30+ | Ø male | neglectful writer, procrastinating artist, chronic ponderer | I want to talk about Remmick | the fact he's pathetic is exceptionally important too | toxic yaoi appreciator | sideblog just for remmick shit ngl
I can't get over how the brilliance of the "Rocky Road to Dublin" scene in Sinners is woven into every single thread comprising it.
We already know that "I Lied to You" and "Rocky Road to Dublin" are foils of each other in that "I Lied to You" welcomes, acknowledges, and celebrates the inclusion of multiple cultures and cultural influences into its composition both visually and sonically, whilst "Rocky Road to Dublin" is Remmick stripping his thralls of their identity (personal, racial, cultural) to celebrate himself and the culture and people he lost.
However, this isn't entirely true. Not in any way that exonerated Remmick or makes him any more "inclusive," but in a way that even better highlights his status as an emblem of cultural vampirism.
The vampires around him don't just gather to watch and dance along in a neat circle or in any traditionally Irish formation, they form concentric circles in what I believe to be a take on the ring shout :
In the last ten seconds or so of the song, as well, you can hear a woman vocalising in a way that seems very much to be inspired by Gospel music. This, too, is intentional even in the casting of the choir used to sing the backing vocals for "Rocky Road to Dublin," a Los Angeles-based group called the DC6 Singers Collective, who describe themselves as having "roots in A Capella, Gospel, Doo Wop, and R&B" and whose members are primarily Black (x).
Now, Irish music may be many things, but a tendency to be performed as an homage to the ring shout with Gospel influences to its vocal stylings is not among them.
Remmick didn't simply coerce his thralls to perform a song written by his people as it would have traditionally been performed, he pulled and co-opted elements of their culture he found striking from their minds to celebrate and revere his own without any regard to how they may or may not appreciate those inspirations and contributions being pulled from them without their consent.
The song is still a foil for "I Lied to You," but not in the sense that "I Lied to You" is about a celebration of culture and its progression as it influences and is influenced whilst "Rocky Road to Dublin" is a celebration of Remmick and the unitary culture he longs to revive, but in the sense that "I Lied to You" celebrates shared culture as it is formed organically over time and values the influences of each contributor (who, importantly, are consenting to run their own brush across the canvas) whilst "Rocky Road to Dublin" represents predatory, self-serving culture vultureship, in which elements from other cultures are represented not as an equal contributor to the end product, but are rather simply used to further establish the dominant culture's dominion over all others.
Sinners stood there and said whiteness is the driving force of all evil which will take and corrupt all that you are and the only way to fight against is to save the parts of your culture that connect you to who you are and that makes it the best movie ever.
It is not lost on me that sammie who hold the power to connect people with their ancestors and culture by blurring the lines btw past, present and future is the one person they all died to keep alive. And that the whole of remmick plan involve him stealing and distributing sammie's gift among the hive mind to essentially dilute the blues the same way the white folks who employed slim did.
It's also important to know that the reason the vampires even got mary was because a lot of black folks were paying with plantation money which would have put the juke out of business very soon and why do so many of them payed with plantation money that's right white supremacy and colonialism.
Remmick told them he wasn't the devil and he was telling the truth because the real devil that lead to everyone's death was always whiteness. They even confirmed that even if they survived all the vampires the kkk were coming in the morning.
The movie portrays the most authentic form of whiteness in layers. Which is why so many people were begging for a sequel with proper white rep because they couldn't face how properly the white culture was represented.
Summary: a thousand and a half years ago you ‘died’ in a burning barn with his name still trapped behind your teeth and the silver ring he’d given you warm on your finger. Remmick woke up out of that fire alone and kept walking across centuries until he finds you again in a juke joint at Mississippi.
You don’t remember him but he remembers everything and he’ll cross a threshold uninvited, turn everyone on his sight and tear open his own chest to have you look at him and know him again. May the spirits help whoever stands between you and him when you finally do.
Or: the one where Remmick finds his lost husband reborn and the old spirits decide they’ve suffered long enough.
Tags: Male reader. No use of Y/N for the reader. Reincarnation. Remmick Is Obsessed (He's Allowed). Past Character Death. Vampirism. Blood Kink. Canon-Typical Violence. Memories Returning Through Touch. Old Irish Endearments. Blood Pact Marriage. Possessive Remmick. Hurt/Comfort. Flirting. Kissing. Make out sessions. Intimacy. Established relationship. Various highly suggestive moments. Mutual Pining Across Centuries. Temporary character death. Happy(ish) Ending
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 1
Words count: 9300
Music comes up through the floorboards before it ever reaches your ears proper, a steady thrum that felt like a second heartbeat buried somewhere beneath your ribs, settling into your bones.
Fiddle, guitar, a voice you don’t quite recognize yout bombarding the inside of your head, everything tangled together with laughter and warmth sensations building inside your chest.
Pausing just outside the juke joint, one hand resting against the rough wood of the outer wall at viewing how lit warm and gold from inside it is, lamplight spilling out through the cracks, Smoke curls from the chimney, carrying the scent of alcohol embodied by the humid air of the night.
There was still that same quiet, gnawin’ thing that’s followed you near your whole life.
Like you’re standin’ on the edge of rememberin’ something you never lived.
It hits a bit everyday, stronger whenever music reaches your ears.
You don’t linger on it long.
“Boy, you plannin’ on standin’ out there all night, or you comin’ in?”
The voice snaps you back quick enough and you glance over your shoulder to see one of the twins, red hat in hand and leaning half out the doorway, grin already crooked.
Hard to tell which one at a glance if you ain’t payin’ attention.
“I see y’ ain’t lost the thin’ of daydreaming,” he adds.
“Happens all the time I get annoyed, lucky me y’all have gotten patient on me.” Huffing under your breath while pushing off the wood.
He snorts, stepping back to let you in. “Ain’t no one here got patience for you. C’mon.”
Inside, the juke joint is packed tight and it’s full of movements between shoulders touching one other along bodies moving, laughing, shouting over one another.
Air’s thick with smoke and bottles clinking, boots scuffing the floor in uneven rhythm.
This is the first time the place had been inaugurated after being taken by the twins after they had returned in here and nobody seemed to question your presence.
Not with the twins vouching for you since you were all half-grown and running wild through fields with nothing but scraped knees and bad ideas.
“Took your sweet time,” Smoke says while appearing at your side, bottle already in hand and pressed halfway into yours before you can protest.
“Had to make sure the place was still standin’,” you mutter.
