskey, old wood, and rain-soaked earth drifting in from the open door.

You were the reason the place was packed.

A famous country singer. The kind whose voice filled stadiums and haunted jukeboxes long after midnight. People had driven for hours just to hear you perform in a venue far smaller than anything you usually played.

And among the crowd sat Remmick. He hadn't come for the music. At least, that's what he'd told himself.

He sat alone at the bar, nursing a drink, half-listening to conversations around him. Then the lights dimmed. The room erupted into applause.

You stepped onto the stage.

The moment you opened your mouth to sing, everything changed.

The first note hit him like a physical force.

Remmick froze.

It wasn't just that your voice was beautiful. It was something deeper. Something impossible.

Suddenly, he could feel you. Not hear you.

Feel you.

Beneath the lyrics, beneath the melody, he sensed flashes of emotion that weren't meant for anyone else. The nervous flutter hidden behind your confident smile. The loneliness that followed you from city to city. The fierce determination that had carried you from small-town bars to sold-out arenas.

His grip tightened around his glass. What was happening? Then came the thoughts.

Faint at first.

Don't miss the high note.

Smile.

Keep breathing.

Don't think about him.

Remmick's eyes widened. He wasn't imagining it.

Every word you sang pulled him deeper, until it felt like he was standing inside the storm of your mind.

And somehow, you seemed to notice. Your gaze drifted across the crowd.

Past the cheering fans.

Past the flashing phones.

Straight to him.

For a heartbeat, the connection sharpened. Remmick felt a rush of surprise that wasn't his own.

Who is that?

The thought brushed against him like a whisper.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

You felt it too.

The song faltered for half a second before you recovered, but the damage was done. The invisible thread between you had already formed.

The crowd noticed nothing. They kept cheering. Kept singing along.

But Remmick could feel your pulse racing. Could feel your confusion. And beneath it all, something else.

Curiosity.

The same curiosity blooming inside him.

The final note echoed through the bar.

Silence followed. Then a thunder of applause.

You smiled at the audience, but your attention never left the stranger leaning against the bar.

Remmick set down his drink.

Across the crowded room, your thoughts brushed against his once more.

I don't know who you are...

A slow smile touched his lips.

But before he could answer, another thought slipped through.

One that made his heart stop.

...but why can you hear me?

The applause was still echoing through the walls when you stepped off the stage.

Your manager was talking about schedules. A photographer wanted a few shots. Someone from the venue was trying to hand you a bottle of water. You barely heard any of them.

Because the strange presence was still there.

Not in the crowd anymore.

Closer.

Waiting.

You pushed through the maze of backstage hallways until you reached the dressing room corridor.

And there he was.

Remmick stood at the far end of the hall, leaning against the wall as though he'd been there for hours. The dim lights cast long shadows across his face.

The moment your eyes met, the connection snapped into focus again. A flood of emotions hit you.

Curiosity.

Relief.

A hint of nervousness.

Not yours. His.

You stopped walking.

"So it's real," you said quietly.

The words left your mouth before you could think better of them.

Remmick's mouth curved into a faint smile.

"So you can feel it too."

Your pulse jumped.

His surprise washed through the connection immediately.

Neither of you had expected confirmation so quickly.

For a moment neither spoke.

The hallway suddenly felt much smaller than it should have. Finally, you crossed your arms.

"Who are you?"

The question carried more force than you intended. Remmick straightened.

"Remmick."

"That's not much of an answer."

"No," he admitted. "But it's the only one I've got."

You should have called security. Any reasonable person would have. Instead, you found yourself walking closer.

The strange bond seemed to pull at both of you like gravity. By the time you stopped, only a few feet separated you.

Close enough to notice the faint scar along his jaw.

Close enough to see that his eyes hadn't left yours since the moment you'd stepped into the hallway.

And close enough for the connection to become almost overwhelming.

A memory flashed through your mind. Not yours.

A dirt road under moonlight.

A lonely house.

Years of wandering.

Then it was gone.

You stumbled back. "What was that?"

Remmick looked equally shaken. "I think..." He swallowed. "I think that was mine."

