warning: heavily implied dv/abuse (not at all from bo), otherwise it’s bo being a lovely gentleman 😍
’user is a taken woman.’ Is what Bo had to constantly repeat to himself every time you were around. You were, by an awful man, frankly it was a miracle that Bo hadn’t taken him out yet. He saw you limp into the store, evade eye contact, the cakey, slightly discoloured makeup on your face. He’d always let you know that if you needed a place to stay, you were always welome at his house, you were a friend after all.
It was almost midnight when he woke up to soft knocking at his door, he wished he could be shocked and unsure of who it was, but he knew it was you. He quickly got up and opened the door, not a single word. He didn’t need to ask ‘You alright?’, because he knew the answer. You wouldn’t be knocking at the door in nothing but a nightgown, black coat and rather thin shoes if everything was alright. Not even to mention the large, fresh bruise on your cheek and a mildly busted lip. He just gave an acknowledging nod and stepped aside for you to come in.
haven’t made a bot in a little, but i’m working on two!
1. bo bot in an au where at the very least, bo and remmick escaped. takes place in the early 70s, user is a club singer, blah blah blah he wants to turn her
2. remmick one that’s pretty similar, but takes place in the 20s
i’d wanna branch out but i kinda feel bad getting “in the way” of smoke and stack’s really well developed relationships (i mean, send requests for them in anyways, i’m down to write for anything), but i’d be totally down to write for sammy! send some ideas in, cause i’m kinda running dry lol
Note: bo is around 18 in this, so he’s not super young, just youngER lol. he’s also a bit shyer and not as confident here
March, 1911
The air outside felt thick and heavy with humidity, but the store still had a good stream of customers coming in and out. He was glad he could run one of the shops for the day, mostly because he knew this was the day of the week where you stocked up on groceries for your family, little sister trailing behind you, bored. Even if you tried to get all the shopping done as quickly as possible.
He couldn’t help it but his eyes always lingered on you. Lightweight dresses that always fit you like a glove and a smile that could give him heart palpitations. His stares weren’t sexual, and more so a sweet attraction to you, but stil provoked a soft scolding from his father.
He heard the bell ring and was greeted by your soft-looking skin, warm smile and a lilac purple dress, your sister in tow.
“Morning, user.” He smiled, really hoping he wasn’t blushing.
i wanna make another bo bot (have one in my private bots, it’s a lil dark, but lmk if you guys wanna hear about it) and why is my biggest barrier finding a good PHOTO of bo?? 😭😭
warnings: kidnapping, toxic relationship, user has baaaad stockholm syndrome, very mild, implied cnc, getting used for your blood
“Darlin’, it’s me.” The oh so familiar drawl spoke, from the other side of the door.
You froze, halfway through making dinner, the bustle of city life still foreign to your senses. It’s been three weeks since you stumbled out of the woods, and while Remmick ran from the men on horses, you stood there trying not to shake. Dress sullied from mud and blood, neck still stinging, your memories splintered between terror and tenderness. The Choctaw were kind to you—gentle hands, warm blankets, steady voices. They believed you when you said you weren’t like him. That you didn’t want to be his wife. They freed you.
You didn’t miss the runaway life with Remmick. Often feeling faint and drained as he convinced you it’s what was best for both of you, that you were sweet, that your blood was the most wonderful thing he had tasted in his long existence…
“Open the door, mo grá.” He spoke, not a request, a demand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t take a step forward. He was a successful vampire, and with that, came a manipulation that could only come with the many years he had lived.
“I know they fed you lies. Sayin’ how I stole you, how innocent you are in all this.” He ‘tsk’ed in disbelief. “Darlin’, with how you looked at me, held my hands, how you took me, lord, I just find that hard to believe.” He chuckled, a hint of darkness behind it.
“I hear your feet creepin’ their way over to this door, I know you missed me bad, baby.”
As if controlled by someone else, your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting, and pulled it open, almost involuntarily.
“Atta girl, let me in. I won’t bite if you don’t want.” His eyes and mouth were completely mismatched, his eyes held an odd tenderness that you had never seen in him before, and that signature smirk gracing his lips.
Deep down, he probably did care for you. He wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if you were just another human lover, and there were moments of softness between you two, but your entire relationship began when he stole you, seduced a lonely girl into running away.