He grins. “Ya got doubts? With us runnin’ it?”
Burns go down as the liquor travels down your throat in a familiar pattern.
Still, that feeling doesn't leave, it has never gotten worse since tonight.
You end up near the edge of the main floor, close enough to the band to feel the music but far enough to stay out of the crush of dancers.
That’s usually where you liked to settle, half in and out. Watchin’ more than joinin’, it’s just a habit.
Truth is, sometimes it feels like you’re lookin’ for something, you just don’t know what.
Sammie’s up there tonight, recognized him quick with that guitar in hand even between the constantly shifting crowd.
From afar you can see Mary stepping into the smoky light of the juke joint and you knew right away what was about to erupt.
Soft lamplight dances over wooden floors, and the low hum of conversation starts to fade around you.
Her gaze sweeps the room until she’s stopped by Sammie at a corner table.
Sammie leans forward, voice dropping to what you could only guess being how she shouldn’t be here.
Her posture unwavering and already on the process to insults him about getting the fuck out of her face but he kept going before she could move to the side, continuing about how he was with the twins.
She realizes he was little Sammie and steps a little closer, takes hold of his hand and together they move while you tried to focus your earring to their conversation alone till they reached the bar ordering and she quickly ordered two wiskyous.
That was the only thing you could hear, now forced to obey simple overhearing and reach them as you saw the two tall twins approach them.
Stack arrives and soon speaks saying “Come on, let’s go”
“I’m not here for you” Mary stayed firm in her place.
“Then why you hittin’?”
“I came here for the blues.” Mary diverted her gaze to the side like you’ve learned she’d always do when showing hurt.
“They play the blues just fine in Arkansas,” he took hold of her arm and began moving her towards the exit.
“Wait Stack—“ Immediately you reached up, “come on don’t be so mean.” Tried to intervene to not let whatever was going on between them take an even uglier look but he seems unbothered by your attempt to calm down the waters.
An hand gripped your shoulder and your gaze was met with Smoke’s one, he didn’t yank or bark a word but you still moved when Smoke guided you by the shoulder till you and Smoke reached the corner of the bar and observed from afar, wood beneath your forearms was sticky with rings of spilled drinks.
Sammie had taken up his guitar again, his voice pouring out into beautiful song words that bled through the joint.
Conversations dip and laughter softens, a smile growing on your face when you’ve seen Annie come to take the man right next to you.
When they did checked real quick to see if you’d tag along, you gave a quick dismissal with your hand ‘cause that strange sensation came back again, only difference being tha’ it now hurts.
There’s a flicker of disappointment in their face but they’ve apparently expected that as they reluctantly went to dance deeper into the place and you observed both of the twins dance with the person they loved.
A pull in your chest sharp enough it makes your breath hitch.
For a second you swear you can smell smoke that ain’t from the lamps or hear wind where there ain’t none.
Suddenly the juke joint don’t feel like Mississippi no more.
For a flicker of a second there’s a great bonefire right ahead, towering flame against a black sky.
Old and slow drums echoes inside your ears, feet stomping dirt and voices rising together in a language you don’t know but somehow understand.
There’s a large forest far ahead you feel nostalgic for, smoke curling up into the night.
Your own hand are slick with something warm and there’s another set of hands holding them tight.
A low and extremely close voice right in your ear whispering words you can’t catch, but a feeling that hits deeper than sound.
Turning your sight to the side, there’s the shape of a face millimeters away from your own along something that sits low in your chest and refuses to move, belonging.
Shadows are twisting across the juke joint walls and your chest tightens hard to the point it almost hurts.
Staggering back a step, then another as the room feels too small and loud now, all the walls of the place are gone for half a heartbeat and replaced by large trees with the sound of water rushing nearby
Pushing through the crowd without thinkin’, breath uneven and jaw tight the more a headache threatens your wellbeing, until the night air hits you cold and unexpected outside.
Out there, near the edge of the door everything goes quiet but that feeling don’t leave.
Sliding down against the corner of the entrance until your behind is down onto the cold wood, you don’t even realize Cornbread’s presence there until he’s fully leaning down close enough to let heat radiate to your crouched form.
“Hey—hey, watcha got goin’ on? Y’ want me to call the twins?”
Glancing up at him you haven’t even realized the wet sensations scattered now all over your cheeks from unnoticed tears that slid down.
“M’ good,” you mumbled, trying to wipe the unwelcome wetness on your face. “Probably drank too much, need some air.”
All the giant man did was nod with no much conviction but respected your words either way.
Gazing at your left towards the entrance of the place, you observed everyone else dance and have the time of their life.
“Hi! We heard tale of’a party.”
The voice cut clean through the thick wall o’ sound spillin’ outta the juke joint, slippin’ right past the fiddle an’ the stomp o’ boots inside.
It settled behind your sternum quicker than liquor ever had, horribly familiar.
That unease you’d been carryin’ round your ribs the whole damn night had cracked open behind your eyes’ inside, answered.
Somethin’ deep in your chest leaned toward it without askin’ permission and the hair along your forearms stood itself straight up beneath the thin fabric o’ your sleeves.
“Ye wouldn’t mind us comin’ in, now, would ye?” An accent while the man spoke towards Cornbread was a drawl you’d heard anywhere round these parts.
Cornbread was already sayin’ somethin’ back, his big body a wall of heat near your side, but the sound o’ his voice blurred out because your head had already turned, pulled toward the voice, chin lifting off where it had been bowed against your chest.
He stood maybe eight feet off, just shy o’ the patch o’ lamplight spillin’ out the open door, the rest o’ the world softened behind him into night-blue an’ the silhouettes o’ two others stood a pace behind, one on either side o’ him.
Dark hair, damp at the roots an’ curlin’ against his temples like he’d been walking a lot, fringe stuck t’ the smooth plane of’ his forehead, flushed faint pink beneath the sweat. The top two buttons o’ his white shirt undone, generous enough to show the pale column o’ his throat an’ just a sliver o’ chest beneath.
Suspenders drew a lazy pair o’ lines over a chest tha’ looked broad even beneath the loose drape o’ his shirt. He had the build o’ a man who’d seemed to work hard fields.
A silver chain sat against the hollow o’ his throat, restin’ half on skin an’ half on damp shirt, catchin’ the lamp glow every time his chest rose.
You swore your eyes linger on that little piece o’ metal a second too long, almost recognizing it before your mind did.