The realization sent a chill down your spine. You weren't just sensing emotions anymore. You were sharing pieces of yourselves.

Fragments.

Memories.

Thoughts.

Neither of you knew how. Neither of you knew why.

A door opened somewhere down the hall. Voices approached. Instinctively, Remmick stepped closer.

The movement should have alarmed you. Instead, it felt strangely natural.

The connection softened immediately, as though it preferred the shorter distance. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"I heard your voice and suddenly I knew what you were feeling."

You stared at him. "I felt the same thing."

For a second, the noise of the venue faded away. There was only the two of you. The impossible bond.

And the growing certainty that this wasn't some random accident.

Then a thought brushed against your mind. Not yours. Not spoken.

I've been looking for something my whole life.

Remmick's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to let you hear that. You felt the embarrassment that followed.

The vulnerability.

The honesty.

And before you could stop yourself, your own thought slipped across the connection.

Maybe so have I.

The silence that followed was heavier than any song you'd ever sung.

Because for the first time that night, neither of you felt alone. And that realization was far more frightening—and far more exciting—than the mysterious bond itself.

Years ago, long before Louisiana, long before your voice found its way into Remmick's soul, a coven of witches laid a curse upon him.

Not a curse of pain.

Not a curse of death.

Something far crueler.

They bound him to a red string of fate.

Invisible to everyone else, but ever-present to him.

The witches told him only this:

"One day, you will meet the person at the other end of the string."

At first, it sounded like a blessing.

A soulmate.

A destined love.

A person who would understand him in ways no one else ever could.

But the witches weren't finished.

"You will find them."

"You will know them."

"You will love them."

"And you will never truly have them."

That was the curse.

Not separation.

Not distance.

But proximity.

To stand close enough to touch, yet remain forever denied the life he wanted with them.

Over the years, Remmick searched for signs of the string's other end. Sometimes he convinced himself he'd found it, only to discover he was wrong.

Until the night he walked into a little bar in Louisiana.

Until the moment your voice filled the room.

The instant he heard you sing, the red string pulled taut.

For the first time in his long life, he knew.

Without doubt.

Without question.

It was you.

The person fate had tied to him.

The person he could sense as easily as his own heartbeat.

The person whose thoughts and emotions flowed into his mind as naturally as breathing.

And according to the witches' curse—

The one person he could never truly keep.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago.

Most of the crowd had either stumbled home or crowded around the bar for one last drink before closing. Laughter drifted through the room, mixing with the low hum of an old country song playing from the jukebox.

You and Remmick sat at a small table tucked into the darkest corner of the bar, far from everyone else.

A single lamp hung overhead. Two glasses sat between you. Neither of you had touched them much.

Conversation came in pieces. A story from one of your tours. A vague memory from his travels.

Questions neither of you knew how to answer.

And through it all, Remmick couldn't stop looking at you.

Your fingers curled around the glass.

The slight rise and fall of your shoulders when you breathed.

The way your expression changed when you laughed.

Everything about you seemed to pull at him.

Years of loneliness had taught him how to exist without needing anyone.

Or so he had thought.

Now, sitting across from you, he realized how empty those years had truly been.

Your heartbeat reached him through the strange bond.

Steady.

Strong.

Alive.

A rhythm unlike anything he'd ever known, like a song played just for him. Every beat settled something restless inside his chest. For once, the constant noise in his mind was gone.

The uncertainty.

The searching.

The endless feeling that something was missing. Gone.

You took a sip from your drink. "What?"

Remmick blinked. "What?"

"You've been staring at me for ten minutes."

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Through the connection, he felt your amusement. And your curiosity.

He looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I didn't realize I was."

"You absolutely did."

You laughed softly.

The sound made something warm bloom in his chest. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then your expression softened.

The connection shifted.

You felt it too.

That strange sense of peace.

As though simply being near one another made the world quieter.

Remmick's gaze dropped briefly to your hands resting on the table.

The red string.

The witches' curse.

The promise that had haunted him for years.

He could almost feel it now.

Invisible.

Wrapped around both of your lives.

Drawing you together while threatening to keep you apart.

The thought should have hurt.