“I’ve been ransacked and ravaged my whole life, baby. My kin, my people, my songs, my language… But nobody can ever steal you from me. Now don’t make me beg, a chuisle.”
remmick bot based on when he arrives at joan and burt’s house, he says the indigenous people “got my wife” (you as the wife, but you’re basically just a human he kidnapped and declared his wife lol), the chocktaw people quickly realized you weren’t a vampire and in fact, just another victim of remmick. they helped you get on your feet and you live a pretty normal life… well for like, 2 weeks, until remmick shows back up after what took place at the juke joint, wanting you back.
⬆️
yea
nuh uh
Voting ended onMay 13, 2025
alsoooo i wanna wrote a bo chow bot, but drk what to make it about, so slip some ideas into my requests, he’s just such a sexy beast 🙏🙏
Nobody knew where you and your family had really come from. You were different. Spoke with a different accent. Were well off, but dressed simply. If anyone was looking for you, you could probably be found at the edge of the forest feeding the birds with a handful of wheat and seeds, humming foreign tunes.
It had confused and weirded out the rest of Remmick’s clan, but it had wholly and completely infatuated him. You were otherworldly, too good for the judging eyes of others.
“They quite like you.” He softly spoke, keeping a bit of distance as to not scare the birds away, they flitted around and chirped happily, giving other birds the chance to eat from your palms.
link: https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/rva5bshb
Chat with young remmick: 🍀 | young remmick x foreign!user. Powered by an industry leading, AI large language model (LLM).
(made the user and their family foreign in this one so anyone can use it without having to suspend their disbelief lol)
plot: an unexpected visitor shows up at the Woodstone b&b and brings up memories from trevor’s past. in an effort to comfort her, things go so wrong that they end up right, in a way. aka trevor misses his pookie bear
warnings: death and like, 2 swears.
word count: 3.2k
pronouns: she/her
rating: pg
a/n: i’m rusty at writing, be nice 🙏 probably not 100% accurate, but blame it on plot convenience pls
also for the plot’s sake he hasn’t had any actual relations with hetty, he just acts like a freak but never actually follows through (aka im too lazy to write that out 🩷)
You didn’t consider yourself a very superstitious person, but you could feel the eerie energy radiating from Woodstone as soon as you stepped on the grounds, but you had begun to feel a bit dissuaded from– everything really, and you had been missing your husband for the past… well, two decades, and really wanted to reconnect with him.
Trevor, however, didn’t take the exact same relaxed feelings about the reunion. He watched your car pull in and watched you get out of your car, as humans did, you had aged, but by god in his eyes you aged like absolute wine. Clearly, he looked mortified, though.
Trevor stood frozen in the front hall as he watched you step out of your car. His usual confident smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a wide-eyed look of panic. He ran a hand through his eternally perfect hair, pacing in tight circles.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s her,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“Her who?” Alberta asked, leaning on the doorway with a raised eyebrow.
“Her her! My wife! My widow! The woman I married, the woman I—ugh!” He groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “She’s here! What is she doing here? She’s supposed to be… I don’t know, happily remarried or writing a memoir about how awesome I was. Not staying here, with us!”
The other ghosts stared at him in a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“Wait, you’re married?” Isaac asked, his brows furrowing. “I thought you were more of the, ah, bachelor for life type.”
“I was married for six years!” Trevor shot back, sitting up indignantly. “She’s my one true love. You don’t get over someone like that, okay?” He ran both hands through his hair this time, looking almost comically distraught. “And now she’s here, and she looks… amazing, but she’s aged, and I haven’t, and this is going to mess her up, right? Like, emotionally? This is bad, right?”
“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” Alberta teased, her tone softening slightly. “But this explains a lot about why you’re extra dramatic today.”
Sam, who had been observing quietly, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Trevor, she’s your wife? Why didn’t you ever mention her before?”
“Because it hurts, Sam!” Trevor threw up his hands. “She was the one. I miss her every single day, but what was I supposed to do? Drop it casually into conversation? ‘Oh, by the way, the love of my life is out there somewhere, and I’m stuck here in the No Pants Brigade for eternity.’ Real smooth.”
“Aw, Trev,” Pete said, his usual warmth shining through. “That’s actually… really sweet. Tragic, but sweet.”
“I know it’s tragic, Pete! That’s the whole point!” Trevor snapped, though his voice cracked slightly. “And now she’s here, and I can’t even tell her I’m here because… ghost rules! And you know me, I’m not good at being subtle. I’m gonna screw this up. I just know it.”
“You’ve already started screwing it up,” Hetty cut in, her tone sharp. “I can practically feel your anxiety polluting the air.”
“Thank you for the support, Hetty,” Trevor deadpanned before turning back to Samantha. “Sam, please, you’ve gotta help me. Tell her I’m here. Drop some hints. I don’t know, maybe do that whole ‘medium’ thing you’re always saying you’re not.”