His mouth was curved in half-amusement but it was when his gaze drifted past a retreating Cornbread that went to alert the twins, landing on your face tha’ somethin’ in him cracked.
That lazy amusement fell right off his mouth, lips parting slightly an’ that practiced charm emptied outta his eyes by recognition and ache.
His throat worked as he swallowed, silver chain catching the light again.
“Mo chroí,” words tumbled soft an’ quick out o’ him, intimate like he’d forgotten there was anyone else standin’ on the porch at all.
Somethin’ about them lifted the hairs at the back o’ your neck, not one syllable was comprehensive.
He took a step forward, then another before strangely stopping near enough tha’ you could see the lamplight catchin’ on individual lashes and smell the faint damp o’ his hair.
He’d halted right at the edge where the spillin’ light o’ the juke joint ended an’ the inside began, lip o’ the threshold as if somethin’ invisible had drawn a line across the doorway.
His weight shifted slightly, one boot planted half a finger’s width outside, not looking away from you at all.
“‘Scuse me?” You finally managed, an’ your voice came out thinner than you wanted, bleedin’ confusion right through the seams of it. “I, uh — I don’t…”
You shook your head, tried again, but no better words came and the corners o’ his mouth pressed together, brows drew together in the center as an undeniable confusion crossed them like he couldn’t fathom you not knowin’ him, fingers twitched once at his side.
The need in his face opened as a wound because he wanted to be closer an’ he was doin’ nothin’ whatsoever t’ hide it.
His mouth lifted a fraction, the flustered spread o’ pink creepin’ up your neck clearly noted and enjoyed.
“Ye don’t remember me, sweetheart?”
Gentle and careful, watchin’ any tiny flicker tha’ might prove you did.
Your mouth dried up entirely, pulse ticking all wrong against the base o’ your throat.
“I—” you started, then stopped. Glanced down briefly, caught the shine o’ tha’ silver chain on him again an’ yanked your eyes back up before he could notice again. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t reckon I do. We met somewhere before?”
Strangely, you noticed tha’ the usual tightness tha’ sat in your chest since forever had loosened some. Not gone.
“Truly we ain’t,” you went on, stumblin’, “and I apologize for it if we have, mister, I—my head ain’t been right tonight.”
Somethin’ moved behind his eyes, near-boyish pleasure as a slow smile started pullin’ at one corner of his mouth an’ he dipped his chin a little.
“Would you believe me if I told you I worked m’ land the whole damn day?”
“Sir?” You blinked.
“Livestock gave me a hell o’ a time,” he went on an’ the corner o’ his mouth kept curlin’, like he was tryin’ to hold back somethin’ an’ failin’. “Stubborn beasts, the lot o’em. I am half-dead on m’ feet an’ I was only hopin’ tha’ there mighta been someone kind enough t’offer a weary man somethin’ t’ drink.”
The words landed right in a chamber o’ you tha’ hadn’t been opened in so long, breath caught halfway up your throat at the flirt hidden in it.
When he said those words to you in his first ever attempt to have a conversation with you after one many days of just staring in silence far away a thousand of years ago when he was a lad working the land along his father.
Whatever commission his dad sent him to do to the village, he’s always had a chance to stare at you writing alone by yourself until he finally made his move.
He remembered exactly what you had said to him.
“Ye don’t look tha’ tired to my eyes, farmer-lad.”
“May I say, y’ ain’t tha’ tired to my eyes, farmer.”
Whatever careful ease he’d been holdin’ onto cracked right down the middle, lips parting around a breath tha’ didn’t quite make it into a laugh.
One hand came up, drifted towards his own mouth without purpose, knuckles brushin’ his lower lip before fallin’ away again, Adam’s apple bobbing once hard, silver chain at his collarbone lifted and’ settled with the motion.
“Aye,” he breathed, almost laughin’ now and he took another step forward.
Your heart kicked so hard it half-jumped into your throat, you thought it strange tha’ a man who seemed like he wanted nothin’ more than to close the distance between the two o’ you was holdin’ himself a careful step shy o’ the wood beneath your feet.
His gaze slid slowly down the length o’ you, unhurried, warm, an’ back up, lingerin’ a breath too long on your mouth, an’ whatever he saw there made him wet his own lips without thinkin’.
Your face went hot and his smile widened a hair.
Oh, he’d always loved tha’. Tha’ moment when you glanced away an’ the pink crept up your ears.
A thousand years an’ he still knew how to find it, smugness eased into his mouth.
“D’you mind us comin’ in, darlin’?”
It was sweet and it took you a second to even register the ‘us’, eyes flickering past him an’ only then did you truly register the two others behind him. A man an’ a woman both very still, they hadn’t said a word this whole time.
A chill went up your spine an’ you couldn’t have said exactly why.
When your eyes slid back to him, his own were already waitin’, patient and unblinkin’.
“I—uh…” your voice came out a scrape. you cleared it. “I wouldn’t mind y’all here, no.”
Somethin’ lit up in him at tha’, the tiniest lean forward and hope so plain on his face it near broke somethin’ inside of you.
Two hands on each of your shoulders that sent you back a full step before your brain caught up to your body, stumbled backward into the wedge o’ space they’d made fer you behind them.
The twins had come up and you’d missed it clean because the whole world had narrowed to the man at a threshold.
Behind them, Cornbread had already drifted back a pace, an’ you caught a glimpse of’ Annie’s sharp watchful eye past Smoke’s shoulder, Mary half a step behind her, Sammie’s guitar silent for once.
In the space o’ a blink the expression of the man had changed, gone was the soft flustered boy-charm, a thin cold thing had slipped into the place of all o’ it.
His eyes had flicked down to the hands on your shoulder, an’ stayed there longer than was friendly. The fingers o’ his right hand, curled inward slightly.
You could’ve sworn, for the space o’ a second, tha’ the blue o’ his eyes had shimmered redder beneath, a faint ember that disappeared the second you blinked.
“Ye fellows must be the owners o’ this establishment,” he said, tiltin’ his head politely, voice calm.
“That’s right,” Smoke said, flat and quiet. “An’ y’ are?”
“Oh, we’re just travelers, is all. Come t’ play a bit.” Remmick’s smile widened. “Here. I’ll show ye.”
Without another word, in one quick easy motion all three o’ them swung banjos round from behind their backs. you hadn’t even clocked they were carryin’ ‘em.
They settled the instruments into their hands and began, music pouring out bright and his eyes were on you the whole time.
Stack’s boot started tappin’ before he could stop it, head bobbing twice to the beat.