Instead, he found himself focused on the present.

On this moment.

On you.

The soft glow of the lamp caught the edges of your hair.

Your eyes reflected amber light.

And your heartbeat continued its steady rhythm between you.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Like a melody.

Like home.

Remmick leaned back slightly in his chair.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt whole.

Not because the curse was gone.

Not because the future suddenly made sense.

But because after years of searching for the person tied to the other end of the string, he was finally sitting across from them.

You tilted your head.

"What are you thinking about?"

The question was gentle. Almost hesitant. Remmick held your gaze.

The truth slipped through the connection before he could stop it.

You.

Your breath caught.

A rush of embarrassment immediately followed from his side. Then annoyance at himself for being careless.

You laughed. A genuine, bright laugh. And suddenly he felt it too.

The happiness.

The warmth.

The impossible comfort of sharing a moment that belonged only to the two of you.

Outside, rain began tapping against the windows.

Inside, the rest of the world seemed very far away.

For a little while, neither of you moved.

You simply sat together in the corner of a Louisiana bar, listening to the rain, sharing quiet smiles, while your heartbeat continued to play its steady song—and Remmick listened as though it were the most beautiful music he had ever heard.

Three years later, the house was quieter than it had ever been.

The old farmhouse sat beneath endless Louisiana skies, surrounded by fields that turned gold in the summer and silver beneath the moon. It had become yours together. A place built from late-night conversations, shared coffee on the porch, and countless mornings waking beside one another.

It should have been a happy home. Instead, sickness haunted every room.

You lay in bed, propped against a mountain of pillows.

The curtains were half-open, letting afternoon sunlight spill across the floor.

Once, you had filled stadiums with your voice.

Now, some days, simply sitting up left you exhausted.

The diagnosis had arrived eight months ago. Blood cancer.

Two words that had shattered everything. The doctors had tried treatments.

Some helped.

Some didn't.

The future had become a collection of percentages and uncertain timelines. And Remmick hated every second of it.

Not the doctors.

Not fate.

Not even the disease itself.

Himself.

Because for the first time in centuries, he had found something worth protecting. And he couldn't save it.

He stood at the bedroom window, staring out at the fields.

Silent.

Motionless.

But through the bond, you felt the storm inside him.

Rage.

Helplessness.

Fear.

The last one hurt the most.

Remmick never feared anything.

Not hunters.

Not death.

Not the passing centuries.

But he feared losing you.

Every day.

Every hour.

Every moment.

You watched his reflection in the glass. "Come here."

The words were barely above a whisper.

His shoulders stiffened.

For a moment, he didn't move.

Then he crossed the room. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight. When he sat beside the bed, the mattress dipped slightly.

You reached for his hand.

His fingers immediately closed around yours.

Careful.

Gentle.

As though you were made of glass. The bond flooded with emotion.

Love.

Desperation.

Regret.

You squeezed his hand. "Stop."

His jaw tightened.

"I know what you're thinking."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

Because you always did.

Three years together had only strengthened the connection between you. Some days, words felt unnecessary.

You could feel the guilt crushing him. The endless cycle of what-ifs.

What if he'd found a cure?

What if he'd searched harder?

What if there was something he'd missed?

The cruelest truth was the one he refused to accept.

There was nothing he could do.

Vampire blood healed many things.

Broken bones.

Wounds.

Diseases.

But not this.

And turning you wasn't possible.

Not with cancer spreading through your blood.

The transformation would only trap the sickness forever.

A fate worse than death.

Remmick had spent months searching anyway.

Ancient texts.

Forgotten legends.

Witches.

He'd traveled across continents chasing impossible answers. Every lead ended the same way.

Nothing.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. You felt his frustration immediately. The urge to tear apart the world itself for failing you.

"You promised me something," you said softly.

His eyes met yours.

"What?"

"When we moved here."

A flicker of memory passed between you.

The porch swing.

Summer rain.

The scent of jasmine carried by warm wind.

You smiling as he sat beside you.

"No matter what happens, we'll face it together."

Remmick looked away.

The memory hurt now.

"That was before."

"No." You tightened your grip despite your weakness. "It wasn't."