Samantha gave him a sympathetic look. “Trevor, I don’t think telling her outright is the best idea. She’s here for a reason. Maybe she’s looking for closure. You should think about what she needs right now, not just what you want.”
Trevor groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I just…” He looked out the window again, watching as you hesitated near your car, seemingly mustering up the courage to come inside. “I miss her, Sam. Like, really miss her.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Even Hetty seemed to soften, though she wouldn’t admit it.
Samantha finally broke the silence, her voice gentle. “Then maybe this is your chance to give her what she’s been missing too. Just… try not to scare her, okay?”
Trevor nodded, though his lips curled into a sheepish grin. “I’ll do my best. No promises, though.”
“That’s what we’re worried about,” Alberta muttered, shaking her head as she followed the others to watch the unfolding chaos.
“Hello! Uh– you work here, right?” You spoke from the hallway, bags in hands. “Yup! Here for vacation?” Sam asked, getting behind the desk. There was a pause between the two of you before a hum of hesitancy came from you, not wanting to dump all of your dead-husband-trauma within a minute of meeting her, you just nodded. “Basically.”
—
You had got set up in your room, trying to relax despite the energy coming from the property, sitting up on the bed and texting, unaware of the specter of your deceased husband laying next to you. Trevor lay sprawled next to you on the bed, his usual cocky grin tempered with nervous excitement. “God, you’re even cuter than I remembered,” he murmured to himself, though you, of course, couldn’t hear him. “Okay, Trev, this is your moment. Don’t blow it. Start small. Subtle. Like… ghost Casanova.”
Meanwhile, you sat cross-legged on the bed, your phone in hand, scrolling through messages and photos. A faint frown tugged at your lips, and Trevor’s expression softened.
“Hey, don’t look sad. I’m right here!” he said, leaning closer. “Okay, time for step one: the classic ‘move a thing to get their attention’ move. Easy peasy.”
He eyed the pen sitting on the nightstand and focused all his energy on it. The pen wobbled slightly, then fell off the edge with a faint clatter.
You glanced up from your phone, startled. Your eyes darted to the nightstand, lingering for a moment, before you sighed and bent to pick up the pen.
“Must’ve knocked it off,” you mumbled to yourself, setting it back in place.
Trevor smacked his forehead. “Okay, maybe too subtle. Fine. Let’s turn it up a notch.”
He stood, pacing at the foot of the bed like a coach psyching himself up for the big game. “All right, Trev, think… what’s romantic but not terrifying? Candles? Too cliché. Write her a message? No penmanship when you’re a ghost.” He snapped his fingers. “Music! Music’s perfect. Nostalgic, romantic… plus, I know what song we danced to at our wedding. Boom. Easy win.”
He floated toward the room’s Bluetooth speaker, fiddling with the controls. It took a few tries, but soon the opening chords of “Your Song” by Elton John filled the room.
You froze mid-text, looking around with wide eyes.
“What the…” you whispered, putting your phone down. The music grew louder, and your brows furrowed.
Trevor grinned triumphantly, throwing his arms in the air. “Yes! She knows it’s me! Come on, babe, connect the dots. Ghost plus love song equals your amazing husband!”
But instead of looking touched or nostalgic, you grabbed the speaker, inspected it, and muttered, “That’s… weird. Haven’t heard that one in a while.” You turned the speaker off and set it down on the nightstand, shaking your head.
Trevor deflated, throwing himself backward onto the bed in frustration. “Come on! That was our song! How does that not scream ‘It’s Trevor!’?”
The faint smile you gave the speaker didn’t escape his notice, though. “Okay,” you murmured to yourself, “I dunno if I’m just imagining things. Or maybe it’s just… this place.” You paused, looking toward the window with a wistful expression, flashes of moments of your relationship running through your mind at the nostalgic song. “If only he was here…”
Trevor sat bolt upright at your words, his frustration melting into something softer. “I am here,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Trevor stayed where he was, staring at you with a mixture of love and longing, his resolve strengthening.
“All right, babe,” he murmured. “You might not believe it yet, but I’m gonna show you. You’ll know it’s me. I promise.”
He watched as you leaned back on the bed, phone forgotten, and closed your eyes. He stayed beside you, close enough that he imagined you could feel the warmth of his love, even if he couldn’t physically reach you.
“Tomorrow,” he said softly, “I’ll do better. You’ll see.”
