#I'm finally in my new home in Portland
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The difference isn't "people write fanfiction now and it's fundamentally unserious and unworthy to be Culture." People who break out the smelling salts and head to the fainting couch when they hear "Dante's Divine Comedy was fanfiction" are ignoring the point that cultural production is the same as it ever was: Any foundational cultural myth has hundreds to thousands of different versions that each reflect the experiences of contributors from different times and places. Look at Robin Hood. Look at King Arthur. (I'm picking those because they're the easy ones most Westerners know. What I'm saying is broadly applicable.)
What has changed is that corporations now own the majority of foundational cultural myths and leverage them as capital. That gives them carte blanche to claim that derived works are fundamentally lesser and subject to their authority, a claim most people accept uncritically. "Fanfiction" has always been going on as long as you recognize that "fans" are the folk in folklore. They receive something from a storyteller, they change it, and their versions drastically outnumber the so-called official version. For most of history, the folk have defined the grounding myths that underpin their social consensus. It was very difficult to nearly impossible to point back into history and say "this was the first, canonical version from the real author." In many cases, we still can't figure it out. And it's probable we never will, because narratives weren't (that kind of) capital for most of history.
This is just another way fences are being placed around the commons and we are all being robbed of something intrinsically human, the right to shape and share the collective semiotic space.
#non-pearl#self#text#I'm finally in my new home in Portland#I'll soon be blogging again#but there's somebody else doing this job faster and better than I ever did it#so I no longer worry that Pearl stuff won't be preserved unless I work on it myself ^.^#HOWEVER#I'm soon going to be starting a second blog#which will have me eating very very very very well#for many years to come#watch closely for someone even more controversial#misunderstood#and gay (arguably)#than Pearl#I have discovered no human is worthy of my service#but I can still derive the nutrients I need to grow#from the right kind of fiction
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Nachash || jhs
Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Med Student!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count: 21.4k+ Summary: After the loss of both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell their home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place that she has little memories of despite 10 years of living in Harlem. Her world begins to shift, and she starts to lose sight of dreams and reality, and at the center of it all is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her a strange sense of deja vu, but she can’t help but wonder if he is who he says he is and why a strange bar keeps popping up in her nightmares. Warnings: Strong language, bad medical terminology (I tried), Hoseok has a demon side (like physically different), main character (somewhat) death (graphic), graphic violence, reader slowly losing her mind, heavy religious themes in a large chunk of this, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling, hard dom Hoseok, so much blood, low-key a yandere but not really, blood play, blood drinking, begging for life, extreme emotional manipulation, growling, over stimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up), DARK ENDING, dubious consent (mind control/mood control/literally cannot leave Hoseok's presence), reader is severely mentally ill by the end of this, demonic possession, Stockholm syndrome, this is not a cute demon romance, read at your own risk, stopping here since there’s a lot just let me know if I missed anything A/N: After posting a teaser for this fic two years ago, I finally got around to finishing it! I’m still working on my smut skills, so I apologize in advance, but I hope you can get down with my favorite (and extremely evil) demon man. Happy Halloween (or, to my fellow Pagans, Happy Samhain)!
Prologue || Listen to the Playlist || Cross posted on AO3: here
Nachash (noun) "snake; serpent". Derived from the Hebrew root n-ch-sh.
July 1997
"How are you feeling?"
I sighed, pulling open another box. Unpacking was always the worst part of moving, like some cosmic joke designed to break you down piece by piece. Plates stared back at me from the box, and I clenched my jaw. The one on top was chipped—another thing on my growing list of replacements. I pulled it out and set it aside, determined to deal with it later. The rest of the plates went away in the cabinet. The broken one would be tossed.
"I don't know," I confessed. "Mom died. I'm everywhere."
My brother's hum of acknowledgment was all I heard. Miles had always been a quiet, distant sort, barely speaking to our parents. Their deaths hit him hard, but more so with Dad than Mom. Dad had been the stable one, while Mom was a relentless storm—never satisfied, constantly pushing, always demanding. To her, a doctor and a lawyer weren't enough. Miles had always seen her as aggressive, unyielding, and ever discontented. And Dad? Well, his complacency had its own way of grating.
Miles had moved to Oregon right after graduating from FSU, never looking back. We'd made the trek to see him a few times, but he'd never returned the favor. My stint in New York had mended our relationship somewhat. He visited frequently and spent his summers with me, and after Dad passed, he made a point to see Mom at least once a year. I didn't mind the trips to Portland; my Jacksonville home had become his family's vacation spot.
"So am I," he said, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.
They'd been at each other's throats, arguing constantly, with his wife loathing Mom. Yet, I knew Miles held some affection for her despite their tumultuous relationship. He'd never truly made her proud, and that haunted him. I understood, but when I moved back home, the dynamics shifted. Mom used me as a weapon against Miles, making me the favored child, the one who came back. Miles was the ungrateful one who'd married the wrong woman.
Mom always blamed Trinity for Miles' "bad attitude." Dad knew better. I knew better.
"So," Miles shifted gears, "when can we come and visit?"
I smiled, "I'll be out there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So maybe next summer?"
"That's a long wait."
I chuckled, "Well, Rory starts school this year and Trinity's pregnant. You're just as busy as I am."
I'd been the one with the most on my plate for years. Mom, a real estate agent, rarely left home, while Dad ran a plumbing company. When Miles went to college, I was knee-deep in medical school applications. During my residency, Miles was grinding through law school. When I moved back to Florida, I was buried in ICU shifts while he graduated and started his own practice. He met Trinity, and the two became inseparable. Mom despised her, but I saw how they brought out the best in each other. My career-driven life had left me disconnected, and while Mom reveled in it, I resented it.
Kids changed everything for them. Aurora was their miracle baby. Trinity had struggled with fertility for years, and when they finally had a child, it was as if their world had transformed. My brother was spent, and Mom's resentment boiled over. She was always bitter that they hadn't uprooted their lives back to Florida for the grandchild. By then, Miles didn't care. He'd made the trips for Dad but after Mom's cruel comments about Trinity's weight and their daughter being "too pretty" to be her granddaughter, Aurora never set foot in the family home again.
"Aurora is driving me crazy," Miles groaned. "She won't stop talking about the baby."
"As a big sister, I can tell you she's just being a normal kid."
"I know that," I could almost hear his eye roll. "I'm just worried. It's still early, and I don't want her hopes to get too high. Trinity's scared of another miscarriage."
It would be her sixth.
"Try to stay positive, bub," I bit my lip, surveying the cluttered room. I'd never finish today. "If it happens, it happens. But don't go into it expecting the worst."
"Between Mom and this…" He trailed off.
I understood his fear. Trinity was a few years older than me, and her anxiety was palpable. At 38, any pregnancy brought its own set of worries. Last I heard, Trinity was considering getting her tubes tied if this one didn't make it. The heartache was becoming unbearable.
"Hey," I kept my tone gentle, knowing that riling him up wouldn't help. "Keep your head up. Her next appointment is soon. Ensure she's sticking to bedrest, and you'll be fine."
"What if it happens again?"
My heart broke for him. Miles had always been the rock, the one who seemed unshakeable. Seeing him this vulnerable starkly contrasted with the angry kid he'd been in high school. Mom had pushed his buttons mercilessly, and I had vague memories of our squabbles, but they paled compared to the constant battles he faced with her.
I wondered if he ever grasped how I felt. He always thought Mom liked me more, but it was more about her being able to overlook me. While he fought for her attention, nothing I did ever really mattered. It was like a fog followed me, obscuring me from their view. Sometimes, it would lift, and Mom would acknowledge me, but then it would return, and I was forgotten.
"You'll get through it," I assured him.
We chatted a bit more. Aurora was excited about kindergarten and had picked out new uniforms. She was obsessed with Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and her new backpack reflected that. She'd even given her Prince Wednesday stuffed animal to the baby. It was everyday family life, but the emptiness in my chest grew. I longed for laughter and the innocent joy of children in my home.
"Trinity's calling me," Miles said, his voice muffled by distance.
"I'll talk to you later. Love you."
"Love you too, sissy."
I smiled faintly, "Later."
He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced around the room, eyes narrowing at the boxes that seemed to taunt me with their mere existence. All of them were my own—mainly books, a few other odds and ends. The sadness that gripped me was relentless. I'd always had the most demanding job, the tightest schedule, and the deepest insecurities. Miles was angry, and I was desperate to be seen, so much so that I followed every command without question. Now, here I was, alone, surrounded by regret.
Dating felt like a cruel joke. My time in New York had alienated me more than anything else. That fog of invisibility from my childhood had returned with a vengeance. Coworkers would barely look at me for over a second; people on the street seemed oblivious to my presence and dates. They always ended badly. They weren't evil men but would forget my name within seconds. It felt like I wasn't real, like I existed on some other plane.
The only person who seemed to remember I existed anymore was my brother and his family. Dad's Alzheimer's had robbed him of any memory of us before he passed. Mom, too incoherent at Hospice, never stayed awake long enough to acknowledge my presence. Sometimes, it felt like Miles would momentarily forget me, only for my name to pop into his mind at predictable intervals—like clockwork, only calling on specific days and times, usually if he was planning a trip. It upset me more than I could recall, but now I wondered why.
"This place won't unpack itself," I muttered aloud.
I'd talked to myself so much it felt almost normal. I knew I needed to make friends, that without connections, I'd end up as lonely as my father, but the idea seemed futile. No one saw me clearly. No one ever had. When I searched my memories for anyone who had seen me, I came up empty. No one had ever really seen me. No one ever would. Instinctively, I knew this despite the facade of normalcy I tried to maintain. I had a job, a family, a house. I wasn't haunted. Or… maybe I was just being childish. I was simply forgettable, unremarkable. This I knew.
"I exist," I whispered, the words reverberating loudly in the stillness of my apartment.
The silence that pervaded my life mocked me with its omnipresence.
"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?"
"It's a lounge, sha," came a voice behind me.
What a peculiar dream. I took a bite of my sandwich, returning to the rude awakening that morning. I rarely remembered my dreams, if I had them at all. But last night had been different. I'd found myself in a dimly lit room with a man I couldn't recall clearly, dressed in white and speaking with an accent I couldn't place. I woke up before anything significant happened. The dream had been woefully uneventful.
The floor was almost eerily quiet tonight. Aside from the constant beeps and monitors scattered around and George Gilmore in room 11 watching football, no one spoke. The nurses here seemed less lively than I was accustomed to, their faces vacant, their words few. I kept to my small office most of the night, avoiding their station.
We'd had one death so far—a patient with a DNR who suffered a stroke shortly after midnight. Another woman had been pronounced brain-dead an hour ago. We'd wait until tomorrow to pull the plug, so her daughter could say goodbye. I didn't count her in my tally. The night crew had a way of seeing me even less than the others, and I didn't like them much.
"Hello, Doctor."
I jumped, startled. At least he had the decency to look sheepish. My irritation took me by surprise. I wasn't typically agitated; my feelings were either muted or overwhelming. He pushed his hair back, revealing messy chocolate brown locks, and held a clipboard stained with dubious marks.
"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly under my gaze. I was already weary of his presence. "I was told you were new and thought I should introduce myself before leaving for the night. I'm Damon Glass, one of the anesthesiologists."
"Y/N Y/L/N," I replied, my voice flat and uninviting. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," he smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that reminded me of my father's. It was a rare sight among people my age. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me. Dr. Whitlock is on the floor, and I believe Morgan Fletcher is on call."
I nodded, appreciating the information but ready for him to leave. My distaste had faded, but I preferred brevity in conversations, especially with outsiders. I disliked the feeling of interacting with them. It was why I preferred dealing with the nearly dead; they rarely spoke, and when they did, I knew they'd be too medicated to remember much. The families were more accessible to handle than the ones back in Florida.
It was odd how my thoughts could veer into such morbid territories. Almost as morbid as my enjoyment of overseeing dying patients. It was not as macabre as my unbidden glee at my mother's death alongside my brother, but it ranked high on my list of flaws.
"Have a good night," I said, returning to my computer to refresh my emails.
Dr. Glass seemed to take the hint, leaving with an awkward smile and wave.
August 1997
I stood outside the door, the muffled sounds of grief seeping through the walls like a relentless, jagged current. The family's sorrow was palpable, a heavy fog that followed me down the hallway. I hoped to catch them in a better moment, but the cruel truth of this place was that better moments were rare. With a resigned breath, I raised my hand and knocked. The room fell silent, and a strained voice called out, allowing me to enter.
Elizabeth Fraiser had lived a life filled with grace and elegance. Once a dancer whose feet had carried her across Europe's stages, she met her husband in Paris and married him there. They had settled in New York, where her days of ballet had given way to a quieter role as a ballet instructor in Jersey. She had raised a family, and her pride in her children was as evident as her passion for dance. She spoke of them with a joy that contrasted sharply with the emptiness of my own mother's words.
Now, Elizabeth was in the late stages of lung cancer. Her family had clung to the hope of letting her pass away at home, but the relentless pneumonia and ceaseless pain had pushed them to make the difficult decision to admit her here. Her condition had worsened sharply today, and her family was struggling to cope with the harsh reality.
"Good afternoon," I said softly, a gentle murmur in the oppressive silence.
"Nice to see you," Elizabeth's oldest son, Elijah, managed a weak smile. We both knew he wasn't fond of doctors, but he tolerated me because I didn't overstay my welcome. "Mom's been sleeping for a while."
I stifled a sigh. Her body was crumbling, and delivering bad news was never easy. The small comfort was knowing she would soon feel nothing at all. We planned to increase her morphine dosage and withdraw all other medications. Her family would need to agree, but I wasn't too concerned. Mary, her daughter, had debated extending her mother's life with her brothers.
"We're really at the end, aren't we?" Mary's voice was strained, her husband's arm around her for support. Among them, she was the calmest, but the edges of her composure were frayed. Her eyes were red, testimony to her unrelenting tears. "Will she be in pain?"
I explained our focus on alleviating her suffering. She would be less coherent in the coming days but occasionally rouse enough to interact with them between doses. We aimed to ensure she had the utmost comfort and relief in her final days. The youngest Percy took the news hardest and had to excuse himself. I held Mary's hand, appreciating the warmth of human connection. I prided myself on my bedside manner.
"I know home care wasn't ideal for you," I broached delicately, aware of their crowded lives and young children. "But I'm offering it as an option. Respite care is also available, though I understand it was stressful before. It's worth discussing."
Elijah shook his head firmly. Mary hesitated, but her husband's reminder to care for herself and their baby swayed her. Percy's wife raised concerns about her own health, cementing the decision. Elizabeth would remain with us in her final days. It was probably for the best—she was too frail and in too much agony without constant medication.
"Let me know if you need anything," I said, glancing at the family. The nurses are always available, and I'm on call until six. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"
"Mom needs a bath," Percy reentered the room. A nurse had come by earlier, asking if we were ready to step out. Let them know they could come in."
The rest of my shift dragged on. Other families were terse and uncommunicative, and their responses were minimal. I understood their grief, but it did little to ease my weary spirit. The nurses seemed as disinterested in me as ever. I had long since given up trying to connect with them.
The air outside was crisp, almost biting. I walked to the subway, the city traffic too maddening to endure. I'd trade bumper-to-bumper frustration for the quirks of the subway any day. Last week, a man in a bunny costume rapped at six in the morning. The week before, a man argued with his reflection in the window. Last night, an elderly woman beside me commented on my disheveled appearance, lamenting that men didn't like that and worrying I'd die alone. I barely remember if I responded. I hated talking on the subway; her parting insult had stung me.
Tonight promised to be different. I left the hospital later than usual, after two code blues and an injury report for a nurse. Overdue paperwork and an insurance squabble later, it was past eight when I left. My walk was short, and the wait at the terminal was OK, but the train didn't arrive until 9:30. When I finally boarded, the car was almost empty.
Then a group of men entered. They were rowdy, pushing each other, their drunkenness a stifling cloud. I almost moved when they sat too close, but I didn't want to draw attention. I could feel their eyes on me. I clutched my bag tightly, fingers brushing the can of pepper spray hooked to its strap. I was almost home. Just three more stops.
"Hey," one of the men called out. I ignored him. "Hey, you."
I hated the subway.
"Leave her alone."
That voice caught my attention. I knew it—or thought I did. When I looked up, I was met with a stranger, yet his presence felt oddly familiar. He was striking, with tanned skin and sharp features that made his brown eyes stand out under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took the seat beside mine, and I didn't stop him. The men were back to their raucous laughter, and I was forgotten. I relaxed slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed.
"Sorry about them," he said, his warm and soothing voice a gentle tenor that evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Are you OK?"
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Something about him tugged at the edges of my memory, yet he wasn't a celebrity, and I was sure I'd never met him before. Perhaps we'd crossed paths on the subway? My brain was playing tricks on me.
"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you."
Despite myself, I stole glances at him. I had to remind myself to breathe when I ventured past his neck. He was slender, but there was a subtle strength beneath his clothes. If he noticed my scrutiny, he said nothing. He returned to his book, but I was convinced that his eyes were still on me when I finally looked away.
I jolted awake, my body wracked with shivers despite the suffocating warmth of the blanket. The room was deathly silent, save for the moonlight streaming through the window like a spotlight on a stage set for a performance I never auditioned for. I rolled over, trying to bury myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, but then I heard it—a voice, soft and faint, yet carrying an unsettling authority.
“Oh, Y/N,” the voice crooned, dripping with a sinister allure. “It’s time. Come to me.”