Silence settled between you. Outside, cicadas sang in the fields. Inside, the house felt suspended in time.

Finally, Remmick bowed his head. You felt it then. The thing he never said aloud. The fear hidden beneath everything else.

I can't lose you.

The thought slipped through the bond before he could stop it.

Raw.

Broken.

Honest.

Your chest ached. Not from the illness.

From him.

Slowly, you lifted your free hand and touched his cheek. His eyes closed immediately, leaning into your touch.

A centuries-old creature.

Feared by countless people.

Undone by one fragile human hand.

"Remmick."

His name left your lips gently.

"You found me."

He swallowed hard.

The bond trembled.

"You were the one thing I was never supposed to have."

The old curse.

The red string.

The witches' words.

For years it had haunted him.

But sitting here beside your bed, he finally understood something.

The curse had never been that he couldn't have you.

The curse was that he could.

Just long enough to know what it felt like.

Just long enough to love you.

Just long enough for losing you to become unimaginable.

And for the first time since the diagnosis, tears filled his eyes.

Not because he was weak.

Not because he was afraid.

But because after centuries of existing, after all the years spent searching for the person tied to the other end of the string—he had finally found you.

And no amount of power, immortality, or love could stop time from trying to take them away.

The funeral was small.

Just as you had wanted.

Family.

A handful of friends.

A few musicians who had shared stages and stories with you over the years.

They spoke about your kindness. Your music. The way you could make a room feel less lonely simply by walking into it.

Someone played one of your songs. Several people cried. And then, eventually, they all left.

One by one.

Until only Remmick remained.

The cemetery sat on a gentle hill overlooking the Louisiana countryside. Wildflowers swayed in the evening breeze. The sky was painted in shades of gold and amber. Your headstone stood beneath an old oak tree.

Simple.

Exactly as you had requested.

Remmick sat beside it.

Hours passed. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even blink much. The world continued without you.

Birds sang.

Wind rustled through the grass.

Clouds drifted overhead.

None of it mattered.

The bond was gone. The silence where your thoughts used to be was unbearable. For three years, he had awakened every morning feeling your heartbeat somewhere in the world.

Now there was nothing.

No laughter brushing against his mind.

No quiet thoughts.

No warmth.

Just emptiness.

A hollow ache stretching through every part of him.

The sun slowly descended toward the horizon.

Orange light spilled across the cemetery.

Remmick looked down at the fresh earth. His fingers traced your name carved into stone.

For centuries, he had feared nothing.

Not death.

Not pain.

Not eternity.

But grief was different.

Grief was merciless.

It followed him into every thought.

Every memory.

Every breath.

He remembered the first night in that little bar.

The way your voice had cut through the noise.

The way your heartbeat had sounded like music.

The way you'd laughed when he accidentally let a thought slip through the bond.

Thousands of memories crowded his mind. Each one more precious than the last. A faint smile appeared despite the tears on his face.

"You know," he said quietly, his voice rough from disuse, "I never got tired of hearing you sing."

The breeze answered.

Nothing else.

Remmick lowered his gaze.

For a long time, he simply sat there.

Then he looked toward the setting sun.

The first rays of daylight stretched across the horizon.

Beautiful.

Final.

A fitting ending.

Or perhaps a beginning.

He wasn't certain.

For most of his existence, he'd never believed much in what came after.

He had lived too long.

Seen too much.

Yet loving you had changed things.

It had made impossible things seem possible.

Soulmates.

Fate.

The red string.

Maybe there was something beyond this life.

Maybe there wasn't.

But if there was—

he would find you.

No matter what stood between you.

No matter how long it took.

His hand rested against the headstone.

Cold stone beneath his fingertips.

"I think the witches got part of it wrong." The words came out almost as a laugh.

Almost.

"They said I could never truly have you."

He closed his eyes. The memory of your heartbeat echoed faintly in his mind. A rhythm he would carry forever.

"But I did."

A tear slipped down his cheek. "I had three years."

Three years of mornings together.

Three years of laughter.

Three years of love.

Three years more than he had ever expected.

Remmick stood slowly.

