#and how I had it when I was living in Oregon for the summer

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Any Stefek fic that is based off the movie Dirty Dancing? A friend of mine said she read a few but I can not find any! Thank you!!!

Nobody puts Sterek in a corner!

Awkward Dancing by StaciNadia

(1/1 I 1,193 I Teen)

Love and dancing come together at Argent's Resort.

I Can't Live Without Your Love by Val_Brown

(1/1 I 4,898 I Not Rated)

Derek stared out the car window as the green trees of the Oregon Coast highway rolled past. Every summer since he could remember they would head to a resort just outside of Bandon, Oregon. This was the last summer before he began college. The last summer before he had to start his future. He was going to make the most of it.

I Carried a Watermelon for Werewolf Equal Rights by alphasnark

(1/6 I 5,359 I Teen)

A Dirty Dancing AU.

feel the magic between you and I by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 11,432 I Mature)

“See?” Derek holds his arms out, “Everything’s working out great for you, and I still have no dance partner,” he turns to Erica, “Face it, no one is as good as you.”

“We still have one more,” she sing songs.

Derek peers over to the list, flinches when he sees Stiles’ name, “No.”

“You haven’t even seen me dance, and you’re already dismissing me?” Stiles sails into the room, tossing his bag in the corner as he does so and doing a dramatic spin to face them. “I got moves.”

Hot, sweet and wild by kishmet

(2/? I 14,665 I Mature)

When his father had announced the trip to the Argents' resort, Stiles had envisioned long days spent lounging on the beach with his laptop. He'd never imagined rigorous training sessions with the world's hottest, strictest dance coach.

Nobody puts Stiles in a corner by Stephaninnie

(7/7 I 39,565 I Mature)

Dirty Dancing AU where Stiles is Baby and Derek is Johnny and some things have changed but most things have stayed the same.

Certain Kind of Fool by saraubs

(1/1 I 36,530 I Mature)

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn't seem to care about anything but making him happy.

When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn't believe in mates.

Dirty Dealing by lookslikenico, winglesswarrior

(13/? I 47,100 I Teen)

Stiles had a plan for his final summer before college. He was going to intern at the Sheriff's station, get ahead on the plans for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his dad had some hazy idea of him having 'one last summer' as a lazy teenager. Now, he's stuck cooling his heels and feeling very out of place at some stuck up country club, where he feel he has more in common with the staff than the other members. Of course, that could be because the staff include his new 'how have we never met before' best friend Scott and the 'it should be physically impossible for someone to be that perfect' new crush, Derek. Who apparently hates him - but not enough that he won't swallow his pride and put up with Stiles' presence when he's needed to help get Erica out of trouble...

I May Be Naive But I'm Not Stupid by FelOllie

(18/? I 73,472 I Explicit)

Stiles Stilinski is the young, naïve high school graduate who's headed off to Columbia University (with every intention of going on to Columbia Law) because that's what his parents expect of him. Even though, really, all he wants to do is take after his father and become a cop.

Derek Hale is the sexy, mysterious, just-this-side-of-standoffish-and-rude dance instructor. He and his partner, Lydia Martin, work the summers at the playing-at-posh mountain resort teaching the over-privileged adults and their spoiled kids how to do the merengue.

The summer proves to be exactly what Stiles needs to finally learn how to take control of his life.

But, what happens when it's over?

[tangentmusings]

While in conversation with my father in law tonight, I tried to look up whether there are lobsters in the Pacific Ocean (delightfully, there are!). But the first suggested search when typing "are lobsters…" was "are lobsters immortal?" (tragically, they are not)

[jenneyquinn]

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

in which the pine tree and llama are the epitome of soulmates w/c: 11.2k words (not proofread) masterpost

“in case if you have forgotten, pacifica northwest is the worst.”

well, near the end of their first summer in gravity falls, worst would be the cumulative word to describe pacifica—in the view of dipper pines, that is. and how could he not? so far, all he’s seen of her was a spoiled, rich, mean girl who was nothing but awful to his sister. a product of a family consistent with fraudulence and an unwavering desire to be at the top—

“pacifica’s rich, she’s cheating at life”

“nathaniel northwest didn’t found gravity falls and your whole family’s a sham”

—dipper could describe pacifica in many words that would paint her in a negative light, but there could be only much to say about her that is justified by his character. he doesn’t hold a lot of money to his name, or his family for that matter, but he lived life honestly. to find the truth in all things.

and considering pacifica northwest was cruel enough to make his sister feel bad about herself? what more truth was there in calling her the worst?

amongst the roars and cheers of the audience in the telepathy tent, there was a pair of starry eyes that were completely struck in awe, and maybe... admiration?

but how could she not? from the flashing lights to the glowing cerulean bolo ties that match their eyes (which also managed to glow?)—pacifica southeast was hooked on the gleeful twins, especially the male counterpart of the pair; as revealed by the faint blush on her cheeks.

her cousin, gideon pines, begged to differ. though knowing him, pacifica knew that the chubby little nerd is hard to impress—hard enough that he might as well be dubbed the "fun police".

gideon just doesn't get it, she thought, if those dreamy blue eyes were in front of him, alluring as he is mysterious...

she then gets lost in the image that occurred just a moment ago: the gentle look of dipper gleeful's eyes boring right into hers, taking her warm hand in his cold one as he brings it to his lips, barely grazing the surface; all the while looking directly at her, the smallest hint of a grin gracing his face right after.

despite how cold he felt, how cold his aura was—pacifica couldn't have felt any hotter that summer night.

“i went from undergrad to phd three years ahead of schedule, wrote a thesis that was nationally ranked and was awarded an enormous grant for my own scientific research! but what to study…?”

after being rejected from his dream school, dipper pines worked twice as hard from his time at backupsmore uni to reap success similar to what he would’ve achieved had he made it into west coast tech.

one day, dipper pushes his hair back when he looks at himself in the mirror, pondering over his constellation-looking birthmark…

then suddenly, click!

in the blink of an eye, he finds himself in the middle of nowhere in gravity falls, oregon, obviously needing a place to stay.

that's when dipper goes to northwest realty, where he meets up-and-coming realtor, pacifica northwest.

"so, you wanna buy this lot?" she asks, unclear if she heard the guy right. "are you sure you wouldn't like to reconsider and opt for an alternative location? i mean—given this lot has been a preserved environmental space, and you'll be ways away from the town—you'd be funneling a lot of money just to get this lot and build a home here."

"oh, it's alright, miss—"

"just call me pacifica." she interrupts, but smiles.

"sorry—pacifica, i can assure you that money is no issue to me. i've recently received quite the grant to pursue an independent study, and this would be the perfect location to conduct my research."

"i see, but mister pines—"

"it's dipper," he cuts off, returning her smile from a moment ago.

she chuckles before continuing: "if it's researching your business here, i can gladly show you a place close to the local library—or the museum? our town archives?? surely this would be a more efficient use of your money."

"heh, you're not like the other northwests," dipper replies, reflecting on his own knowledge of the northwest family, "aren't you supposed to be like, bleeding me dry? i'm practically helping you more than myself here."

pacifica gasps, looking offended: "excuse me?"

suddenly, dipper realizes he's messed up. sometimes that mouth of his is too smart for his own good. he didn't mean to insult her, it was meant to be playful teasing that's all!

so he stammers, trying to undo the damage.

"i-i'm so sorry! i didn't mean it—to be insulting, that is! i s-swear it was only meant to be a lighthearted joke! you smell r-really pretty—"

amidst his ramblings, pacifica breaks into a fit of laughter.

"you're something, dipper pines. you know what, let me sell you the lot, and i'll pay a lumberjack to build your new home for you. don't worry, you seem to know a thing or two about my family anyways, so it's no big deal."

"really?" he asks, dumbfounded. "you'd do that? but why?? surely i have some money to spare after getting the lot—"

"i do have one condition, though."

dipper breaks into a sweat—though, he thought he's already gotten past that phase from his adolescent years.

pacifica takes out a small, square pad of yellow sticky notes from the front pocket of her orchid-purple blazer, puts it on her clipboard, taking a pen and writes on the pad. when she finishes, pacifica peels the sticky note from its pad and promptly hands it to the brunette.

"when that house of yours is built, how about i drop by for dinner? that better be some study if it's taking you away from civilization."

“call me crazy, but maybe she’s not so bad after all…”

dipper thinks aloud, surprised by the sudden change in his opinion. besides, how does one go from being the worst to not so bad?

perhaps he was crazy, or maybe it was the faint smell of champagne and flowers in those probably-fake blonde locks of hers... could there be something more to pacifica northwest that goes deeper than the surface? or something deeper between them??

impossible! come on, this is pacifica he's talking about. pacifica northwest! the greatest link in the world's worst chain—but that's like picking out a fresh apple from a basket filled with mouldy fruit.

so, as soon as he let his vulnerability scrawl across the journal page through his pen, dipper just as quickly crosses it out.

the picture can stay, though. after all, his artistic ability does a great job capturing the likeness of her beauty—

okay, i've got to stop that!

pacifica, on the other hand, could not have slept any better.

sure, she had to endure a grounding by her parents and a nightmare traumatizing enough to keep a tapestry of a one-eyed triangle demon locked in her closet so it would no longer bore through her eyes and into her soul.

but she also couldn't deny that it was a humbling experience for herself. pacifica had to face the music and realize that the pines twins were far from her problems... in fact, they might have been the first real friends she has ever had in gravity falls—and she's lived here forever.

the pines twins were the first to show pacifica northwest the truth—about her heritage, about what her family has really done to others, about the kind of person she's come from and whether she wants to maintain that legacy or not.

when she refused to shake that stony, moss-riddled hand, something clicked in pacifica. something that said her integrity was worth more than a dollar sign, that the price of morality could actually mean more than money; and she would have never come to that epiphany if it weren't for dipper and mabel.

after all, them being here has to mean something, knowing that she could sleep in peace, with dipper pines only a call away.

as the morning newspaper plopped on their doorstep, gideon was the resident of the mystery shack who picked it up off the planked stoop. what once was a facial expression of exhaustion immediately turned to one of shock and possibly disgust?

of course, when you read a headline talking about gravity falls’ most dangerous guy dating your cousin, those sort of things will do that to you…

GLEEFUL’S NEW GIRLFRIEND? LADIES STEP ASIDE!

gideon doesn’t bother reading the article himself, but he could tell from the pictures of his mortal enemy and his best friend-slash-cousin being dangerously close to each other—there is something calculated about gleeful’s smile… it’s clearly there for the paps, cameras and flashing lights and all, but there’s something more sinister to that small, suble, charismatic grin.

and that something sinister says: screw you, gideon pines.

“PACIFICAAA!”

despite the local news jolting him wide awake, nothing could’ve prepared gideon for the wolf-pitched squeals filling the shack, all coming from the small southeast.

“no! there is no EEE-ing about this, pazzy!” he bursts, all red in the face and pouty, to which pacifica couldn’t help but laugh to; it was a sight for sure.

it doesn’t take long for them to have yet another conversation about dipper gleeful being too dangeous for pacifica to date—let alone be in close proximity with—but she knows, deeper than the dark side dipper does have, that he is a good person.

but when you see the good in everything, rationality and skepticism won’t budge—which exactly is making the subject between the pines-southeast duo a million times rockier than it needs to be.

i should really get that mirror dusted… dipper thinks to himself as he adjusts his tie using his apparently dusty reflection in the mirror.

embarrassing. the man is already in his twenties, and you think that growing up properly-dressed, the least he could do is put on a tie correctly…

a ding-dong from the front of the shack pulls him out of his concentration, causing dipper to groan and throw his hands up in frustration. he was so sure he was going to get it right this time.

but a final tired, defeated glance at his reflection said otherwise.

nevertheless, dipper goes to answer the front door, where he sees his date looking… why is she wearing sunglasses, a shapeless trenchcoat, and a big hat? is she wearing a disguise??

is she embarrassed to come out here to see me?

letting herself in, pacifica removes the big hat and sunglasses, her platinum blonde hair cascading on her shoulders and down her coat, diamond eyes and strawberry-pink lips giggling at her dorky-looking date.

she approaches him already, which makes dipper more red-faced and sweaty. they couldn’t have their first kiss already?! not when their first date barely began!

he’s all the more ashamed when he puckers his lips only to meet air—cracking one eye open to look down at the woman adjusting his tie, smiling fondly.

when she finishes, she tip-toes to meet his height, giving a single peck on his red-hot cheek and chuckles.

“glad to see you, too.”

if there was anything that mabel has brought to the people of gravity falls, it would be her natural talent for matchmaking.

it’s already one thing that your enemy has stopped being your enemy, and another thing that your twin brother is finally starting to get over his one-sided crush, but for both your ex-enemy and twin brother to have a spark and potentially experience an epic enemies-to-lovers romance?!

it wasn’t the match she ask for, but love works in mysterious ways…

and if this match needs to be made, it shall be made!

it all started with the party at northwest manor…

while mabel had made up with candy and grenda, done with eye candy for the night, she just wanted to have fun and appreciate her girlfriends for a night—after all, it was their dream to party inside of northwest manor than camping out by the main gates like the rest of the townsfolk…

but then… from the corner of her eye, had she spotted her brother… smiling? and having fun?? with another girl???

if mabel has to be honest, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to find out said girl was pacifica northwest, but hey—if dip had to get over wendy, he had to start somewhere…

it didn’t help that she was laying in bed, wide awake in the dead of night, trying to figure out what was going on between the unlikely pair. it got more frustratingly confusing the more mabel paid mind to it, and can someone stuff a sock in her snoring brother’s mouth’s already!

but for a guy who rarely gets any sleep, mabel’s grateful that pacifica was able to entertain dipper enough that he practically went out like a light as soon as his body hit the mattress…

‘though not before sneaking in another quick entry in his journal,’ mabel notes in her head as her tired eyes spot the open journal laying atop dipper’s chest; rising and falling with it.

her eyes squint, trying to make out the drawing of the creature in his journal (not to mention, she’s trying to figure that image out in the dark)

when she catches a glance of the side profile, puffed dress sleeves, and voluminous hair, mabel’s hands join together as her eyes sparkle and a smile spreads across her face.

a scheming smile, that is.

roses are red, pacifica's blood is blue i read what you crossed out i'm onto you!

then, before she signs off her short, yet beautiful poem, mabel takes a final look at dipper's sleeping state; squinting her eyes and chewing the tip of her gel pen.

"start combing your hair, bro-bro..."

although pacifica southeast has barely cried in her lifetime, given that seldom events and things have caused her to be in such a miserable state, nothing could have possibly prepared her for the worst forms of sadness.

betrayal, deceit, heartbreak.

she knew she should've seen it coming, deep down in her heart she knew the true nature of the boy who instantly caught her eye... but it didn't stop pacifica from ignoring all of her cousin's warnings and looking on the bright side, as she typically did.

but maybe this time, there was no silver lining.

she looks back at the polaroid pictures in her summer memories scrapbook, a memorabilia she compiled of her first vacation in gravity falls and the first moments she would share with her family and new friends.

thinking that she would look back at these times in the future and see heartfelt memories, pacifica could only see the polaroid picture where she looked her happiest with dipper gleeful, as a tear drops between where the pair are shown.

he broke her heart, made her cry, but after some tears were shed and noses were blown, pacifica southeast was left with a heart done wrong and justice to be served.

if the gleefuls thought they would get away with this, they were dead wrong.

walking up to the doorstep of her boyfriend’s place, pacifica holds a small gift bag on one hand as she uses her free one to knock on the front door.

excitement is spread throughout her face as she smiles from cheek to cheek, unable to maintain her patience with each passing moment.

though, she wasn’t prepared for her smile to drop the instant when another woman opens the door, greeting pacifica with a single smile before swiftly exiting dipper’s home.

“oh, hey paz!” he greets his girlfriend, smiling. as if some other woman didn’t just leave his place—a woman pacifica clearly had no idea about.

she looks indifferent, refusing to give the guy any sort of response as she enters the shack, bumping her shoulder against his as she walks in.

noticing her sour mood, dipper tries to sweeten it up by using up his nerd charm. i mean, it was how he got to date her from the start.

“c’mon, northwest, no ‘hey four-eyes’?” he asks playfully, dropping his arms to her waist, “no ‘hi dip-head’?”

pacifica pulls away from his arms before he got the chance to pull her in any closer, turning her nose up and away from him as she closes her eyes and huffs.

“hey…” hurt starts to rise in dipper’s voice as she pushes him away, “are you okay? if i did something wrong, you need to tell me. you know i’d never hurt you, right? paz…”

“do i, pines?” she retorts, sounding frustrated. “do i know anything about you? because i know nothing about that girl who just left your house in a good mood, i know nothing about your family, i don’t even know what the heck you research or why you’re in gravity falls!”