Remmick opened his mouth an’ started singin’, an’ the accent slipped into the melody, something you could have sworn had heard before.
His gaze found yours mid-verse and he winked, causing you to forgot to breathe and face to go hot clean down to your collarbone.
“That’s enough.” Smoke’s voice cut through the song before it reached half its performance. “Y’all can’t come in.”
Remmick let the silence settle an’ then, slow, tilted his head at Smoke and Lord help you, there was somethin’ so damn adorable about tha’ tilt o’ his head and wrinkle between his brows tha’ your stomach did a small cruel flip.
“We ain’t lookin’ fer trouble,” he said with open disappointment.
“We’re just tired, sir.” He brushed his fingers along the line o’ his jaw in one slow lazy drag, thumb gliding up underneath his chin an’ back down.
“Hungry as dogs.”
Behind him, the man gave a single loose bark. “Woof, woof.”
An’ then laughed, joined by the woman.
His fingers stroked along his jaw a second time like he was thinkin’.
“An’ anyhow,” he said. Soft. Careful. “We wouldn’t be strangers in yer house. Not entirely.”
His eyes flicked back to you then, full-on, an’ tha’ smile shifted again, softer and intimate.
“Was only hopin’,” he said, an’ tha’ accent curled warm around every word, “t’ find a place to rest these tired bones o’ mine.”
His head dipped a little lower.
“Somewhere warm, like.” The corner o’ his mouth liftin’ and blood rushed to your face while the damn man just kept smilin’ at you.
Smoke spoke out the side o’ his mouth while barely gazing at your side.
“Ya know this white man?”
“I—” Your mouth went dry. “I don’t, Smoke. I don’t know him.”
Missing entirely the way Remmick’s eyes went darker because you were too busy tryin’ to keep your voice from crackin’.
Smoke didn’t move.
“Y’all can’t come in,” he said again, firmer this time and immovable.
Remmick let his gaze sit on Smoke for a long quiet beat, fingers drifting down off his jaw an’ hooked light through the strap o’ the banjo at his chest.
“Well,” he said at last, somethin’ hollow sat low in the middle o’ the word. “Reckon we’ll be movin’ on, then.”
His eyes cut to you one last time and he held you there, plain an’ open.
“But we’ll go slow, mind,” he murmured, still lookin’ at you. “Just in case ye change yer minds.”
Somebody pressed a glass into your hand on the way to a stool, you didn’t see whose hand or voice, just sat where your legs finally decided they’d had enough o’ carryin’ you, elbows landin’ heavy on the bar top.
Wood was sticky under your forearms with old rings o’ spilled beer while you lifted the glass and drank, alcohol sliding down the same way it always did, but the heat behind your ribs originated from the man you’ve met before.
Sweetheart. Mo chroí. Darlin’.
The accent kept curlin’ back behind your ears and you couldn’t shake it loose.
Somewhere further down the place, Stack was talkin’ to Mary but you couldn’t hear the words clean. They’d been at it, on an’ off, since she’d walked in tonight and it wasn't none o’ your business, only sometimes your ear caught a fragment o’ it without meanin’ to.
Not long after you saw Mary walk toward the door with her shoulders pulled up an’ her chin set.
All you did was just drink again and your head fell as pictures came.
They’d been comin’ all night in flashes, ever since the porch, an’ they kept gettin’ bolder.
A fence, hammer ringin’ and a mouth on yours tha’ tasted like iron nails.
Your own fingers wrapped round a bigger hand, guidin’ a stick o’ charcoal across rough bark.
Clean water of a river runnin’ fast over stones, somebody’s deep laugh rolling up outta a broad chest, laughter aimed at you as you were laughin’ too.
A hand cuppin’ water an’ tossin’ it at your chest, making shivers run down your spine followed by curses forming in a tongue you didn’t own.
A bonfire so tall the sparks looked like stars flyin’ upward to join their cousins.
Plain ring on your finger, two small words tha’ you still somehow knew what they could mean.
Blood in hay turnin’ it rust-colored in streaks.
Please. Don’t leave me alone.
A roof collapsin’.
You jerked so hard the glass knocked over at your elbow, a thin wave o’ whiskey spread across the bar top an’ ran toward the edge which you barely caught sloppily with the heel o’ your hand.
“Scoot, now. Gimme room.”
The pink dress slid into the stool next to you before you’d even lifted your head.
Turning your face slowly toward it, you saw Mary settling beside you with a soft little huff, smoothin’ the fabric across her knees, perfume wafting up.
Somethin’ in the air at her side was cooler.
“Hey, you,” she said before smiling, further playing into your confusion since she never paid much attention to you.
“Mary,” you said, careful, because your heart was still scramblin’. “Thought you was outside.”
“Was,” she said and waved a hand, vague. “Got cold so came back in.”
“Stack lookin’ for ya?”
“Always.” She rolled her eyes and somethin’ in your chest eased half a notch at seein’ it. “Man can’t keep himself occupied for two minutes without knowin’ where I’m at.”
You tried to smile and answer her warm one as she leaned an elbow on the bar and tipped her head toward you.
“Y’ alright, honey?” she asked. “Ye lookin’ pale, sittin’ here all by y’self.”
“I’m fine,” you said, quicker than was honest.
She hummed, a little noise o’ you’re-a-bad-liar-but-I’ll-let-it-pass.
Her eyes were on your face only and maybe a flicker to the hollow o’ your throat before snapping back up to your eyes.
“He was right handsome,” she said, light, teasin’. “Wasn’t he?”
Your face did the hot thing again up-the-neck thing.
“Oh,” she said, pleased, a girl catchin’ a girlfriend out in somethin’. “Oh, honey. Yer deep in jt.”
“M’ not,” you mumbled.
“He was handsome, though. M’ not right?” She asked softer now and no longer teasin’, eyes on yours steady as a lamp flame in still air.
“He was indeed,” you admitted quiet.
“Y’all know each other?”
“No,” you said. Then “…No. I don’t think so.” Shifting on the stool.
“Where you from again, honey?” She asked like she hadn’t known you since getting together wi’ Stack.
“…Mary, ya know where I’m from.”
“Oh, hush, I’m just talkin’. Here, humor me. Where were ya born?”
Replying back how it was the same town as hers, she nodded along like it was news.
“An’ your mama’s folks, where’d they come up from?”
“What’re ya askin’ all this for?”