Confusion and dread clawed at my insides as I stumbled out of bed. The room was a far cry from my own—stone walls, thick and oppressive, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent glee. The floor beneath my feet was icy, a stark contrast to the comfort of my bed. My nightgown, white and delicate, felt like a mockery in this alien environment.
This wasn’t my room.
The voice came again, seductive and commanding. “Y/N, come out, come out, now. I’m waiting for you.”
Compelled, I moved to the window. Below, in the moonlit expanse of the lawn, stood the man from the subway. His face was eerily illuminated, his head tilted back as if inviting me to join him in the darkness below. His eyes—glowing a brilliant gold—seemed to reach out to me, promising unspeakable things if only I would take the leap.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent invitation. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. Entranced, my feet moved on their own accord. Barefoot, the cold stone beneath me was a cruel contrast to the warmth I’d just left behind. I wandered through hallways and passages that felt simultaneously foreign and intimately known, descending into the shadows where he waited.
As I emerged onto the lawn, his smile made me shiver. He approached, his fingers brushing the side of my face—teasing, tantalizing, yet never quite touching.
“I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “So very long. And now, now you’re mine.”
A fragment of my mind screamed in protest, shouting that I didn’t belong to him, that I didn’t even know who he was or why I was here. But a deeper, more primal force tugged at me, pulling me closer until I was nearly touching him. His presence was unsettlingly soothing, and I took a breath, feeling the heat of his gaze.
“That’s right, my lamb, come closer,” he coaxed.
An overwhelming longing surged through me—irrational, illogical, yet so profound that I couldn’t resist. I needed him to touch me, to make the connection complete. I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight.
He responded immediately, his fingers trailing along my throat, their cool touch sending shivers through me. I gasped, my body lighting up with each delicate brush.
“More,” I heard myself plead, pressing closer.
“Say it,” he demanded, his arms enveloping me in a possessive embrace. “Who do you belong to?”
“You. I’m yours.”
He cradled my head in his hand, leaning in. His lips were smooth against my skin, but his teeth were sharp as they pierced through flesh. I screamed as he drank deeply.
I awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, my hands clutching at my throat, searching for any sign of injury. The skin was intact, unbroken. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart that felt as though it might burst from my chest.
The lamp flickered on with a click, casting a harsh, unwelcome light that made me squint and shield my eyes. Grabbing my robe and a cup, I shuffled out of the room, the chill of the hallway hitting me like a slap. I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The bathroom, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow, was as deserted as I’d hoped.
I filled my cup halfway with water from one of the sinks, then leaned against the cold, sterile tiles, watching my reflection in the mirror as I took slow, deliberate sips. The dream—the one that had shaken me awake—felt so unnervingly real.
I traced the line of my neck with trembling fingers, the blue vein just beneath the surface. What kind of twisted message was my mind trying to send me with that nightmare? It had been a full-on gothic horror—a relic of some crumbling English manor, not the kind of place I ever imagined myself visiting, unless I was buried in a pile of classic literature.
And him. The monster. Even now, as I closed my eyes, I could still see his face—a blend of dark allure and cruel beauty. His eyes, oh, those eyes. They’d held me in thrall, made me willing to surrender to any demand he made. I could almost feel his cold touch, see his smile that promised both ecstasy and agony.
Wasn’t the whole vampire-mother-stuff supposed to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that’s what my subconscious was trying to shove in my face—sex, or the glaring void where it should have been in my life.
I studied my flushed reflection, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to shake off the nightmare’s grip.
The man sat next to me again. It had been a week since I last saw him, and my body still reacted to his presence. Today, I admired his chiseled jawline and elongated face. He was an exquisite oval with a strong profile. This time, he caught me looking and smiled shyly.
"I'm Hoseok."
The name sent a shiver, stirring something familiar and unsettling. I quickly brushed off the uneasy feeling. It was probably my own insecurity.
"Y/N," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from him.
He resumed reading, and I focused on crocheting a stuffed rabbit for my nephew. Miles had called that morning to update me on Trinity's appointment. The toy wasn't perfect—far from it—but I wanted to give it a try.
"How would you feel about dinner?" Hoseok's voice broke through my thoughts.
I paused my knitting. "I enjoy dinner. Who doesn't?"
He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made me blush. "Cheeky."
I bit my lip, unsure if it was a compliment. I felt a pang of embarrassment, struggling to maintain my composure. The first date I'd been asked on since undergrad, and I was fumbling. Miles would have a field day.
"Would you like dinner with me?"
I hesitated. "Yes."
Hoseok's laughter resonated deeply within me, and I felt a jolt of warmth as he slid closer, his knee brushing against mine. He was impossibly warm. Instinctively, I shifted away, uncomfortable with his proximity. There was something off about him, an unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite place.
But then he smiled, and that soft, disarming grin evaporated all my doubts. He was dazzling. My eyes fluttered shut as his cologne enveloped me, weakening my knees. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was captivating.
"Do you like Italian?" he asked, his voice deeper now.
I nodded, struggling to steady my breath. Panic and embarrassment churned within me, but I couldn't ignore the physical response. My mind was flooded with inappropriate thoughts of Hoseok, vivid and intrusive. I gasped, feeling a flush of heat I hadn't experienced in a long time.
"Does two weeks work?"
Snapping out of my daze, I looked at Hoseok and nodded.
"I'm off on the 27th."
He smiled, and I stared at his teeth longer than necessary. They seemed different—sharper, perhaps, with redder gums. I blinked, reassured that they were just as I remembered. My sleep deprivation must be getting to me.
"Meet you here?"
We agreed to meet at six. I'd catch the 5:30 train to ensure I arrived before him. As the subway pulled into my stop, I waved goodbye and stepped out, only to realize I hadn't asked him where we were going. The thought lingered until the following day.
The voice is louder now, sharper, as if it’s cutting through the fog of my half-sleep. “Y/N? I’m waiting for you. Come to me now.”
I hear it, feel the tug of it dragging me towards him, but fear clamps down on me like a vice. My bare feet are numb on the cold, wet grass as I stumble through the twisting maze of hedges, trying to escape the invisible force that pulls me like iron to a magnet.
My breath hitches, coming fast and uneven, as I sprint around corners, the long white gown tangling around my legs and tripping me up. I’m not sure anymore if I’m searching for a way out or if I’m trying to find him.
I turn another corner, my ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg as I crash into an open space—a small, white fountain sits in the middle, surrounded by benches.
Through the flickering light of the moon dancing on the water, I see him. Not a figment of my imagination, but there he is, standing as he promised, waiting.
Hoseok walks towards me with a slow, deliberate grace. He bends, lifting me effortlessly from the mess of my tangled gown and into his arms. I feel a peculiar sense of completeness as he sits on a bench, cradling me like a precious artifact.
“Were you bringing me your gift? Or were you trying to run from me?” His voice is soft, almost tender, and yet it cuts through me. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes. I’m lost, adrift in confusion.
I’m mesmerized by his flawless beauty. My fingers move of their own accord, reaching towards his face. That smile returns, and I see the satisfaction in his eyes.
“You may touch me.” His lips part slightly, and I press my fingers against them. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around my fingertip and drawing it into his mouth. Before I can react, I feel a sharp bite.
I gasp as he licks the blood that wells up from the small wound. “A small treat,” he murmurs. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
I find myself nodding, helpless under his gaze.
He licks my finger one last time, savoring the taste before swallowing. “They told me you’d be extraordinary, worth every moment of waiting. Yet, your taste is beyond anything I ever dreamed.”
My body reacts to his words and his touch—still innocent but making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight, like I might explode. I let my head fall back, exposing my neck to him as his tongue traces a path up the sensitive skin.
And then he bites.
I bolt awake, heart pounding as if it might burst from my chest. I fumble in the dark, reaching for the light switch, feeling profoundly alone with Rose away for the weekend.
I throw off the covers and stagger to the mirror, desperately checking my neck. There’s nothing there, no sign of the bite.
A cold shiver runs down my spine. I grab a blanket and a book, and huddle in the hall lounge, surrounded by the harsh light of every lamp and the incessant flicker of the television, trying to drive away the lingering shadows of the nightmare.
September 1997
I eased into my seat, the familiar weight of my bag pressed to my left side and draped an arm over it as if to claim it for my own. It was the first night off from the relentless grind of being on-call since mid-August and the first real night out in years. I’d never been much for the party scene, and medical school had only sharpened that aversion. The last time I went out for drinks was nearly six years ago, a fleeting memory of bar hopping that I’d abandoned early, too exhausted to keep pace with my friends.
Tonight, however, felt different. There was a nagging sense that I was misremembering that long-ago night, like a foggy half-remembered dream where something vital was missing. My life in New York had become a blur of medical texts and sleepless shifts, the grueling 24-hour days erasing the finer details of my existence. My final year had been a carousel of discomfort, but the specifics eluded me, lost in exhaustion. Perhaps a creep of some sort, some misguided doctor with a name I couldn’t quite grasp—maybe that’s what had soured my memory.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find Hoseok’s contact. The old SeaTAC was still a relic of the past, but I clung to it out of stubborn habit. Despite its age, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to escape the pager’s relentless beeping. I longed for the day when I could toss the landline, but the cost of cell phone minutes constantly reminded me of its importance. With his endless chatter, Miles made sure I burned through those minutes with alarming frequency.
“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice was silky, a comforting balm after a long stretch of clinical detachment.
“Hey,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just got on.”
“See you soon,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. I could almost picture the smile on his face, and it made me smile in return. His words seemed more benign over the phone, starkly contrasting the intensity of our recent encounters. “Save my spot.”
The car was beginning to fill up, Friday night revelers claiming their space, making it nearly impossible to save a seat. I promised I’d try, even as I felt the crushing inevitability of the crowd. His chuckle was soft, almost intimate.
“Thank you, sweet girl.”
I bit my lip, the endearment both flattering and unsettling. A tiny voice in my head cautioned me, even though Hoseok had never used his terms of affection demeaningly. The voice grew louder when he wasn’t around, whispering warnings I couldn’t entirely dismiss. It was strange, this constant inner debate.
“I’m going to hang up,” Hoseok said, his voice a sensual murmur. I moved the phone away from my ear, puzzled by the seductive undertone. Was he implying something more?
Was I expecting more from tonight?
“I’m running up my minutes,” he laughed, breaking the spell of my thoughts.
“Oh,” I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”
The recurring dreams of him were becoming a distraction. My nights were plagued with vivid, unsettling fantasies, leaving me restless and frazzled. I wiggled in my seat, pressing my thighs together to quell the unsettling arousal. Reality would surely disappoint, no matter how compelling he seemed in my dreams. I resolved to hold off on sex for now. I didn’t want to tarnish his allure with premature intimacy.
“Why did you want to be a doctor?” Hoseok asked, his fingers entwining with mine.
The wine started hitting, and the night air was crisp against my skin. Hoseok was the perfect gentleman; the evening was a beautiful respite from my routine. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and sighed.
“I wish I could say it was for noble reasons,” I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. “In truth, I just wanted my family to notice me. I thought graduating medical school would make them see me, but it never quite worked out that way.”
Hoseok hummed thoughtfully beside me. I turned my gaze away, feeling a strange mix of comfort and sadness.
“None of us are perfect,” he said after a pause, his voice low and contemplative. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, and my choices haven’t always been noble.”
I leaned closer, savoring his warmth and intoxicating scent. Despite my fatigue, the night felt lighter, almost magical. He was mesmerizing, and I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected.
“I have a hard time believing that,” I said with a soft grin, snuggling closer.
“Well,” he said, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You haven’t had me all to yourself yet.”
A shiver ran down my spine, a curious blend of fear and delight. The night had been a rollercoaster of emotions—enchantment and apprehension intertwined. Hoseok’s smile was disarming, melting away my unease, but I made a mental note to reflect on my feelings once I was alone. He seemed almost too perfect, and that nagging pit in my stomach grew again before vanishing.
“I don’t want the night to end,” Hoseok whispered, his breath warm against my ear as we waited for the train. “I’m having such a good time.”
I smiled, “What kind of girl do you take me for?”
“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine longing.
“Soon,” I promised. “I’m getting the next few weekends off now that the other fellowship student is starting. My supervisor is trying to get me off every Saturday.”
“It’s a good thing my boss is flexible,” Hoseok purred, causing my heart to race. “Otherwise, I’d never get to spend time with you.”
I wanted to be annoyed by his clinginess, to remind him I wasn’t his girlfriend, but instead, I found myself grinning. His words made me feel seen and appreciated. Despite the anxiety he sometimes stirred in me, I was eager to be close to him. He looked at me so intently that I was willing to overlook my reservations. Maybe it was just butterflies?
“Where do you work?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts.
Hoseok was a bartender at a speakeasy in Manhattan, where he’d worked since it opened. He had hinted at it throughout the evening, teasing me with its obscurity.
“It’s a smaller place,” he said amusedly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“Try me,” I challenged, my heart pounding strangely.
“Dauphine.”
The name hit me like a jolt. Images of dimly lit corridors and crimson hues flashed in my mind. I was sure I’d never been there, but the name stirred a disquieting sense of déjà vu. The dream from July, the man from my dreams—there was a connection, but it eluded me.
As we stood in the bustling, well-lit area, I edged away slightly, unsettled. Hoseok was a charming gentleman, but the name “Dauphine” had ignited an inexplicable dread. Despite his humor and warmth, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something—or maybe I was just afraid of what I might find.
I stole a furtive glance at him, and it felt as though I’d known him far longer than the scant time we’d spent together. His face was oddly familiar, like a recurring image in a dream half-remembered. I had met him before, somewhere.
“No, you haven’t,” his voice cut through the night like ice. It was cold, detached, far from the warmth he’d shown me all evening. A shiver snaked down my spine, and I forgot to breathe. His grip on me tightened as though sensing my legs would buckle beneath me. “You’ve never known me before.”
The fierce scowl on his face startled me. His eyes, glowing with an eerie golden light, seemed to burn through me. Everything about him felt otherworldly like he was something less than human. A fragmented memory of a man sitting alone at a bar surged up, only to dissolve into nothingness.
“I am Hoseok,” he whispered, his voice weaving a heavy spell over my senses. “I am your boyfriend. We’ve been together a long time, and we’re in love. You just tripped and hit your head.”
A sudden jolt of pain made me wince and try to pull away from him.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was deceptively tender, and I sighed through the pain.
“Yes,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Does it look bad?”
Hoseok’s grin was unsettling, a blend of fake sympathy and amusement.
“You were lucky this time. Just a barely noticeable red mark.”
I chuckled at my own clumsiness. I wasn’t usually this awkward, but my heel caught on a pavement crack. I gingerly rubbed my ankle and was relieved to find it unscathed. Even my heel had survived.
“Jeez,” I said, looping my arm through his. “I completely forgot what we were talking about.”
Hoseok’s smile broadened, clearly enjoying my disoriented state. I rolled my eyes and reached over to gently tap his chest. He responded by sticking out his tongue, which only made me scoff at his childishness.
“We were talking about work,” I said.
I nodded as if on autopilot. “How’s the bar?”
Hoseok worked at a swanky speakeasy in Manhattan, though I was trying to remember its name. Despite being together for what felt like ages, I had never been there. I was never one for bars, while Hoseok reveled in the place’s gothic charm. The name eluded me again as I tried to recall it.
“Tae’s excited,” he chuckled. “With Halloween around the corner, business will pick up.”
I hummed, my thoughts still lingering on the name. I had thought his boss was Tristan, but I must have misremembered. I shrugged off the nagging thought.
“You should stop by the bar,” I heard myself say, sounding oddly mechanical.
“Sounds fun,” he replied, his tone laced with a predatory edge.
Looking back on that night, it’s almost laughable how easily he swayed me. The way he possessed me was undeniable; soon, he would own every inch of me. Those dreams of him were his twisted way of showing love—how much he craved to touch me, to keep me bound to him. It’s sick and vile, and the thought of what we’d become makes me nauseous, yet to him, it’s love.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, his arm wrapping possessively around my shoulders.
I remember leaning into his side, kissing his cheek as if I was floating. His presence was intoxicating. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch and his body's heat. It’s a twisted sort of longing I have for him. This place is cold and dark without him, without his reminders of how much he cares and wants me to scream for him. Here, time stands still, and life continues in a strange loop. I can’t say whether I’m alive or dead, but I know it no longer matters. Once I entered this world, my life ended and began anew. Hoseok made me feel both alive and dead simultaneously.
And as I write this, my heart aches for him. My fingers tremble at the thought of him returning to claim me again. The pain he inflicts makes my heart pound and my stomach clench. I miss him.
It both sickens and excites me.
October 19, 1997
My bones groaned and cracked like ancient floorboards beneath my weight as I fought to catch my breath. Sweat slicked my skin, and I began patting myself down, half-expecting to find something tangible to anchor me to reality. My surroundings slowly came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights above stung my eyes, but their sterile brightness offered an odd comfort. I was at home, cocooned in thick blankets that had twisted themselves around my legs. The bed beneath me creaked with the effort of supporting my restless form. I sighed, flopping back down, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that still clung to me like a shadow.
The dreams had become relentless, evolving from vague echoes of past terrors into something far more insidious. These weren't fueled by mere fear but by an overwhelming, consuming desire that felt dangerously close to swallowing me whole. The weekends were the worst, and after seeing Hoseok, they had turned almost infernal. He was always there in my dreams, his skin smooth and flawless, his deep brown eyes burning into mine with an intensity that left me gasping for air.