“pacifica…”

she sobs as more tears stream down her face: “is it because you don’t think i’m smart enough for you? that i’m nothing more than a pretty face and sort of walking, breathing trust fund you hold onto so when you’re short on money, i’ll be the one saving your butt??”

the blonde turns away from him, not wanting him to see her so vulnerable. dipper, on the other hand, refuses to take this. was this what his girlfriend really thought of their relationship… of herself?

in that moment, dipper curses preston and priscilla northwest for causing their daughter to possibly think so low of herself.

“pacifica,” he speaks up, bringing a hand to her chin and getting her to face him, “the reason why we’re dating isn’t only because of your looks… surely, you must know that?”

he looks into his girlfriend’s tear-filled eyes, his heart breaking at the sight of her miserable state: “you’re so much more that what your parents make you out to be. i date you because i have fun whenever we’re together… you absolutely destroy me in fight fighters and show me that there are other ways to have a good time than books…”

he blushes, internally recalling their shared moments, “the truth is, i get scared. a gorgeous woman like you, inside and out, going out with a nerd like me? it’s like a dream i don’t want us to wake up from… but what if one day, you do wake up? i have nothing much to give to you, pacifica. i don’t have much money to my name, and my research is… laughable to a lot. what if you laughed at me too? you’d think i’m just some loser that’s wasting his time and grant money on weird stuff…”

“dipper pines…” she looks into his eyes intently “do you trust me?”

a silence fills the room for a moment, until he replies.

“of course i trust you, pacifica.”

taking a deep breath before she continues, pacifica continues to look into his eyes through those big glasses of his: “maybe i don’t understand what you research… maybe i never will… but, your work makes you happy."

she smiles at him, her diamond-blue eyes still hot with tears: "i like when i see you happy, dipper. it's... cute? i never felt this way about anybody else before, but i like feeling like this. i like when you geek out about weird stuff—it's when you're really yourself, and i like that you don't let what other people think change that about you."

now, dipper begins to tear up, but trying his best to compose himself—wondering how he got so lucky to be dating such a person.

finally back in her good mood, pacifica hands the gift bag to her boyfriend.

"i got this for our one-month anniversary, it's not much, but i thought i'd get you some more 'thinking pens' for your research... and a pack of chewing gum because i don't want to date someone with braces... or worse—toothless."

after sharing a laugh together, dipper takes pacifica by the hand, leading her to his lab.

"maybe now would be the perfect time to show you what i've been studying since i've moved to gravity falls."

mabel knew that summer's end was fast approaching, but it doesn't mean that there would be no time for romance!

besides, she knew that the plan she was about to concoct wasn't something to be done overnight... sure, making a match for robbie stacy valentino took a couple days to work out—along with the consequences of her social circle—but this project? compared to robbie, he was a piece of cake!

this was her brother. and her former enemy.

the seeds still needed to be sown.

it wasn't completely hopeless though. at least, after the events of the northwest's party and dipper's journal entry, there was potential to be explored. and if dipper pines singlehandedly had the ability to spark a change of heart in pacifica...

if only mabel knew how pacifica northwest felt for her brother...

then, just like a prayer answered, a 'ping' goes off on mabel's phone, revealing a text from an unknown number...

hey, dipper... so about that hug...

hug?! what hug?! she had all wendy's, candy's, and grenda's numbers in her contacts, so who could've possibly wanted to text her brother about some hug that they wanted to forget—

suddenly, as mabel gasped, it was totally clear who it was.

now, there was many ways she could approach this. so many possibilities. does she pretend to be dipper and try to hook him up? does she try to be a supportive friend and be honest with pacifica??

actually, come to think of it... after all the times she's been embarrassed by the hands of that northwest, she's been overdue for a bit of humiliation herself.

a mischievous smile spreads across mabel's face. matchmaking can wait, anyways.

“it’s over, southeast!”

cornerned by the two terrorizing twin-bots, pacifica is left out of options as the gleeful twins have captured gideon, his tiny body restrained by the big metal grip of the mabel-bot.

“you’ve been had,” mabel continues, “the only way for boys to be interested in you was by pretending—which is exactly what my dear brother had just done."

as pacifica turns from mabel to dipper, he turns his head; refusing to look back at her. whether he actually felt a twinge of guilt or didn't care enough to return her gaze was irrelevant—pacifica's heart broke all the same.

"now, we’ve won! with gideon possessing the first and third journals, the gleefuls can finally take over gravity falls… heck—we can take over the galaxy!”

as she laughs maniacally, the turns to gideon, still in her steel grip: “with you as my lil’ king!”

“a-hem,” dipper calls from behind—his robotic hips on one side, metallic arms folded over each other, and a foot tapping against the forest floor; probably scarring away any woodlen creatures nearby.

“you heard me, diphead. there’s only room for one pair of rulers here—but hey! you and will have made decent sidekicks in the past. if all goes well, i’ll make sure there’s room for the both of you in my court—ha!”

with that, mabel’s robot violently shoves dipper’s with one hand as she keeps gideon the other; her grip still tight on the poor child.

“AHH!”

dipper screams as he falls out from the robot’s head, his eyes shut as he braces his demise… if only he still had his amulet.

pacifica gasps, watching dipper in the sky.

“dipper!”

pulling out her grappling hook, she shoots it without a second thought, praying to whatever force out there that it latches onto some sort of strong branch, and leaps forward; the recoil pulling her towards the endangered gleeful twin.

then, before he had any idea, dipper doesn’t feel the weight of the wind and gravity pushing him down anymore. instead, he feels the warmth of something… or rather yet, someone, holding onto him.

he cracks one eye open to see that, pacifica southeast, the girl he’s been deceiving for the past month, glaring at the mabel-bot.

“pacifica?”

“shut up, gleeful. the only reason you’re alive is because you’re helping me get gideon back.”

TACK!—TACK!—TACK!

the stones that hit against the glass of pacifica's bedroom window were enough to annoy her awake. she hoped that her parents weren't bothered by the sound as well, despite her doubts.

"chiu?!" she exclaimed in a hush voice, "the heck are you doing out here? it's three in the morning!"

"pacifica!" the ravenette in the lab coat calls out to the northwest, fiddling with her hands, jerking her head from side to side; as if somebody was watching her. "y-you need to talk to dipper! he doesn't g-get it! wh-what's coming—"

"whoa, candy, hold on," pacifica interrupts, rubbing her temples, "chill. breathe. slow down. what doesn't dipper get? what do you mean 'what's coming'?"

"i'm not crazy, pacifica!" candy panics. "something's coming. something bad. but dipper's too stubborn to stop his work! if you don't stop him, this could be the end of gravity falls!"

"c'mon, talk sense. this is dipper, we're talking about. he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"i don't think we're talking about the same dipper."

with that, candy makes a hasty leave from the grounds of northwest manor, leaving pacifica in a mixed state of exhaustion and confusion.

candy doesn't know what she's talking about, the blonde tries to convince herself, dipper's stubborn, but not stupid.

she sleeps with some difficulty that night, but come morning, she goes to her boyfriend's place to visit; clearly concerned about candy's warning from the night before.

when the door opens, pacifica greets dipper with a big smile, to which he reciprocates, but then asks about the reason of her visit.

"can't i just visit my boyfriend? c'mon, let's go to the lake—your skin's getting pale, dip."

"look, pacifica," dipper speaks as he takes her hand, leading her down to his lab, "i need your help. you've got to take this journal, get as far away as you can from me, and bury it where nobody can ever hope to find it."

as he gives his instructions, dipper shoves a journal into his girlfriend's hands; on the cover is a blue pine tree with the number '2' printed on it.

candy was right. why would dipper need her to go away from him? what did that dummy do??

"wait, you can't just tell me to do whatever you want—especially getting away from you. why do you need me to do this?"

he opens his mouth, but pauses before answering: "i don't think i can tell you that."

she scoffs, "you're kidding. you can't tell me or you won't?"

"i'm serious, i'm not going to risk you knowing too much."

"that's a whole load and you know it. what about candy?" she asks, pointing a finger at him, "she's clearly capable of knowing more than me."

dipper sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "don't make this a whole ego thing, pacifica—"

"an ego thing?! i thought we were a team, dipper. i thought you trusted me! or was that nothing more than a bunch of words filled with empty promises?"

she angrily waves the journal, now pointing to it accusingly: "recently, you've been doing nothing but coop yourself down here and write in these dumb books of yours! i swear, these journals have probably gotten more action with your face than i have for the past few weeks. and after finally getting to see you in person for so long—you want to tell me to get away from you? sending me off like some sort of blind dog?!"

"it's not dumb, pacifica—it's dangerous!" dipper exclaims, losing patience with the blonde, "don't ever talk down on my research—"

"well, it must be so lame if you never want it to be seen again. in fact, i'm going to walk to the city dump right now—"

"pacifica, don't!"

as she walks away, dipper goes up to her, trying to tear the book from her hands.

"my life's work!"

as he hastily snatches the book from her grip, dipper gives her a single push of his hand while protecting the journal with the other.

pacifica yelps, losing her balance as she is forced backwards. the side of her head makes an impact with one of dipper's many machines, cutting into her skin before meeting the ground.

"oh my god, pacifica! i'm so sorry, i didn't mean—"

"stuff it, pines." she spats back, dismissing him with her hand. pacifica tries to recollect herself by getting herself off the ground and dusts her clothes.

she then looks directly into his eyes with pure disgust.

"if your work matters more than our relationship, if you don't even trust me enough to let me help you or even tell me what's going on, i'm done."

pacifica turns away from him again, but dipper calls out to her.

"pacifica, wait."

she only turns her head: "do you trust me, dipper?"

just like before, the room is filled with silence. only this time, pacifica doesn't get any reply.

so, she leaves his house for the final time, leaving dipper by himself.

hey mabel, um... is it okay if i could text dipper for a bit? need to ask him something real quick

summer is almost over, her thirteenth birthday is fast approaching, but it already seems like mabel pines' wishes are already coming true.

"DIPPER! PACIFICA'S ASKING FOR YOU! I THINK SHE WANTS TO GO ON A DATE!"

"WHAT?!"

dipper didn't find mabel's exaggeration amusing in the slightest. "it's not a date mabel, she just wants to hang at the lake—as friends."

"okay, so maybe i should join you guys. after all, we're all friends, right?" she shoots back, taunting him.

"no!" dipper objects, his voice squeaking; to which mabel smirk grows. going red in the face, he clears his throat before continuing: "i mean, since paz only asked for me—"

"i'm gonna ignore the fact that you're on pet-name terms now, but you do realize she only asked for you because she—i don't know—might be totally into you!"

his blush deepens at his sister’s accusation.

“c-c’mon! this is pacifica we’re talking about! she only just stopped hating our guts like, less than a couple weeks ago?”

“fine, but you’re still gonna hang with her today, right? she still needs a friend, bro-bro.”

dipper knew mabel was right, and even if she wasn’t as encouraging, a part of him deep down was genuinely looking forward to hang with pacifica one more time before his birthday and leaving gravity falls.

before summer ended and heading back into the unknown.

“help us, will! don’t forget i’m still your master!”

“don’t listen to him, you moldy nacho! i’m your master, not dipstick’s! obey me!”

“ENOUGH!”

the sound of will’s voice booms throughout the forest, bringing the town of gravity falls to a standstill. apart from the triangular demon, only the gleeful twins, pacifica, and gideon remained unfrozen

"i've had just enough of you two brats! generations of torment... well i'm sick of it. no longer is will cipher going to be a slave to the gleeful family! from now on—you guys are on your own! good luck taking over gravity falls without me, you weak flesh-sacks!"

the four children gasp, in shock at the enslaved demon's outrage. with a single snap, the mabel-bot goes powerless, causing it to go limp and tip over.

dipper and mabel clutch onto pacifica for dear life as the latter panics; trying to find a way to get to gideon as he is loosened from the metal grip, freefalling to his demise.

BOOM!

an electric, smoky bubble of blue bursts upon the mabel-bot’s impact on the ground, a ripple spreads throughout the town; bringing a gust of wind to the to the townsfolk.

because of the robot’s explosion, the people of gravity falls gather towards the source of the damage, where they don’t find bodies.

instead, they spot pacifica, mid-air, her hold on the grappling hook breaking her fall. dipper and gideon cling on to each of the blonde’s sides, with mabel’s arms wrapped over her brother’s shoulders from behind; nearly choking the gleeful twin.

as officers powers and trigger catch sight of the gleeful twins, they rush even closer to their aid.

"mabel! dipper! what happened?" trigger cries.

already pulling out the waterworks, mabel puts on her mask again: "it was southeast and pines! they tried to attack us and blew up our statues with dynamite! arrest them!"

dipper simply rolls his eyes as powers gets the handcuffs ready; gideon and pacifica gasp.

"officers, she's lying!" gideon exclaims.

"sorry kids," powers apologizes, "but we trust the gleefuls. and there's nothing short of a miracle that could ever—"

"okay, i'm getting tired of this," dipper deadpans, cutting off the officers. "pacifica southeast and the pines kid are innocent. we were the ones responsible behind the—"

"mason pines you shut your mouth right now!" mabel snaps, momentarily breaking through her façade, before realizing her slight error and giggles it off.

"heh, what i mean to say officers, is that my poor brother must be concussed and clearly has no idea what he's saying—heh—right, dipper?"

"hmm..." he hums, tapping his chin in thought, "i don't think so, i remember someone shoving me... causing me to fall from seventy feet high..."

staring at mabel, dipper gives a smirk her way before swiftly referring to the hand in his front pocket, revealing only a sliver of a small, black, flash drive.

then he leans close, whispering to his sister: "now wouldn't exactly be the best time to put our enemies incarcerated, mabel. don't forget who saved your butt from meeting death just a moment ago."

mabel growls for a moment, then takes a deep breath before she speaks again.

"as a matter of fact... it was all a misunderstanding, officers. gideon and pacifica were saving us," mabel explains, pulling gideon close to her for a peck on the cheek: "my heroes!"

it has been weeks since pacifica had left dipper's place for the last time, and obviously, the heartbroken blonde hadn't heard from the four-eyed dork.

good riddance, she thought bitterly. as if it was any surprise.

but as the days turn from weeks to months, pacifica knew she needed to leave the house. the fluorescent lights and chandeliers in her family mansion wasn't doing much to help her tan... but what to do...

she starts by walking to dusk2dawn, the same darn convenience store where she met her ex-boyfriend.

yeah, smart move there, northwest.

as pacifica reaches for the smile dip, mainly to take a closer look at it, she can't help but to overhear some commotion going on by the register.

"i've heard some strange stories about that old shack, strange and spooky experiments..."

"gosh, i'd pay anything to see what sort of shenanigans you've got going down in there."

no... could it be?

when the curious blonde sets down the smile dip and heads to the front, she couldn't believe her eyes on what's happening before her.

it was a woman. she looked like her ex-boyfriend. similar build, similar facial features. her appearance could easily mistake anybody for dipper, but the fact that this was clearly a woman kept pacifica's mind focused.

what is this lady doing here in gravity falls? why does she look like dipper pines?? and why is she claiming to live where he lives???

"what is your name, you madam of mystery?"

"uh ma—" the woman takes a brief pause, "mason pines. parents thought i would come out a boy, so you can call me dipper."

pacifica gasps, but covers her mouth to avoid drawing attention. she stumbles back, then rushes out of the store.

dipper, where are you?

"when are you going to start opening your gifts? i broke a nail wrapping mine."

as pacifica holds up her taped-up hands with an amused smirk, the pines twins laugh along, picking up their gifts—though none of them were from pacifica.

not that she minded. in fact, she hoped that no one else would watch as dipper got to opening her present. she didn't think it was much special, so it must've been embarrassing in comparison to the other gifts the twins will receive, especially after losing northwest manor to preserve their fortune—but she did put a lot of thought into them.

after selling her parents' yacht and her last pony, she hoped that the presents she prepared for both dipper and mabel would be enough. more than enough, ideally.

"oh, pacifica! i think this one is from you!"

dipper's voice pulls her out from her thoughts. he gives her a big smile as he holds up the gift box, which is evidently, poorly wrapped. everyone else sees this, all of them giving her looks.

unable to take all this attention, pacifica's cheeks flush red, rushing towards dipper before pulling him over to the side of the mystery shack.

"whoa, sorry! i didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed," he immediately apologizes to her, reassuring her that it was never his intention, "if it makes you feel any better, i did so much worse my very first time gift-wrapping."

the two share a laugh, followed by a single nudge from pacifica.

"just open it, dork."

"you don't have to tell me twice."

so, dipper rips his gift open, revealing a book with a written note placed on top of the cover.

something to go with that new journal mabel got for you - paz :)

"you got me a revised, updated copy of anomalous phenomena!? anomalous phenomena was one of the books grunkle ford studied after university! how did you get a hold of one of these?!"

"i'd be lying if i said i didn't ask around for help," pacifica answers, looking a bit bashful, "mabel suggested i talk to ford, and he told me about the book. apparently, fewer and fewer copies of the book get made with every revised edition, so i called in some favours. it did cost me my last pony and my parents' yacht, but after everything you've done for me—i mean, the town—it's worth it."