“I’m just makin’ conversation,” she said lightly. “Ain’t nothin’ to get cagey about. A woman can’t sit next to an old friend an’ talk about fam’ly?”
Somethin’ in your gut clenched an’ you didn’t know why.
“You been actin’ strange.”
She turned to you full on then. An’ tha’ smile came out wider, prettier, so pretty it hurt to look at her straight.
“I’m just curious.” She said an’ reached out an’ put her cool, cool hand on your wrist where it lay on the bar. Her skin against yours was the temperature o’ an apple left out on a porch in October. “C’mon baby, don’t be stingy.”
Her eyes flicked down your face and the hollow o’ your throat where your collar sat open, a little bead o’ spit had gathered at the corner o’ her mouth.
Her eyes jerked back up to yours too fast. Somebody had yanked her gaze up outta the dip it had sunk into, yanked it hard by a leash you couldn’t see an’ her smile patched itself back over the crack in an instant.
“Mary, there you are.” Stack’s voice cut through the space, shoulders hunched up under his jacket, his eyes on Mary an’ only her.
“I been lookin’ all over for you,” he said to her slowly while sliding in between the two o’ you easily.
“I was just talkin’,” Mary said, pretty as pie. “Me an’ yer old friend here, catchin’ up.”
Stack’s eyes darted to you and the look between the two o’ you was identical of a what-the-hell-is-goin’-on.
“Come on, sugar,” he said, layin’ a hand at the small o’ Mary’s back. “Let’s talk.”
She sighed and slid down off the stool, her head turned back toward you and she smiled with all her teeth, a wet sheen on them.
“I had a nice talk,” she told you. Voice sugar. “Didn’t we, honey.”
“…yeah.”
She let Stack steer her away into the crowd till both of their bodies got swallowed up by dancing bodies as the band rolled into the next song.
Out beyond the floor, through a parted elbow an’ shoulder, you caught a glimpse of’ Mary an’ Stack dancin’ proper close. Her pink dress flush against the front o’ his jacket, cheek a breath from his mouth.
And between one blink and the next, the juke joint folded up.
In the same space, there was a field o’ tall yellow grass brushin’ the waist o’ a lad, an’ a dirt path with a fence line with a man bent over it cursin’ round a mouthful o’ nails.
You could see the sweat on his tunic where it clung to his back, calloused hand swingin’ a hammer and a crooked grin tha’ cracked across his face when he caught sight o’ you.
Your own younger hand reached out an’ took a nail outta his without askin’ an’ he kissed you in the next heartbeat, mouth warm an’ tastin’ like iron, an’ your palms cupped the scrape o’ his scruffy jaw.
Your breath came outta you in a shudder tha’ near knocked you off the stool, pressing the heel o’ your hand to your eyes.
Somethin’ was wrong with you tonight and ain’t-drunk-enough-to-explain-this.
Mary an’ Stack had drifted off the main floor into one o’ the back rooms on the far side, the little ones tha’ had a door you could close.
Across the floor, past a knot o’ dancers, Smoke’s head had come up, Annie was at his elbow, one hand on his arm, already sayin’ somethin’ low into his ear as they moved together with Sammie behind before reaching the same door.
Loud gunshots cracked the atmosphere and the laughters stopped, replaced by screams.
You were off the stool before you knew you’d stood, moving against the current of folks scramblin’ toward the front door, backin’ away from the back o’ the joint, and you were shoulderin’ through ‘em the other way.
Once you’ve reached the splintered doorframe, Mary had bursted through it, the pink dress now soaked in blood, mouth open and smeared in red while grinning with deeply yellow eyes, bright worse than a coyote caught in a lantern in a dark field.
“Oh, honey. He’s been waitin’ so long fer ya.” She sang, gigglin’ right after turning on her heel an’ ran, bloody footprints slappin’ a trail out across the floorboards.
Inside, the juke joint was now a wreck o’ stillness.
Where there had been fiddle an’ stomp an’ laughter a minute past, now there were just a couple of traumatized people.
Stack was on his back on the floorboards, shirt discarded and remaining in a simple white tank top, no light on his eyes.
Annie had a hand on his shoulder, sayin’ somethin’ low tha’ was for him alone, words you couldn’t hear, words your ears refused to land on while Sammie’s guitar strung over his back, eyes big an’ shinin’ at the loss of his cousin while Pearline was halfway down on her knees against the wall o’ the hall, a hand pressed flat over her own mouth.
You stood where your feet had stopped you, about three paces back, starin’ at the edge of the exit where Stack’s once dead body had come back to life and sprinted outside right after Annie baptized him with some oil and garlic that caused his skin to hiss and show fangs identical to the ones Mary had.
Through the shuttered window, thin at first, a voice started up outside, clear and musical, accent wrapped round the syllables thick.
“In the merry month of June, from me home I started—”
The first verse rolled out easy, bright and playful as he sang, a clap started up on the first offbeat, all out in the dark beyond the shutters, boots started stompin’ somewhere.
“—left the girls of Tuam nearly broken-hearted—”
Your breath went outta you in a long slow pour as the juke joint went away.
One second you were standin’ on sticky floorboards with Annie’s hand a foot off your elbow an’ Sammie’s breath loud in your ear, the next you weren’t in Mississippi and those clothes of yours.
Elsewhere entirely, warm all over that started at the deep core o’ you, twisted half off the ground where hay was scattered everywhere, thighs achin’ sweet an’ loose and stretched out there was someone on his back, chest risin’ slow an’ fallin’ slower.
He was naked to the hip an’ the linen was thrown careless across his thighs an’ you had, with the last o’ your strength, come to rest with your cheek propped on the meat o’ his upper arm.
His skin was warm, chest sheened with sweat and a single drop o’ it was still travelin’ down the line from between his collarbones toward his sternum as you watched, hair dark and curls stuck to his forehead in uneven strands, mouth open a little, lips kiss-bruised an’ red, blue eyes were half-lidded but heavily fixed on you.
In a blur, you remembered him over, under and behind you, his mouth on the nape o’ your neck an’ the animal sound he’d made into it like low rough growl.
Memories of the heel of your foot against his tight but sturdy back, pushin’ him in, his voice had broken round your name and the same two syllables you’ve heard before of another language.
Big an’ callused hand on your jaw, turnin’ your face up to his so he could watch you while he finished you, laughin’ right after against his mouth because it had been somethin’ you both had said so many times now tha’ it had turned into a joke between you two.
“Come here,” he said and you pushed up on your elbow an’ leaned.