Every time I closed my eyes, his image flickered behind my eyelids like a dark, seductive film. The scenes always ended the same way: I would climax, my body convulsing in a fevered rhythm, while I looked up to see his face contorted in ecstasy. His deep, guttural groans would reverberate through me as his grip tightened on my skin. He would finish inside me, and my spent body would collapse beneath him. He would drape himself over me, showering my chest with tender, lingering kisses. The setting varied—my bed, a chilling, unfamiliar void, or a dimly lit lounge—but the conclusion was always the same.
With a sigh, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing the cool surface. An email from Hoseok awaited me, and a smile crept across my face despite the haze of exhaustion. He was the epitome of a perfect gentleman—never pushing beyond my boundaries, never demanding more than I was willing to give, always accommodating his schedule to mine. Even in matters of intimacy, something many men would aggressively pursue, he always respected my pace. In the hectic blur of the past month, we hadn’t had a moment alone. He hadn’t even broached the topic. As I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time we'd been intimate outside of these dreams.
From: Hoseok Jung Subject: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 03:05 To: Y/N Y/L/N Good morning, love, I'm sorry for the early message, especially since this is one of your rare mornings off. I hope I didn't wake you. I'm heading home from work and couldn't stop thinking about you. Taehyung is throwing a simple Halloween party this year, and luckily, it falls on a Friday. Would you like to join me? I think it could be a lot of fun. I love you. Hobi
I grinned and began typing my reply.
From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: RE: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 04:15 To: Hoseok Jung Hobi, Don't worry, you didn't wake me. I was tangled up in strange dreams and was deep asleep when your email arrived. Sadly, I doubt I'll fall back asleep anytime soon, so I plan on catching up on Buffy or Beyond Belief—whichever's on. Hopefully, I won't get stuck with reruns of Seinfeld, not really my thing. Lucky for me, I'm working mornings this week. I'd love to come to your party. Call me when you wake up. Love you, too. Y/N Y/L/N, M.D. Palliative Care Physician, New York-Presbyterian Hospital
It barely registered that, to my knowledge, I had never said "I love you" to him before. I had never really pondered the oddity of our relationship. My memories of our time together were a disorienting blur, but I never questioned it. It wasn't entirely my fault—he had ensnared me, body and soul, and any unresolved threads might make it harder for him to maintain control. Regardless of our tangled history or how elusive it seemed; I was simply glad he wanted to see me at that moment.
I lay huddled in my bed, my body a coiled spring of anticipation, each nerve ending tingling with the foreboding that had stalked me all day. His voice had been a persistent whisper, a sultry hum that turned my name into a haunting lullaby. It was a melody wrapped in an insatiable longing, a caress of words that promised more than I dared to imagine.
Tonight, I wanted to resist. I tried to muster the strength to ignore the insidious pull, that relentless tug drawing me toward him like a moth to a flame. The very idea of defying him churned my stomach with a nauseous dread. But the threads of his influence were woven so tightly around me, it felt like trying to escape from silken chains.
Then it came, cutting through the murkiness of my thoughts like a scythe. His voice, now sharper, more insistent, shattered the fragile veneer of my resistance.
“Y/N. Come to me now.”
With a sudden jolt, the pretense of defiance evaporated. I threw off the blankets as if they were chains, leaping out of bed and flying through the darkened hallway. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurtled down the stairs, each step propelled by an unrelenting force, dragging me inexorably toward him.
He waited for me in the foyer, bathed in an eerie glow that made him look like an apparition from a fevered dream—or perhaps a nightmare. His smile was both welcoming and chilling, a promise wrapped in malice. When he took my hand, his lips brushed against my fingers with a cool, electric touch that set my entire body aflame.
The intensity of my reaction embarrassed me, but he tilted my face up to meet his gaze, shaking his head with a look of almost pity.
“Your blood knows what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow.”
My face burned with fierce heat, but the compulsion pulling me to him was too overpowering to resist. He guided me through the meticulously manicured gardens to a secluded alcove framed by dense, sculpted hedges. He seated himself on a bench, drawing me onto his lap with a practiced grace that made me feel both cherished and helpless. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, never left mine, promising secrets I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“Are you ready, my lamb?”
Without a second thought, I bared my neck to him. The desperate craving for the bliss and torment of his bite had consumed me completely; waiting was no longer an option.
He lingered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path along the delicate skin of my throat. The sensation was almost unbearable, and I found myself begging with a voice that sounded alien, strained.
“Please.”
And then he bit.
I shot awake, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. I had fallen asleep hunched over my desk at the hospital, my neck stiff from the awkward angle. Rubbing away the ache, I cursed the book that had plagued me with such vivid nightmares. I needed to talk to my brother again; this couldn’t be anything but a cruel trick of the mind.
The glowing digits on my alarm clock mocked me with their late hour. I stood up, stretching and feeling my heartbeat slowly return to normal. I changed into a t-shirt and shuffled toward the bed, determined to banish the lingering unease.
As I passed the window, something froze me in place. I looked down into the parking lot and saw him standing under a flickering lamppost, his gaze locked onto mine with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.
It was Hoseok—or at least, it looked like him. But the resemblance was grotesquely twisted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, a sickly luminescence that cut through the night like a malevolent beacon. His skin was peeling away in ragged strips, as if he were shedding himself like a decaying husk. This was no longer my Hoseok. He was a creature of nightmares, a monster forged from my darkest fears.
My fingers clung to the windowsill as I stared, my body paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to run to him, to give in to the magnetic pull of his presence. I watched as his lips moved, shaping a single word that seemed to echo through the chill of the night.
“Soon.”
I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vision to vanish. When I opened them again, the parking lot was empty, the lamppost casting its pallid light over a sea of unmoving cars. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, snatched my blanket and pillow, and stumbled back to the on-call room, desperate to escape the sinister call that still haunted the dark corners of my mind.
October 28, 1997
"What should I do?" the nurse asked, her name slipping from my mind like a shadow lost in the night.
"Give them some space," I replied, my gaze fixed resolutely away from the room across the hall. Elizabeth had just passed away, her DNR a cold, ironclad barrier that left no room for last-ditch efforts. Her family needed their final moments with her while we waited for the body to be transported. Mary was still wailing into her husband's chest, and Elijah looked like he'd been dragged through a storm, barely able to stand. Percy stood like a marble statue, his eyes glazed over while his wife clung to him. The sight of Percy’s frozen, unseeing expression twisted my gut in a way I couldn’t ignore. It reminded me too much of what I feared—and I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of grief.
"Should we get them out of the room?" another nurse asked, her thick southern drawl hinting at Memphis. "Seeing her like that can’t be good for their mental well-being."
I shook my head. "Let them have their last moments in peace. Offer condolences and check on them regularly."
I fiddled nervously with my ID card, the familiar unease gnawing at me. My wounds from the day seemed too fresh. Miles surfaced in my thoughts again, and I resolved to call my brother on my way home tonight. Hoseok wasn’t working tonight, so he wouldn’t join me on the subway.
"I'm going to check in with 211," I murmured, watching Percy leave the room, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "I’ll be back in 5-10 minutes to see if the family needs anything. Just make them as comfortable as you can."
"You got it, doc."
The subway ride home was a silent affair. My headache throbbed like a relentless drum, and my stomach churned uneasily. The day had been heavy with more deaths than usual. Elizabeth’s family had eventually calmed down, but their kindness on their way out hadn’t eased the knot in my chest. I knew their pain intimately.
I called my brother as I made my way to the subway. Despite his complicated feelings about our mother, he was always supportive. The conversation ended abruptly when Aurora entered the room, demanding his attention. Miles had never truly understood my emotions; I doubted he ever tried.
The short walk home from the subway was a blessing, though the cold night air bit at my skin. I was grateful for the proximity of my apartment, but the streets were alive with noise—tourists laughing, gang members shouting outside their apartment complexes. I was relieved to escape the chaos, though my street wasn’t entirely free of foot traffic. My old apartment in East Harlem had been more of a hustle, with late-night carpooling with a coworker whose name eluded me. I knew it started with an 'A,' but the memory only worsened my headache. I set the thought aside for another time.
After selling the family home in Florida and vacation properties scattered across the country, I’d managed to buy a house on Astro Row at 100th and 30th Street. It was an old building—too expensive for its size, and initially, it seemed far from beautiful. But over time, it grew on me. I loved the brownstones, the front porches, the grand trees, and the quiet streets. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Even the renovations I’d planned were postponed. The charm of the old place had won me over, and I’d made peace with its quirks. I even got along with my neighbor, a small but welcome relief.
Tonight was quieter than usual, and none of my neighbors seemed awake. I missed the old man at the end of the street who used to sit on his porch, sipping coffee and waiting for dawn. It was nearly 4:30 AM. I shrugged and continued; my mind focused on the comfort of my bed.
Fumbling for my keys, I cursed quietly when my pockets were empty. My purse, a cavernous mess of clutter, swallowed everything. As I dug through it, a sudden burst of laughter behind me made me freeze. Two women strolled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were both stunning, their pale skin glowing under the moonlight. One of them locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing through the darkness. She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew me.
"Hello," she said, her voice as light and tinkling as a bell.
"Hi," I replied, feeling strangely off-balance.
The other woman seemed perplexed. Her beauty was almost ethereal, with blonde hair as pale as her skin and eyes as dark as night. Her gaze swept over me with an unmistakable disdain, her teeth bared in a slight sneer. Yet, despite her apparent coldness, she was undeniably beautiful.
"How are you?" the first woman asked, her voice soothing.
"Fine," I responded, my throat dry. "And you?"
The nagging headache intensified as I tried to make sense of the encounter, a sense of déjà vu wrapping around me like a tightening noose. The women moved on, their laughter fading into the night, leaving me with a lingering unease that clung to me like the shadows of my dreams.
She studied me, her face a shifting canvas of emotions before settling into a look of genuine confusion. I tried to place her but struggled. There was something crucial I needed to remember, something just out of reach, but my mind remained stubbornly blank. A frantic urge to call Hoseok seized me.
The realization hit me like a cold slap. Why did I think I needed him? I tried to convince myself I could handle this alone. But deep down, I knew I needed him here. He could make this headache vanish, soothe the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in my chest. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…
“What's your name?” she asked, her smile both disarming and unsettling, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.
“Y/N,” I replied, feeling dazed and disconnected.
“Cold night, Y/N,” she purred, her gaze never wavering. “You should get inside.”
I nodded absently, my words failing me as I fumbled with my keys. The blonde woman's giggle, filled with an eerie excitement, made me shiver. I wanted to retreat, to escape this strange encounter. I shoved the key into the lock, eager to shut out the unsettling night.
“Y/N,” the first woman’s voice halted me, her tone chillingly smooth. Neither of them had moved since they stopped. The blonde’s smile remained fixed, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Be careful out here. You never know who’s wandering around.”
I nodded, turning the doorknob, but her voice stopped me again.
“I work at a bar in Midtown,” she said, her words snagging my attention like a hook. I had always known she worked at a bar, but why was it important? “It’s called Dauphine. Ever heard of it?”
Yes, I wanted to say. That place haunted my nightmares, a dark shadow that clung to the edges of my memory. But I couldn’t piece together why. Hoseok would know. He’d make everything better. No, my mind screamed—he’d only make it worse. I couldn’t say how I knew this, but I wanted to listen to the little voice inside me tonight. Something was very wrong.
“You should come by sometime,” she offered. “We’re on 1st and East 54th in the far corner of the Diamond District. If you need anything, just ask for ‘Bootsy.’”
Bootsy…
“Are you okay with cherry liquor?” she asked.
I let go of the doorknob and turned to face them fully. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes. The sensation was all too familiar. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.
“Do you know Hoseok? He’s my boyfriend.”
The blonde hissed sharply. Bootsy gasped, her face a mask of surprise and something darker, more shadowy. It was clear that Hoseok was connected to these people, tangled up with my memories of New York, the root of all my confusion. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…
No, I shook my head. Was that what he wanted me to believe? I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Yes,” Bootsy finally replied. “I’ve known him for many, many years.”
Before I could second-guess myself, I slammed the door shut and locked it. The blonde finally moved, stepping away from Bootsy and muttering something I couldn’t catch. She disappeared down the street, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered through the door, my voice tinged with desperation.
Bootsy’s response came through with a sorrowful edge. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, my headache pounding with such intensity that I could barely keep my eyes open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I remember things but not really, and everything goes blank every time he’s around.”
Bootsy’s eyes, a deep crimson, darted around nervously. They seemed to glow faintly, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, glossy and sleek. Bootsy wasn’t human. What she was, I couldn’t say. But she was somehow tied to the nightmares that plagued me, and Hoseok’s shadow loomed larger than ever.
“He’s a demon,” she whispered hurriedly, her words laced with a fear that seemed almost tangible. “I can’t tell you exactly what he’s done. I’ve never known him to keep someone around for this long, but whatever you’ve done to make him want you seems to have spared your life. You should have died back in ’92 with your friend.”
A friend? Someone else had been involved? Hoseok was a demon? The fragments Bootsy offered were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a reality I could barely grasp. I believed her, though. I had no reason not to. My memories felt like they were being twisted, distorted by Hoseok’s manipulations.
Then I thought of the creature outside of the hospital and felt my knees go numb. I hadn't hallucinated anything. It was real. It was him. Oh my God.
“We can’t talk for long,” she said, a look of pained urgency on her face. “He won’t sleep for much longer.”
“What can I do?” I begged, clutching my head as if I could squeeze out the pain. It was unbearable. “God, it hurts.”
“Nothing,” Bootsy’s voice trembled. “Hoseok wants you, and he’s never lost a game. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do; he will win. Whatever you’ve been doing has kept you alive this long, but I don’t know how much time you have left.”
Her words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I had been a pawn in Hoseok’s twisted game, my life manipulated by his cruel whims. What did he want from me? My body? My soul? The realization was suffocating.
“Go to Dauphine and find Taehyung,” Bootsy instructed, her voice carrying a chilling finality despite its almost maternal tone. “He had a soft spot for you back then. If you’re lucky, he might be able to change you, make you like us. That might be enough to satisfy Hoseok.”
Taehyung. The name cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, easing the throbbing in my head, if only for a moment. He had haunted my dreams, his image vivid: a white button-up shirt, his gentle hands, his voice firm yet tender, saying he didn’t want to share me. He had left me in that bar, but the details were fuzzy—how or why I had ended up there was a blur. All I knew was that I was lost, and he had once been my guide.
She paused, her eyes darkening with a weighty empathy. “You’d be luckier if Taehyung agrees to end your life before the demon does. I wouldn’t wish this half-life on anyone, nor would I be glad to see you die, but those are your choices. I can’t guarantee you’ll make it through this.”
“What happened in ’92?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with desperation.
Bootsy shook her head, her expression darkening with sorrow. “He killed your friend and tried to lure you away. That's all I know, and I don't have time to explain the rest. The sun’s about to rise, and your demon will be waiting for you to fall asleep. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. If he knows you’re aware of him, he might decide to kill you.”
It felt wrong to just let it happen. What would this mean for me in the end? Would knowing about his influence change anything? I couldn’t be sure, but if I wanted to buy myself time, I had no choice but to take the risk. I needed answers, a plan, anything to regain control.
“Y/N,” Bootsy’s urgent voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Your memories won't come back unless he wants them to. Let it go. Either way you'll be dead.”
With those final, haunting words, Bootsy vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders, my impending doom looming like a dark cloud. I stumbled back to the porch, unlocked the front door, and sought refuge in the sanctuary of my bed. Bootsy’s grim mantra echoed in my mind as I tried to push aside my troubling thoughts about Hoseok, grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.
He appeared to me then, in a vision that was both intoxicating and horrifying. His eyes sparkled with a predatory thrill, his touch setting my skin ablaze, igniting waves of pleasure that crashed over me with ruthless intensity. His worship was ceaseless, his lips warm and insistent, as if trying to devour every shred of my resistance. I was swallowed by him, lost in a whirlwind of passion that twisted the love I once felt (at least, I believed I felt) into something darker, more insidious. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…
Bootsy’s words had struck me like a death knell, sealing my fate in an irreversible descent. She had unwittingly set my downfall into motion, transforming innocent affection into a ravenous lust that consumed every corner of my mind. When I awoke late in the evening, the decision to call off work for the rest of the week came with a grim resignation. The struggle to stay awake was in vain; it was becoming starkly clear how deeply Hoseok’s control had embedded itself within me. The inevitable was no longer a distant threat—it had already begun to unfold, dragging me into its dark embrace.
October 31, 1997
I tugged nervously at my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the cool night air that should have been a relief. The address that had arrived this morning was burned into my mind, glaring at me from the top of the paper—Dauphine, the bar Bootsy had mentioned. My plans were clear: find Bootsy, get directions, speak with this Taehyung, and figure out my options. But the gnawing truth was unavoidable—no matter what I did, it felt like my life was already slipping through my fingers.
Sleep deprivation had become my relentless tormentor. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by leaden exhaustion, and my attempts to feign illness to dodge work had morphed into a grim reality. It was a battle to stay awake each day, and I feared that simply making it to this bar would be a Herculean task.
I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to adjust the wig perched precariously on my head. I’d opted for a lazy Halloween costume—a half-hearted Cher from *Clueless*. The yellow plaid blazer was a thrift store find, the skirt a serendipitous discovery. But the wig made me look more like a grotesque caricature than a character. Frustrated, I yanked it off and tossed it onto the floor. I’d have to go without it.