–
The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light across the Woodstone grounds. You walked slowly, arms crossed against the crisp air. It wasn’t the most energetic stroll—you’d never been one for intense hikes, nor exactly cut out for them—but it was peaceful. Quiet. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.
The weight of memories pressed against you as you stopped by an old oak tree, brushing your fingers against its bark. “He would’ve loved this,” you murmured. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to your lips, though the ache in your chest never quite disappeared.
Inside the house, Trevor was a whirlwind of nervous energy, pacing in the living room. “Okay, okay. Yesterday didn’t go so great,” he admitted, running his hands through his hair. “But today’s a new day. I just need… a plan. A really good plan. So, ideas. Let’s hear ’em!”
Alberta rolled her eyes from her perch on the armrest of the couch. “Trevor, you can’t just throw random ghost tricks at her and expect her to piece it together. What’s your actual endgame here?”
“The endgame is for her to know it’s me, Albie!” Trevor gestured wildly, “I want her to feel like I’m still here for her. Like… in a good, romantic way. Not in a haunted way.”
“Well, you’re failing at both,” Hetty said flatly.
Isaac cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should try something more personal. Something that speaks to your connection with her.”
Trevor groaned. “I tried that! I played our wedding song, and she didn’t even get it! What else am I supposed to do?”
“Then maybe you should think about what she loved about you specifically,” Alberta said, leaning forward. “What was your thing? Your move? The thing that made her fall for you in the first place?”
Trevor paused, a rare moment of introspection crossing his face. “She used to say I had this way of… making her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. Like, no matter how bad her day was, I could always cheer her up. That’s what she loved about me.” He smiled faintly, the memory softening his usual bravado. “Man, she used to laugh so hard she’d snort, and she’d get all embarrassed, but I thought it was the cutest thing ever.”
“Well, there you go,” Alberta said. “You’ve got your answer.”
“Yeah, but how am I supposed to make her laugh if she can’t hear me?” Trevor threw up his hands. “I can’t exactly tell her my A+ jokes from ghost-land.”
Sam, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. “Maybe you don’t need to say anything. Maybe you just need to remind her of something funny you did together. Like, recreate one of your inside jokes or a memory that’ll make her laugh.”
Trevor snapped his fingers. “Sam, you’re a genius! I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
“It’s my property,” she deadpanned.
“Details.” Trevor waved her off, already pacing again as he brainstormed. “Okay, funny memory. Funny memory. Oh! Remember that time we went to that fancy restaurant, and I accidentally set the napkin on fire, and we had to sneak out before the maître d’ kicked us out? She loved that story!”
“Sure,” Hetty muttered, “because nothing says love like mild arson.”
Ignoring her, Trevor clapped his hands together. “That’s it. I’ll find a way to remind her of that. Maybe I’ll knock over a candle or something—just enough to jog her memory. Not, like, burn-the-place-down levels. I can do this!”
“Let’s hope you don’t accidentally commit ghost arson,” Isaac muttered as Trevor bolted toward the door, ready to execute his next brilliant plan.
Outside, you had wandered toward the gazebo, sitting down on the wooden bench with a sigh. The quiet was nice, though there was something about this place that made you feel… watched. Not in a bad way, but as if there was some invisible presence hovering nearby, waiting for the right moment.
From the shadows of the house, Trevor watched you with a determined glint in his eye. “All right, babe. Let’s make you laugh.”
–
You sat in the gazebo, absentmindedly watching a pair of squirrels chase each other around the base of a tree. The morning air was crisp, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.
From the shadows of the house, Trevor leaned against the doorway, cracking his knuckles. “Okay, Trev. Channel the glory days. Be suave. Be funny. Don’t… burn anything down for real this time.”
He floated closer, eyeing the picnic table in the gazebo. A small decorative lantern sat on the edge of it, its candle flickering gently in the breeze. Trevor grinned. “Perfect. Just a little nudge…”
He focused his energy on the lantern, tipping it ever so slightly until it teetered on the edge. With a faint clatter, it toppled over, landing on the table.
Startled, you turned to the sound, your brows furrowing. “Huh. That’s weird.”
Trevor winced. “Okay, not enough. Gotta amp it up.”
He scanned the area and spotted a small coffee table tablecloth, reminiscent of a napkin, resting next to the lantern. “This’ll do. Time to bring back the classics.” With a concentrated effort, he managed to slide the cloth toward the lantern’s flame, careful not to let it fully ignite.
The edge of the fabric began to smolder, a thin wisp of smoke curling into the air.
You gasped, leaping to your feet. “What the—?”