His mouth opened for you before you got there, kissing him slow. Lips soft and warm, taste o’ him salt an’ a hint o’ the ale you’d shared earlier while he made a low pleased sound into your mouth an’ his hand slid from your chin round to the back o’ your neck, big an’ warm as he kept you there, kissing you back deeper.
You broke the kiss to breathe and he didn’t let you get far, catching your lower lip softly between his teeth first, then opened his mouth an’ kissed you again, pullin’ you in by tha’ hand on the back o’ your neck.
When you pulled back a second time, laughin’ soft, he made a displeased noise an’ chased.
“Greedy,” you breathed against his mouth.
“Aye,” he said.
“You’ve already had me twice.”
“Thrice.”
“Thrice, then—”
“An’ I’m lookin’ t’ make it four, if ye keep puttin’ yer mouth on me like tha’.”
You laughed into his jaw and he laughed back, arm coming ‘round you an’ he rolled you half onto him, bare chest against his own bare chest, thigh sliding warm between his as he kissed you again, slower an’ longer as you let him.
Blinking down at him where he lay beneath you on the hay, hair a tangle and blue eyes blinkin’ up at you with a perfect mixture between love and hunger, chest risin’ in a slow deep rhythm.
“Hold on,” you said.
“Hm?”
“Hold still, I’ve got a thing.”
You pushed yourself off him and he groaned in a long sufferin’ way, dropping his arm across his eyes. “Ye can’t be serious. Come back down here, I’m not done wi’ ye.”
“Ye are fer tha’ moment, lie still.”
You crawled on the hay, naked as you were born, and rummaged in the basket at the foot o’ the bed fer the strip o’ parchment you’d been keepin’ for fool tunes like these.
Coming back wi’ it and a nub o’ charcoal as you straddled low on the thicker side of his thighs, balancing the strip o’ parchment flat against the hard plane o’ his abdomen.
“Yer usin’ me,” he said, deadpan.
“Exactly.”
“There’s a desk right there.”
“I know, thought ye could be o’ some use after all tha’ ye just did t’ me.”
“Aye, ’twas very nice moments, wanna repeat ‘em?”
“Maybe. Hush now.” He laughed at your answer that shook his stomach under the parchment an’ the charcoal skittered.
“Hold still,” you said.
“I am—” His abs tensed to flatten themselves fer you, shiftin’ under the skin, an’ the charcoal skipped again an’ drew a wobbly line clean across what was meant to be a D.
“Yer not.”
“It tickles!”
His laugh shook the makeshift table you’ve made of him and ruined the line entire. You shoved at his shoulder lightly, grinnin’ despite yourself, an’ he grabbed your hand on its way back an’ pressed a kiss to your knuckles before lettin’ it go.
“Alright,” he said, sober, tryin’. “Alright. Alright.” He pulled in a breath through his nose an’ held it, abs still with eyes gleaming up at you to write down things.
He watched you write, eyes on your face adorably until ye were done writing down the start of a familiar song, sitting up proper now an’ letting you stay comfy on his lap as you leaned down and kissed him so slow.
“Yer mine,” he said into your lips.
“Aye.”
“Mo chroí. Ye’ll be mine fer all o’ it?”
“All o’ what?”
“’Til I’m dust an’ after.”
Yoh smiled against his mouth. “’Tis a lot to promise.”
“Age, then. Fer all o’ it.”
His thumb traced the shape o’ your lips, eyes searching yours and you loved him, wanting to stay in this lost place forever… despite not even knowing his name.
The thought landed in you like a stone.
You blinked and the room round you began to fade but the man beneath stayed warm while you tried to search the name o’ him.
“Who are you?” You said near a whisper.
His eyes on you didn’t change and then, slow, a smile curled up the corners o’ his mouth.
“Ye know who I am,” he said.
“Hey.” Somethin’ was shakin’ your shoulder.
“Ya with me? Hey—” The memory broke as you came back into your own body with a shudder tha’ ran all down your spine an’ Smoke had you by both shoulders, shakin’ to wake you from whatever state you were in.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey, you with me?
You looked at his brown eyes while behind him, in a loose half-circle, the others stood watchin’.
“What happened to ya?” Smoke said.
“I—I don’t—”
“You was standin’ there with your eyes open an’ you wasn’t here an’ even smilin’.”
You own hand went up to your mouth.
For a man who had just lost his twin, he sure did a good job at hiding everything.
“Tha’ thing out there out there with my brother an’ Mary an’ God knows who else in his hand now, wants Sammie. Y’ heard tha’?”
You shook your head.
“Tha’ thing wants Sammie,” Smoke said again. “An’ tha’ thing’s threatenin’ Grace’s little girl through her own father out there, you hear me?“
Said asian woman made a small sound on the far side o’ the room, hand tightening on her belly.
“I don’t—I don’t know what to—” you said, trying to figure out what to possibly do. “We wait fer the sun. Tha’s what kills ‘em, ain’t it?
He didn’t answer you right off, eyes going from your face to the shuttered window an’ stayed there a long stretch,
“Don’t you tell me you don’t know tha’ thin’ when it keeps callin’ ya by some pet name in.” Revolver still at his side.
You took one half-step back without meanin’ to.
“I don’t know him,” you said, an’ your voice shook. “Smoke. Smoke. I don’t— I have never in my life met him! I don’t know what’s happenin’, Smoke, I swear to God I don’t—”
You could feel the others watchin’ like Annie and Sammie’ eyes.
“Elijah,” Annie said while placing a hand on his shoulder. “We ain’t gon’ eat our own.”
Her eyes drifted to you quickly an’ they weren’t cold but they weren’t settled either. She was doin’ the math in her head.
“Grace is near out o’ her mind,” Annie went on, quieter. Said woman’ eyes were shinin’ hard and she was off the bar an’ movin’ before anybody had time to catch her.
Smoke took hold of her shoulder but she yelled “Come on in, you motherfuckers!”
Annie was at her back tryin’ to haul her off but it was already too late fer holdin’ back anythin’.
Soon everyone, you included, moved all over the place to get ready for what was about to come
Somebody had shoved a rifle into your hand, stock o’ it tacky where somebody else’s palm had sweat on it.
The large doors of wood opened, you heard.
He came in front of the large road of turned people, soaked head to boot in blood, suspenders dark with it and collar sodden, jaw smeared along with hair plastered dark to his temples.
His red eyes as arterial come up and land on you heavy.