Yawning, I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse back into bed. My cab was on its way, and I had to be ready. I gathered my essentials—purse, house keys, phone, and a spare outfit—preparing for a night that could very well be my last. I steeled myself for the confrontation, even if it felt like a hopeless, losing battle.
My daily struggle with myself had turned into a monotonous grind. My feigned illness had kept Hoseok at a distance, but it had only given me more time to spiral into despair over his influence. My mind was a battleground, where fragments of my past life clashed with the twisted desires he’d implanted in me. Every morning, I awoke to a gnawing need, a desperate craving for him that left me feeling sullied and repulsed.
I stepped outside and drew a shaky breath of the crisp night air. Calling my brother was both a comfort and a torment. There was a chance this could be the last time I spoke to him, and the thought tightened my chest like a vise. I fought back tears as I dialed his number.
“Hello?” Miles answered, his voice warm and familiar.
“Hey,” I forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. “Still out Trick-or-Treating?”
“We just got back,” he said. “Rory wants to talk to you.”
My heart ached at the sound of my niece’s voice. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, her voice sweet as ever. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, baby,” I sniffled, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah!” Aurora’s excitement was a bright spot in my darkness. “I was Katerina, mommy was Miss Elaina, and daddy was Daniel Tiger.”
“That sounds amazing,” I wiped away my tears. “What about your baby brother?”
Aurora’s voice took on a scolding tone. “His name is Corbin, Auntie,” she said as though I should have known better. “He’s still in mommy’s belly, so he wasn’t anything. Mommy’s giving him candy.”
I laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “How’s your mommy?”
“She says ‘Hi,’” Aurora replied. “We got the best candy! A lady was giving out big Starbursts. Daddy’s letting me have all the pink ones because I’m special.”
“You are special, sweet girl.”
A painful thought intruded—would Hoseok make them forget me if I asked him? The idea was almost too agonizing to bear. He’d kept me alive for five years, a perverse form of flattery that I struggled to appreciate. My self-loathing deepened as I thought about the life I was about to leave behind.
“Daddy says I have to go,” Aurora pouted. “Bye, Auntie.”
“Bye, Rory girl,” I choked out, my voice cracking as the tears welled up. “I love you.”
“Love you more,” Aurora’s sweet voice drifted through the line, a beacon of innocence in my storm of dread.
I gasped, the floodgates opening as I fought to keep my composure. “Impossible,” I managed to whisper, my throat tight with sorrow.
“Why?” she giggled, her innocent curiosity slicing through my resolve.
“Because,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I love you more than the world.”
Aurora’s laughter began to fade as she handed the phone back to Miles. The sound of her giggles and her mother’s laughter echoed in the background, a cruel reminder of the life I was about to lose. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of never hearing those sounds again.
“What’s up, sissy?” Miles asked, his tone tinged with concern.
“I was just heading out,” I said, forcing a tremulous cheerfulness into my voice. “Thought I’d call before my cab gets here. I’m leaving a little early.”
There was a heavy pause on the other end, a silence that spoke louder than words.
“Everything okay, Y/N? You sound upset.”
“No, no,” I hurried to reassure him, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “Just tired. You know how it is.”
“You sure?” Miles pressed, his concern palpable. He was always too perceptive for his own good, but he never pushed too hard. I hoped he wouldn’t miss me too much.
“I’m positive, Bubba,” I said, my eyes darting to the cab pulling up to the curb. “My ride’s here. I love you.”
“Love you too, sis. Call me later?”
“I’ll try to remember in the morning,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat despite the crushing weight in my chest. “I know it’s late for you guys.”
I closed my phone with shaking hands and stuffed it into my purse, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. The cab driver approached, his face a blur through my tears.
“Where to?” he asked, his voice a lifeline in the growing storm of my fear.
“1st and East 54th in the Diamond District,” I replied, offering a weak, strained smile.
“Dauphine?” The driver’s eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, a hint of something unsettling in his gaze. “Ever been there before?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to steady my breath. “I don’t remember it all that well. Guess I had too much fun last time.”
“Watch yourself,” the driver said, turning on the radio with a slow, deliberate movement. “That place is crawling with freaks.”
“Welcome to New York,” I muttered, more to myself than him.
He chuckled, his voice a touch too jovial. “Been here my whole life. My name’s Jimin. Call me if you need a getaway driver.”
The car rumbled with the low hum of R&B, Jimin fiddling with the radio as if trying to mask the creeping anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I mouthed the lyrics, trying to drown out the terror that threatened to consume me.
My thoughts were a twisted mess of fear and longing. The image of Hoseok, tainted by his manipulation, flickered through my mind. The desire to escape him was overpowered by the suffocating grip of my own confusion. Taehyung was my last, desperate hope—a fleeting chance at redemption. But deep down, a gnawing realization settled in I was already damned, teetering on the edge with no way back.
The mantra echoed relentlessly in my head: I miss him, love him, and need him…
I was spiraling, caught in a web of my own making, and the thought of facing what awaited me at Dauphine was almost too much to bear.
“We’re here,” Jimin's voice cut through the thick fog of dread that enveloped me.
“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the cash. I handed him a generous tip, a feeble attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy.
The alleyway stretched before me, a grim path between the upscale buildings of the Diamond District. It looked less menacing than I’d imagined, but its familiarity offered no comfort. Dim street lamps cast weak pools of light that barely touched the encroaching darkness. I hoped—prayed—that Hoseok wasn’t already here. The fading daylight gave me just enough visibility to navigate, and the murmur of voices outside the bar was a small, shaky comfort. I clung to the hope that these voices belonged to ordinary people, potential witnesses if I needed to make a quick escape.
As I approached, the group of people outside fell silent. My stomach churned violently, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face them; their gaze was almost a physical presence, making my skin crawl even though I never looked directly at them. A low, sinister snicker from one of them sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying my fear. I hadn’t even seen their faces, yet their mere presence was enough to make me quake.
The bouncer at the gate eyed me with a scrutinizing glare.
“Password,” he demanded, his voice flat and unyielding.
“I-” I stammered, my mind racing to recall the password Hoseok had given me. “Audubon.”
The gate creaked open, and I slipped past the security guard, my heart pounding like a drum. Despite my nervous bravado, the bouncer’s indifference did little to soothe me. Once inside, I felt a fleeting sense of relief, escaping the unsettling stares.
I gripped my bag tightly, knuckles white, and started searching for the bar. The interior was starkly underwhelming—plush couches and private booths scattered haphazardly, with red neon signs pointing to the restrooms. The oppressive red and black color scheme was heavy, but thankfully devoid of any overtly horrific scenes. I had no desire for strobe lights or dance floors; the thought of walking into a trap was more than enough to keep me on edge.
Navigating through the dimly lit space, I felt like I was moving through a maze. The long hallway ahead seemed to stretch into an abyss, the darkness intensifying with each step. The oppressive gloom and the eerie silence made my nerves jangle. The jazz music that had been softly playing in the background had faded, leaving me in a disquieting void.
At the end of the hall, the emptiness was almost a relief. The silence was oppressive but meant I wasn’t walking into a room full of hostile eyes. Perhaps this was how I’d met Bootsy—wandering aimlessly until she had found me and guided me out.
The bar seemed to stretch on forever, an architectural labyrinth that added to my growing sense of dread. I held my breath as the walls seemed to close in, my anxiety a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The high ceilings and claustrophobic spaces combined to create a sensation of being trapped. My heels clicked sharply against the linoleum, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The place felt more like a mausoleum than a bar. Every step heightened my unease, and the hairs on my neck stood on end as I glanced around, trying to ignore the creeping terror that threatened to overwhelm me.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling as it cut through the oppressive silence. “Is anybody here?”
The sudden sound of a voice behind me made me jump, my heart racing as I spun around with a gasp that morphed into a shriek. My balance faltered, and I slammed into the wall, scraping my arm against the rough surface. The sharp sting of pain was immediate and searing. I clutched my injured arm, the pain and the shock making my vision blur. I turned to face the figure who had startled me.
He stood there, his white button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the dim surroundings. His tall, lean frame was framed by broad shoulders, and his long fingers seemed to move with an effortless grace. But it was his smile that made my blood run cold—a wide, boxy grin that stretched unnaturally across his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, unsettling light.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I glared at him, struggling to steady my breathing and regain my composure. “It’s fine. It didn’t kill me, did it?”
He chuckled softly; a sound that felt more sinister than soothing. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his gaze dropping to my arm.
I looked down and saw blood seeping through a tear in my blazer. The sight of my own blood was like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. The pain, combined with the sight of my blood, pushed me to the edge. My hands shook as I raised them to my face, tears welling up uncontrollably. The enormity of my situation crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everything felt chaotic; my life had been turned upside down, and the relentless pounding in my head was unbearable. I should have stayed home. At least Hoseok’s presence, while twisted, had been a semblance of comfort.
The despair was suffocating.
“Are you okay, sha?” His voice was soft, but his touch on my arm was disconcertingly gentle.
I laughed, a hollow, despairing sound. “Does it look like it?”
“No, you look upset,” he replied, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and amusement.
“You don’t say?” I snapped, rolling my eyes and jerking my arm away from his touch.
Despite my evident distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his smile lingering like a dark shadow. His pleasure at my discomfort was unsettling, and the aura around him felt eerily similar to the disquieting presence of those outside. His attractiveness was overshadowed by a deeply disturbing quality that made me want to flee. It was as if fear had paralyzed me, pinning me in place.
Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. As I forced myself to examine his face more closely, I recognized him from the shadows of my past. He was strikingly beautiful in a haunting way, like Bootsy. His pale skin was almost luminescent, and his eyes, once hidden in the darkness, now revealed flecks of red that seemed to glow with a menacing, otherworldly light. They were mesmerizing yet horrifying, a dangerous allure that made my skin crawl. The spell he cast was broken as quickly as it had begun, and I struggled to look him in the eye again.
“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a silky whisper that seemed to wrap around me, tightening with a sinister intent.
Embarrassed by my earlier outburst, I nodded slowly. My hope of finding help felt increasingly elusive as the night grew darker and more menacing. All I wanted was to escape, but the hope that things might improve clung stubbornly to me. Taehyung exuded a disorienting blend of warmth and menace, a mix of comfort and dread that left me feeling more lost than ever.
“I’m sorry for being snappy,” I said, my voice quivering as I wiped away a tear. “I don’t remember you all that well.”
Or at all, my mind whispered in the encroaching darkness. The more I looked at him, the more I felt Hoseok’s oppressive influence tugging at my thoughts. Images of Hoseok’s touch, his voice, his eyes—each one flared in my mind with an insidious intensity. He misses you; he loves you, he needs you…
“Requiem was wrong,” Taehyung murmured, his fingers chillingly cold as they cradled my face. “You’re too far gone.”
“Who?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling and my head spinning. His touch was both numbing and intoxicating.
“Bootsy,” he cooed, his breath a mix of cotton and sweet pine needles. “She said you had a chance, but she was mistaken. My friend has already completed the bond.”
“W-what?” I whispered, dazed and confused. The throbbing ache in my head resonated with Taehyung’s presence. “What bond?”
“Maybe not,” he whispered, his proximity making my pulse race.
When his lips met mine, they were like ice, yet the jolt of electricity that surged through me made my knees buckle. His laughter was dark and twisted as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his tongue brushing against my lips. I mewled, clutching his shoulders as the electric sensation overwhelmed me. His groan sent shivers through my entire body, and the echo of Hoseok’s voice in my head was relentless. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you…
Suddenly, I shoved Taehyung away, gasping for air as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my temple. My vision swam, and I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably.
“Poor child,” Taehyung crooned, kneeling beside me. His scent, soothing yet oddly comforting, did little to ease the tremors wracking my body. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot help you.”
“I’m going to die,” I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my despair.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “The pain will lessen once you accept it; accept him.”
“What does he want?” I managed to choke out.
“Can’t you see?” Taehyung’s eyes glittered ominously in the dim light. “He believes he’s in love with you. It’s a pity, really. I want nothing more than to keep you, but I can’t risk angering him. He would destroy Requiem for revealing his secrets; she is my most cherished friend. Do you understand?”
Numbly, I nodded. I’m going to die. I miss him. I’m going to die. He loves you. I’m going to die. I need him. I’m going to die. I love him. He needs you. I’m—
“Your eyes look just like his,” Taehyung marveled, his gaze softening. “He’s bound to you in a way I’ve never seen before.”
As I stared at Taehyung, my vision began to blur, and the voices in my head whispered louder in the dark corners of my mind. Their weight pressed down on me, my eyes rolling back until all I could see was a void. When I came to, I was horrified to find vomit splattered across Taehyung’s pristine white shirt. His expression twisted in horror and pain as he watched me unravel.
A dark, malevolent presence loomed near, its acrid stench of soot and kerosene overwhelming my senses. My head throbbed as if it had been cleaved in two, and a grotesque, pecking sensation gnawed at my exposed, vulnerable insides. Taehyung’s icy touch against my rigid form offered little comfort as I lay helpless against his chest, terror seeping in with every passing second.
“There’s my girl!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the haze of despair, and just like that, the pain evaporated.
I exhaled, sinking into Taehyung’s embrace. His body felt like ice against my fevered skin, a chilling contrast that brought an unexpected relief. His cool fingers traced my scalp, their touch a soothing balm amidst the chaos.
“I hope you understand Bootsy’s decision,” Taehyung’s voice was as cold as his touch, carrying a weight of finality. “She thought you were still playing games. But she was wrong.”
A deep, resonant rumble filled the space, and Hoseok’s voice emerged from the darkness like a spectral echo.
“Requiem has every right to her judgment,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth caress laced with menace. “If it were anyone else, I might not care. But Y/N’s suffering is a consequence of her meddling. I had hoped to keep her alive.”
“Why?” I croaked, the question barely escaping my lips.
“You’re my special girl,” Hoseok purred, his voice dripping with a twisted, cruel fondness. “So innocent, so malleable. You’re perfect.”
A strange calm enveloped me as I lay against Taehyung, the tumult of emotions and pain fading to a low murmur. Hoseok’s presence hung over me like a dark, oppressive cloud, his words a cruel mockery of the comfort I desperately sought.
Taehyung’s fingers moved through my hair with a cold, almost clinical precision. “You’ve been chosen,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. “It’s a rare bond that neither Bootsy nor I can undo. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”
My vision blurred, shadows of past anguish swirling around me. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting lullaby that twisted my insides. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how you struggle, you are woven into my essence.”
The room seemed to constrict, the walls inching inward, shadows elongating and darkening. A biting chill settled over the space, the whispers of the damned intertwining with my deepest fears. I could almost see their forms, spectral and menacing, reaching out from the darkness.
I struggled to my feet, the world spinning dizzily around me. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. I stumbled away from Taehyung’s unnervingly composed presence, my eyes darting frantically for any sign of escape or salvation.
“Y/N,” Hoseok’s voice was a dissonant blend of soothing and threatening. “Don’t run from me. You belong here, with me.”
My breath came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming urge to flee battling with a stubborn thread of hope tangled in my despair. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, clinging to the faintest possibility of survival amidst the encroaching darkness.
I turned to Taehyung, my gaze pleading, desperate. “Is there no way out? Is there any hope left?”
Taehyung’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Try to enjoy your final moments.”
Footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor, each step deliberate and foreboding. My heart leaped as a figure emerged from the gloom. Bootsy. Her presence was both a flicker of reassurance and a shadow of dread.
“I’m sorry,” Bootsy’s voice was a murmur of regret in the darkness.
I looked at her, then back at Taehyung, and finally at the encroaching shadows that seemed to reach out with a ravenous hunger. The weight of the choice, of my impending doom, pressed heavily on my chest, threatening to crush me under its gravity.
With a shuddering breath, I steeled myself. “I can’t let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t want this.”
The room seemed to hold its breath, the darkness thickening. Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the void, a low, mocking sound that sent icy shivers down my spine. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be writhing on the floor if you didn’t.”
The shadows deepened, the walls closing in as if reality itself was warping to ensnare me. A cold grip tightened around my soul, a force dragging me back into the abyss I had fought so hard to escape. An aching chill settled below my diaphragm, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My head spun again, his voice a soft whisper in the recesses of my mind. I miss you. I love you. I need you…
Don’t leave me.
Taehyung’s expression hardened into one of grim resignation. “You’re already bound to him. The bond is too strong.”
As I fought against the invisible chains tightening around me, the futility of my struggle became all too apparent. The darkness swallowed me whole, dragging me back into the depths I had desperately tried to escape.
“Please,” I whispered into the void, but the darkness consumed my plea. “Please, no.”
Hoseok’s voice filled the void, smooth and victorious. “Welcome home, darling.”
The last glimmers of light vanished, leaving me in an eternal night, a prisoner of my own choices and the dark forces that had ensnared me. My mind fractured under the weight of the consuming darkness, and as the final remnants of my resistance crumbled, I faced the harrowing truth.
There was no salvation. No escape. Only the endless, consuming dark.
And in that darkness, I was utterly, irrevocably alone.
I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in this suffocating darkness—hours, days, months, or maybe even years. Time has become an abstract concept here, slipping through my grasp like the thin veil of reality that separates me from the void. The only link to the world beyond this prison is Hoseok, a ghostly presence who appears with a gleam in his eyes that chills me to the bone. His voice, carrying the weight of a thousand tortured souls, always asks the same haunting question: How are you feeling?
We were never friends. Each passing day has sharpened my memories into a cruel clarity. I don’t know where my physical body is—doubtful it’s anywhere near this place. The ink and paper I use to write materialize out of nowhere whenever I need them, appearing and disappearing like phantoms in my disturbed mind. This place defies all logic and reason.