Trevor grinned, floating back as he waited for recognition to dawn. “Come on, babe. You have to remember this. Napkin fire? Fancy restaurant? Hilarious escape? It’s me!”
You quickly grabbed the mini tablecloth, smothering the tiny ember with your hands. With the danger gone, you sat back down, shaking your head with a bemused smile. “This place is seriously fucking with me.”
But then you paused, your fingers brushing over the singed edge of the cloth. Your smile softened, turning wistful.
“I’m really losing it now,” you muttered, though there was a glimmer of warmth in your eyes. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do…”
Trevor froze, his grin fading as his expression softened. “She remembers,” he whispered.
You leaned back against the bench, holding the fabric in your hands like it was a precious relic. A quiet laugh escaped you, tinged with both joy and sadness. “Trevor, if this is you… God, I miss you.”
Trevor floated closer, his heart aching at the sound of your voice saying his name. He knelt beside you, though he knew you couldn’t see him. “I miss you too, babe. More than anything.”
For a moment, the world felt still. Though you couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t physically touch you, Trevor sat beside you, basking in the quiet connection of the moment.
“I’ll make sure you know it’s me,” he whispered. “No matter what it takes.”
—
The evening had grown dark, the soft hum of crickets filling the air as you stepped out of the car and onto the gravel driveway of Woodstone. The long, flowing dress you’d chosen for dinner swayed gently as you walked toward the front entrance, your heels clicking softly on the steps.
Trevor had been lounging on the staircase banister, idly waiting for you to return. When the door creaked open, he glanced up, his usual grin fading into wide-eyed awe.
“Whoa,” he whispered, standing straighter as he took in the sight of you. “You look… incredible. Like, seriously incredible. Red carpet-level stunning. Damn.”
You closed the door behind you, taking a moment to adjust your coat and shake off the evening chill. The glow from the chandelier overhead illuminated your features, and Trevor floated closer, unable to stop staring.
“Babe, you always looked amazing, but this? This is next-level. If I had a heartbeat, it’d be racing right now.”
Completely oblivious to his presence, you made your way into the sitting room, setting your clutch down on the nearest table. You looked around, pausing as you took in the cozy ambiance of the room. Something about it felt oddly welcoming tonight, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why.
Trevor, meanwhile, hovered behind you, practically buzzing with excitement. “Okay, Trev, play it cool. She’s in a good mood. Maybe I can nudge something over—like a little love note or a flower. Yeah, that’s romantic. Not weird at all.”
He turned toward a nearby shelf, spotting a vase filled with dried flowers. “Perfect,” he said, focusing his energy on it. “Just a gentle tap…”
But Trevor’s enthusiasm got the better of him. Instead of the vase, he accidentally tipped the entire bookshelf.
“Wait, no! Nononono!” he yelled, trying to stop the shelf mid-fall.
With a thunderous crash, the bookshelf toppled over, sending books and decorative items scattering across the room.
You spun around, eyes wide, your heart pounding in your chest. “What the—”
The shock of the sound, combined with the sudden adrenaline surge, overwhelmed you. A sharp pain gripped your chest, and you staggered backward, clutching at your heart.
Trevor’s excitement immediately turned to panic. “Oh no. No, no, no. Babe, what’s happening? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay!”
You gasped, trying to steady yourself against the edge of the couch, but your legs gave out. The last thing you saw was the chandelier’s light dimming as you collapsed to the floor.
“No!” Trevor shouted, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, futile in their ghostly form. “Please, don’t… not like this. Don’t leave me again!”
Moments later, the room seemed to shift. A strange warmth filled the air, and Trevor froze, staring at your body. Suddenly, your spirit appeared, standing next to him.
You blinked, disoriented, looking down at your hands and then at your body on the floor. “What… what just happened?”
Trevor’s jaw dropped. “Babe?”
You turned toward the familiar voice, your eyes widening as you saw him standing there, looking exactly as he had the day you’d lost him, just— minus some pants. “Trevor?”
He nodded, his voice trembling. “Yeah, it’s me. I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear, I was just trying to—”
But before he could finish, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, tears streaming down your face. “It’s you. It’s really you.”
For the first time in years, Trevor felt solid, real. He held you tightly, his own tears falling freely. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Trevor smiled, a mix of relief and guilt in his expression. “Well, about that… Turns out I’m still pretty good at screwing things up.” He didn’t let go of you for a second, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And for the record? You don’t look a day over 35, hon’.”
“You’re a dork. But at least you’re my dork.” You softly chuckled. “Hey, can you blame me? You’re gonna look like an absolute bombshell for the rest of eternity.”