"pacifica..."

she really has changed, he thought. and to think, this was the same girl who bought her way to keep up her family's fraudulent past, who actively tried to humiliate his sister every chance she got.

it can't be, not since he can't see her that way anymore.

so, dropping the gifts to the ground, pacifica lets out a small yelp as she is caught off guard by dipper's arms wrapping around her; pulling her in for an embrace.

"thanks, paz. i couldn't have asked for a better birthday gift."

returning the hug, she rests her head on his shoulder. "don't mention it, dork."

i'm watching you

at the gleeful manor, dipper and mabel haven't been getting any sleep. not since they've brought will to the edge and emancipated himself from their family.

where will has been tortured day-by-day, he has generously returned the favour to the gleeful twins nightly.

but today, mabel isn't having it.

"ugh! how the hack can we defend ourselves against will if we only have the second journal?! everything we know, will has a way to counter-act it!"

"you know, if you keep pacing like that, you're going to burn a hole into the ground."

mabel stops pacing at her brother's words, noticing how much she actually had been pacing. she groans in frustration, all while dipper smiles into his phone.

"you know, instead of being completely useless, you could help me—considering will's going to be after you, too?"

"i could..." dipper chimes back, "but where's the fun in that?"

"are you implying that staring at those not-so-secret creepy photos you take of the southeast girl is more fun than helping me? your own sister??"

"pacifica saved our lives, mabel."

"you heard her—she's done with you. why don’t you just move on like the rest of the human race?"

but if there is anything to know about the gleefuls, it's that they are indeed stubborn.

“how could i have moved on when i’ve never been infatuated at all?”

as if the timing couldn't have been any more perfect, mabel's phone buzzes.

"besides, i suppose your recovery in getting over gideon has been going spendidly, is that correct?"

“you better watch that mouth of yours since will’s not around to protect it anymore,” mabel threatens, turning away from her twin and picks up her phone.

“looks like my widdle giddy-widdy’s going golfing with—” she shivers before finishing, “pacifica.”

dipper sighs, putting his phone down.

“i’ll call soos to bring the car up front.”

"thanks for visiting the mystery shack! come back soon!"

as dipper waves off the last customer of the day, she goes back inside to close the front door; turning the sign from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED'.

what she didn't notice, however, was that there was a stranger out in the woods nearby... hiding in the bushes...

wait, it was not just any stranger...

"alright, you con-artist..."

pacifica mumbles to herself as she observes the shop owner as closely as she can, though the windows prove themselves a difficult task for the blonde.

"i don't know what you've done with my—i mean—the real dipper pines..."

the merchant remains on the sales floor, adjusting, tidying, and restocking product. it looks like... she has even more knick-knacks to display, and...

oh god, that does not look fashionable at all...

pacifica shakes her head, getting her focus back.

"i don't even know who you are... but i know you're not good news..."

she looks down at the notebook before her, filled with notes and sketches of some sort...

maybe you're not such a dummy after all... she thinks to herself, reminiscing her former partner, hopefully these parts of your research will be enough to find you...

pacifica reflects on one of her many dates with dipper, this one taking place in her room at northwest manor...

"whatcha working on there, dummy?"

pacifica's question pulls dipper out of his thoughts, turning away from the open notebook before him to face her. he chuckles before answering her.

"you'll see..." he replies as he concludes his notes, "... and there!"

upon finishing, dipper tucks his pen back in his pocket, closes the notebook shut, before handing it to his girlfriend.

"what... is this? you know i can't understand all this anomaly junk like you do..." she says, chuckling afterwards.

"you're selling yourself short, paz," he speaks as he places a hand on top of hers; which is on the notebook. "you're smarter than you realize. when you put your mind into things, you excel at them..."

he then looks back at her, making direct eye contact with his partner.

"... this isn't to say that i want you to get into this life with me... i could never force you to do what you are not interested in... but i have a feeling, paz. a gut feeling... that i may be getting in too deep, that i'm about to discover some truths that will come with dark consequences..."

"dipper... don't scare me like this..."

"sorry, pacifica. i didn't mean to... but it's the truth. this research of mine—i have a feeling that someday, i won't be as careful as i usually am... so when that happens..."

he looks back down at the notebook, causing pacifica to look down as well.

"let this notebook help you. it may not be as detailed as the journals—but this information is still important. i'm going to need someone that i can trust and count on to help me if i get myself in trouble."

she's silent for a moment, taking in her boyfriend's words: "... but you're gonna be safe, right? if this is very serious, maybe candy would be a better—"

"it has to be you, pacifica. i trust you."

as she finished her reminiscence, she looks back up from the notebook to the newly-opened 'mystery shack'—catching the right moment that dipper inputs some sort of code into the vending machine, creating a secret passage for her to enter through.

"i'm going to save you, dipper. i promise."

"so this is it... you're really leaving, huh?"

dipper is in shock to see pacifica northwest standing at the front door of the mystery shack as he is about to leave it for the final time this summer.

she looks at his bags, then back at him as she makes her comment: "i guess gravity falls is about to have two less dorks once again... heh, g-good riddance."

her voice trembles a bit toward the end of her words, clearly saddened by the twins' upcoming departure.

yet, dipper gives pacifica a soft smile in reassurance.

"it was bound to happen sooner or later... but you did it. you finally got rid of us, right?"

she sniffles, but gives a chuckle, "right."

"hey... it's not like we'll never talk again. we have each others' numbers—well, you have mabel's and we have yours. we'll always be a call away from each other."

pacifica's eyes begin to water, trying to keep up her act up: "ha! l-like i'd ever miss you or your weird sister..."

she crosses her arms, turning her head away, but he sees right through her.

pulling her in for a hug, he whispers in her ear.

"i'll miss you too, pacifica."

as a crowd gathers around pacifica, at the final hole, she gets her golf club ready; a determined look written across her face.

from afar, the gleeful twins and observe with two wildly different facial reactions: mabel's being of digust and unimpressed, while dipper looks rather bemused and intrigued.

as the golf ball makes it way through the final hole, it becomes merely inches away from a hole-in-one, which draws further attention from the gleefuls.

so close... so, so close... is it going to—

but right as dipper thinks about it, the ball misses the hole by some centimetres, swerving around it and landing in a muddy puddle.

"pathetic, isn't it, diphead?" mabel taunts, "anyways, it's about time to show that loser how a real golfer plays, right?"

dipper scoffs, "whatever."

with that, the gleeful twins make their appearance known to gideon and pacifica: mabel sucks up to gideon as usual, but he rejects her advances and reacts uncomfortably.

dipper goes back to his antics, as well. he steps closer to pacifica, taking a bow, as well as her hand. however, this time, she quickly pulls her hand back and gives him the cold shoulder.

"what gives, sunshine? c'mon, let me see that contagious, cute smile of yours, huh?"

pacifica doesn't say anything back, but only frowns deeper.

"can't you guys just leave us alone?" gideon asks, breaking the silence, "you two have been enough trouble for us this summer!"

then pacifica finally speaks up, only looking back at mabel: "and apparently now we can't even play golf without you two stereotypical horror-movie murderous magical twins lurking over us!"

mabel gasps in disgust, but dipper is dumbfounded... maybe even impressed?

"oh, it's so on."

oh, dipper... what have you done?

as he wakes up, dipper finds himself in... he can't even begin to describe his surroundings. though, to sum it all up in one word: unnatural. yeah, that's the word.

even though he could try to pin all the blame on her, deep down, dipper knew he had no one else to blame but himself for putting himself where he is right now.

"bill! you lied to me! where does that portal really lead?!"

"oh-ho! looks like mister brainiac finally got smart! let's just say, when that portal's complete—your dimension's gonna know how to party!"

"no, i'll stop you! i'll shut it down!"

"a deal's a deal, pine tree! you can't stop the bridge between our world from coming, but it would be fun to watch you try! cute even!"

good going, dipper! he berates himself in thought, internally facepalming, if you didn't build that dumb portal, you wouldn't even be in this mess!

after lamenting his current situation, dipper thinks of his loved ones, those that he's come to realize—he's just left behind.

pacifica... oh, god—pacifica...and █████... take care of yourselves, please.

in the first month since they've returned home in piedmont, dipper and mabel were stuck in a loop between sleeping and hour-long calls to friends back in gravity falls while bringing their parents into the loop of their family lore as well as going back to school.

sadly, they couldn't make time to talk to their grunkles as much as the likes of wendy and soos, but, given that the stan brothers needed time for themselves to catch up with each other, the mystery twins weren't bothered in the slightest.

in fact, there was so much that was happening—with melody permanently moving in with soos and his abuela to assist her boyfriend's new promotion in the mystery shack, wendy working less hours as she faces another year of hell— high school along with the rest of the group, and the friends of the twins who were closer in age also preparing their return to school.

"so..."

"you can stop smirking, dipstick, we both know i'm not enjoying this."

pacifica orders as she looks at her phone screen, currently on a video call with dipper... on mabel's phone, that is.

"c'mon, public school isn't as gross as you think it is, paz..."

"it's not just that... i just— i don't know how people will treat me... after, yunno..."

"hey," dipper smiles empathetically, trying to reassure her, "we've been over this. candy and grenda promised they'd take care of you and have your back."

"i know, i know..." she waves it off, knowing all that worry to be a waste of energy, "it's all too surreal though... like i'm trying to wrap my head around it. after all, a lot has changed for the northwests since we've had to sell the mansion."

"well, at least you can take this fresh start with a sense of pride, right? you could change what it means to be a northwest. make something honest of yourself and bring truth to your heritage. you were the chosen one!"

pacifica giggles at dipper's clichéd humour, "speaking of... lazy suzan said she'd be glad to take me in. something about needing an extra set of hands at the diner—another pretty girl to reel in some empty stomachs with full wallets."

"she's not getting any younger, right?" he asks.

"more like, she could only handle so many customers at a time."

"you'd make a pretty cute waitress, greasy's won't know what hit 'em."

heat instantly rises in pacifica's cheeks at dipper's sudden comment, immediately taken aback by his words.

although it looks as if dipper didn't fully register what he was saying either, as his facial reaction practically mirrored pacifica's as soon as the words left his mouth.

"you're getting too clever at sucking up for your own good... before you know it, i'll be hearing about a new girlfriend by the time you come back to gravity falls, huh?"

pacifica tucks a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, revealing more of her face along with her signature purple hoop earring; to which dipper's blush intensifies.

"maybe... it's not a bad thing, right?"

"i will sue you! i will sue you and i will own you!"

gideon, pacifica, and dipper share a victorious look as mabel threatens the lilliputtians from the outside of the gold course. though, those looks were wiped off their faces as soon as the latter turns back to look at them.

"look, i don't have any idea what just happened right now," mabel speaks, pointing a finger at pacifica, "but if you think—"

the guilt-ridden blonde cuts off the angry mage, handing her a turquoise-colored sticker with bubbly text which reads 'i a-paw-logize', featuring a mini illustration of a small—yet adorable—puppy.

"i'm sorry mabel," pacifica apologizes, rubbing her arm in shame, "i should've let you beat me fair-and-square."

mabel looks down at the sticker in her hand, inspecting it with a look of indifference as she raises her eyebrow. then, after a small moment, she looks back up at her arch-rival; reverting back to her casual behaviour, but visibly calmer.

she replies as she pats the sticker on her teal polo, "you're just lucky this sticker looks good on me."

pacifica smiles, a sense of hope and the idea of finally leaving this feud between them in the past. although mabel isn't as joyous, a hint of a grin graces her face, showing that the feeling is mutual.

then, a tap on the former's shoulder along with the sound of someone clearing their throat causes pacifica to turn around, finding the other gleeful twin holding a rose, looking more shy and sympathetic than he's ever been in his life.

"i believe i owe you an apology as well, sunshine," dipper says nervously, "it wasn't right to toy with someone's feelings, especially somebody who's kindhearted as you—"

"can it, gleeful." pacifica cuts off coldly, which is rather out of character for the bubbly blonde.

"you've got to try harder if you think i'm trusting you again."

twenty years have passed...

twenty years since dipper had mysteriously disappeared... the real dipper pines, that is...

and as much as pacifica hated to admit it... the search for her former partner is getting more and more difficult with each passing day.

when she looks at herself in the mirror first thing in the morning, she doesn't even recognize herself anymore, but it wasn't her looks she was thinking about... in fact, she aged gracefully and managed to stay as radiant as ever.

though, as someone who's been self-absorbed in their personal vanity throughout their whole life, pacifica doesn't see the point anymore. what's a couple wrinkles compared to losing someone who actually meant something to her?

so instead of the natural blonde that remains in her hair, or her designer top, pacifica looks into her eyes and sees someone who's stopped living twenty years ago.

in her reflection, pacifica sees nothing more than a shell of who she used to be.

however, today, she decides to try something different. since she's heard word of the new twins that have come to town, descendants of 'dipper' that are staying in gravity falls for the summer.

especially the six-fingered child. something about him reminds pacifica of the man she once dated—but she can't put her finger on it...

she goes to her walk-in closet, rummaging through the deepest corners to pull out... a-ha!

it wasn't anything special, no name to it, unlike her designer top, but the worn-out, slightly oversized cotton orange shirt brought some warmth to pacifica's cheeks as well as a heartfelt smile.

so, she replaces her slim-fitting lavender top with the worn-out shirt. seriously, it's a miracle how this shirt hasn't managed to get any moth holes in it or gradually fall apart after multiple washes...

then again, as long as that shirt's in pacifica's care, she can take care of that shirt for as long as she's willing to.

she has to—because it means that one day, he'll come back, and who knows if he needs something decent to wear.

after a few more months pass since the young pines twins have returned home, christmas has come to both piedmont and gravity falls—and though the feeling is supposed to be merry all around, it's not exactly the case for either dipper and mabel this holiday season.

with the possibility of their parents' separation being more and more of a reality each day, it's also becoming more and more difficult to keep spirits up—even for the shooting star.

but not all hope is lost—because today, the pines family has gone out to do their christmas shopping, and mabel was obviously looking forward to restocking on yarn for more sweaters to knit for her friends and family back in oregon.

dipper on the other hand, was stuck. not only did he not have the slightest clue on what to get for the others, but his mind was simply too pre-occupied with his parents' situation to even distract himself by consumerist indulgence.

"hel-lo! earth to dipper!"

the sound of mabel's voice was enough to pull her brother from his thoughts.

"c'mon bro-bro, i'm all stocked on yarn but you haven't touched anything yet... what gives?"

he sighs, clearly not interested in talking about their current familial situation, "i just... don't know what to get anyone. stan and ford are practically neck-deep with treasure, soos and melody are more interested in raising funds to improve the shack, wendy and her family are visiting relatives out-of-town, and pacifica—"

"ooh, pacifica~" mabel teases in a singsongy tone, smirking.

dipper blushes, but continues: "pacifica has everything. well, she lost all her ponies and the yacht after weirdmaggedon, but what do you get someone who has the money to get anything?"

as he crosses his arms, dipper leans back against a nearby wall and sinks down to the ground; bowing his head into his arms as if suggesting defeat.

so, mabel sits down as well, placing a hand on his shoulder: "dipper, you're the smart one here. if i was the one upset about being unable to find the right gift, what would you say?"

he raises his head slightly, giving only a peek at his sister: "i dunno, something about how christmas shouldn't be about gifts, but the people you care about?"

"ding-ding-ding!" she cheers, smiling proudly.

"okay, but it doesn't change anything. stan and ford are probably still out in the middle of the atlantic or pacific ocean or whatever, wendy's not even in town, and everyone else is with their own families. so what does that solve?"

the once bright, encouraging grin on mabel's face begins to falter, disheartened by dipper's sadness.

however, he catches sight of this, beginning to feel worse by his own actions. after all, his sister was only trying to lift his spirits and make him feel better. he told her what had been going on between their parents before they left for gravity falls in the beginning of the summer, and she's been trying to look at the bright side even more than usual.

this christmas might've not been perfect, but mabel was trying to make the most of it... maybe dipper should as well.

"i'm sorry, mabel. i've been too much of a buzzkill. the holidays have just been sucky this year... we've never known our family outside of california, but now that we do, i guess i wish we could've gotten together this year. things haven't been great since mom and dad... yunno... and things aren't getting better..."

"i know, dipper." mabel says, a mix of bitterness and disappointment in her voice.

"—but we have each other. we've had each other our whole lives, so at least there's one thing that can save this christmas from completely being the worst."

mabel sniffles, holding back her tears as she smiles at her brother.

"let's go home, bro-bro... i have a feeling that it'll feel better being there than at the mall."

so, the pines family leave the mall, returning home to rest before dinner. while mabel is beginning to knit sweaters for candy and grenda with the help of waddles, dipper plays dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons with their father; leaving their mother to cook dinner for the family.

however, beknownst to her children, mrs. pines prepares a dinner that is definitely much more than four stomachs to fill.

as the family is occupied with their own activities, the ring of the doorbell along with a knock at the front door gets the attention of everyone in the household.

"dipper, mabel, could one of you please get the door?" their mother asks, remaining at the stove.