Initially, I fought Hoseok with every ounce of my being. Each refusal brought excruciating pain that felt like it would tear me apart. My screams echoed back at me from the oppressive void, unanswered and ignored. Hoseok would slip into the darkness with a silent, predatory grace, his hot hands roaming over my shivering body before I even knew he was there. I would scramble away, howling and begging him to take me home, but he always left without a word.
Eventually, I gave up the fight. I accepted that escape was impossible, even though my soul still ached for my old life. The pain eased only when I surrendered, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent. They were filled with idle chatter about his plans for me. I learned he was a demon, and I was destined to become one too. The possession would erase most of who I once was, but when I awoke, we would be forever linked as master and shade. My freedom would only come after I took my first human life, but that day seemed impossibly distant. Hoseok savored every bite of my soul with a mournful delight.
What I felt for Hoseok wasn’t love—it was an obsession, a malignant force that had seeped into every corner of my being. “A natural reaction of a shade to its master,” he said. I was bound to him, and escape was nothing but a cruel illusion.
The first signs of my unraveling appeared when Hoseok vanished for days on end. In the infinite darkness, where time had no meaning, his absence was a torment of its own. Despite his power to bend reality, he chose to leave me here, dependent on his presence for any sign of change. I began talking to myself, my voice the only sound in the oppressive silence. I spoke for hours, my throat raw and hoarse from the effort, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching madness.
I felt like an addict in withdrawal. I don’t recall when hallucinations began, but soon I was conversing with a phantom chorus of voices. Deep down, I knew it was Hoseok orchestrating these illusions, but my fractured mind twisted reality into something I could barely comprehend. My hatred for him only served to cloud my already distorted perception.
As time dragged on, I grew weary. My speech turned into riddles, convinced I was a prophet receiving divine revelations. Raised Catholic, I had long drifted from faith, but the darkness reignited an obsession with God. I clung desperately to fragmented Bible verses. Hoseok, ever the manipulator, provided me with a Bible. If I weren’t so far gone, I might have questioned his uncanny ability to fulfill my twisted needs.
When I told Hoseok about my religious background, he laughed, and the darkness morphed into a cathedral. For the first time, there was something tangible to focus on during his absences. It was both a prison and a gift. The pews were filled with spectral congregants, and every day became Sunday. I feverishly wrote sermons, warning of the apocalypse. Hoseok attended with a devotion bordering on reverence, but he always left too soon.
The withdrawal pangs paralyzed me, but incessant talking kept the crushing loneliness at bay. I remember the first encounter after becoming accustomed to this madness. My body trembled with need, yet my mind remained alert. Each denial of release brought physical agony, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent and prolonged. My breakdown was inevitable.
On the day of my final descent, I felt his presence before I saw him. My struggle had reached its nadir. Despite my lingering hope for escape, Hoseok’s presence shattered my resolve. I became an all-too-willing participant in his dark designs. Even now, as I lie prostrate in my despair, I can’t escape the haunting reality of my existence.
The words of the prayer rolled off my tongue like a ghostly murmur in the dim, solemn church. Each syllable was a desperate plea, a sacrament of my crumbling faith:
“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.”
“Body of Christ, save me.”
“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”
This prayer was a twisted sacrament, a litany of sacred pleas that felt increasingly like cries into the void.
“Water from Christ’s side, wash me.”
“Passion of Christ, strengthen me.”
“O good Jesus, hear me.”
I bowed my head, eyes squeezed shut like a child hiding from monsters under the bed. My hands gripped tightly in a futile attempt to hold onto my sanity. I prayed not just for absolution but for a distraction, for him to stay away, for the sinful thoughts to dissipate like smoke in the sun.
“Y/N,” a voice whispered, spectral and insistent, urging me to rise, to accept, to finally bend to its will.
Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the pulpit, my legs trembling. I focused on the Gospel before me, the rhythm of my breath, the rehearsed words of today’s homily. I could hear murmurs of anticipation swelling in the pews, bouncing off the stone walls like echoes of forgotten promises.
Did they know? Did they sense the darkness creeping into my soul?
To be honest, I was unsure if anyone was really there or if my mind was playing tricks on me. This place had a maddening ability to distort my perception. I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, offering a fleeting smile to the choir’s children—figments of my fractured mind. Their eyes, hungry for guidance, believed in my wisdom, though I felt utterly unworthy. Their gaze was a reflection of my own inner torment.
My eyes locked on a figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, as I beheld him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—an irreverent defiance slicing through the sanctity of the church. His gaze was a burning, unholy fire that cut through the darkness with unnerving clarity.
In that moment, the last vestiges of my sanity crumbled, leaving me exposed to the consuming darkness that had become my prison.
I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, and offered a fleeting smile to the choir’s children, who I no longer believed were real. My gaze wandered over the congregation, each face a testament to a faith I felt unworthy of. Their eyes, brimming with expectation, seemed to pierce through me, demanding guidance I could no longer provide. I questioned my own sanity, wondering if anyone in that room could see how profoundly empty I felt.
I once had everything figured out. Before this… before him.
My eyes locked on a single figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat. There he was: jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—a casual defiance that sliced through the church’s sanctity like a blade. His legs were crossed, hands poised by his sides, eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn straight through my composure.
No holy book in his hands, no righteous smile on his lips—just an unspoken, rebellious challenge. His presence was a magnetism that pulled me toward a pit of temptation and sin. I forgot my sermon. I forgot the vows and promises etched into my soul. The solemn pledges made to men of faith and to God. Promises I had written daily to stave off the creeping insanity.
Those promises now felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by him. His eyes, his lips, his rebellious aura—an inferno of forbidden heat that ignited a longing I could no longer contain. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the searing image of him. Abs, legs, an all-consuming heat that seemed to draw me into its vortex.
When I opened my eyes again, the fire remained. A cough from the crowd jolted me back to the present. I tugged at my collar, the symbol of my childhood and a cruel gift from Hoseok. It used to offer comfort, a sign of belonging, but now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
The faces of the congregation were a sea of silent, unspoken questions. Their eyes bored into me, filled with unvoiced suspicions and judgments.
Shit.
My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the pulpit, trying to anchor myself amidst the spiraling chaos. The eyes of the congregation felt like spectral judgments, each one a reminder of my spiraling failure. Hoseok’s presence, fixed in my peripheral vision, was a constant, unsettling pull—a dark promise of chaos just beyond the edge of reason. It pressed heavily on my chest, a suffocating weight threatening to collapse my fragile sanity.
I forced my gaze back to the Gospel, attempting to focus on the familiar lines of scripture, hoping they would restore my fractured resolve. But the words on the page blurred and twisted, tangled in the storm raging inside my head. Each verse felt like wading through molasses, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mingling with the cold sweat already gathering at the base of my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to regain control, but the sound emerged as a strangled rasp.
The whispers grew louder, like rustling wings pressing against the walls of my sanity. My heart pounded like a funeral drum, each beat a reminder of my mounting desperation. I could almost hear the devil’s laughter, mocking my feeble attempts to maintain a façade of righteousness.
Hoseok’s gaze was unwavering, a predator’s gaze that seemed to sear through my composure. His movements were fluid, deliberate—like a hunter preparing to strike. My mind raced, desperately searching for an escape from this hellish vortex. I glanced at the crucifix behind me, its hollow eyes and outstretched arms now a pitifully inadequate shield against the encroaching darkness. The sacred symbol that once offered solace now seemed like a cruel joke, highlighting how far I had strayed from purity.
The murmurs of the congregation grew insistent, a chorus of impatient whispers that echoed like an unholy chant. The church, once a sanctuary, now closed in around me, its weight suffocating. I took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of my willpower. I forced myself to meet Hoseok’s gaze again, confronting the fiery rebellion in his eyes. He offered no sympathy, only a silent taunt that echoed my own guilt.
With a trembling hand, I reached for the microphone. My voice cracked as I began to speak, the words spilling out in a disjointed stream. I struggled to reclaim my authority, but with each passing moment, my grip on sanity slipped further. The congregation’s expressions shifted from curiosity to concern, then to alarm. Their faith faltered under the weight of my unraveling composure.
Hoseok’s gaze remained fixed, a dark star in a sea of light, drawing me inexorably towards his gravitational pull. My voice faltered, becoming increasingly erratic, reflecting the chaos within. The church fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the congregation’s uneasy shifting. I felt every eye on me, their silent judgment a palpable force.
My final words came out as a barely coherent murmur, a defeated whisper lost in the oppressive silence. I stumbled away from the pulpit, my mind a tempest of confusion and dread. As I retreated from the glaring scrutiny of the congregation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stumbling towards some dark, inevitable reckoning. Hoseok’s gaze followed me, a constant, unsettling presence as I fled the sanctuary.
I collapsed into the shadows behind the altar, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed through the oppressive silence of the church. The darkness around me felt like a living entity, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing, threatening to suffocate me. Hoseok's eyes lingered in my mind, their haunting intensity a constant reminder of the sin and torment that had become my existence. The certainty of my spiraling downfall felt inescapable, and every breath I took seemed to deepen my dread.
The pews had emptied in an instant, leaving the room cloaked in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded as I watched Hoseok move toward me. The man before me was no longer the mortal guise he had once worn; his true form emerged, dark and unnervingly compelling. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now burned with a shadowed hunger that quickened my pulse with a mix of terror and something I couldn’t quite name.
“Y/N.” His voice, soft and reverent, seemed to carry a sacramental weight that sent an icy shiver down my spine. There was a truth hidden in those syllables, a meaning only he understood. As his nearness intensified, confusion and fear danced across my features. His calm, deliberate hand cradled my cheek, the touch both tender and overwhelming. The heat of my skin seemed to beckon to him, an invitation that terrified and enthralled me simultaneously.
"You're so lovely," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that barely masked the wild intensity in his eyes. His touch guided me backward with a grace that felt almost otherworldly. The church seemed to dissolve around us, melting away into a space that was unsettlingly familiar—a fragment of my life from New York. The red brick of the two-story house brought a strange, bittersweet comfort, like a fragment of a life I had once known. It calmed my racing heart with its eerie familiarity. He led me to the front door, his touch both comforting and possessive.
The lock yielded effortlessly, and as we crossed the threshold, the gravity of the situation settled like a stone in my stomach. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with a menacing intimacy.
"So perfectly lovely," he murmured again as he closed the door behind us. I stumbled back, my nerves crackling with an unsettling energy. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something darker and more confusing. A part of me ached for normalcy, for escape, while another part was drawn to him with a desperate, confusing need. The line between terror and an inexplicable, forbidden desire blurred beyond recognition. I clung to the last shreds of my sanity, even as I felt myself unraveling under the weight of my own conflicted emotions.
"Why are we here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of breathlessness and an unspoken longing. My heart pounded with a confusing blend of fear and desire. It was as if clarity had returned to me for a fleeting moment, yet I was still tethered to the confusion Hoseok had woven into my days. His promises of relief had begun to erode the pain, even as they wrapped around me like a vice. I remembered the dreams he'd planted in my mind, their seductive whispers blurring my sense of reality.
"I thought you might feel more at ease here," he said softly, his tone smooth and soothing as he followed me through the cluttered living room. Each backward step I took seemed to draw him closer, his presence an inescapable shadow. "Do you like it?"
I hesitated, glancing around at the artifacts of my past—family photos, treasured mementos, relics of a life that now felt so distant. The room was a museum of a future slipping away from me, and Hoseok's eyes seemed intent on taking it all. "Yes, I do," I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. The room, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a stage for his dark play.
"I'd like a drink," I said, placing a hand over my racing heart. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, desperate to maintain some semblance of control. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of my old self. "Is there anything here? Surely you would... like one... as well."
Hoseok, having long since discarded any pretense of humanity, closed the distance between us with unsettling swiftness. His movements were almost too fluid, his presence too intense. His hands, warm and steady, framed my face with a possessive grace, his gaze fixed on the pulse in my neck, the rich, inviting blood beneath my skin.
"Oh, Y/N, my sweet, innocent little lamb." His voice, a velvety murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. His touch, trailing down to my neck, felt both magnetic and maddening. His eyes lingered on my flesh with a hunger that was almost palpable, a craving that seemed to consume him as much as it did me.
I trembled in his embrace, my conflicting desires mirrored in his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, my breath warm and trembling with a heady mix of fear and desire. His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes as he encircled my waist, his touch moving possessively lower, tracing the curve of my hips and thighs. The tension between fight and flight heightened the charged atmosphere, leaving me both desperate and disoriented.
His eyes traced the flush of my lips, a reflection of the flush between my legs. The scent of my arousal mingled with my anxious heartbeat, a call to the beast inside him. His senses seemed overwhelmed by the promise of my warmth, the floral sweetness of my skin, and the earthy musk of my desire.
"You don't want... a drink?" I stammered, struggling to grasp the situation, to find a shred of reason amid the chaos of my emotions.
"Oh yes, Y/N. I very much desire a... drink." His smile was amused, his lips hovering just above mine. The taste of his breath, mingling with his tantalizing scent, sparked a deep, primal hunger within me. I was alive with all these unfulfilled needs, caught between an overwhelming desire and a paralyzing fear.
I inhaled shakily, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. "What... would you like?" The question was a desperate plea for clarity, a tenuous grasp at the last vestiges of control in a world that had become a tumultuous blur of lust and dread.
A low laugh rumbled in Hoseok’s throat as he brushed his lips over mine, savoring the teasing trace of my flavor. "I want you, Y/N. I want to drink you." His honesty was laced with a raw, consuming need, a plea that mirrored the chaotic mix of longing and fear surging through me. It was clear he had no intention of letting me escape—not now. His tongue traced the corners of my mouth, and his body pressed against mine, making his heat seep through every layer of fabric that separated us.
I trembled, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. The scents of my home—the cheap cotton sheets, synthetic pillows, and lingering traces of my perfume—led him with a haunting familiarity. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me with a purposeful stride, and placed me gently at the foot of my bed. The moonlight offered only a weak shield against the encroaching darkness that seemed to swallow us whole.
My heart raced, feeling like a delicate butterfly trapped in a predatory web. As he dropped his coat to the floor and drew me into a deep kiss, my earlier uncertainty dissolved into a raw, electric need. Each touch of his fingers against my body made me shiver, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tightly within me.
The bed was unmade, its disarray a silent testament to my disordered state. His scent lingered in the tangled sheets and blankets as he lowered me onto them. My sweat-dampened palms gripped his hair, my fingers exploring the nape of his neck and shoulders. The buttons on his shirt came undone beneath my trembling hands, my desire growing bolder despite the icy grip of fear that clenched at my chest. His groan as his teeth grazed my throat made me arch my hips, pressing closer, driven by a need I couldn't fully understand.
My clothes fell away under his hands, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His eyes devoured every curve of my body, his gaze as palpable as his touch. His mouth descended on mine, hungry and insatiable, and I was enveloped by him, lost in a swirling tempest of our shared desire. His touch became a language, one that read my body with an intimate knowledge I was helpless to resist.
As he explored my secret places, my soft sighs turned into desperate pleas. His searing touch brought goosebumps to my skin, but I pressed closer, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving me. I was caught between wanting more and the creeping dread of losing myself entirely.
"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a dark promise. "I want to consume you." His words were a growl, a warning wrapped in seductive desire.
"Yes, I want you to. Do it. Take me," I panted, clutching at his shirt sleeve. My body spoke louder than words, arching upwards in desperate need. I knew I didn't fully understand what I was asking for, but the awareness was drowned out by the intensity of my longing.
His hands covered my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples. I gasped, pushing closer as his mouth found each tip, his low growl sending shivers through me. My heart raced beneath his lips, the rush of blood whispering of more delights to come. I arched again, my body twisting off the bed, craving more.
His mouth sucked at my nipple, his tongue flicking to heighten my pleasure. His thigh pressed between mine, the fabric of his jeans rasping over my nakedness, igniting a desperate heat. I moaned and bucked against him, my fingers digging into his arms as I convulsed beneath him, reaching the peak of my desire. The exhilaration of the moment was punctuated by the fear that clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a persistent reminder that I was teetering on the brink of something both irresistible and terrifying.
The climax left me gasping, trembling, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and overwhelming need. Each wave of pleasure only heightened my fear, and my body’s reaction seemed to betray my mind's desperate protests. His touch, relentless and insistent, found a rhythm that both seduced and terrified me. I cried out, unable to stop the sounds that escaped my lips, but a part of me wanted to resist.
I tried to pull away, my hand grasping his wrist with a frantic intensity. "What... what are you doing to me…?" My voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with a blend of confusion and fear.
He looked at me with a dark, hungry smile, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire. "Y/N, don’t lie to yourself," he said softly, his fingers curling in ways that made my body shudder. "You’re not overwhelmed. Your body is telling me you want this. You’re close to coming again. I can feel it."
My protests dissolved into incoherent moans as his touch stimulated a spot deep within me. The pleasure was a cruel paradox, blurring the line between ecstasy and dread. I could barely think, my mind clouded by the intensity of his actions.
"No, Hoseok, it’s too much," I whimpered, struggling to catch my breath. "I can’t..."
His mouth moved to mine, his lips teasing, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re a beautiful little liar," he murmured. "It’s not too much. You crave this. You know you do. Beg for it."
The force of his command broke through my haze of desire. "Please, Hoseok...," I gasped, my will crumbling under his dominance. My words felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t stop myself from begging. "Please, just... take me."