Grace’s arm come up hard, old glass bottle packed with kerosene and a rag that had been lit up was now thrown
Remmick’s red eyes stayed on yours before his hand come up and clipped the glass on its way, knocking it sideways and letting it slam into the wall to his left.
Kerosene an’ fire went up the wall climbing fast upward.
Smoke fired his revolver, Sammie and Pearl’ rifles joined soon after.
You raised your own gun as well but the inferno that was born inside this place aroused a memory thousand years old.
No longer inside the juke joint but now hidden in a small area behind the settlement, knees pulled up under your chin an’ your palms pressed flat over your mouth to quiet your breathin’ while voices outside were shoutin’.
You’d hear them break the door in and go through the rooms callin’ out in a tongue you didn’t know well right before lighting up the place on their way out.
The first crackle o’ the thatch came and black curl of smoke invaded your lungs.
Tried to crawl toward the door, lower level of the floor had lower air and you’d made it two paces, before your lungs had spasmed.
All that was left was the call of your name and those strong hands cradling your body before beams had come down.
Somethin’ lunged for you in the juke joint and you fired off the hip instinctively, catching the thing barely in time.
The roof above was fully afire now and bits o’ flamin’ thatch-woven were fallin’, air now thick grey.
Pumping the rifle and raisin’ it again when a long hand with black black claws moved the barrel sideways, too fast upward to twist it outta your grip
It clattered off somewhere behind Remmick now standing right ahead as you backed up, heart punchin’ your throat from inside.
Over his shoulder and through the smoke, you saw Annie with Stack’s mouth at the side o’ her throat while you couldn’t move.
“What you waitin’ on,” you said, voice coming out rough with the smoke an’ cracked at the edges.
His head tilted a little.
“G’on,” you said. “Bite me, then. Tha’s what you’re here fer, in’t it? Tha’s what you do.”
The fire roared around you, roof groaning somewhere above your heads as his red eyes searched yours.
“Ye really don’t remember me,” he said quietly.
Your mouth opened and stayed like that because you did remember and not at the same time.
He saw the flicker of hesitation and soon was on you in the blink of an eye.
Only felt the air push before he had you now boxed in against the wall with his hands flat on the wood on either side o’ your head, arms caging ‘round and his face was so close your own breath was warmin’ his jaw.
“Mo chroí,” his breath smelled o’ iron, stink o’ fresh blood heavy on his tongue and washed over your mouth as he spoke.
“Listen to me now. I’ve woke up back to those ruins o’ me place and dug in tha’ wreck with my own two hands to find ya, an’ I found only— only—”
His voice crack.
“I wandered fer years… crossed a whole ocean fer ya. I kept lookin’ all this time an’ I’d have kept lookin’ another thousand year if I had to an’ tonight—” He breathed in hard, red in his eyes shaking.
Fire roared an’ the roof cracked while the shoutin’ and firing of weapons kept going.
His hand moved, slow and careful like he used to do as a lad not wantin’ to startle a horse. He reached down to his trouser pocket and fumbled there a second, coming out with somethin’ small closed in his fist.
He opened his fist and revealed a small and plain ring of worn metal.
Darkened now to near-black on the outside from long handlin’, two words written on the inner side.
“Wos the only thin’ I found tha’ night I lost ye,” he said, an’ his voice had gone down to somethin’ only you could hear. “Kept it all these years, polished it as best as I could. Please. Please, love. Take it.”
You looked at his face and it broke you, shakin’ fingers hovering above his open palm a second and then you set the tips to the metal o’ the ring before picking it up.
In a flood every single moment came back.
“…Remmick,” you said quietly and his whole face lit up, mouth streaked in blood spreading open to show sharp fangs and his red eyes crinkled at the corners.
You surged forward and closed the small distance between you in one push off the wall an’ you had your arms round his neck, face in the wet crook o’ his shoulder, squeezin’ him hard enough to feel his bones while he was drenched in somebody else’s blood.
Arms that could have crushed your bones locked around your back and they dragged you in tighter, one hand flat in the middle o’ your shoulderblades while thr one big hand cradled the back of your skull.
“What happened to ye?” Ye asked into his throat. “Why didn’t I wake up like ye did? Love, what happened to ya, tell me, tell me—”
He shushed you into your hair, hand at the back o’ your skull pressing harder and tiltin’ your face deeper into the curve o’ his neck.
“It don’t matter, mo chroí. It don’t matter a bit. I don’t care.”
The smoke bit deep into your lungs ‘fore you even realized you were chokin’ on it.
He moved wi’ such unnatural ease, carryin’ you outside the burnin’ place to the back of it.
“Shh, mo ghrá. Stay hidden, you hear me? Stay right here. I’ll be back soon enough, I swear it on me own bones.”
He went t’ set you down but you clung to his shoulder, fingers twistin’ in the ruined fabric o’ his shirt.
“Where’re ye goin’?”
“That lad, Sammie. He’s got the gift of music that splits the veil clean in two. If I take it from ‘im, I can reach back. We’ll see ‘em again, mo rún. Our own kin. Ever’body we lost.”
His forehead pressed to yours, his breath tremblin’ against your lips.
He kissed you, mouth crashing onto yours hard enough that your head would’ve snapped back if his hand hadn’t cradled the base o’ your skull. The taste o’ copper-sweet blood flooded your tongue and you didn’t care.
Opening for him his tongue shoved deep inside, greedy and stroking agin yours. A low noise rumbled up from his chest and his clawed hands slid down to your waist, big and possessive.
Your back met the wood o’ the burnin’ wall, gentle as he could manage despite his urgency as he pressed flush against you, his body cold where yours was fever-hot. His claws prick’d through the thin cotton o’ your shirt at your hips as he kissed you deeper, tongue slidin’ wet an’ filthy, teeth catchin’ gentle on your lower lip, suckin’ it into his mouth before lettin’ it snap back.
Fingers scrabbling up into his hair and he groaned into your mouth, rockin’ his hips once against you before he caught himself.
The kiss stretched too long for your mortal lungs as you started t’ whimper for air before he finally tore his mouth away wi’ a wet sound.
You looked up at him, dizzy and’ wrecked.
Drool hung in a slick silver strand from the corner o’ his parted mouth, runnin’ down over that blood-smeared chin, glistenin’, eyes blown wide and dark fixed on your throat where the wild pulse beatin’ there.
Hunger fightin’ in him before he wrenched his gaze away wi’ a strangled sound, turnin’ his face sharp t’ the side, dragging the back o’ his forearm rough across his mouth, smearin’ the drool an’ the blood away in one harsh swipe and floating upward.