"not it!"

"not it—augh."

mr. pines smiles at his son amusedly, nudging his head towards the door.

"maybe next time, dip."

getting up from the floor, dipper walks towards the front door.

who could it be? he asks in thought, it wouldn't make sense if it was a food delivery, especially when's mom's already cooking.

nevertheless, dipper turns the doorknob, to which he's met with—

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

he couldn't believe it.

"grunkle stan?! grunkle ford?! soos?! melody?!"

as their names take mabel away from her knitting, she dashes towards the front; squealing and jumping into the arms of her grunkles.

"you've made it! you really made it!"

dipper, taken aback by his sister's words, asks, "mabel, what are you talking about? they never told us they were coming."

"correction, bro-bro: they never told you they were coming," mabel says, "but actually, they didn't tell me they were coming—not if i was the one to invite them over!"

"what?! what about mom and dad?"

"why do you think mom's been cooking a lot since we got back home?"

the sound of their dad's voice causes dipper to turn around. jaw dropping, his shock intensifies as he realizes that their parents were in it too.

"we totally got you dude!" soos exclaims, laughing with melody, "just look at the look on your face!"

"what about candy? grenda?? wendy???" mabel asks excitedly, tugging on stan's dress-shirt.

"sorry, pumpkin," stan apologies nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "of course they wanted to come over, but they have their own families to spend the holidays with. i hope you're not too upset, honey."

"besides, you still have one friend who'd rather drop dead than spend christmas with her own family, anyways."

as the four visitors step aside, another familiar face is revealed to be in their company.

same old blonde bangs and bouffant, same atlantic eyes, but in place of her signature purple eyeshadow, she wears silver with a subtle red to frame her eyelids paired with a slightly-muted matte red lipstick. instead of her diamond-shaped earrings, are diamond-encrusted snowflakes, her classic purple outfit replaced with a lake foam green chiffon dress stopping at the knee with a fur wrap that is white as snow, finally completing the look with a pair of pumped-up silver louboutins (remember, pacifica is less rich, not flat-out broke).

"pacifica?" dipper says, his cheeks turning into a very faint pink.

"lied to my parents that i was going to the bahamas with tiffany, alexis, and tiffany's parents—thank god they make good alibis."

mabel's squeals cut off the blonde as she rushes over to her old enemy-turned-frenemy-turned-friend; the former pulling the latter into a crushing hug.

"AHH! PACIFICA!!" mabel screams in excitement. "i'm so glad you're here with us for christmas!"

"so, you must be the pacifica our mabel and dipper have been telling us about," mrs. pines approaches, rubbing her hands off on a kitchen towel, "i've heard a lot of things about you."

the child's eyes widen, immediately turning bashful: "um, more good things than bad, right?"

"of course," mr. pines answers, "we knew mabel would take a liking to you, but dipper? well, i—"

"okay!" dipper intervenes, laughing rather too loudly for comfort. he takes pacifica's hand, leading her into their home. "i think that's enough of that! everyone, come in!"

pacifica giggles at the boy's awkwardness, her cheeks growing a tad warm.

"glad to see you too, nerd."

"my wittle giddy-widdy! i need your help—"

"you're the worst."

and with that, gideon shuts the door, already heading back to the armchair before he hears the same pounding on the front door a second time.

"mabel?! let me answer!" pacifica beams in excitement, causing gideon to shrug and continue to make his way back to the television.

"go nuts," he deadpans.

"hey, mabel!" pacifica waves, smiling brightly, "what brings you here?"

"oh, hey pacifica," mabel replies, instantly losing her enthusiasm, "there's something haunting gleeful manor—"

"it's true, sunshine," dipper says, smiling at her, "if your cousin can't help us, our party could be ruined."

"okay, first of all, you're the worst." pacifica narrows her eyes, glaring daggers at the gleeful brother before turning back to his twin, "the party? you mean the same party your family throws at gleeful manor every year?!"

"yes, this party," mabel answers indifferently.

"hmm..." the blonde hums, tapping her chin in false thought, "i suppose i can convince gideon to help you guys."

"really?!" mabel asks, suddenly beaming.

"i guess..." pacifica draws out in response, "but in exchange, he's going to need three extra tickets to the party."

"what?!"

gideon's attention breaks away from the television once more, returning to the front door to clarify what he just heard. he tugs his cousin's arm, pulling her aside to speak to her in private.

"pazzy, these are the gleefuls! the same pair of twins who tried to kill us earlier this summer?!" he says in a hushed voice.

"but it's tiffany and alexis' dream!" she explains.

the two then turn to pacifica's friends, still by the television.

"DREAM~"

gideon then sighs in defeat, turning back to dipper and mabel.

"you heard her, it's three tickets or nothing."

"aah! i don't understand—what could i have possibly done to warrant this much arrest?!"

today's the day. after twenty years, pacifica had finally done it. she had caught that imposter; resolving the last piece in the puzzle to bring back dipper pines.

stepping outside of the government-owned vehicle, she joins agents lee rianda and nate menville, smiling victoriously as an officer pins the person identifying as 'dipper pines' onto the hood of the car, placing handcuffs onto her wrists.

agent menville takes out a tablet, displaying it in front of the felon, revealing footage of a government waste facility.

"at 0400 hours last night, we've noticed footage of an unknown party stealing three hundred gallons of hazardous waste."

"that's not me!"

pacifica, having just about enough of this con-artist's cover-up, steps up, raising a finger, pushing dipper's chin up.

"don't play dumb, pines. we all know it's you. you're as guilty as stealing that nuclear waste just as much as you're guilty for committing identity theft and causing a disappearance!"

the northwest was by no means, as smart as her ex-partner, but she used her strengths where they were needed.

she had connections. people she knew who specialized in genealogy, the kind of people who could scientifically prove that the apprehended woman before everyone wasn't really the person she claimed to be.

because of this, the evidence made the poor woman all the more incriminating to the government agents; fueling the grounds on which she were to be arrested for.

"miss northwest, you're making a mistake! sure, grauntie dipper might shoplift the occasional sticker sheet here and there, but she wouldn't make herself a threat to national security."

feeling guilty for the confusion and childlike naïvety that the young stanley pines was experiencing, she walks over to him, squatting down to his level and placing a empathetic hand on his shoulder.

"look, hon, these guys may have been watching your grauntie all summer—but i've known about her ever since i've moved here. i know i've been nothing but civil to you ever since you boys have come to town, but what you need to know is that your grauntie is not what she seems."

"you're lying!" stan accuses, pointing a finger up at her. "a-are you?"

"i wish i was... but the truth is... uglier than i'd like to talk about."

A/N: that's the end of the first part! if you want more, don't worry! i have a lot more coming! unfortunately, i reached the limit of 30 photos per post, so i'm going to have to make this a two-parter! basically, what i wanted to do here is work on three arcs in one! the thing that i really love about gravity falls, really comes down the endless possibilities! i've heard so much about the reverse falls au, but the relativity falls au is also brand-new to me. also, when it comes down to it, i really am just a sucker for multiverses (one of my first gravity falls fanfics was a crossover between this show and rick and morty—it was for a creative writing class in high school). i'm not sure if i'm 100% certain if i'm going to post the second part, because if anything, this was mainly me yapping about how i see dipcifica becoming official in not just the canon universe, but also the other au's i've included here. but if this turns out to be interesting for you guys, i might as well try to finish it.

in the meantime—please please please tell me what you think of this! i wanna know about your guys' interpretations of dipcifica in both canon+other au's! or maybe just other au's in general, since there are slightly different interpretations in both relative and relativity falls... i noticed that i've had more fun writing relativity falls, probably because that au is more new to me than reverse falls...

now that i'm yapping here, i gotta cut this short and get into the next part of this... fic?

and if you actually read through all this and got to this part—thank you so much :') it's been fun writing this so far, especially since this has heavily distracted me from the pain of my wisdom teeth extractions.

[cricket-of-the-hill]

So what's the deal with Fiddleford McGucket? Why's he like that?

Fiddleford as a character is so FUN because he's so complicated and tragic and honestly a little pathetic. On one hand you have this absolutely brilliant scientist with the potential to have been the in universe Steve Jobs who figured out that the universe is a hologram and built an honest to betsy transdimensional portal (with Ford's help, yes, but let's be honest: as mathematically brilliant as Ford was, I think his intelligence laid more in the theoretical side of things, really doubt he could have actually built the portal himself).

On the other hand, we have this man who up and leves his FAMILY to chase after a college friend who calls him one day saying "hey, I'm out in Oregon building a portal to another dimension. Little help?" and he doesn't even think twice before being like "bet" and getting his ass to Oregon. And even if you take in the context clues that things weren't going well with his marriage before he left (as pieced together by the brilliant @divorcedfiddleford in this post), he still had his son and McGucket Computermajigs and he just sets all that aside for this guy, which... 😶

I am gonna write this whole post on the assumption that Fiddleford was in love with Ford, but look, even if that's the case it doesn't make any of his actions less unhinged. Break here, because the post gets kinda long 😶‍🌫️

So here's the thing: in the fandom, it's fun to think that Fidds knew about Bill and they had some sort of taunting rivalry/love triangle thing going on and that's really fun to mess with, but FIDDLEFORD HAD NO IDEA ABOUT BILL. Ford never told him! So even if Fidds leaves California thinking he's gonna have his hot girl summer/queer arthouse romcom where he reconnects with the love of his youth and they spend the summer working in this secluded house in the woods where they can finally live out their romance, what he actually gets is a fucking psychological horror thriller where the guy he loves and is kinda trapped with is either slowly going insane or straight up getting possessed.

Now, all that is 😵‍💫 enough, but it gets worse because instead of doing the normal person thing and getting the hell out of Dodge, Fiddleford stays. He continues to help Ford to build the portal despite how weird the other man is getting, he continues to go cryptid hunting even after the nightmare goblin almost eats him, even if Ford clearly doesn't appreciate the work he does (research assistant? Not even partner? Come on), and never reciprocates the kind of gestures Fidds has towards him (like the infamous double Christmas gift bonanza).

Here's where the duality of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket kicks in: the thing is that he is incredibly brave in some ways and obviously really smart but also kind of a coward and an idiot when it comes to his relationships with others. He'll hit Thee Krampus upside the head with his banjo one day to save his friend and run away to Oregon instead of discussing divorce with this wife the next. He will leave everything he knows to pursue this one guy, but he will never ever ever confess to feeling anything other than friendship towards him. He'll put up with Stanford's creepy as all hell behavior but will never confront him about it even as Ford loses more and more of himself into his project (so no little intervention not even to help this man he's giving so much up for). Like, what was he expecting to get out of all this? If he was never planning to confess to Ford or leave his wife, what was he going to do once the portal was completed? Just keep on bouncing between wherever Ford went next and his family? Did he really think his wife and son wouldn't mind him leaving them behind without so much as a thought?

Operating under the assumption that Fiddleford is a closeted queer guy from rural Deep Down South Hillbilly County Tennessee (said with love, I'm also from the south, but we all know what homophobia looks like here) during the '80s (height of the aids pandemic which would have made everything worse) one can maybe understand why Fiddleford is like that. Why he is so so so afraid and why he ultimately chooses to erase his memories rather than just go back to his family.

So picture this: you are in love with your best friend but you can't tell him 'cause best case scenario he leaves you out to dry and worst case scenario maybe someone finds your boots down by the river and lets your parents know (and we know Ford is sweet and fruity himself and with a thing for outcasts and would never. Fiddleford probably knows that himself, but let me tell you that when you grow up with that fear it goes deep. Because you've most likely seen people who are kind get absolutely bent out of shape when confronted with the mere idea of someone like you existing in their near vicinity). Eventually, you get married and have a son because that is what you were supposed to do all along and even though you love your son and maybe even love your wife everything feels wrong. They expect you to be something you are not, you can never let your guard down, never be yourself, not even in your own home. So then that call comes and it's like a golden thicket: you can leave, give it a rest for a little while, go see your friend, stretch out those inventing muscles.

As much as the fandom clowns him for it, I honestly don't even think he went out there with the intention of cheating (emotionally or otherwise). BUT I do think he was hoping something would happen. It's just that it all depended on Ford taking that first step because Fidds sure as hell wouldn't. And then Ford didn't because he was too busy doing the sin cos tan with his trigonometry homework, but if he had, we could have had a brokenback mountain situation on our hands, lads. Then Fiddleford could have just gone along with it, and done all sorts of mind parkour to convince himself that that's somehow less bad than "outright" cheating on his wife.

So he gets to the cabin, right? And maybe things are good for a little while, like when they were in college. Fiddleford lets loose a little, Ford is happy with the company, they're friends! And I get the sense that they're the kind of friends that mesh really well, like their energies really match. As much as the fandom paints Fiddleford like a sweet cinnamon roll, that man is also a freak. He's out here building psychotic post divorce revenge pterodactyl robots and drinking abducted cow milk just to see what it's like. He's a bit unhinged! He and Ford are the two people in the world that can be like "I think the universe is a hologram." "Cool! Let's prove it mathematically, bro" and "I want to build a portal to another dimension. Just cause." "Catching a ride to your place with my toolbox as we speak, buddy." (My own personal head cannon is that Fiddleford didn't really become such a shaky jelly until the nightmare goblin got him. Like, he was never as adventurous as Ford, but I think before that particular traumatizing event he was all right for it).

Anyways, things are good for a bit, but the real world is still out there. Fiddleford has to make trips home every now and then, and every time he comes back it seems like something is different. A little off. At first it's nothing big, just a smile a little sharper than usual, a coldness in a look, Ford calling him "Specs" where before he was always a variation of his name. Then it's pointed comments that Fidds chalks up to a lack of sleep (is Ford even sleeping at all? Because he could have sworn for the past three nights he he has appeared in the same place Fidds left him when he went to sleep). Then it's a flash of yellow eyes, a maniacal laugh that Ford never used to make before, spells where he seemingly forgets how to use his body (bumps into things, tries to drink soda with his eyes?). As time goes on it starts to become more and more obvious that something is seriously wrong with this friend. And things back home are just getting worse and worse, Emma May isn't happy about Fiddleford skipping town so often, Tate wont stop asking for him, and look, was Fiddleford even making money while he was with Ford? He gettin' paid? Is Emma May back home trying to bring home the bacon while virtually single parenting? (How was Ford even supporting himself while studying anomalies? I can't imagine there's a lot of grants for that.)

But Fiddleford can't leave his friend and he can't really own up to how much messier things are at home because of this whole thing. So he keeps coming back to Gravity Falls, where he also can't really face up to Ford and either demand a clear answer as to what is going on or try to get him some help (an exorcist, maybe). Because if he does say something and Ford decides that he doesn't want Fiddleford around asking questions he's gonna have to go back home where after the Christmas thing he's honestly not sure he's really wanted anymore, not really sure he deserves it if he still was. So he keeps on doing his thing, telling himself "this is fine 🙂," while he sits in a room on fire with a bill-possessed Ford hanging from the ceiling like a spider and an disapproving Emma May looking in through a window.

I think the portal incident was what finally opened his eyes to the reality of his situation, in an ironic way. He destroyed his relationship with his wife and left his son for nothing. Left his own dreams and aspirations aside just to find out that when push comes to shove his opinion and well-being matter so little to this man he was ready to break the laws of physics for. He can't stay with Ford, and he sure as hell can't go back home, because that would mean having to face that he's done burned down all his bridges. So where do you go from there? Let me tell you, if I had the chance to forget the lowest, most selfish, stupid thing I did for a person who didn't even notice it, I'd do it in a second.

[multidimensionimagines]

Alright, first part is officially finished! A request sent to me by a wonderful user that will be tagged. In the meantime, here is part 1 of

Sweater Weather (part 1)

part 2

Summary: you borrow Ford’s sweater when it gets cold

content warnings: fluff, smut, reader is fem/afab and uses she/her pronouns, minors do not interact!

Gravity Falls wasn’t a sunny paradise. Despite what the brochures and fake marketing wanted you to believe. Sure the summers there were nice. After all, living in Oregon meant getting a perfect balance of each of the seasons as they came. So, that meant hot, sunny summers and cold, bitter winters.

You did not take this into account when you first moved to Gravity Falls two years ago. Sure, you had some sweaters and pants good enough for the colder months, and you would think that living in the same place for two years would warrant you enough time to go shopping to acquire a proper wardrobe. But you, special as you were, had an extraordinary knack for forgetting things- giving your needs the old ‘eh, I’ll do it tomorrow’ and the next thing you know, winter had passed with you surviving on the tattered blankets and fireplace in your home.

Now was the end of fall, the day after Halloween- not to be confused with the iconic Gravity Falls tradition of Summerween- and while it had been chillier out it was now getting dangerously into nipping cold territory. And your boyfriend, as practical as he was, has not stopped having to remind you.

“Dear, don’t you think you’ll be cold going out in.. that?”

You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. He quickly stiffened.

“N-not that, I’m trying to tell you what to wear. I-I would never-! You’re free to dress how you wish I’m just..” he awkwardly cleared his throat. “worried.”