His satisfaction was palpable, a dangerous hunger in his eyes. His touch grew more urgent, driving me to the brink of madness. I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body’s response only seemed to draw him closer.
The moment of his thrust was jarring, a mix of pain and pleasure that overwhelmed me. My body reacted instinctively, my hips rising to meet him even as my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. The intense pleasure was intermingled with a profound fear, a dread of losing myself completely.
His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as though he were chasing an elusive climax. I was limp in his arms, my breathing ragged, torn between an unbearable desire and an escalating terror.
Despite my growing fear, I clung to him, my hands fumbling for some semblance of control. My kisses were desperate, seeking to anchor myself amidst the chaos. His touch was relentless, and every stroke seemed to heighten the conflict within me.
He pressed closer, his hands exploring with a possessive intensity. My body’s reactions were at odds with my thoughts, creating a tumultuous storm of sensation and fear. My mind raced, grappling with the realization of what was happening, but the pleasure was so consuming that it blurred the line between consent and coercion.
As the moment approached, I felt his breath on my neck, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seductive veneer. The final act was a blur, my fear mingling with an overwhelming rush of sensation.
I was a walking paradox—caught between heaven and hell, life and death, sin and redemption. His presence was a fiery furnace, consuming me with the heat of stolen life he had been deprived of for so long. My body clenched around him, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to drive him to the edge of his sanity. His pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that painted the world in a chaotic blaze of colors.
“Hoseok, please…” I whispered, my voice a fragile breath against the overpowering cacophony of sensations. I wasn’t sure if my plea was for him to stop or to continue, a desperate cry from a place deep within me that I couldn’t fully comprehend. My fear was a gnawing presence, clawing at the edges of my desire, but the confusion of what I wanted and what I was willing to accept blurred together.
His eyes were dark with a twisted satisfaction as he sensed the last of my climax and my blood draining from me. The thought of taking me to the brink of death both exhilarated and haunted him. His grip tightened, and with a guttural snarl, he pulled away from my neck, his fangs retracting with a mixture of frustration and reluctant restraint. The rush of his thirst roared inside him, but he forced himself to temper his need.
I was an indulgence he wouldn’t be denied again, a forbidden pleasure he was determined to claim. He gently laid me back on the disheveled sheets, my heartbeat weak and fluttering. He licked the last drops of blood from my skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Each touch was deliberate, sealing the wounds with a final, lingering caress—a practical necessity for a demon who wanted to savor every part of me.
“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low, dark promise that vibrated through my core. “You are mine, Y/N. From now until death claims you, until I claim you.” His breath was warm and heavy against my face. My eyelids fluttered, barely able to focus, but his words penetrated my haze. “If any other man dares to touch you, I will tear him apart. Remember this, my beautiful little lamb. Remember who you belong to.”
“Hoseok,” I murmured, my voice a faint echo of surrender. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my obedience and submission. He rose and slipped out of the room, leaving me tangled in sheets and blankets. From across the street, hidden in the shadows, he watched and listened, his gaze a persistent weight on my fragile state.
As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, it painted the room in a sickly, eerie glow. I lay amidst the tangled sheets, each twist revealing new bruises and bite marks—a grotesque map of the night’s events etched into my skin. The aftermath was a haunting blend of pleasure and torment, an unsettling reminder of what had transpired.
Hoseok’s presence lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to lift. The darkness he brought with him clung to the corners, an inescapable reminder of the nightmare I had just lived through. My mind, once a storm of fear and confusion, now spun in a twisted acceptance—a deranged serenity that felt as liberating as it was unsettling.
The door creaked open like the groan of an old house settling into its own despair. Hoseok reappeared, his eyes still gleaming with that predatory glow, but now softened by an unsettling tenderness. He moved towards me with a deliberate grace, each step imbued with a dark reverence that made my heart pound with a blend of fear and reluctant desire.
“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that slithered across the room. “Do you understand now? You are mine, every inch of you.”
I looked up at him, my smile a grotesque reflection of the twisted contentment that had taken root in me. It was not a smile of joy or freedom but a shadowy acknowledgment of a reality I could no longer escape. My old life had withered into obscurity, replaced by the suffocating reality Hoseok had imposed upon me.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips. “I belong to you.”
The truth of my submission felt like a heavy, warm blanket, pressing down on me with an oppressive weight. Despite the enormity of what I had given up—my freedom, my chance to reclaim any semblance of my old life—there was an undeniable satisfaction in surrendering wholly to him. The pain and loss had twisted into a perverse form of fulfillment, filling the void in my chest with a dark semblance of love.
Hoseok’s smile widened, a dark curve that spoke of unyielding possession. He reached out, his hand caressing my cheek with a gentleness that clashed violently with the ferocity of his claim. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with a palpable tension, as if the very walls bore witness to my surrender.
“You will never leave me,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine with an unbreakable determination. “You are mine, forever.”
I nodded, the movement small and almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a surrender, a relinquishment of my will to the dark force that was Hoseok. He pulled me into his arms, and I felt my resolve melt away, my body becoming a canvas for his power, intermingling with the strange warmth of our shared connection.
As his darkness enveloped me, I felt a disturbing sense of belonging. In the shadows of the night, under his control, my fears and desires tangled together, creating a new reality that was both terrifying and intoxicating. In that moment, I understood there was no turning back. I was his, bound in body and soul by the twisted threads of fate and desire.
Hoseok’s eyes softened as he pulled me close, his cold skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own body. His embrace was a strange sanctuary, a place where I felt both ensnared and cherished. My mind, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, had slipped into a state of blissful madness. In Hoseok’s dark embrace, I discovered a twisted joy that defied all rational thought.
“I’ve given you everything,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “We are bound now, Y/N. Forever.”
His words were a chilling promise that resonated through the marrow of my bones, a haunting echo that left me trembling uncontrollably. I clung to him, my grip a mix of desperate need and profound terror, as a disturbing form of happiness took root in the darkest corners of my mind. The loss of my old life, the sacrifice of everything I had once held dear, seemed like a fevered dream compared to the unsettling contentment I felt in his arms.
As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed, I looked at Hoseok with a gaze that was both adoring and disturbingly fractured. The vibrant world I had once known had dissolved into a distant memory, replaced by a nightmarish existence defined by the twisted love and passion we shared. My heart swelled with a love so profound it overshadowed any lingering regret, even as my mind spiraled further into chaos.
Hoseok’s final words were a chilling promise wrapped in disturbing tenderness. “Remember, Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a ghostly caress in the dim light. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.”
As the door creaked shut behind him, the morning light seeping in like a reluctant witness, I was left enveloped in the oppressive embrace of the darkness we had forged together. My smile, twisted and unnatural, reflected the bizarre, unsettling happiness I had found in the abyss. I was forever bound to the night, my soul tangled in the shadows of Hoseok’s dark desires.
The room seemed to breathe with the remnants of his presence, each corner cloaked in an oppressive stillness that mirrored the void he had filled within me. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fragmented thoughts that raged in my mind. Now, there was only the echo of his words, the haunting promise of a future forever intertwined with his darkness.
I lay there, wrapped in the aftermath of our twisted union, my body marked by the evidence of his possession. Each bruise, each bite mark was a grotesque map of the new life I had been forced into. The pain was now a distant echo, overshadowed by the profound and disturbing contentment that gnawed at my chest—a contentment born of both surrender and madness.
As the minutes ticked by and the morning light grew stronger, I found myself replaying his final words in my mind, my thoughts fracturing with each repetition. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.” The truth of those words reverberated through me like a haunting mantra, a binding contract signed with my very essence, even as my grip on reality slipped further away.
There was no turning back, no reclaiming the life I had once known. I was irrevocably his, a willing participant in the dark dance we had begun. The thought brought a grotesque smile to my lips, a smile that spoke of a happiness found in the shadows, a contentment born of surrender and madness.
At least, I wanted to believe it was madness alone that made me forget how afraid I was.
October 31, 2024
The house had become an enigmatic beast, its former guise of normalcy utterly transformed. From the street, it looked like any other home—silent and shadowy against the midnight sky. But within its walls, it was something else entirely. The shutters were clamped shut, keeping out any unwelcome glimmers of daylight. The curtains, heavy with dust, obscured the outside world, making everything inside a surreal, dreamlike blur.
Within this labyrinth of darkness, the house seemed like a twisted echo of a familiar nightmare. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old incense and stale dreams, creating a heavy, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Flickering candlelight cast eerie, jittery shadows that danced and twisted, as if mocking my attempts at normalcy. Silence pressed down on me, almost alive in its oppressive weight.
Days blurred into one another, each indistinguishable from the next in a fog of disorientation. Hoseok’s routines had become my own, though I couldn’t quite remember how or when they had taken over. My existence revolved around small tasks—cooking, cleaning, and performing acts of devotion—that had evolved into a kind of ritualistic pattern. It was as though each action was a silent offering to the enigmatic darkness that had enveloped our lives.
When I glanced in the mirror, the person staring back was a ghostly apparition of my former self. My face, serene to the point of being unsettling, bore a look of eerie contentment. I was a wraith, drifting through my days with a confusing mix of dread and satisfaction.
As night fell, the house came alive with an almost palpable energy. Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming, filling the space with his dark, commanding aura. His arrival was always marked by the ritualistic locking of doors, a subtle reminder of his control. The sensations of pleasure and pain that accompanied his touch had become a surreal symphony, a haunting reminder of the path I had chosen.
One particularly cold night, as the moonlight filtered through the grime-covered windows, Hoseok and I stood together, looking out into the void. The world outside was a distant blur, an irrelevant expanse that felt disconnected from my reality. The sky stretched above us, a vast, unyielding black, reflecting the emptiness of my existence. We were bound together by something primal and deep, though its true nature remained elusive.
Time inside these walls seemed to warp and distort. The house, once a symbol of normalcy, had turned into a crypt of our peculiar existence. The outside world had faded into obscurity, replaced by the certainty of Hoseok’s presence. I had found a strange form of happiness in this eternal night, where the terror of the outside world had been replaced by the dark, enveloping comfort of Hoseok’s embrace.
As I settled into my favorite worn leather chair, the house seemed to pulse with anticipation for Hoseok’s return. My knitting supplies were spread around me, with a scarf for Hoseok in progress. I hummed softly, my heart beating with a sense of calm and eager expectancy, as if I were awaiting a beloved dream to resume.
I replayed our last conversation in my mind, Hoseok’s words lingering like a haunting melody. “An old friend is coming for a visit,” he’d said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “She’s good at dealing with werewolves.”
I couldn’t suppress a bubbling laugh, the sound rising unbidden. “Isn’t she the one Namjoon’s obsessed with?”
His kiss on my temple had been darkly tender, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Clever girl. It will be fun.”
I teased him playfully. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”
His laughter resonated through me, sending a thrill down my spine. “When have I ever been nice, lamb?”
“Nice to me,” I’d replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Very, very nice.”
Settling back into the leather chair, the hearth’s flickering light casting long, shifting shadows, I resumed my knitting with a serene focus. Each stitch felt like a small act of devotion, a testament to my growing obsession. I hummed softly, my heart a silent witness to the peace I had found in this twisted, eternal night. The lines between fear and love, sanity and madness, had merged into a strange, intoxicating tapestry that I no longer fully understood.
Hoseok said I was perfect. His praise was a balm to my disoriented soul.
I smiled, pushing away any lingering doubts about my sanity. I was fine. I was perfect.
Pager Codes:
110 307 - Go To Bar
209 - On My Way
08 - OK
420 - You’re in trouble
3011 - Be Careful
221 - Where are you?
419 - I don’t understand
100 - Come Back
© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.
#bts fanfiction#bts#bts fanfic#bts x reader#jung hoseok#bts fic#bts fanfction#bts smut#bts demon au#bts x y/n#bts x you#bts x fem!reader#taehyung x reader#hoseok x reader#hoseok x y/n#hoseok x you#kim taehyung#taehyung fanfic#hoseok smut#hoseok fanfic#hoseok scenarios#hoseok demon#taehyung vampire#bts vampire au#bts supernatural au#bts scenarios#hoseok fanfiction#bts yandere#yandere hoseok#doctor reader
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Is that Jessie fic getting a 3rd part? I want to see them reunite 🥺
I wrote this in my study I:
ALSO: I changed the club that y/n moved to because I was told Gotham wasn't near Portland and then I felt stupid but I'm not that familiar with NWSL
the set up j.f
plot: Your teammate is giving you a hard time about Jessie
warnings: angst part 3 of hey there
You had finally settled into your new home and had made your debut for Seattle Reign FC.
You had made some new friends and even kept in contact with almost all of the girls from Chelsea, Christine had come over every now and then to make sure you were okay but in reality there was only ever one girl that you wanted to see.
Jessie.
You hated yourself for it.
You were the one who broke her heart, you were the one to tear your relationship apart.
She has every right to ignore you.
But it still hurts when you would see each other in public and she wouldn’t even say hi.
But today was different. Today Seattle Reign would vs Portland Thorns and as both you and Jessie were midfielders you knew there would have to be some sort of altercation between you two.
Lauren Barnes, a friend you had made since your move was waving her hand in front of your face, trying to gain attention as you sipped on your hot chocolate. “Earth to y/n” she sang out and you looked up at her “Sorry?” you asked
“I said are you worried about the game but I think I already got my answer” she smirked “Oh” you shrugged “I guess”.
“So it’s true then,” Lauren said, leaning closer to you “What is?” you asked
“That you and Jessie dated before she moved to Portland”
You rolled your eyes at her eagerness “Yes we did Lozza, now go off and pester someone else” you whined, and the girl shook her head “Why’d you break up?” she asked “Because she was going to Portland and I thought my forever home was London” you told her “but you’re back here” she pointed out “I am” you nodded “So…” she trailed off “So?” you asked.
“So get back together!” she whisper yelled and you flinched away “Jesus Lauren” you whisper yelled back and she backed away sheepishly “Sorry”.
The girl didn’t stop making comments about the Canadian to you on the bus and in the changing room as you all got ready.
“You are not helping me,” you told the girl as you laced up your boots.
“I’m being honest I saw her looking at you when we were all checking out the pitch” she excitedly told you “No she wasn’t” you denied “She was! It was like you guys were playing tennis, every time you looked away she was looking at you and every time you looked at her she was looking away!”
“Do you mind focussing on the game?”
“Nope”.
You rolled your eyes in defeat and shrugged off your jacket “let’s go games about to start” you huffed and walked away.
Christine saw you walk out with a scowl as she was also planning to get an early start on the line-up.
“Kiddo what’s up?” she exclaimed and grabbed your shoulders, you turned your head towards her “Just a bad day,” you told her “Was it Lauren teasing you?” she asked and you shot your head up “How Did you-“ “I may have asked her to ask about Jessie to you” she admitted and you stepped back “why?”
“Because I have been pestering Jessie”
“Well stop,” you told her “Me and Jessie broke up a year ago” you started, not hearing the boots that were walking behind you “It’s been a year and I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants” you ranted.
Jessie has always been an early bird, to everything. It usually gave her peace and quiet but when she decided to join Christine at the line-up she definitely wasn’t expecting to see you waving your hands around whilst complaining.
“I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants?”
Your words were clean off your tongue and Jessie stepped away and hid behind the corner.
Ask her out again.
But you didn’t love her.
At least that’s what you told her.
“I’m sorry” you apologized to Christine and hugged her, sighing in relief when she smoothed her hands over your back “Freshen up kid, I’ll see you on the field”.
You walked away, thankfully to the front so Jessie didn’t have to worry about you but as soon as you were out of sight Jessie stepped to Christine.
“Why are you meddling?” she asked the older Canadian who was shocked to see her “Jessie-“ “She told me she didn’t love me and I moved states, I thought I was over her” she gritted her teeth “god” she cursed “you guys can at least talk about it,” Christine said and Jessie scoffed “she might have something that you’ll want to hear,” the older woman said softly “like what, how much she didn’t love for those two years of us dating”
“Jessie” Christine tried to reason but the girl back away “I’ll come when Janine does” she said and walked back to the room, opposite of where you had gone.
Christine watched her walk away and lifted her arms in surrender.
“Fucking kids”.
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The State of Maine Has Chosen a Final Design!!
This is the new design of the Maine state flag that will be voted on by the public in November!
Personally, I feel that this design will be spectacular flying across a state that has become a second home to me as I've been living in the Portland area for work this summer. I can safely say that if I was registered to vote in Maine I'd be thrilled to have this as my official state flag. I only hope it passes this coming fall. It's been interesting seeing all of the various 'pine tree flag' designs that several members of the community had made. While I didn't see all of the submissions, just this specific design being worked on, I'm told that many of the submissions will be made public for viewing.
I'm not the biggest fan of the fact that the green is two-toned, an opinion I held in the final drafting meeting, but I believe that it may grow on me. It's a nice touch that will be visible up close and look nice on TV broadcasts while not being distracting from a distance. And from a distance you'll still be able to tell that it's a green eastern pine tree. I like the asymmetrical tree, it’ll stand out a lot. The background color, which is called ‘buff’ is also distinct and should look great at a distance.
The design prompt was to base the modern flag on the 1901 pine tree design. And the panel of Maine judges went through a lot and I mean a lot of design configurations for the pine tree. They were happy with this one, the Maine Secretary of State was happy with this one, and NAVA was happy with it after we redesigned the tree several times.
I'm excited to say that I was a (very small) part in the final drafting process this past Sunday (Aug. 4, 2024) with the designers and more experienced NAVA members. In attendance was our amazing Secretary Ted Kaye, and the Maine Secretary of State: honorable Shenna Bellows, and the designer Adam Lemire, among other vexilographers. I'm happy I can finally talk about this publicly, even a day not talking about it drove me crazy.