For the first time since the funeral, he rose from your side.Not because he wanted to leave.But because he had made his choice.

He looked down at your grave one final time.

His expression softened.

The pain remained.

It always would.

But beneath it was certainty.

The same certainty he'd felt the first moment he heard your voice.

"You'll find me difficult to get rid of." A small smile touched his lips. "I'll find you again."

The wind stirred the wildflowers.

"I'll find you in every lifetime."

Whether it took ten years.

A hundred years.

A thousand.

Whether you were a singer again.

Or a stranger in a crowded city.

Or someone who passed him on a quiet street without knowing why they felt familiar.

He would find you.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Because some loves were stronger than curses.

Stronger than death.

Stronger than time itself.

And somewhere beyond grief, beyond loss, beyond the limits of one human life, he carried a single unwavering belief:

If souls truly met more than once—

then yours would always recognize each other.

No matter the century.

No matter the lifetime.

No matter the ending.

Remmick's final choice was not made out of despair alone, but out of devotion.

As a vampire, he had survived for centuries. He had endured wars, loneliness, and endless years of wandering. Before meeting you, immortality had simply been something he carried. After meeting you, it became something he questioned.

When you died, the future stretched before him exactly as it always had—decades, centuries, perhaps even millennia. But for the first time, eternity felt empty.

Remmick chose to stop running from an ending he had avoided for hundreds of years.

He believed that if souls existed, yours would be somewhere ahead of him.

And if fate had been powerful enough to tie a red string between a vampire and a country singer, then perhaps it was powerful enough to bring them together again.

The sunlight embraced him slowly. At last, death had welcomed him.

Warm.

Gentle.

Like a hand reaching for his.

His last thought was not of the curse, nor of the centuries behind him.

It was of the first night he heard your voice in that little Louisiana bar.

The steady heartbeat that had sounded like music.

The person who made eternity feel worthwhile.

And as he surrendered himself to the dawn, Remmick carried one final hope:

That somewhere, in some life yet to come, he would hear that song again—and know he had found you. Once more.

MASTERLIST

[pngblog]

[our-queer-experience]

ive been repeating this in my head all week. auntie likes wearing the strap…….

[genderfluid-and-confuzled]

thought one: yummy yummy

thought two: orange juice in my tummy

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

[yourlonelypoet]

The producers of The Bear really be telling us shit like "omggg sydney and carmen will never happen, you guys are delusional, get therapy" and then the soundtrack is like this

I'm In Love With My Coworker Who Is a Chef by Lil Love

Love In The Kitchen by Romance Guy

Sydney I Love You by Barmen Cerzatto

Flames of Love by Løv3r

Hidden Feelings by SlowBurnGurll

I Wanna Kiss You So Fucking Bad by KISSME

[pairingbrainrot]

🥴🫠

[luckydiorxoxo]

Simone Ashley in an ARCHIVAL red silk taffeta ballgown by Alexander McQueen from his 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' FW 2005 collection at 79th Cannes Film Festival.

[pngblog]

[prettynpaid]

Anok Yai and her mum, Nyibol Akuei for British Vogue June 2026

[moon-lord-big-naturals]

We got that fine classic literature on the island

[politijohn]

Source

[hickupskarren]

i need dat.

[sutherlins]

I love you chris, I love the heartbreaking and beautiful depiction of family trauma and grief and those cycles that feel impossible to escape from, and i love the hope that’s depicted in this show, the idea you can break from cycles despite their deep claws in you but with the truth you’ll always be marked by what you’ve been through.

I love all the sydcarmy moments you’ve given me (through writing or directing) i love you for giving me sydney, a character who means so much to me, more than any other fictional character. and for carmy, a character i love that showed us even our roughest parts are worth care even if we don’t believe it ourselves.

i love the bear so fucking much and im going to miss it deeply but im so so glad i watched it and for the soul-settling friendships i made through it, the creativity it inspired in me (over 600k words! edits! paintings!) it has been so much fun being creative in chris’ world, and im so grateful for the friends that play in this sandbox with me ❤️❤️❤️

[greymvs]

when i say "the big 3" this is exactly what i mean