You chuckled, pulling on your lightweight cardigan over your top. “I know you wouldn’t. I’ll go shopping tomorrow, okay?”

You reassured him softly, walking up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’ve been saying that everyday since October 5th.”

You rolled your eyes and grinned, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Psh, oh come on, there’s no way I’ve been saying it every day-“

Ford reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little booklet, one of those pocket colanders and flipped to the page with the current month, or well, month that just passed yesterday on it.

“Actually you have, I’ve been keeping track to see when you would actually follow through on your word.”

He explained somewhat smugly before tucking it back into his pocket, revealing your annoyed but.. slightly impressed face. Of course, only the Stanford Pines would keep track of something like that.

You gave him a look but he wouldn’t put away that stupid (cute) grin on his face and brushed past him towards the front door of the Mystery Shack. You and Soos were all going out to get some food shopping done since the kitchen was ransacked by vengeful gnomes yesterday when Stan refused to give any of them candy.

“Bein’ freakishly short and wearing dumb hats all year round doesn’t make you eligible now scram!”

Soos came out from the staff room having finished putting away the rest of the cheap Halloween decorations that were more than halfway from falling apart, but of course, your boss refused to buy any new ones till they were ‘as old as he and his brother’ which you found humorous.

Dusting his hands off each other with a proud smile, Soos closed the door behind him and sighed. “Huh, there, that ought to do it! Oh hey other Mr Pines!” He beamed and waved at Ford, seeming surprised but pleased to see him out in the open. Ford awkwardly shuffled his feet and returned his wave with a small smile.

“Ah.. Greetings, Soos. And, please, you can call me Ford, it’s a lot less formal don’t you think?”

“Oh no way dude. I respect you and Mr Pines wayyyy too much to do that.” Soos stated in a somewhat more serious tone, crossing a hand in front of him.

Ford chuckled, both amused and flattered that he thought that highly of him and his brother. “Very well then.” He shrugged, watching as Soos joined you, who had their hand on the knob as you waited semi-paitently at the front door.

“You ready to rock and roll dude?” He asked, twirling his keys around his finger.

You nodded. “Uh huh!” You turned your head back to Ford “see ya in a bit, sweetie!”

Ford smiled and returned your wave as you closed the door behind you and Soos. Even though you and Ford had been together for a good few months now, he still got a bit giddy at the feeling of you calling him sweet pet names like that. He wasn’t all that used to having someone consistently dote on him in that way, plus, you just made him weak in the knees. No matter what you did. He found you absolutely irresistible. He sighed, shaking off his wandering thoughts and opened the vending machine door, as he had important business to attend to down in his lab today. And he didn’t want any distractions whatsoever.

A little while after, Ford was tinkering away in his lab, experimenting with a new device he had been drafting blueprints for, and keeping notes on what seemed to work.

“Hm… fascinating..” he hummed to himself, a pleased smirk spread across his face as he ran another successful test. He was pulled quickly from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door, but didn’t cease writing.

“Yes, come in!” He called, eyes not tearing away from the his journal pages.

From the other side of the door, you smiled of relief. Happy to hear your boyfriend’s voice after a long day, even though it was mostly shopping, it wasn’t like it was any fun shopping. You gently and carefully opened the door to his workshop, always making sure to be cautious in your step when doing so since you never could really predict what kind of strange anomaly or new device that would be coming your way. Thankfully today however, it was just a few pieces of forest crystals that sat at his desk beside his furiously writing hand. You cleared your throat and approached behind him, standing with your hands clasped in front of your lap.

Ford hummed curiously, looking back over his shoulder and instantly brightening when he saw it was you. “Ah! Greetings, my dear! How was your excursion with Jésus?”

You giggled. “It’s just Soos. And it was great! We got everything on our list and then some… I also got you something~” you rocked back on your heels as a playful tone rang in your voice to which he perked up. Ford turned his body now towards you, resting one hand on his knee and tilting his head to one side inquiringly.

“Really?”

You nodded, reaching into your pocket to reveal a small white cloth bag which had a label in black cursive on them that read ‘Old Timey Style Jelly Beans’.

Ford chuckled and took the bag from you, prying it open with his two index fingers and peering inside. “Thank you, my dear. Although, you really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, glancing back up at you through his glasses.

You shook your head. “I always have to get you something! I like doing it, it’s nice to see your face when I come home with something for you! Besides, you hardly ever leave here as it is, I might as well do all your shopping at this point.” You insisted, resting a hand on Ford’s shoulder to steady yourself as you took a seat on his lap, taking advantage of the openness of his current leg position. He grew shy, smiling and looking away from you with a soft blush in his cheeks.

“Ah… yes, well.. um..” he cleared his throat “thank you.” He snuck a hand around your waist to keep you upright on him, bringing his head back up to face you so that you could properly see him. You peered over his shoulder to look at his desk, eyeing the new paragraphs of cursive that filled journal number four.

“What’cha working on?” You chirped. Ford beamed.

“Ah! I’m glad you asked!” He swiveled around in his chair, keeping hold of you in his lap and setting the jellybeans aside. “I’m testing a new invention of mine that I’ve had in the works for a while. I just didn’t have the pieces to do it until now…”

as he rambled on, explaining his newest discovery, you couldn’t help but accidentally tune out his words, sure you were listening, you could hear him talking, but your processing gears were occupied by the gleam in his eyes and the added crinkles that formed around them when he smiled in the excitement of explaining something to you. You let out an internal, dreamy sigh as you focused on the way his one hand was gesturing to all the different things on his desk and how the other gripped your waist so comfortingly. His rough, gorgeous hands…

“Dear, are you alright?”

Your breath hitched, you blinked and looked at him as a slow blush began to creep onto your face. “O-oh! Yeah um.. sorry you just… look really cute when you’re explaining your.. science-y.. stuff..” you admitted sheepishly, feeling kinda bad that you didn’t catch most of what he said.

Ford felt a little taken aback by the sudden onset of adoration, not that he minded it one bit. He just wasn’t used to it, a few months of being with someone so intimately wasn’t nearly enough time to get used to 60 ish years of barely experiencing it at all. He chuckled slightly, bringing his other hand to wrap in front of your torso, now encircling you in a cocoon of his arms.

“I-it’s quite alright, I wouldn’t have expected you to understand even if you were listening.”

He said with the utmost affection and sincerity. The words alone coming out of his mouth didn’t always sound too flattering, but they were hardly ever out of malice, especially not when it came to you. You had been learning to both deal with, and let him know when to not say anything. But right now you giggled and brushed it off, knowing exactly what he meant.

You two had a brief moment of looking into each others eyes, taking in each others soft gaze on the other. Ford had such deep, beautiful brown eyes that reminded you of the very forests that he explored so much. And you, oh, Ford could fill more than 10 journals dedicated to the sheer remarkable beauty of yours. He still couldn’t believe that in all the dimensions, all the universes, all the galaxies and all the stars in the sky that you chose to be his. And he was forever grateful for it. You both seemed to have the same idea as you leaned in closer, inching forward to gradually meet each others lips. Ford hummed and closed his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders he didn’t even know he was holding dropped. He gripped your waist tighter and subconsciously pulled you in closer to him and you brought your hands up to his face, cupping and caressing each cheek and running your fingers along his faint stubble. Ford was still a bit of an awkward and clumsy kisser, but you were more than happy to give him as many practice opportunities as he needed. You felt a shiver run up your spine as his thumbs began to rub into the divets of your flesh, as well as the cool air of the lab hitting your skin through your thin cardigan.

“Mmm… dear..?” Ford mumbled against your lips, gently pulling you away. Your face was revealed to him in a slight pout, which he thought was adorable. But this was no time for him to swoon, he had a pressing question he almost forgot to ask you. “Did you remember to pick up something suitable for the cold?”

Your eyes widened. Oh, shoot. That’s what you forgot.

“Uhhhh…” you squinted, looking to the side to avoid his now disappointed stare. Ford grumbled. “Okay, I forgot! Ugh..” you groaned, throwing your head back.

Ford sighed and pulled your sweater sleeve up, revealing the goosebumps that littered your arm. “Darling, look at you, you’re freezing. You should get into something warmer.” He pressed, now sounding more like a worried mother than anything. You got up off his lap. “Yeah, I didn’t wanna say anything because I was hoping you wouldn’t notice but, your lab is fucking freezing.” You shivered, bringing your hands up to your forearms in a pathetic attempt to shield them. Ford chuckled and shook his head, waving you off.

“Go on, take your time, I’ll be here all evening.”

[chimcess]

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.

[sitp-recs]

Part II: table for two

Following my list featuring the sea (now with a lil banner cause I’m getting in the reccing zone again baby!!!!), I thought I’d make this a series called “fic as a sensory delight” and continue the trend with good old Drarry domesticity walking hand in hand with some food porn appreciation. Who knew that Drarry living their best life while enjoying tasty treats could be so personal? These fics feel like a comfort meal when life gets too crazy and provide a delicious sensory experience. From cottagecore to road trips, found family, case fic, established relationship and even kinky delights - this list has a bit of everything and features food as a main character either bringing Drarry together, healing past traumas, helping them connect with their heritage or simply playing as a love language. I hope these fics bring you as much comfort, joy and healing as they brought me. Happy weekend!

🥘 Breakfast by @moonflower-rose (E, 3k)

Breakfast is Harry's favorite part of the day.

🥘 Market Saturdays by @sorrybutblog (M, 3k)

In which Harry is an accidental part-time cheesemonger, Draco is an organic farmer and they fall in love. Not an AU.

🥘 Salt and Sauce by onbeinganangel (T, 3k)

Sure, of course he knows how you take your tea. But does he know your chippy order?

🥘 Cupboard Love by @shealwaysreads (G, 4k)

Harry’s life, and love, in food.

🥘 Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You by InnerLilith (E, 11k)

In which Harry takes Draco out for Eritrean food, and Draco has a severe obsession with Harry’s hands. Smut ensues.

🥘 Harry Potter and the Showstopper of Doom by @doubleappled (M, 11k)

In which Harry’s an amateur baker, Draco wants him to go on the Great British Bake-Off, Petunia never misses an episode, Sue is a witch, Paul Hollywood is Paul Hollywood, and everyone eats a lot — like a whole lot — of baked goods.

🥘 Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 13k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

🥘 Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by @sleepstxtic (M, 15k)

“Hello, Harry,” Draco said. He was wearing a black turtleneck under a long grey overcoat, and he was already flushed with sweat. His hair was tied into a knot; it was longer than I remembered. He was older than I remembered. There were lines around his eyes, and I wondered if they were from laughing or frowning. “Hello,” I managed. “You must be with the British Ministry?’ He nodded. I thought I might faint.

🥘 Bridges by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 16k)

Harry and Draco are on a trip to Budapest to help with Kingsley's re-election, but that's the boring bit. More interesting: Harry Potter is changing his Tinder preferences to include men. Also interesting: Harry's spending more time with Draco Malfoy than he ever has, wandering around the city. And Harry doesn't hate it. The city's pretty gorgeous too.

🥘 Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (M, 17k)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

🥘 Preserving Lemons by @saintgarbanzo, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 17k)

Harry is cooking food he couldn't care less about; Draco is making art he couldn't care more about. A story about kebabs, miniskirts and the way preservation can transform a lemon.

🥘 Passion Cake by @icmezzo (T, 19k)

It’s all about desire. (Harry orders a magically enhanced cake from a chic London bakery, and from there it all goes to hell in a cake tin. Also, will someone please tell Harry what Passion Cake is?)

🥘 Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

🥘 Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

🥘 Make This Leap by @oflights (M, 118k)

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

[matrixbearer2024]

Since the poll is practically over and the outfit's largely been decided, I'll be dropping the first post to the strip challenge in a couple hours on my Ford Blog @gftimelord to christen it HAHAHHA- (psst go bother him it'll be funny HAHHAHAH) Thanks for the interaction everybody, I only hope to deliver. Here's the first drabble to start it off with since I am pairing every drawing with a story sequence as promised. You could probably think of this as my interpretation for some kind of continuation to Ford's route in "Swooning Over Stans" by @gfdatingsim since I've genuinely been non-stop playing that game since it's recommendation to me. I will balance med proper and my delulu if it's the last thing I do HAHAHAHA-

Reply to this post as well if you want to be pinged for whenever this challenge updates!

I Accept Your Challenge!

(Stanford Pines x Reader)

After you heard a new challenge becoming trendy among couples you decide to try it on a certain Stanford Pines; just... you didn't exactly explain to him what the challenge was.

Maybe his competitiveness was a good thing in this case. You at least got a bloody good show out of his cluelessness.

Another slow summer day and you were in the living room of the mystery shack alongside the Pines as they went about doing whatever. Navigating your relationship with a certain scientist definitely somewhat of a learning curve but you digressed. Similar to Dipper and Mabel, you'd receive post cards from the twins about their seafaring adventures; your mail just came with additional special letters from your beloved. All of which you'd neatly stowed away in a bag that you always had with you, no use keeping it at home when you were rarely there.

Often traveling for a nomadic lifestyle was serene and fun at times, but you found yourself missing this place. It felt more like a home to you than your own place did in the couple weeks you'd stuck around after your car got smashed into the side of the log cabin.

Who knew that the same man who totaled your car one day would be the same adorable nerd you now called your lover?

It felt a bit like those romance dramas Stan liked to watch but you quickly dismissed that thought. Fairytales weren't real, fate isn't exactly something you believed in either. Stories of princesses finding their prince charmings were mostly smoke and mirrors, things you'd tell a child to give them hope of a better world than reality.

In gravity falls however... you quickly learned that nothing was truly impossible. Never say never in this small town of Oregon.

You sat on the floor next to Dipper and Mabel as they boredly flipped through TV channels; books, papers and crayons littered about around the three of you. The glass danced with colors from the rapidly flipping images while the twins struggled to find anything even remotely entertaining to watch, you couldn't help but allow your mind to wander from the boredom.

You and Ford spent quite a bit of time since you'd arrived at the beginning of the week, frankly you'd made the trip as soon possible when Stan shot you a message that they'd finally docked to spend the summer with the kiddos. You hoped it wasn't all that obvious how much you missed Stanford, but you didn't really need to worry when he was the one who immediately swamped you up in a hug the second you were out of your car. It's only been two years thus far since you've known the man but Stanley and Mabel insisted that you stay with him in his room, you didn't know why they were so adamant until you saw the state of the man's living quarters.

A whole day was spent with the both of you furnishing and cleaning the said room because of that but neither of you complained, most of the time was spent goofing off anyway.

Now... you were wondering where Ford was, not to mention what he was doing. Was he down in the lab tinkering again? You didn't want to disturb him, but you really wanted to find him. Any time spent apart didn't feel like time used to it's full capacity, even if you did enjoy the company of the other Pines; it just wasn't the same.

At some point, you were bored enough to not necessarily care whether you'd be disturbing Ford's work or not when you went down to the lab. It was just last summer when he taught you how to get down there, as well as spilling more about his past. All of which you simply listened to unless he asked anything; it was better to listen and attempt to understand than say or do something that would make it worse.

Seems like he really wanted to get it off his chest too, be transparent with you; something you appreciated.

You were shaken out of your headspace when you heard the rustling of boxes from the lab, as well as some hushed but frustrated cursing. You didn't really recall a time Ford swore unless he was legitimately ticked off, the man made a valiant effort not to compared to his twin.

But they both had sailor mouths anyhow even if it was fitting.

"Ford? Are you down here?"

"Ah-! [Y/N]! What- what are you doing down here?"

You moved closer to him in an attempt to see what he was doing, even if the man looked a bit rattled to be found like this by you.

"What are you doing?"

"I asked first my dear."

Ford chuckled, shifting to hide something behind his back. You pouted at him and crossed your arms. He couldn't help but smile at how cute you looked doing that.

"Was looking for you, Dipper and Mabel are bored watching TV upstair anyway... sooooo- what are you doing?"

You smiled when Ford returned your inquisitiveness with a small laugh, showing you what he held in his hand. A pair of goggles?

"What's that for?"

"I was attempting to sort through which of my belongings I could still use among the ones I wish to discard. Inadvertently I ended up finding these, I think I could still make use of them."

You tilted your head at him as a silent prompt to continue, it took every bit of control from Ford not to laugh again. You looked like a curious puppy, though he figured he shouldn't say that outright.

"It's simply among the items I collected and kept with me through my time in the multiverse. Protective eyewear can be useful for many things."

"Huh, if you have that— does it mean you still have the rest of the outfit?"

Now it was your turn to think Ford was being cute, he just wordlessly blinked at you in surprise. Was your request really that odd? You'd barely seen him in any other outfit combinations, of course you'd be curious.

"I—... I think I do? Why do you ask?"

"Do you think you'd still be able to rock it like you used to?"

"'Used to'? Excuse me?"

"I mean, it's been a couple years... why don't you try it on again?"

Ford laughed once again from your teasing, the way you sassily tried to goad him on was entertaining in it's own right. He was a bit on the fence about the whole outfit however, especially due to the memories associated with it.