As I was present for the final drafting meeting, for any interested in more details can send me an ask or reblog and I'll respond as best I can. I won't have all the answers seeing as I'm not exactly the most senior member of NAVA, but also consider this as a general blog AMA.
I can't wait to welcome a new changed state flag later in 2024! Have a great day y'all! (Just realized this is two posts in less than a week, NEW RECORD!)
#vexillography#vexillology#flag design#flag#flags#new flag#flag change#flag news#state flags#state flag chage#maine#maine flag#pine tree#pine treeeeeeee#pine treee pine tree pine treeeeeeeee
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Are you a happy or unhappy person and why???
this is such a mysterious query. who are you and why are you asking......
honestly i reject the premise of this question. there's no such thing as a "happy person" or "unhappy person." emotions are transient, not definitive.
sometimes i am happy and sometimes i am unhappy. most days i'm an odd mix of the two. my car finally died for good so now i'm financially ruined and have to deal with the stress of shopping for a new one, and figuring out loans and money and all that, when my bank account is currently overdrafted over $80 for car insurance i no longer need, bc i didn't cancel the policy soon enough, because i got stressed enough that i stopped functioning at all for several days.
this has all made me fairly unhappy.
and yet!
that post about how you can customize your life like a video game by making decisions as they come to you has been charming me for days. five years ago i packed all my shit in a uhaul and moved 3300 miles to oregon without ever having visited before. i found far more of a home here than anywhere i grew up. i weathered the pandemic inside with my polycule, which is made up of people i hand-picked to love, bc i prioritized the choices that would make me happiest. i'm slowly broadening my friend group here. i didn't die last year when i might have & i can walk and breathe now. portland's climate is home to more roses than almost anywhere else in the world, so many of my neighbors have blooming rose bushes in seemingly impossible color configurations. an app on my phone tells me which birds are singing in the trees. there's an iraqi restaurant near me with food so good i've been having it every time my chronic illness acts up. my weighted blanket is warm and my partners are kind.
so. i am also very happy. despite the unhappiness. i have a good life and i don't want to die.
people aren't inherently happy or unhappy. everything's environmental, bitch, let's get you some fruit!
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I can't belive it's been a year.
It's been an entire year since I woke up to the awful news that my favorite show ever had been canceled after only one season, eight episodes of pure mystery, action, tension and comfort. And entire year since I texted my friend in tears and spent the whole morning mourning the loss of a treasure I had only just begun to know. An entire year since they said this show wasn't good enough, and we said yes.
It.
Is.
We have accomplished so much in just one year. The campaigns and the petitions and cons yes, but also all the new fans, new family members, and new memories made within our shared home of 35 Portland Row. I've never been so fond of and so proud to be in a fandom than in this one. We're not perfect, sometimes we slip up or go too far or receded into ourselves a little too far. But that's just proof that we're human, and being human is a truly wonderful thing.
I'm so glad I could find this family when I did and that you've stayed with me as I moved across the world and seen it shatter into a million pieces. Wouldn't be the same person without Lockwood and Lucy and Geroge and Flo and Holly and Kipps and the Skull and all of you.
So an enormous, mountain full of thank yous to the wonderful Jonathan Stroud for first creating this world we all hold so dear, and then thank you to everyone at Complete Fiction for bringing those words into form and light. And finally thank you to all of LockNation. You've made this year since the cancelation not only bearable, but fun. Joyous, even in times of grief and hopelessness and stagnation. You have always been there, and I thank you so much for that. You are the world to me.
Let's keep being just reckless enough together 💙🖤🧡
#save lockwood and co#bring back lockwood and co#locknation appreciation#locknation#lockwood and co#Lockwood & co#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#george karim#george cubbins#Holly munro#quill kipps#flo bones#renew lockwood and co#portland row is my home#And I will never leave it#Just reckless enough
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Matt Casey x reader
What if Casey is dating Andy Dardens little sister who comes back to Chicago to replace gabby Dawson when she left Chicago.
Y/n had to leave Chicago to take care of her two nephews Griffin and Ben. She and Casey decided to have a long distance relationship but he visit his girlfriend as much as he can do.
It is the Stellaride wedding and y/n are coming back to Chicago to be there for her best friend and for Severide who is like a brother to her. Y/n has some news for everyone that she tells them about before the wedding.
Y/n is moving back to Chicago with her two nephews and she can finally take care of them in there home city.
Casey is gonna propose to his girlfriend in the evening of the wedding when they are alone. But there is one problem.
Gabby shows up at the firehouse the day before the wedding. Casey doesn’t care that his ex wife is in town and that she will be at the wedding.
But y/n feels uncomfortable when gabby is in Chicago seven if they used to be best friends and partners on Ambo 61 before Leslie Shay started at firehouse 51.
Y/n are best friend with Sylvie Brett and they where partners on Ambo 61 before she moved to Portland.
Based on last episode of season 10 and the first episode of season 11
Matt Casey- Home Pt1
Things were obviously tuff after my brother Andy's death. Heather my sister in law got a DUI and ended up in prison for 15 months. During that time I looked after hers and my brothers kids, when she was released Heather took Griffin and Ben to live away in Florida. She suddenly stoped phoning me and anytime I would phone her I was cut off. Eventually I was blocked. This was heard on me because all I wanted was to speak to my nephews. Matt and Gabby got divorced then I started dating Matt.
Then one day Griffin appeared on mine and Matts doorstep telling us how his mom keeps moving him around and now is in prison again. Of course after a lengthy conversation Matt and I made the decision that I'd moved in with Griffin, Ben and Heather until I know that she can cope again.
I was gone for a long time, but Matt and I made it work doing long distance. He would also come and visit me any time he could, but it's tough. And unfortunately Heather kept getting into trouble, so Matt suggests that the kids just move in with him and I, that way Heather can sort herself out and the kids would have a stable environment. Plus with Gabby leaving I was offered to become PIC of ambo 61. I'm not just coming home because of that, it's also my best friend Kelly's wedding.
I walk into the fire house holding on to my nephews hands hoping to surprise everyone. Of course Matt and Kelly know I'm coming home, but they think my flight gets in later
"Geeze, thought I'd at least get some banners for my return"
"Babe?" Matt looks over a little shocked "thought I was picking you and the kids up later"
"Eh flight changed"
"No it didn't you said you wanted to surprise everyone"
"Thanks Ben"
"YN. It's good to have you back" Herrmann pulls me into a hug which is followed by everyone else
"YN thank you for coming back for the wedding"
"Well that's not the only reason I'm back" I say replying to Kelly
"Well don't leave us all waiting" Brett encourages
"Well I'm coming back permanently, Ben, Griffin and I. I'm gonna be the PIC of ambo 61 again"
"Yes!" Gallo fist bumps the air
"Bless our saviour"
"Oh thank god" Brett hugs me again
"What did I miss?" I chuckle
"The person who replaced you temporarily, well she's not the nicest"
"Emma just creates a lot of drama" Gallo replies for Capp
"She's been after the PIC job since you left"
"Oh well don't worry about her anymore. I'm back next shift"
"Perfect" Brett once again hugs me tight
"Right we best get you guys fed. You hungry?" Kelly asks me and the kids
"I'm starving" I reply chuckling. The kids follow Kelly to the kitchen while I get stopped by my very handsome boyfriend
"Hey"
"Hi" I smile up at him "don't be to mad at me for trying to surprise you"
"Just glad your here and staying" he places his hands on either side of my face and presses a kiss against my lips
"Oh Errm sorry to interrupt" we break apart and see Emma "was just coming to collect my things"
"No hard feelings right?"
"No course not" she smiles but I can see how fake it is
"Come on let's grab something to eat" Matt wraps his arm around my shoulders and we head to the kitchen
"If we had known you were coming back we would have made a nice spread"
"It's ok. Don't worry about it"
"Engine 51, Truck 81, Squad 3 , ambo 61. Structure fire 336 Arlington"
"I'll see you guys later. Matt I'll see you at home"
"Home. I like the sound of that" I give him a peck before he shoots off
"Ok let's get you guys home hey?"
On the way home the taxi driver starts to drive passed where the fire. I notice Emma outside getting shouted at, but no Matt, Stella or Sylvie
"Hey can you stop a minute?" I ask and get out
"Hey. Boden things ok? Where's Brett?"
"Inside. Woman's giving birth and Jacobs left her"
"Chief send me in?"
"What. You don't start till...."
"I know but if someone's giving birth up there Brett's gonna need help, please?"
"Ok go"
"Ok boys I want you to stand over there with Chief Boden. Ok don't leave his side"
"Ok" the boys leave the car while I run into the burning building
"Brett? Kidd? Casey?" I shout running up some stairs
"YN?" I hear Brett yell and follow her voice
"Holy shit" I notice the room on fire
"She's crowning" Brett tells me "YN give me the bulb suction" I hand her what she needs while I tend to her wound on her shoulder "ok big push" Brett says. Thankfully we hear crying from the baby
"Ok Kidd Casey carry her out. Brett you got the baby?"
"Yeah"
"Ok when we have them in the ambo I want to put oxygen on the baby just in case as well as the mother. Let's go" I grab the bag and follow the others out. When we get outside to safety I hear Emma getting told to clean out her locker
"Welcome home YN" Brett smiles giving me a side hug once the baby was in the ambo having oxygen thanks to other paramedics that just arrived.
We arrive back at the firehouse, everyone excited for my return when I see Gabby. My old best friend
"Hey" she smiles and Matt and I
"Hi Gabby"
"Well this is awkward" Mouch mumbles earning a nudge from Gallo
"I'm not here to cause drama. Just here for the wedding"
"Errm it's good to see you Gabby. Matt I'm gonna take the kids home. I'll see you later" I give him a kiss and leave the firehouse feeling a little uncomfortable about Matts ex being here. Yes we were once friends and yes ok I'm the bitch that dated her best friends ex husband, but doesn't mean that I'm not a little worried.
#one chicago imagine#one chicago#chicago fire#chicago fire imagine#matt casey x oc#matt casey imagine#matt casey x reader#matt casey#Matt casey x wife
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The Invisible Man, Ch. 20 - At The House in Great Portland Street
The whole beginning section of this chapter is really just emphasizing what little attachments Griffin has left before he ultimately turns himself invisible.
"My mind was still on this research, and I did not lift a finger to save his character. I remember the funeral, the cheap hearse, the scant ceremony, the windy frost-bitten hillside, and the old college friend of his who read the service over him—a shabby, black, bent old man with a snivelling cold."
For one, his father's dead, not that Griffin seems to have cared about him anyways. He doesn't say any words nor does he put much care into organizing anything. The funeral is described as "cheap" and "scant," presumably because Griffin wasn't going to spend a majority of his new found money on his own research.
"I remember walking back to the empty house, through the place that had once been a village and was now patched and tinkered by the jerry builders into the ugly likeness of a town. Every way the roads ran out at last into the desecrated fields and ended in rubble heaps and rank wet weeds. I remember myself as a gaunt black figure, going along the slippery, shiny pavement, and the strange sense of detachment I felt from the squalid respectability, the sordid commercialism of the place."
Second, the village Griffin once recognized has been turned into the "ugly likeness of a town" by "jerry builders," people who apparently built cheap homes of poor quality for quick profits. I like the visual description of Griffin as a black figure on shiny pavement to highlight how much he doesn't fit into this new area.
“But going along the High Street, my old life came back to me for a space, for I met the girl I had known ten years since. Our eyes met." "Something moved me to turn back and talk to her. She was a very ordinary person."
I've always been curious by this seemingly ordinary girl Griffin once knew. It seems like the last gasp of Griffin's "old life," the very last thing that might make him feel something for the world around him. The fact he is the one who tries to talk to her makes me think Griffin also understands this a bit. Instead though, he just finds nothing.
"It was all like a dream, that visit to the old places. I did not feel then that I was lonely, that I had come out from the world into a desolate place. I appreciated my loss of sympathy, but I put it down to the general inanity of things. Re-entering my room seemed like the recovery of reality. There were the things I knew and loved. There stood the apparatus, the experiments arranged and waiting. And now there was scarcely a difficulty left, beyond the planning of details."
And finally Griffin enters the small world he does care about, with its experiments and apparatus. I love that one of the few things which brings Griffin joy is all the science and study and experimentation he does.
I don't have much else to say about the rest of this chapter that other people haven't already said, so here are some random thoughts:
“For a moment he gaped. Then he gave a sort of inarticulate cry, dropped candle and writ together, and went blundering down the dark passage to the stairs. I shut the door, locked it, and went to the looking-glass. Then I understood his terror.... My face was white—like white stone."
I don't really understand Griffin's reaction here because if he's an albino shouldn't that mean his face is already very white? I'm assuming that his face is now somehow even more white, or his albinism was more partial and now it's complete.
"Then I slipped up again with a box of matches, fired my heap of paper and rubbish, put the chairs and bedding thereby, led the gas to the affair, by means of an india-rubber tube, and waving a farewell to the room left it for the last time.”
I like that Griffin physically waves farewell to his room before he commits arson against it. Not only is it kind of cute, it also shows how much he cares about both it and all the work he did while he lived there. This is also in contrast to the line earlier during his father's funeral, where he "did not lift a finger" whereas here he'll lift his whole hand.
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Modest Medusa 1297
Read Modest Medusa here! Support Modest Medusa on Patreon! Tip Modest Medusa on Ko-fi!
I'm finally back! The storm and ice we had here in Portland left me trapped at home for most of the last week. Thankfully it seems to be over, and I'm back at work today. I'm eager to get back to the story!
If you haven't had a chance, please check out my Kickstarter for the new edition of the Yeld TTRPG. This is a huge 350 page full color hardcover book featuring not just a complete roleplaying game designed by myself and my brother Nick but also comics, lore and art about the land of Yeld. There's so much information in this book that will answer all kind of questions you might have about the background of the world of Yeld and this comic. I think you'll really like it! You can check out the Kickstarter here.
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It's both the last day of Portland "false spring" but also actually the first day of spring. The rain comes back tomorrow, but I think it will be spring rain, which is different that winter rain here.
I finally got all of our irises divided. It really is my least favorite task. You are supposed to do it every 3 years, but I waited 4 this time. ugh. At least I don't have to worry about it for awhile.
So, the old veg beds are amended, the new veg beds are filled. The native plant bed is amended and I'm just waiting to see what survived the winter. Just about everything has been mulched. Some wildflower seeds are under some mulch in the larking strip, a few sweetpea seeds, Cascadia peas, and radishes have been planted. A few plants transplanted to new homes. That's about all we can do now. Just have clean up to do today and settle in for at least another month of rain.
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When I read the Marie Kondo book, I was struck by her remark that people who cannot keep their dwellings tidy have often lacked a strong sense of ownership in their lives, of their own places and possessions. This made perfect sense to me; I mean to some degree she's talking about people whose parents always cleaned up after them, which is certainly not my case, but it's definitely true that I have never had a well-developed sense of anything being mine. Even when I was little I was intensely aware that all material things were just breaking down and slipping through my fingers, and maybe I shouldn't get too attached to anything because the heartbreak would kill me. Also I never felt like a real authority in my own life, as if my only importance was relative to other people (specifically, whether I was annoying or inconveniencing or even disgusting someone like, say, my mother). Also the world simply seemed overwhelming and like a place where I would never have authorial power of any kind.
Keeping my room clean was a relentless and unresolved problem until I finally left home for college. In college (a place I really didn't belong) I was neat to the degree that I didn't want to offend my roommates, although I sometimes had roommates who were just as depressed and disorganized as I was, then I was really out of hand. When things got seriously bad for me mentally, I took a semester off in Portland, Maine. There I kept my room like a monk's cell, sweeping the floor every day, making my bed, and generally showing a lot of respect for my surroundings. I loved Portland and although I didn't live alone, it often felt like I did, and I also didn't have any real friends, which may have given me a rare feeling of sovereignty that resulted in my increased organization and cleanliness. When my family visited, they expressed so much astonishment at the state of things that it made me feel embarrassed and angry. It's not great to be told so emphatically that no one can even imagine you taking care of anything, and that it seems like some sort of absurd miracle when you do.
I was pretty messy again when I moved to New York City. Renting crummy apartments all the time doesn't really inspire feelings of respectful stewardship, although I did vacillate between extreme disorder and urgent cleaning episodes. I had never imagined myself in NYC, but I didn't know what else to do with myself besides move in with my dad for a while and try to figure things out. At least I hadn't gone home to my grimy, weird upstate home town, somewhere I never quite belonged; of course I'm marked deeply by the place just because I grew up there, but even among friends I could never really be myself without people assuming I was "just kidding" or something. Some people were very upset that I drifted off on my own, even years later, which I could find complimentary, but the message I got was that I must have thought I was too good for the town and everyone in it and so I went to "live my dreams" in the big city, which is really not a fair or accurate description of what happened to me at all. I never developed a feeling of patriotism for my home, and I also never felt patriotic about New York City; it was just easier for me to be there, at least in some dimensions.