Time stretched terribly as you hadn’t heard a cohesive noise outside.
By the time you’ve heard a loud crowd of vampires praying together, you crept t’ the window, seeing Remmick on the lake, dawn not yet cracked but threat’nin’. He caught Sammie by the collar, spun ‘im round, mouth openin’ wide, fangs glinting, ready t’ bite an’ take ever’thin’ that boy had before a guitar swung wild, and smashed full on the side o’ Remmick’s face.
His handsome face caving in on one side, jaw unhinged, perfect cheek carved an’ bloody, skin tornt open from temple t’ chin.
You’ve rushed to the lake and thankfully all the vampires ignored you from sharing the same pain of their master.
Only when you were right at the edge of the lake were you too late to see Smoke behind Remmick as he drove a stake through his back, bloody point o’ the wood burstin’ out the front o’ his chest.
Your feet were movin’ before your mind caught up, crashing through the lake water and caught ‘im as he swayed, sliding your arms under his an’ ‘round his back to hold ‘im up wi’ all the strength your human body had, his ruin’d face lollin’ agin your shoulder, blood soakin’ hot through the front o’ your shirt.
“No, no, no, I’m here, I’m here, a stór, I got you— Don’t you leave me alone again, Remmick, don’t you dare—“
Behind you, over the treetops, the sun broke, first ray hit him and he hissed, smoke curlin’ up off his skin in thin white ribbons.
He tried t’ push you away, so weak.
“Go — go, mo ghrá…get back, get —“
The flames caught as they leapt up his shoulders and they licked onto your arms where you held ‘im. The pain was unbearable now, skin blisterin’ but you did not let go, locking your arms tighter ‘round ‘im.
“Before the old spirits,” you murmured softly, voice on the verge of passing out from pain, “before earth, flame and the turning years… I bind myself t’ye.”
He made a wreck’d sobbin’ sound against your collarbone.
The fire took you both.
Remmick gasped loudly and he jerked back so violent that your entangled hands sticky of blood near ripped apart, blue eyes flying wide open
“Remmick!” Your heart slammed up into your throat from the fright he gave you. “Remmick, wha’s wrong? Wha’ is it?”
He stared at you, chest heavin’ like he’d run for miles. His hand flew up t’ his own face, touchin’ his cheek, findin’ it whole again and no longer smacked wide open.
He looked down at his own hands, turnin’ ‘em over, starin’ at the unmarked skin of his palms and lack of the usual sharp ended claws.
Then down at himself, no longer having suspenders and shirt soaked red in blood, seeing instead a simpler spare tunic, rough off-white linen stretching tight across his shoulders.
“Did you —“ His voice was horse. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel it? How could I miss it, ye great daft lummox? Ye gasped loud enough t’ wake the dead an’ scare ever’ rabbit an’ blackbird fer a mile. Look… even the heron took off.”
You pointed across the slow-moving dark water of the river from lack of wind t’ where a long grey bird was beatin’ her wings away low over the reeds.
But he wasn’t laughin’, lookin’ past you, eyes fixed on a figure across the river, tall and robed in something dark watching still o’ it gone just as fast the second you turned towards his gaze.
“Remmick,” you said again, softer now. “Tell me wha’ wrong, please. You’ve asked me t’ be with ye fore’er an’ now yer actin’ like ye’ve seen a ghost.”
He dragged his eyes all around the area he was in now, that same river deep in the forest tha’ will than lead to his land of work.
The look on his face when he dragged his gaze back on you was disbelieving.
He looked at the small cut on your palm previously linked to his, realizing now that there were no noises of invaders nearby that had interrupted your union.
This really was his place as it had been before everything went to ruin.
A sound tore out o’ ‘im resembling a mixture of a sob and a laugh as he lunged for you, wrapping you up so tight in his strong and human arms that your ribs creaked, burrowin’ his face into the crook o’ your neck, one big hand fisted in your hair an’ the other splay’d wide against your back, crushin’ you into his chest.
“Mo ghrá,” he rasped. “Mo chroí… I missed you somethin’ terrible, I thought—“
“Missed me?” you pulled back a little, bafflement written clear on your face, an’ reached up t’ cradle his cheek. “Remmick, love, I only clos’d me eyes a moment fer the prayer together wi’ ye. You’ve not been without me— “
Stopping as he laughed, broken little chuckle as you saw that his eyes had gone bright and glassy.
“Remmick.” Your voice softened t’ nothin’. “Wha’s the matter, a ghrá? Tell me an’ I’ll put it right.”
He turned his face into your palm, kissing the heel of your hand and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell o’ you.
“Nothin’s the matter a’tall.”
His hand slid t’ the nape o’ your neck, thumb stroking up under your ear and he tilted your chin wi’ his other hand to kiss you.
Completely different from the one you’ve shared outside the burning juke joint only he remembered.
A warm kiss, soft and devoid of blood and centuries of curses, lips moving against yours with devotion and when his tongue slid into your mouth it was unhurried, lickin’ along yours slowly and making your toes curl in your leather slippers.
He cradled your jaw in one big hand, tilting your head the way he liked so he could kiss you deeper still.
Whimpering small into his mouth and he groaned low in return, sound rumblin’ down through his chest an’ straight down into your abdomen.
His hand slid from your jaw down your throat and he felt your pulse there with the flat o’ his palm, living pulse of his own hammerin’ in his wrist where it rested against your collarbone.
Both of you alive.
When he broke away his eyes was half-lidded and his lips was shiny wet from yours.
“Mo chroí.” His voice had dropped a full octave, gone soft and husky while his forehead rested on yours. “Will you come back t’ my place wi’ me?”
“Remmick—“
“Back t’ our bed,” His thumb brushed soft along your lower lip, still flush’d from his kisses. “I wanna lay you down and hear them sweet little sounds fer me… let me hear your heart beatin’ against mine fer hours.”
Your cheeks flamed, smile forming on your lips as you nodded and he made a low approving sound deep in his throat and kissed you hard once more, happy to have the life that was stolen from him.
Okay tumblr needs to stop eating my requests…I actually haven’t seen this ship before, but it’s interesting! I see it but I personally don’t really ship it. I don’t discriminate against dark shipping tho!!! no dni chat :3
Sammick (sammie/remmick) ship with that specific fanart :D f2u!! Anon wherever you are please i’m sry tumblr ate ur ask 🙏