It's not that bad compared to some things he'd found though... maybe he could indulge you.

"Hm..."

"I-I mean, if you really don't want to—"

Your panicked stammering was cut short when a warm palm cupped your cheek, meeting Stanford's eyes as he pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. He could feel your skin heat in up in his hand, hiding a cheeky smile in your hair as he held you there.

"I'll show it to you... as soon as I can find the rest of the outfit."

Ford couldn't help but smile wider when your cheerful laugh rang out; it's the best sound to ever have graced his ears in the time he's been alive. A bit surprising given how many things he's been exposed to, but he couldn't name another chime so pleasant.

"I'll hold you to that Ford."

"And I accept your challenge my dear."

YEAAAAH HERE IT ISSSS- TEXT THING CUZ WE NEED INTRODUCTION-

[saturna625]

You work at the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls.

It's no big deal, really. I mean, every once in a while, you realize that it's gotta be a front for something. A cult, the illuminati, or the mafia, you weren't really sure.

You weren't paid enough to care, honestly.

But the job was fun enough, and the customers were cool to screw with, and it paid the bills, plus your coworkers were pretty cool.

Your boss was.... an odd man, sure. A good con, a great sense of humor, and a mouth that could make a sailor blush, but you wouldn't say he's evil.

He's got a great nephew and niece, who come up every summer. They're chill, too. Mabel sends you home with at least two new stickers every day. Your binder is getting too full. But you didn't mind, the kid was sweet. You'd find a use for these stickers, later.

Gravity Falls was an odd town, but you didn't really seem to mind that either. A little town, barely even a dot on the state map, hidden behind back roads upon back roads in the great state of Oregon. It had its moments, and it's stories.

You were decently sure the lawn gnome in your garden moved on its own, and your attic was definitely haunted (you regret mentioning that to the kids– you've found that Dipper kid trying to look up where you lived), but it was cheap and homey, and a great place to live after scraping past college.

Then your boss– who was really your boss's brother? Who had taken up his name, when he disappeared, the ultimate con, you actually admired him for that– Stanley, and his twin, the original owner of the Shack, Stanford emerged from behind the vending machine, you knew that you were maybe in a little too deep. Mafia ties, for sure.

Then quite some events happen: ie, the sky splits open, you become a statue for a hot minute, and then... aren't, anymore (dude, the squirrel that you treat as your therapist is gonna go wild when he hears this) and you're back at the Shack.

The building is warmer now. Pointdexter– or Ford, the actual one, is a pretty good man. A little blunt, with not much common sense for the amount of books smarts he has, but good.

If you find anything weird, or out of place, it's his.

If you see him fighting an interdimensional squid, and then you're told there's seviche in the kitchen, you don't question it.

And you take some seviche to go.

The shack is a little louder since Ford's arrival. Stan seems happy. Dipper too. And Mabel, well, she still gives you stickers as you leave your shift.

You're on a walk, something you read that could help with coping, through the woods. The weather is nice today, and for once, it's not raining, and even better, the air is crisp and cool.

You decide to take a new trail. It leads into a bit of a clearing, you can see a rock piling, some flowers, and a creek. It's pretty.

You take your journal out, a small, leatherbound thing (the inside cover is coated with stickers. Mabel, please) and begin to sketch it, a hobby you've picked up in the last months.

You're not the best, but you're not the worst, either. As you're finishing up, you spot a weird shift in the rocks.

Weird is normal here.

So you get up to go investigate, holding your journal at the ready, like a defensive position.

The statue does not move.

It looks like the illuminati symbol. Like the top of the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill. It's overgrown with moss, but you do not recognize it. It's hand is held out, like it's ready to shake yours.

Heh. That would be pretty funny.

If you shook the statue's hand.

It's what it wants. Shake it's hand. Shake the hand.

You draw the statue. It's a shoddy deal, but you actually enjoyed how it turned out. It looks cool.

The hand is outstretched.

You leave one of Mabel's stickers on the statue. It looks a little less intimidating that way.

Your shift starts in twenty minutes, so you tuck your journal in your jacket, and you're off to it.

Maybe you'll come back later. There's a bit more you want to do with the drawing.

Shake the hand.

You've gotta fix the angle on it. You wonder how the sculptor got it to be that way.

You clock in, and pull your journal out again, as Dipper walks through the doors, followed by Ford.

The younger twin asks what your journal is about. He's got a few of his own.

"Kind of random." You tell him. "I draw things I see on my walks, or write down recipes, or stuff like that. Dude, wait until I show you this statue I found in the woods. It'll fit right in with those notebooks you keep..."

[movedtoadifferentspace]

i shifted last night for the first time in 2 years. . .

MOVED TO @kodtheshiftinggodd !

📌 — QUICK RUNDOWN OF MY SHIFTING JOURNEY

umm so i started on shifttok ( unfortunately) back in like november of 2021, i was shifting to naruto. during like 2021-2022 i had experienced a lot of shifts, ranging from weird realities i didn’t plan on going to, only being there for a few moments, not realizing i was there even though i was there for over an hour, and literally shifting while doing dishes. 🧍

sometime in like the summer of 2022 i stopped shifting doing to being in a relationship with this really cringy dude… who like thought i would disappear out of thin air… if i shifted… ( and some shifttok drama that i got brought into, that’s a whole other story if you wanna hear that, the rundown is i got randomly outcasted bc i had BPD and autistic traits ( literally what they said ) ) yeah not my finer moment. anyways, i also just lost a lot of motivation for it. i still hated this reality but i don’t know, shifting just, idk. it took me just a few months ago to realize that the shifttok mean girls who outcasted me, made me feel like i didn’t deserve to shift in some way. ( when i realized that, i realized how fucking stupid that was )

and so i’ve been really reevaluating my journey, spent a lot of time of shiftblr instead of shifttok, even started my own discord to get rid of misinfo!!! which by the way shiftblr has helped me change my mindset SO MUCH! like i’ve been literally a ghost on here but i adore ya’ll so much !!and basically i feel really confident about shifting. i’ve shifted every time i tried, even though it was a very short shift, i have been practicing manifestation, LOA, & meditation and yeah here we are !

🐇 — THE SHIFT ITSELF

so i read something last night on shiftblr, it’ll be linked here, i already was/am in the mindset of “if i try to shift i’m going to fucking shift” like it doesn’t matter to me anymore, i’m doing it. instead of trying every night, i’ve been focused on trying on weekends when i have no responsibilities and such. though throughout this week i have been practicing my meditation/reaching the void state. SO i saw that post and honestly… i wasn’t really like looking to shift, it was a very impromptu thing. i put on a subliminal [ the one i used ] and i went to bed. i was thinking about one my alt realities a better cr though i hate the term better cr where i live in Oregon, and I am a tattoo apprentice, Levi Ackerman from AOT is the one I am apprenticing for. this is really based on me learning how to tattoo and not having to spend time with the AOT cast while also fighting titans and save the world. while that is great, I wanted something chill SO YEAH. I fell asleep to thinking about that… and I shifted. not to that reality but a weird parallel/version of it?

I did this with my first ever shift too. it was almost like a dreamlike reality, but only subtly. soooo I did reality checks.. and it for sure wasn’t a dream. I lived in the apartment above the shop ( which isn’t what i scripted ) and I went down and just went to work with Levi, Hange, and Zeke. I was really on edge though, like “omg i shifted” “i’m literally talking to Levi wtf” like i had no time to process or ground myself so i ended up coming back. but yeah. that’s what happened and i’m determined to get to this ALT reality. ( not in a rushed way, but a ‘i know im going to get there soon’ way )

anyways, that’s my first ever shiftblr post ahhh xxxx

creds to @jolynesmom for their post that i found

ALSO ANY TIPS WILL BE WONDERFUL, i’m literally always looking for things to improve my journey <3 or new things to try at least

happy shifting <3

[ifbrd]

Book of Bill, Mild spoiler warning

This is one of the “lost journal 3 pages”.

Written by Ford, it says “DRAT! Within minutes I fell victim to Gravity Falls’s unpredictable weather. (We go from Paleozoic blizzards to freak heat waves to ‘quail hail’ multiple times per winter)”

And I just need everyone who is not from Oregon to know: that is not Gravity Falls weather, that is Oregon weather with some minor Gravity Falls influence.

My friends and I have been joking about Oregon’s unpredictable and crazed weather since grade school. I used to have teachers before field trips tell us “remember we live in Oregon, dress in layers, if it gets too hot you can take off your jacket, if it gets too cold you can put the jacket back on.”

I’ve literally seen comic strips making fun of the state’s strange weather patterns and how fast it can drastically change.

In my junior year of high school, it was a week before spring break, so like mid to late March. Thursday we had a two hour delay because of snow, in an area, mind you, that typically doesn’t even get much snow in the dead of winter, and when we do it almost never sticks to the ground. Friday, the next day, it was 75+° and brightly sunny. Again it was the start of spring break, but it felt like the start of summer break.

The amount of conversations I’ve had with coworkers wondering if they should bring their coat or umbrella, asking what the weather looks like right now, and the amount of times I’ve had to remind them where we live, and that even though it’s sunny now, it very well could be down pouring in the 5 minutes it takes to get to the building we’re going to.

Ford clearly never went anywhere in the state besides Gravity Falls 🤣

[steviewashere]

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home)

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change With Future Chapters) CW: None, at least for now Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry)

This is chapter one of ????. Also this takes place in Oregon because that's what I know and the idea of a merman living in an Indiana lake-beach is odd to me. So...bear with me. This is my first like actual alternate universe, completely separate from Stranger Things, so be nice.

Also, I've written Steve here as a merman who's had no contacts with humans—his English is choppy and his understanding of basic human communication is weird. If that's a turn-off for you, turn back now.

Read Part Two Here

Can also be read on AO3

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ Fishing wasn’t the ideal career to be going into after high school, but Eddie had to do something while he waited for his dreams to kickstart. Granted, going into this business was easy because his uncle owned the local bait shack. But it didn’t make the job any more appealing in the end. Not even the many beaches he had the chance to truck out to. There was Cannon Beach and Seaside’s, but he stayed close to home in Newport’s.

The beach wasn’t anything super spectacular. Sure, there were parts of it inhabited by the native seal population, some of the areas overloaded with crab shells. And it was damn near majestic during the summertime. Eddie, however, didn’t see the gist of spending time there, though. Maybe it had to do with how every single one of his work days would go, the hours spent sitting in the serene stretches of water. But nothing was intriguing or worthwhile about spending his time there.

That is, until one particular early summer day.

June isn’t a busy summer month for Eddie and his uncle. It was the right temperature, but there was still the risk of storms. Heavy duty kind of storms. Business didn’t stop, though. He woke up at 5:30am, when the sun was still acclimating to the baby blue sky, and readied himself in coveralls, thick and tall rubber boots, and a bucket hat that protected his lopsided mop of curls. His hair remained back in a bun and his skin was doused with paste-like sunscreen. In one hand he carried a red fishing rod and in the other, an old black lunchbox transformed for tackle.

He went out to the docks. To the few run down boats. And climbed aboard his uncle’s tried and true, S.S. Lenore—a tiny thing, made for up to four people, overrun with nets and crusted muddy footprints, and equipped with a singular cooler. The engine always took a few pulls to start up, jostling and crunching like food run through a garbage disposal, but it did the trick. And then he was off.

Eddie always took the chance to float out for a handful of minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Sometimes ten. Set himself up stagnant in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nobody, with no chance in hell he’ll be interrupted. Today he just needed to get a cooler full of trout. Rainbow trout, to be more exact. They’re easy fish to gut and debone, good for baking in the oven, and stuffing full of herbs for marinated fish stew. He’d gone out previously to hoist in mackerels and herrings. This was the last trip he’d need to take for a good two weeks, but he was going to do a damn great amount of work for it.

“This should be good,” he mumbles to himself, just barely breeching the edge of his boat. The ocean underneath him moves in subtle pushes, rocking him lightly against itself. Its color is bright and shining—bluer, somehow, than the last time he visited just a few days ago. He can see schools of trout idling underneath the sheen of the water. And so he rigs one of his nets, tosses it over the side of his boat, and slowly sinks it into the water.

And he waits.

It isn’t until half past when he came out that the net begins to rustle. Tugging and splashing, but it doesn’t settle the way it does when it’s some regular trout. No, this threatens to topple Eddie straight into the cold depths of the water below. To sink his boat and turn it over of all its resources.

He grips to the ropes holding the damned thing up. Pulling at it hard enough to give him the starts of burns on his soft palms. And he heaves. Groaning with it. Panting unrelenting in the face of this thing trapped inside his net. Whatever he caught is surely not some common fish for his soup, this is something more—maybe even more dangerous. And he hadn’t thought to bring anything with him to ward off danger.

There had been one time where a shark got caught. Eddie happened to have a knife on him that time. He gave in, cut the ropes on the net, and let it free—which cost him the equipment, but luckily saved his life.

This is a time where having that knife would be spectacular. But as he hefts the net, he realizes that this creature caught is no ordinary thing. It’s not a shark. Not a seal. Not a school of fish. However, through the floundering waves around him, he catches on a fish-esque glimmer. Scales of some sort shifting with the catch of light breaking through.

He wrestles with the net for a few minutes more before eventually getting a good enough grasp to tie it down. Pulling up the rest with his hands, he’s met face to…tail with this creature. It has scales—pearl white and baby pink and pastel yellows—they shine iridescent in the high rise of sunlight. The end of the tail sports two fins, both of them crescent shaped, thicker towards the base of the tail, and spindly where it faces Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he’s poking at the scales, where they taper into absence at the creature’s fins. It’s then that the creature really notices him.

In one fell motion, grand and heaving, the boat rocks. Teetering into flipping. The creature turns its head to him and…hisses. Like the guttural bubbling hiss of a harbor seal. It rocks in the net again, as it lunges towards Eddie.

Immediately, Eddie pulls his hands away and steps as far back as the boat will allow him. Granted, it’s only four feet in width, but that puts space between him and this thing. The thing that he calculates slowly with his eyes. Tail—yeah, he already knew about that. But then he rakes up to the torso of the fish like creature, where his tail is ombre with the glistening, golden skin of a nude torso.

“That—That isn’t right,” Eddie finds himself stuttering, surveying the torso once again. Sure enough, there’s skin. Dotted with moles and freckles. Dark brunette chest hair that could almost be mistaken as black. Toned arms and big, veiny hands. At the ends of this creature’s fingertips are short, curved towards the palms, white claws. Gills where its ribs are. And then Eddie goes to its head. Square-ish jaw, more freckles and moles, smile lines and baby crows feet. Thick eyebrows, triangular nose with a bridge that angles slightly to the left. Ears that threaten to point at the tops. Brunette hair that swoops to the right, falls to its collarbones, wavy and stringy with saltwater.

And its eyes.

Human eyes. Hazel, glowing honey in the sun. Long eyelashes. Drooping eyelids. Pupils that are pinpoint small, dilating with every hiss that leaves the creature’s throat.

A mermaid.

Eddie Munson is looking at a fucking mermaid.

Or…merman? It doesn’t have the seashell bra like all the mermaids he’s heard tales about, but maybe that’s just fable. He’s played all kinds of fantasy games, but he never thought what he described would be looking at him. Wild eyes and baby shark-like teeth, though without the second row. Hissing.

It struggles in the net again, lunging. Wrapping its hands on the edge of Eddie’s boat, squeezing at the metal material. The force of this merman’s grip enough to cause the edge to creak. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Woah! Alright, okay!” He exclaims, hands up and placating. Briefly, he wonders if it has a good sense of smell and hearing. Like it can scent the excretion of his sweat even in the cold air. Or how his heart beats like the galloping of a race horse. “Easy! I ain’t—I’ve got no reason to hurt you!”

It seems to know what he’s saying, as it relaxes in the net for the first time. But it shoots him a pitiful, pleading look. Petulantly whining at him, though the sound is gargled.

Eddie wipes his sweating palms on his coveralls and takes a tentative step forward. “Easy,” he murmurs, “I’ll free you, but you have to stay calm.”

But the merman shakes its head. “No,” it croaks, “No free.”

Okay, so the guy speaks. It knows English. Even as choppy and awkward as it sounds.

“No free?” Eddie questions, “You don’t want me to free you?”

It shakes its head again. Whines, gargling again in the back of its throat. Its hands grip to the boat again, this time lugging some of its weight. As if it’s trying to…climb in.

Eddie startles back once more. “Hey, no,” he barks, “no climbing in. You can’t come onto my boat.” Though he wants to take it all back the moment he locks eyes again. If it didn’t have scales and gills, Eddie would almost think it was a sad puppy hybrid. He can almost imagine the droopy tail paired with the glistening, fearful, and pleading eyes. “Why shouldn’t I free you? My boat isn’t your home and I can’t take you back with me. You belong in the water.”

“Home,” the merman echoes, croaking. “Your home…warm?”