A guy I'll call my ex-boyfriend for convenience, even though it's not a very good description of the relationship (one of my best friends in high school who I tried, disastrously, to date during college before we inevitably drifted apart), was always passionate about our home. I think when you have had a reasonably happy childhood and your teenage years were an exciting daily adventure, then it's easy to love where you grew up. I recently saw a Facebook post from him describing a big civic event (festival? with maybe a political angle?) with the most profound affection for all of the townsfolk, it was beautiful to see the place through his eyes for a moment even though I never experienced what he felt the whole time I lived there. On the other hand, I still keep in touch with one like-minded friend from high school, and although she also moved away she often sends me news items from our home about, like, bullies we used to know who became local politicians and are now in hot water for corruption, or like the major crisis that struck when a gigantic murder of crows came to roost and painted the entire town in bird shit for months on end (I actually don't even know whether this is over or not). Now THAT'S the place I know.
One day I was saying something to my father about my chronic sense of placelessness, and he said, "I know, you'd probably be happy just living in a bucket." I had repeated this to the ex-boyfriend, and he laughed out loud and made a physical gesture that suggested me coiled up in the bottom of a bucket like a snake, glaring up defensively. STAY OUT OF MY BUCKET! I just remembered this and repeated it to my husband, who also laughed out loud at the accuracy of this assessment. It's nice to feel understood, to know that multiple generations of men in my life automatically understand my bucket-dwelling quality.
My husband also moved to the city after school, and he is immensely proud of his many years in Brooklyn. He has a big map of the borough covering one thigh. He knows lots of different neighborhoods well, votes religiously, respects the older generations of our neighbors, cares what happens to the people here. I admire his depth of feeling, even though I can only relate to the part about respecting your surroundings and the people who were there first. The only time I was struck with a powerful sense of belonging was when we moved in together on the border of Red Hook, and began to explore that neighborhood. Red Hook is unusual because it is inaccessible by subway, which is surely part of why it has such a distinct personality. It's basically a tough, gritty little port town, shady and overgrown, with an extremely diverse population that intermingles working class families with rugged artist types. The first time I ever saw it, I was taking a bus at night to some other unfamiliar part of town, and I could see into the open doors of bars and restaurants on the main drag; it looked so beautiful to me, like some forgotten little burgh somewhere that could not possibly have been part of Brooklyn. I probably knew right then, more than a decade ago, that I wanted to live there. When my husband and I moved in next door (around ten years ago in April), I'll never forget the first day we decided to explore the place. We found ourselves sitting in a bar converted from an old bait shop (I once saw someone reach into the mouth of a mounted bass and pull out a cigarette; he explained that it was like a take-a-penny leave-a-penny community thing, and "You never know what brand you're gonna get!") that was covered from floor to ceiling in taxidermy and obscene tchotchkes. I remember sitting by the window staring out at the dusty main drag and passively thinking, "I'm home. I belong here." We eventually had our wedding reception there, having been given brilliant advice on where to have it by the owner of that same bar.
I know that part of the reason I like it so much is that it does actually remind me of my home town, which is extremely perverse of me. The grit, the pleasant shabbiness, the mix of blue collar stoicism and starving artist-ness. It's all so familiar, and sometimes you can become attached to things that are familiar even if they are not connected originally to happiness. They're part of what you know, what you're an expert of, what made you into yourself. I would never move back home (I just told my husband that if I had to for some dire reason I would immediately turn into a scary witch on the outskirts of town), I don't think it was a "great place to grow up" based on my own experience, but now that I have the distance I appreciate it in some way, a way I can only call "perverse". Apparently it has begun to turn into a chic, arty getaway for NYC expats, and every time I run into someone in the city who explains to me how "cool" the place is, I want to turn inside out. It's untrue! Becoming "cool" to those people is the least cool thing that could possibly happen to it! Suddenly I want to rush to its defense and shout down all these accusations of boho hepness. If you think that town is "cool" you're wrong, and you don't belong there, and you should STAY THE FUCK OUT. (I mean don't actually stay out, I'm sure you're great for the local economy, but you're still WRONG)
Anyway. Finally Red Hook is about to become my home for-real. Ever since we signed the lease, it has been calling to me, I want to go there every day even though I don't have anything to do and I'll soon be there all the time. I think I'll live pretty differently once I'm there, with my newfound feeling of ownership. Now I just have to figure out where I can get one of the bumper stickers that we saw the first time we visited, at the famous key lime pie place that was covered in signs and stickers featuring ornery slogans such as:
WELCOME TO RED HOOK
YOU MADE IT. NOW--GIT!
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The year that I was 32 I was happy. The year that I was 32 I was so happy that it made me nervous, I was so happy with my friends and my job and my art and my home and my hair that it circled back around to anxiety that I might lose any piece of it or things might (will, eventually) change. I continued my streak of making new friends, of learning new things, of getting new jobs, of being proud of myself.
The year that I was 32, my aunt and I became the only two women in our family to know what it's like to be 32 and childless, I texted her wonderingly and triumphantly. The year I was 32 I think I finally parented myself up to standard level, loved myself and forgave myself and protected myself enough for the 1.25 parents I didn't have.
The year that I was 32 flew by and I was so happy to be getting older. I felt the weight of the years not as a burden but as a foundation. I felt my understanding of myself deepen, as I felt my relationships deepen with their layers of time, with the sheer amount of happenings and words exchanged and things seen. I was sometimes still, but rarely, self-conscious about being older than my coworkers. The year that I was 32 I loved my coworkers so much, I wanted to tell them about things and hear their thoughts and get their opinions and soak up their expertise and their beautiful, beautiful self assurance.
The year that I was 32 Daniel and I went back to doing trivia, and I was relieved that he wasn't angry with me. I recognized a softening in him that I recognize in so many of us, the softening of experiences not turning out the way you thought they would, the new understanding.
The year that I was 32 I finally got to babysit Remy, got to shepherd him safely from daycare to sleep sack, check on him three times to make sure he was breathing in his crib, pull him into my lap when he hit his head and coo I know I know I know it doesn't feel good when we hit our head.
The year that I was 32 I kept getting both more and less forgiving. The understanding of how hard we're all trying, of how many things happen in a life; but likewise the how hard we're all trying and sometimes it's not enough, how many things happen in a life and sometimes they're someone's fault.
The year that I was 32 I didn't buy any makeup except some mascara refills. The year that I was 32 I got so beautiful again. I'm sorry to say it, but it bears acknowledging. I saw it in the mirror and I could see it in other people's faces sometimes, but unlike when I was younger, it felt like mine and not the world's. I got more sure of my artistic opinions, felt they were valid, felt like 'I didn't think it achieved its objectives' coming from me was a valuable critique.
The year that I was 32 I spent my going to Paris money on a studio space. I went to the ER again. I slept and slept and slept. I went to Scotland, the most beautiful place in the world that rearranged my insides in a way I may never be fully able to describe. I went to LA for two weeks and fell even more in love with Marie and Solomon and their life. I went to Tampa for 24 hours, i went to Portland for a week, I went to Delaware for a weekend, I went, still, back and forth between DC and New York so many times that I thought I'd go crazy.
The year that I was 32 I almost never cried, except occasionally when a TV show got me, when George Bailey was the richest man in Bedford Falls, when we listened to Let's Get Married by The Proclaimers in the car in the Columbia River Gorge and my mom was driving and my brother was in the backseat and we would see my sister soon and hike up to the waterfall where my grandpa's ashes are scattered. I couldn't stop smiling though, walking around Greenpoint in the sunset, smiling smiling smiling until sometimes I also cried.
The year that I was 32 I was so proud and so happy that I hoped I'd run into people I hadn't seen in years on the street so they could ask me what I'd been up to and I could tell them, beaming, the happiness coming through my every pore. I didn't run into anyone I hadn't seen in years. The year that I was 32 I was still myself, so so much, over and over, every day, and I began to really accept that.
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more jessie pls bby 🙏
in honour of more jflem news lets write some ANGST AHAHAHA
moving on j.f
plot: Jessie tells you she's leaving chelsea
warning angst
You could tell something was wrong with Jessie. She was spending more time on the phone which you assumed was her family as they missed her from the Christmas break but usually they would also ask to talk to you so when you texted her sister she said that they've only been texting.
You were getting slightly worried as your girlfriend wasn't telling you who was on the phone.
You were all at training, you were partnered with Niamh as you kicked the ball to each other. "You know how my last relationship went Niamh" you groaned and the English girl nodded "Jessie is not the type to cheat, she is so in love with you it's gross"
"Then why isn't she telling me who she's on the phone with 24/7?" you complained and the girl shrugged "Do you know what they talk about?" she asked and you shook your head "She always moves to another room in the house whenever they call" you explained.
Niamh furrowed her eyebrows "Have you ever thought that it could be her agent?" she asked softly as her eyes turned to Jessie who was talking to Emma on the sidelines.
"I- I don't know" you admitted as your heart started to beat faster "she would tell me if she wanted to move" you paused "wouldn't she?"
Niamh looked down at her feet "I mean she doesn't play as much as she used to" she said and your breaths felt quicker "but she would still tell me I mean I'm her girlfriend"
Niamh looked back at you, noticing your nerves, and walked to you, placing her hand on your shoulder "Hey we could be reading this wrong" she told you "she could just be calling her Canadian team mates" she tried to reassure you.
You both watched as Jessie excused herself from her and Emma's conversation to pick up her phone that had started ringing.
"Yeah because she can get out of training to call her teammates" you scoffed.
You were quick to get out of training, waiting at Jessie's car with your arms crossed and foot tapping whilst you thought.
You would be fine if she left Chelsea for more gametime, well maybe not Arsenal but it's what she deserved.
She had friends at Liverpool from UCLA they would look after her there.
but still... why didn't she tell you.
Jessie finally made her way to the car with a smile, her hair out and brushed back which usually you would run your hands through immediately.
"hey" she smiled, kissing your cheek before headig to the drivers seat, you froze as she sat down.
Was she this calm about keeping a secret from you.
You bit your tongue on the way home as the car filled with uncomfortable silence. It wasn't until Jessie parked when your short fuse had exploded.
"Are you leaving Chelsea?" you whispered as Jessie went to open the door, she stopped moving whilst you asked the question, leaning back into her seat with a sigh.
"I-I" she stuttered "You can just say yes Jess," you told her "People have been offering for me" she admits "Explains all the phone calls" You deadpanned.
"I wanted to tell you" she said softly and you scoffed "when?, when you played your first game there, I don't mind that your leaving to another club, it won't affect our relationship we're still going to be here and-"
"It's the Portland Thorns" Jessie cut you off.
Your head spun to your girlfriend "oh" was all you said.
Portland Thorns.... in the NWSL....in America....four hours away from you.
"How much?" you asked "what?" Jessie said "How much are they paying you?" you asked, your voice hard
"250,000 dollars" she whispered, her hands lifting up to grip the steering wheel harder.
You scoffed at the information "that's really good Jess" you whispered and the brunette nodded "I said no" she revealed and you furrowed your brows "why?" you asked
"I saw you at training with Niamh and-"
"This is because of me?" you asked, shocked at her words "I don't want to leave you y/n" she stated and you crossed your head "Jessie, this is an amazing opportunity for you and not to put it lightly you're not getting the time you deserve"
"If I work harder then-" "No Jessie you know that's not how Emma works" you cut the girl off as uncomfortable silence grew again in the car.
If it was for her career she had to do it, you loved her that much.
"You need to go and play there," you told her and she sat still "I love you y/n, I don't want to lose you, long-distance never lasts and we don't know how long I'll be there for if I go," she said.
You didn't say anything, you just got up and made your way into the house.
Her dream was to become a world wide name in soccer.
You were holding her back.
Jessie came in not too long after you, her hands in her hair "Do you want me to go?" she asked and you looked down, not answering her "I love you so much y/n I'll stay if you love me too, please be honest"
You wanted her to stay.
You wanted her to to be in your bed every night, cuddling you.
You sat still, preparing yourself to look into her eyes which you knew had tears pouring from them.
When you looked up your heart dropped.
"I don't" you whispered "I honestly don't love you enough Jessie," you said sternly as the girl looked away, as she did you wiped the tear that had fallen under one of your eyes.
"okay," she muttered, "I guess I'll go then".
Months later you sat next to Sam as she and Kristie invited you over for dinner and a movie.
"I never asked this but" Sam started "Jessie told me what happened and how you guys broke up" "Sam!" Kristie warned and you sighed "it's fine" you told her.
"I just told her what she needed to hear but I wasn't being honest with her".
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Personal vent
I just discovered my best friend did not know I have agoraphobia. "I just thought you were a home body with PTSD issues towards the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco".
But then she hasn't seen me since May '19 because life. I had been working hard on it from '10-'19 but the pandemic destroyed the majority of progress I made.
Now it isn't unusual to not go out the front door for 5 days or more. I'm back to not leaving my county (it's big so that's about a 35mile range) except for the very very rare occasion. The last was Sept '23 when I went to Portland for RCCC. I haven't been to San Francisco since at least '19. I love the city. I'm only about 45-60min away.
This came up because my friend wants me to visit her new house and dog. She moved to a small town in a southern state. A big thing with agoraphobia is worry of being unable to escape a situation. I don't drive. So while I love my friend and want to meet her dog that just won't be happening anytime soon.
I finally have an appointment with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. But that's only one piece that will hopefully help. I'm still working on the psychotherapist part. The last one I tried didn't really get agoraphobia. Her best advice was "ships aren't built to stay in the harbor".
I hate that logic has very little impact on how I feel trying to leave the house. I'm currently stressing because I need to leave the house to get supplies to make slime.
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After a week of driving, teaching and leading tours, I am finally home. After my time at the Sitka Center, I headed up to Portland for a tour Thursday morning, and then a mushroom class for the Vancouver Community Library in the evening. I wrapped up the time with the very first Snow Peak Way at the new Snow Peak Long Beach Campfield, almost literally in my back yard! It was an incredible experience; I got to teach four workshops, and spent the rest of the time enjoying some most excellent food (catered by Matta of Portland) and getting to hang out with some very cool people.
Yesterday was a catch-up day for work at home, and today I'm just doing a little clean-up of that before finally giving myself a couple of days off. It's been an especially busy time, but it's good to be busy with things I really enjoy.
#sunset#sky#skyscape#nature#trees#forest#conifers#nature photography#PNW#Pacific Northwest#Oregon#Washington
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I'm Gonna Ride This Plane Out of Your Life Again, I Wish That I Could Stay, But You Argue...
I woke up on Wednesday morning fairly early (as I usually do) and cleaned up the AirBnB apathetically. Sad and tired I just wanted to crawl back in bed but we had an early check out time (10:00 AM) so there was no chance of that. Le sigh.
It was a sad morning knowing that this was the last few hours but on the plus side we did find a nearby place to get some breakfast which was pretty good (we both had the Vegan Chorizo Hash). The staff at the restaurant seemed so nice and friendly I felt bad that there were no other customers (save for a Door Dasher who was complaining about the wait for the food). If you're ever looking for breakfast in the Montrose neighborhood of Chicago maybe hit up Breakfast House.
On the way to the train we saw a heart under the overpass which appeared to be made of smeared human feces and if that doesn't make you feel loved by a city I just don't know what does!
The long train ride to O'Hare was spent with me mostly weeping "I'd cry too if I had to go back to Portland." The Funny Bunny said. I was at least looking forward to getting back to Alzee and the cats (a life with no cats?? Who needs it?)... but I started ugly crying as soon as we parted ways at the airport. It was so bad that the security lady was like "ARE YOU OKAY???" I would've thought crying at the airport was a common occurrence but maybe I just cry like a crazy person, haha.
The wait to board wasn't too long thankfully and the plane was a little nicer than the one I flew in on. I got the impression my seat mate (a white haired older fella) was confused by what I was doing in First Class (don't let the colorful hair fool you, I'm a bougie bitch) but the flight attendant remembered me "Oh, Jaymz! Didn't I just have a flight with you?" "About a week ago, yeah." "Wonderful!" See, man? I'm famous.
I had a lot of thinking to do on the long ride home and I was a little overwhelmed. I don't know yet how to break the news to my mom that I don't think I can handle a flight over 4 hours (she wants me to come to Florida, I just don't see how). But at least I got some warm nuts and ginger ale.
The vegan meal was pretty good too. White Bean Chili and Polenta. I erred on the side of caution again and skipped the cookie since everyone got one and I assume it's not vegan. So just be aware of that if you're vegan and you fly Alaska.
I got a nice view of the mountains to welcome me home. I wish I was better at taking pictures out of plane windows, haha.
As we de-boarded my new best friend flight attendant said "Goodbye, Jaymz will we be seeing again soon?" I laughed and she turned to the other attendant and said "She's the quietest passenger I've ever had." She has not heard my cackle...
Alzee picked me up at the airport, it's really nice to live only like ten minutes away from it, haha.
All in all it was a good trip, I'm glad I finally got to see Chicago so I can cross that off my bucket list, haha. Ashley and Shelly were proud of me for stepping outside my comfort zone and going on an adventure. I'm also really thankful that the Funny Bunny was willing to show me all around because I know I wouldn't have been able to figure out the trains on my own. I also came away with a few mementos...
From left to right, Gifts from the Funny Bunny: Sue the T-Rex from the Mold-O-Rama mold machine at the Field Museum and Klondike Kat & Ricochet Rabbit figures (thanks!). Pine cone from the Botanical Garden and flat penny (DNA strand design) from the Science Museum. Mug with "The Loop" train map design I got at a souvenir shop. Precious memories.
I hope you all enjoyed reading about my own personal Adventures in Babysitting, I will try to document more adventures in the future. I have been meaning to make it up to Seattle again sometime soon and visit Arizona and California again so I should really get to planning... If you're vegan and want to show me around your city (and not murder me!) feel free to hit me up sometime. As long as it's not more than 4 hours by plane, haha.
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