“Uh—“ What the fuck, he can’t help but think, exasperated. “—uh, sure. Home is warm. My, uh, home is warm. I live by the sand with my uncle, selling worms and cooking fish. The sun hits my skin every morning.” He doesn’t know why he’s answering the guy, but something in its stare, the broken words—Eddie’s allured. “Can you please answer my question? I’d like to go home. So, why shouldn’t I free you?”

The merman points a clawed finger at itself. “My home not warm. Cold.” Eddie nods along because—of course, duh, the ocean is cold. But it murmurs, “Love.” And now Eddie’s confused all over again.

“Love?”

Its voice is soft and sweet, curious. “You have love?”

Eddie shouldn’t be indulging this. He shouldn’t. But maybe the merman is a siren with how he’s drawn to answer. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking. But my uncle loves me. And I love him. That’s—I have love like that.”

It nods like it understands. Looks away over its shoulder, to the cold, salty water. And visibly shudders before facing Eddie again. “No love,” it says, pointing at itself again. “I no have love. No warm.” It tries to climb in again, even as Eddie’s moving to pry its hands away, but it holds tight and hisses again. “Want warm. Go with. Want to go. Go now,” it demands in a low timber.

And even as pretty as this merman is, Eddie has to refuse. He shakes his head softly. Gently, he says, “You can’t. I—I don’t know you. And…I don’t have an ocean in my house. You’ll die if you come with me.”

“Steven,” it mutters.

What? “What.”

“Know me—Steven,” it says. “Know you? Name?”

Tentatively, Eddie relaxes again. Realizes that this won’t be an end all conversation. “My name is Eddie. It’s short for Edward,” he answers, “but I like Eddie more.”

It hums, observing. “Eh-die,” it sounds out. “Eddie,” it whispers. Without warning, it trills at him. High pitched, chirping and bubbling from the back of its throat. Smiling with the sound, squinting its pretty honey eyes. Something in Eddie stirs. “Like that,” it chirps. “Short and easy. I want.”

“You want a short and easy name, too?” Eddie clarifies. It nods at him, squeaking an affirmative thing. “How about…Hm, what’s a good name for Steven?” He ponders as the merman continues to look on at him, eyes bright and curious. “How about Steve? Is that good enough for you?”

“Steve!” It crows. Trilling again, higher pitched than the last, squirming again in the net, closer and closer to heaving itself into the boat. “Easy, easy, easy,” it says at him.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. “So…Steve, am I able to call you a he? Like…His name is Steve?”

He nods at Eddie. Wriggling again as if he can’t contain his excitement.

“Well, now I know you, huh? It’s a shame I still can’t take you to my home.”

And now Steve frowns, eyes saddening again. “But…My home is cold. You have warm,” he says solemnly.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “but I don’t have space for you, Steve. Your home is in the water. If I take you out of the water for too long, you’ll die. You need the water.”

“I will see you again?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you see my boat again, you can visit me. How about that? And…what’s special about that, is that I can bring you things that aren’t in the ocean.”

“Man’s stuff?”

Befuddled, Eddie asks, “What are man’s stuff?”

“Stuff I see from up here. From Eddie’s home,” Steve answers. “I find and I keep and I hide. Nobody knows. Just Eddie. Eddie is nice, though. You make me happy.”

Humming, Eddie assesses Steve again. Smiles softly. “You’re nice, too, Steve. Even though you scared me earlier. But you were scared, too, huh? Caught in my stupid net.” He takes a careful step closer, standing over where Steve rests in the net still. He places a hand on one of Steve’s, tentatively, but purposefully. “But if you see my boat again, you can come visit. Maybe next time I’ll bring some fish soup? Do you eat fish?”

“Fish are tasty,” Steve says as a response.

Eddie chuckles again. “Okay, Steve. I’ll bring you fish soup. Tomorrow, though. I have to free you and go home, okay?” He reaches down for the ropes that he tied down earlier. Tugs on one of the knots and frees one side. Steve yelps.

“Promise you come back?” Steve meekly asks.

“Promise,” Eddie murmurs intensely, unraveling the last of the rope. “Look for Lenore. She’ll bring you back to me.”

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. Taglist for this is open <3

[tookthe-405]

VBS

Chapter 2 (part 2)

Love me Anyway ~Chappell roan

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rebel!ellie x fem!reader

a/n: i just really wanted to show what happens after the "prank"

summary: you grew up religious without questions adn in summer you would get send to vacation bible school. The camp felt like prison to you, until a very interesting girl appeared.

The night was very stressful, for you and for Ellie. While you couldn't sleep because guilt was eating you up from the inside, Ellie couldn't sleep because because the excitement of seeing the pastor's face kept her brain up. You'd be lying if you said you didn't regret anything, because you do. Just not enough to tell anyone.

If you could have ratted out Ellie, everyone would know that it was done out of manipulation, even if that's really not the case.

Ellie isn't manipulating you, you're just under her spell. And you're pretty sure she doesn't know anything about it, so how manipulative can it be?

This morning you got up earlier than everyone else. you hardly slept at all and only listened your heartbeat getting faster and faster. Around 4 a.m. you dozed off, but it was more of an uncomfortable half-sleep. You looked at yourself in the mirror and thought about the many years before, where you would´ve been scared of Ellie, afraid of being thrown out of camp and losing the respect of the church.

That fear still exists, but you no longer felt it in your blood, because no matter what happened you would find a place, maybe even the one where you belong. It would also be nice if Ellie would be part of this place.

After the sermon in the morning, buses arrived at the youth hostel to take you to the small town that was half an hour away. Hood River was a small town in Oregon and you visit it at least twice a year to talk to people about God. In fact, there are already many believers there, but Pastor Toby is never really satisfied with this small town, as if he has a private dispute with the pretty place.

You were still outside and waiting for the bus with Ellie and the others, when you saw the many group leader loading the candied apples into a separate car. The reality of the prank hit you again.

But Ellie calmed you down and told you and the girls about the many crazy pranks that the middle school students had pulled at her school.

She seemed to be fitting into the group more and more, changing parts and information about herself to fit into the picture and it made you a little sad to know it. Having to watch it.

Ellie is great exactly the way she is, she shouldn't have to change. In no world she should ever feel out of place.

After the trip, the organization started. The town is a bit big, but you already know where Christians live and you only go to the houses where non-religious people opened the door last year, or closed it again very quickly.

"We're taking over the lover lane and we´ll just move forward to the eugene street," announces Louisa, who has completely prepared for today.

She goes ahead with a city map and lots of candied apples in her cloth bag.

"Ellie, I have such a bad feeling about this"

"It's all good, we haven't been anywhere yet."

When you arrived on the quiet street, the mid-20-year-old explained that it would be smarter if everyone answered the doors one at a time, as it would be quicker that way.

"Does everyone know their sayings and verses?" Sometimes, Hazel seems more professional than Louisa herself.

"Yes Hazel, how dare we forget it" ellie sighs

the curly haired girl almost hisses at Ellie.

"We'll meet everyone here again when you're done with your houses."

You all split up into parts and the thought of being separated from Ellie makes you incredibly nervous.

The first house is house number 10.

The house itself looks peaceful. Blue painted, with the American flag proudly hoisted and a car parked in front yard.

You go through all the steps again.

ask if they believe in the lord

if not, try to demonstrate that god can help in every situation

help through bible verses

distribute the message of the church

deliver the (poisoned) apples

Great.

Your fist hits the brown wooden door, not too quietly and not too loud. You could see Ellie grinning in front of you and talking about God whether she really meant it or not.

“Hello?”

you quickly put on a smile.

“Hello, sorry to bother you, I’m part of the community a little further south of here and wanted to ask if you’ve already found your way to jesus?"

You notice that Christians always talk in "Not yet" Terms.

As if we expect every person to find god one day, and the ones that haven´t already are just behind in life.

How annoying it must be to have a stranger to dictate your future.

"ok sweetie i have, but i still worry daily"

That suprises you, normaly the answer is just yes or no. But this lady is ready for a whole conversation on her foot step.

"What kind of worries?"

"i always did what god told me to do and i think i did a good job, but my poor son just doesn´t follow him. I swear i thaught him better! Now he has children who don´t belive and follow jesus path and i dont want them to go to hell!"

The older woman sighs sadly, at the edge of tears.

You´re not really sure what to say to her.

"well i´m positive that god will show himself to every human at some point. Maybe that just hasn´t happened to you family yet?"

The woman turns back slightly and screams a boys name into the house.

"im sorry young lady, but my grandchild is over for the summer and i really want him to hear this"

She squeals in delight, but your blood freezes. It feels as if the child's entire future is in your hands and you briefly thought about handing out the apple now so that she would just throw you out.

"Oh God, this child! Please come in, miss."

That's not on your list of things to do, but something makes your legs wander in anyway.

You can hardly say no now.

"Just sit down, sweetie, I'll get him out of the garden for a moment."

You nod to her and turn your head around the room. Everything looks very… old and religious.

Out of respect, you take off your shoes in the hallway and see that the old woman has slippers just like your grandparents. Large, heavy leather slippers.

The house was definitely old and you wonder if maybe her husband built it. The wallpaper is new, or at least in very good condition, but the old wood on the door frame shows the true age of the house.

You hesitantly sit down on an old chair at the round dining table and peek into the old woman´s kitchen.

Overall, a beautiful house, made for a child's summer, but looks can be deceiving.

You're just staring at the little cross on the wall. For a moment you feel very watched, but you shake the anxious thoughts out of your mind and concentrate again on the here and now.

"Come on! It won't take long, darling."

A young boy sits down on the opposite end of the table, probably not older than 10.

He doesn't feel like being here. Ellie would like him.

You quickly unpack your little Bible and introduce yourself to the boy. He doesn't say anything and just stares at you silently.

His grandma snorts. "unbelieveble, his name is Marcus"

You nod slowly and realize how uncomfortable this situation is.

How are you supposed to convince Marcus, who would rather play outside, to believe in God? The fuck thinks his grandma who you are.

"Well Marcus, your grandma wanted me to tell you about how much God loves you and how much he wants you to be with him at the end of your life-"

"I don't care"

"what"

"I don't want to hear it, grandma!"

His grandmother looks at you forgivingly, but you can also see a desperate pleading.

"Young man-"

"What is that?"

You follow his, finger pointing to the floor where the basket full of garnished apples lies.

"Oh that-"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Now would actually be a good time to die, or at least to be dragged out of this house, by someone who finally realized how cursed this whole mission was from the start

"cool! can i have one"

Marcus suddenly seemed to have found his concentration and respect again. His grandmother also looks at you expectantly.

"Sure."

you slowly take out a wrapped apple, silently hoping that Ellie will breaks into the building and tells you that it's all over. You hand him the apple on a stick and just hope that he isn't hungry yet.

"What the dear lady wants to say is that you should give the lord a chance. He loves you very much and absolutely doesn't want you to end up in eternal fire for-."

You nod very slowly and stare at that damn apple. Poor Marcus. The old woman drives forward.

"What your father taught you is-"

The boy bites into the apple with a grin and it takes exactly 2 seconds until he spits it out again.

You grimace with a sigh.

"Fuck"

"excuse you!"

The Grandma stares at you in disbelief, you worry for a moment whether her old googly eyes might fall out and you imagine how she looks at her grandson like that, every day when he forgets to say amen at the end of a prayer.

Luckily for you, he also starts crying and you probably underestimated his age a bit, or he's just way too dramatic

"what's wrong honey?"

"um i need to go, have a good day"

like a reflex you get up, put your church's contact details on the table and run down the narrow, old but young hallway, put your shoes back on and run out of the house.

Summer air blows through your hair. You seem to have lost all control over your legs because you run and run and run, even when the American flag is nothing more than a small mixture of red, white and blue.

For some reason you suddenly think about a summer with oranges and ellie, another world who is so possible but yet so far away from reality, it almost makes you cry.

The many colors of the houses fly past you and you just grab your bag tighter, so that those shitty apples don't fall out and someone else has to eat them.

You don't even notice where you are until you find the roundabout who lead to the many streets.

"God.." You take a breath over and over again, resting your arms on your knees, but your lungs seem to be allergic to air because it feels like nothing is getting in.

"Hey…"

A hand on your shoulder and you jump back, a small scream leaving your lips, worried that the old lady might have followed you.

Red hair, green eyes and freckles.

Your hand is on your chest and you are breathing deeply and quickly.

Your eyes eat each other up and you are sure that you have never had such an intimate relationship with anyone else in the world.

Thank you so much for being here, for playing a role in my life and for not just being a nameless girl.

She looks at you, the sweat on your forehead and your loose shoes that you probably didn't even tie.

God, does she even know how precious she is to you?

"You scared me"

"I noticed, sorry…"

After a few moments you feel like there was enough eye contact, even though you're pushing for more, so you look away. Pay attention to anything else, the birds in the background, the lake that you can almost see from here or all those American flags.

"Sit down first, you're about to fall over"

Ellie gently grabs your hand. Your hands aren't really linked, she just grabs yours and leads you both to the side of the street, to a small bench.

"It worked, by the way. The apples taste really bad."

Ellie chuckles next to you and lets go of your hand, why does she have to do that?

"I know, a guy almost set his dog on me when he tried one. He was such a disgusting creep, who probably hasn’t showered in days and he was standing in front of me in my bathrobe."

That makes you laugh.

"Those are always the worst. They made little boy cry… he was really mean, but I still feel kinda bad. He didn’t want to listen to anything I said about god”

"Funny guy" Ellie replies and you smile shamelessly at her from the side.

Then she clears her throat and looks forward again.

"I'm sorry if I… dragged you into this. I didn't mean to force you to do anything."

You're now holding her hand, that's resting on her knee.

"You didn't force me to do anything Ellie, you gave me something I always wanted as a child"

"To make a boy cry?"

“Freedom,” you correct her, grinning.

She smiles shyly back and you watch intently as her cheeks become redder and redder. How beautiful this life is!

"Hey guys!"

as quickly as it happened, you take your hand away again and even Ellie slips a little further away from you, still red.

Kate walks down the street towards you with a weak body.

"There's something wrong with these apples"

Thanks for reading and for all the sweet comments and reposts!! Somehow I can’t comment anywhere, not even in my own posts and tumblr won’t help me fix this 😭

by the way, i realised that "tobi" (the pastors name) is fucking german and that in english its toby, so i changed that so sorry guys.

But it means "god is good" which i find pretty fitting

But a biggg thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my story’s it means a lot to me🫶🫶

Don’t forget to interact with the links!!!!

Taglist: @elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @vqxen @hersuniverse @nelzooo @shiimer @bellaramseysgirlfriend @sonthingwithl @vi0lentb3rry @elliewilliamsblunt @be3flow3r @adelaide013 @abbysbraids @liasxeatt @jungkook-37

[sunbloomdew]

i can't stop thinking about the constant mentions of fall and summer in regard to baxter and mc, in the dlc.

i find the emphasis put on the seasons very interesting. unlike other potential love interests - cove and derek - baxter is not from the sunny state of california, but a town in oregon, surrounded by forests and mountains. in fact, baxter is the only character from the cast of olba that is not associated with summer, but with autumn instead, so it makes perfect sense to draw attention to that dissimilarity.

following that fact, just by acknowledging it we can see how different baxter is from other characters from sunset bird at his core. and since most of his time is spent with mc, that means the focus will be drawn to how different are these two specifically.

on a side note, this might be a complete overreach, but i consider it interesting how baxter uses the phrase 'suitor for a season' to describe himself in step 3. the use of the word 'season' in my opinion drives home the idea that their time together will inevitably come to an end, just like summer will end eventually, and there is simply no other outcome for this relationship.

when we consider the seasons theme even more, a thing that stood out to me is that summer and fall aren't opposites, like i'd say summer and winter are. they are next to each other (like california and oregon) and in some ways they intertwine. still they are different enough, to be regarded as separate seasons.

just like baxter and mc, no matter how alike, feel so different from each other, and they are aware of that.

i really love the monologue in the sightseeing moment, that mc has about them and baxter being different in that way.

"More and more, you felt as though Sunset Bird formed a vital part of your emotional core. Happiness to you was the sound of waves on the shore, the feeling of warm sand between your toes. [...] Maybe you'd forever be seeing the world through sea glass. But Baxter was another person entirely. For him, perhaps the world was monochrome, or maybe it was golden, but with color of leaves instead of sand. Talking with him made it impossible to ignore just how different your lives had been up until now. How separate your worlds were. All up until that moment, when he showed up on your street. Now your lives were intertwined, however briefly, the forests and the seafoam commingling. Though you knew his love was in the trees and the fall air, you couldn't help but feel happy that he'd wandered his way down to the shore. To you."

i find it so beautiful. everytime i read it i get a little choked up, you know? in my opinion, the summer/fall parallel is the perfect way to portray their relationship. the brainrot gets so intense every time i remember about this,,,

the same seasons theme returns in step 4 when the two reunite. to be precise, it comes back during mc's internal monologue preceding a confession. i was unable to recall if it appears somewhere else in the dialogue as well, but if you happen to find some more, feel free to reblog with this post!

"He tore himself away from you like an autumn storm bringing down a sapling/He fell away from you as naturally as a leaf fluttered off its branch in the fall. There was no holding on to your suitor for a season. Yet the affection you'd nurtured never died out. It had gone dormant for a long winter, ready to burst back to life if the cold passed. Seasons were meant to come and go, but there was no guarantee summer would come again for you and him."

(i'm pretty sure the dialogue here changes based on how you decided the break up went, cause i found two versions of the same confession monologue. still, both of them have a comparison to autumn!)

seasons can be used in art with a lot of different symbolism and meanings behind them. the cycle of the seasons is usually used to portray the passage of time, how the nature but also people change.

in this part of the monologue we see the usage of changing of the seasons to show how despite the time that passed ('winter'), mc still had feelings for baxter, that were ready to return ('spring'). the words "seasons were meant to come and go" bring our attention to how wrong things were between the two, to have something inevitable like the seasons cycle stop.

each season on its own also has its own meanings, and can be used to enhance certain themes or emotions in the text.

in case of baxter and mc, summer is the season in which they met time and time again. not only did their relationship start during summer but it developed in that season as well. as such, for them summer is inextricably a time of growth for their relationship.

outside of their relationship, individually their characters' are connected to summer and fall respectively. as mc referred to it, their emotional cores were influenced by their hometowns - one a summer tourist spot and the other a picturesque autumn town.

to bring back one more thing from mc's monologue in step 3, they wonder if baxter sees the world in gold, but in the colour of the leaves and not sand. well, i noticed, how when they make up after the wedding, the whole place is bathed in gold. you could view it as the summer gold and autumn gold merging together, as those two finally reconcile. or you could see it as a summer gold, as this season is important for their relationship. i like both options.

aside from that monologue, there are several instances of baxter's appearance being compared to things associated with autumn or nature, like descriptions of his eyes as "brown rich like the earth" (i love this one sm it lives in my head rent free) and "oak brown eyes". i think it's a great characterization to have baxter be a 'woodsy person', despite most of us (me for sure) thinking he would be a 'city boy' kind of character at first glance.

i think the reason there is such strong focus on the fact that mc and baxter embody different seasons, is to make the differences between them even more pronounced. when they ultimately reunite and overcome their struggles to mend their bonds, it's even more impressive to witness.

either way, i cannot stop thinking of summer/fall parallel and how genius i think it is. the vibes! the emotional turmoil!! the art potential!!! it's incredible. especially if you try to implement it more into your mc, which is what i'm trying to do.

i'll leave you with this screenshot, that is kinda making my stomach go funny, because of the whole summer/fall parring thing,, i am so unwell in the best of ways

because like if you think about it way too deeply which i of course had, he's saying that summer/fall combination is beautiful, like he's not saying anything besides that BUT when you remember that mc is summer and baxter is fall, then you know?????

i hope you had fun reading this spontanous post! i've been thinking about the summer/fall thing since my first playthrough, so i'm happy to finally gush about it <3

i should not be here, it's 4am and i'm leaving in three hours,,, my time management skills never fail me. toodle-oo~

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Dreamboat Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise.  

Warnings:  mentions of violence, war, unwanted advances, graphic imaging, eventual smut

*Y/N/N= your nick name

Next chapter

In the late summer of 1939 Y/N, her brother Steve, and Steve’s best friend Bucky made the long journey from New York to Oregon.  They loved New York, but the area they’d lived in all their lives was becoming more dangerous.  One day after Y/N came home from work at the midwife house she was nearly caught up in a fire fight between the Mafia and a rival gang.  Bucky had thankfully gotten her out of there on his way home from his factory job, but it was enough to scare Steve into convincing them to leave.  Y/N and Bucky were the only family he had left, and he wasn’t willing to lose them to people and situations they had nothing to do with.

They settled in Astoria, Oregon, next to the Columbia River.  Bucky and Steve got jobs at the local brewery that was a booming industry in the area, and Y/N found a new job as a midwife at the local hospital.  They shared a small house together and tried to restart.  Then a short time later, World War II broke out.  Steve felt a moral obligation to serve, but wasn’t in any shape to be able to do so.  Bucky on the other hand was drafted.  The day he left was one of the hardest days of their lives.

“You come back, you hear me?” Y/N said as she hugged him tight.  “Don’t be a hero.  Just come home.”

Bucky chuckled as he hugged her back, his face nestled into the crook of her neck.  “Yes ma’am,” he replied as he pulled away just slightly to look at her.  He seemed to try to memorize her, his eyes flitting across her face.  “Be safe and don’t cause any trouble.”

“It’s not my fault trouble likes to follow me,” Y/N frowned playfully.  She cupped his face and stared at him for another moment before letting him go and stepping away.

“Ah come on, babydoll, don’t I get a goodbye kiss at least?” he teased, his signature smirk lighting up his face.

Y/N rolled her eyes but stepped back toward him, bringing his face close and kissing his cheek.  “There, you dreamboat,” she teased back.

Bucky whined disappointedly.  “When I come back, you owe me a proper kiss.”

“You seem very sure of yourself,” Steve said, walking back from the train station counter.  “Quit tryna get with my sister, you flirt.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow at Y/N and laughed as he hugged Steve.  “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“How can I?” Steve asked as he held him.  “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Bucky scoffed as he pulled away and clapped Steve’s shoulder.  “Punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve said, clapping his shoulder back.  They pulled apart and stared at each other for a moment before Bucky sighed and turned away.  He grabbed his bag and looked at them one more time.  

“I’m with you,” he started.

“Til the end of the line,” Steve and Y/N answered him.

Bucky nodded with a sad smile, gave them a salute then turned and walked to the train just as it whistled.  Y/N and Steve stayed, watching him get settled into a seat through the windows.  As the train started to move Bucky looked out the window at them.  Y/N waved as tears started to stream down her face.  As much as she and Bucky bugged each other through the years, she cared about him and loved him as family.  He’d always been a constant in their lives.  Bucky winked at them and waved as the train pulled away.  

When he was out of sight Y/N turned and hugged Steve, who started crying as well, sobbing against his shoulder.  “He’ll be okay,” Steve said, sniffling quickly as he rubbed Y/N’s back.  “He’ll come back.”

***

As much as Y/N loved Astoria and her job, trouble found her again and she had unfortunately become the fixation of the local bar owner, Justin Hammer.  Y/N had met him while she was making a house call to a pregnant woman who lived above his bar.  He had been kind, at first, but quickly became overly flirtatious.  He had a reputation for being pushy and manipulative with women, and she had no interest in courting for the time being.  Even after the woman gave birth and Y/N didn’t have a need to go near the bar anymore, she seemed to run into him all over town.  Steve tried to be a barrier whenever she was out with him, but Justin was overbearing and good with his words, twisting the conversation back to Y/N repeatedly until she would abruptly end it and literally drag Steve away to their next destination.

“God, what an ass,” Steve grumbled after another day where they’d ran into him on the street.  “I think he’s following you, Y/N.”

“I know,” she replied.  “I feel like I’m being watched all the time.”  It was probably true, she thought.  Justin had connections with people all over the city due to his bar being the most popular.  He could learn almost anything about anybody with the right cocktail mixture.

In the winter of 1943 Steve was shockingly drafted into a division of the army neither of them had ever heard of.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was creating an experimental group of soldiers and due to Steve’s previous applications thought he would be a good fit.  

“I have to do this, Y/N/N,” Steve said as he packed a bag.  

“Steve, please,” Y/N said, following him around the house.  “You can’t leave me here alone.  Bucky’s not back yet, and we haven’t heard from him in months.  We have no one else out here.  What if Justin–”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Steve said reassuringly.  “I talked to the neighbors already.  Mr. Borrson, you know old man Odin?  He and his wife Frigg will keep an eye out for you.  And Tony Stark just down the way hates Justin.  He’ll be able to help.”  Steve shut his suitcase and faced her.  “And don’t give up on Buck.  Just because he hasn’t written in a while–”

“Did I say I was giving up?” Y/N said, frowning at him.  “How dare you say that to me!”

Steve sighed and they stared at each other silently.  “I’m sorry,” he finally said.  “I’m drafted, Y/N/N.  Even if I didn’t want to go, I don’t have a choice.”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a hard knock on the door.  They both glanced at the door then at each other in question before Steve walked to the front door.  He opened it slowly and peeked out, Y/N a step behind him.  The winter flurries whipped against a figure in the doorway, shivering with their head hanging low, their body twisted slightly away.  “Um, hello, can we help you?” Steve asked worriedly.

The figure picked up their head and Y/N gasped.  She flung the door open and pushed past Steve who froze next to her.  “Bucky?!” she squealed.

Bucky nodded and sighed heavily.  He was in his uniform like they’d seen him last, but he was skinnier, making it look too big on him.  Dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks made him look ghastly.  “Hey, babydoll,” he said, his voice croaking like he hadn’t spoken in weeks.

Y/N pulled him inside and Steve shut the door, his eyes wide as he watched Y/N get Bucky seated on the couch in the living room next to the fireplace.  “God, you’re freezing,” Y/N whispered as she kneeled in front of him, took off his hat and grabbed a nearby blanket.  As she pulled it around him she noticed his left sleeve was dangling.  “Buck…” she glanced at his face and he noticed where her gaze was and quickly shut his eyes, his jaw clenching.  Y/N thumbed the material of his sleeve, feeling up until she found the stub of what was left of his arm, just above where his bicep would normally be.  “Oh my god,” she cried.

Steve quickly sat next to Bucky, glancing at the empty sleeve before hugging Bucky in a tight side hug.  “It’s okay, punk,” he said.  “You’re home now.  It’s okay.”

Bucky’s right hand grasped Steve’s knee and he broke down in tears.  Y/N quickly embraced him and Steve, her head on Bucky’s left shoulder while Steve was leaning on his right.  Bucky leaned against both of them, taking turns in feeling both of them as he cried heavily.  At one point Steve went to the kitchen to get him something to eat and Y/N kept holding him.  Bucky nuzzled his face into her neck and his remaining arm wrapped around her back tightly.  “I came back,” he whispered in her ear.  Y/N slightly pulled away to look at him.  His blue eyes looked striking against his red-rimmed eyelids and the dark circles.  His lips trembled as he stared at her.  “I came home.  I promised.”

“You did,” Y/N cried with him, cupping his face and wiping his tears with her thumbs across his cheeks.  “You came home to us.”

Bucky nodded, leaning forward until his forehead was against her forehead.  He nuzzled her nose with his nose and closed his eyes, breathing her in.  Steve came back with a sandwich and some juice and water.  Y/N helped feed Bucky as Steve took his bag and got Bucky’s clothes unpacked into his room.  When Bucky was finished Y/N and Steve helped him to his room.  “Do you need help, Buck?” Steve asked as Bucky stood looking around the room.  “Getting changed or anything?”

Bucky’s lips tightened but he nodded.  Steve looked at Y/N and she nodded before turning and leaving the room.  She sat on the couch again, waiting.  She was happy he was home, but never expected this.  He looked like he’d been through hell and back.  The sweet, carefree boy she’d grown up with was now a war torn, broken man she didn’t recognize.  Her heart hurt for him.  She’d seen some of the soldiers who had been sent home at the hospital.  They had faraway looks in their eyes, their ashen faces staring at something not physically there but very real in their mind’s eye, their bodies beaten and broken beyond repair in many cases.  Y/N cried silently for him, knowing that getting home was only half his battle now.

After a few minutes Steve called out for her.  She quickly went back into Bucky’s room to see him sitting on his bed, his torso naked, his head turned away from her.  Steve looked at her sadly.  “You’re a nurse.  I think you better have a look at this.”

Y/N inhaled deeply and steeled her gaze.  Bucky didn’t need more tears from her.  She nodded and replaced Steve standing in front of Bucky.  She grabbed the chair behind her at the desk in the room and put it in front of Bucky, sitting between his knees.  “Can I see, Buck?” she asked quietly.

Bucky’s jaw clenched again, his eyes shut tight, but he nodded.  Y/N scooted forward in the chair and looked at what was left of his left arm.  She reached a hand out and touched his shoulder, and he flinched.  Y/N waited until he relaxed again and moved her fingers down, inspecting the stitches.  It wasn’t a great sew job, and she frowned at the lackluster care he’d received.  She turned to Steve.  “Go get my bag,” she instructed him, and Steve quickly nodded, running toward her room.  She turned to Bucky, her other hand coming up to caress the side of his face.  “Buck, I need to clean this better and possibly re-sew some of these stitches.  Can I do that?”  Bucky inhaled shakily, his eyes still shut as he nodded again.  “Can you lie down for me?” she asked.  Bucky slowly moved himself to lie down on the bed, his left side facing her.  Steve came back with her bag, and she asked him for towels and hot water.  She worked quickly, watching Bucky’s face carefully as she gently washed his wound better, applied medicine and then cut some of the old stitches.  “Now, this is gonna hurt,” she warned him.  Bucky’s eyes flew open and he stared at her with scared, wide eyes.  “It’s gonna be okay, Buck,” she said, lifting her hand and pushing his hair back.  “It’s just me and Steve.  We’re with you till what?”

Bucky blinked rapidly.  “Till the end of the line,” he sputtered.

“That’s right, till the end of the line,” she smiled at him.  

Steve moved over Bucky’s bed to sit next to him and held his hand as Y/N got out what she needed for stitching.  She got the needle and thread ready, took out a piece of leather she had in her bag, and held it up to Bucky’s mouth.  He opened his mouth and bit down on the leather.  Then she squeezed Bucky’s shoulder.  “Ready?” 

Bucky nodded and shut his eyes again.  Y/N braced herself as she started stitching.  Bucky tensed, grunting and panting, gripping Steve’s hand tightly.  When she was finally done she quickly washed him again, adding a little more medicine then wrapping his left arm up to his shoulder and across his sternum for leverage to keep it on.  She used some more towels to then wipe off the sweat on his neck and face.  “All done,” she whispered to him, pulling the leather from between his teeth.  

Bucky sighed, his face pale as she cleaned him up.  “Thanks, babydoll,” he whispered.  

Y/N smiled at him and brushed his hair back with her fingers.  “Just rest, dreamboat,” she said.  She looked at Steve.  “I’m going to clean all this up.  I know you were planning to leave in the morning–”

“I don’t have to go right away,” Steve said quietly.  “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Bucky looked at Steve in fear.  “You’re leaving?”

Steve shook his head.  “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Y/N gathered her things and turned away as Bucky and Steve spoke quietly to each other.  Every once in a while she heard louder whispers, then it would die down again.  Eventually, the sound of snores echoed from the room and she felt like she could finally rest.  Y/N cried silently for Bucky again.  She cried at the thought of Steve leaving and having to face whatever Bucky went through.  She cried for herself and the fear of the unknown in her own life, especially with the seemingly minor but ever-present threat of Justin’s presence looming around every corner, until she finally exhausted herself to sleep.

[multidimensionimagines]

Sneak peek for a request I’m currently working on! I hope you like it ^^ (this fic will contain NSFW eventually so minors DNI!)

Gravity Falls wasn’t a sunny paradise. Despite what the brochures and fake marketing wanted you to believe. Sure the summers there were nice. After all, living in Oregon meant getting a perfect balance of each of the seasons as they came. So, that meant hot, sunny summers and cold, bitter winters.

You did not take this into account when you first moved to Gravity Falls two years ago. Sure, you had some sweaters and pants good enough for the colder months, and you would think that living in the same place for two years would warrant you enough time to go shopping to acquire a proper wardrobe. But you, special as you were, had an extraordinary knack for forgetting things- giving your needs the old ‘eh, I’ll do it tomorrow’ and the next thing you know, winter had passed with you surviving on the tattered blankets and fireplace in your home.

Now was the end of fall, Halloween- not to be confused with the iconic Gravity Falls tradition of Summerween- and while it had been chillier out, it was now treading dangerously into nipping cold territory. And your boyfriend, as practical as he was, has not stopped having to remind you.

“Dear, don’t you think you’ll be cold going out in.. that?”

You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. He quickly stiffened.

“N-not that, I’m trying to tell you what to wear. I-I would never-! You’re free to dress how you wish I’m just..” he awkwardly cleared his throat. “worried.”

You chuckled, pulling on your lightweight sweater over your top. “I know you wouldn’t. I’ll go shopping tomorrow, okay?”

You reassured him softly, walking up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’ve been saying that everyday since October 5th.”

You rolled your eyes and grinned, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Psh, oh come on, there’s no way I’ve been saying it every day-“

Ford reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little booklet, one of those pocket calanders and flipped to the page with the current month, or well, month that just passed yesterday on it.

“Actually yes, you have, I’ve been keeping a log to see when you would actually follow through on your word.”

He explained somewhat smugly before tucking it back into his pocket, revealing your annoyed but.. slightly impressed face. Of course, only the Stanford Pines would keep track of something like that.

You gave him a look but he wouldn’t put away that stupid (cute) grin on his face.