#was sort of feeling like halloween in july

[philharmonica]

july music round up 🥏🎵

Fingertips by Brian Jonestown Massacre || Truly the masters of their craft, perfectly blending genres and resulting in wonderfully atmospheric music

Nocturnal Me by Echo & The Bunnymen || Great album, this is just the particular song that was calling to me this month

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything by Bauhaus || This song makes me feel so much, to me it's perfect

I See Myself by Geese || This entire album is amazing, but this song instantly stood out to me when I first listened

This Is The Night by The The || As a big fan of "This Is The Day" it's only natural that this on my list

1880 Or So by Television || The guitar on this is so great it makes me feel at peace

(Song for My) Sugar Spun Sister by The Stone Roses ||

Seabird by Innovations || This is such a fun song and I love the bass on it <3

Philosopher's Calling by Crack Cloud || I love the beeping noise and can dance to it

Daughter by Pearl Jam || The first time I heard this song, it just spoke to me

Denis by Blondie || Heard this in a movie I like; putting together a movie soundtrack is such an art

Impossible Germany by Wilco || For those in between feelings

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

anyone else have multiple traumatic memories associated specifically with holidays/family vacations? because that is a topic I never see discussed in all the So You Had A Shitty Childhood, Now What? self-help books i've been reading. but for me, it was a significant thing. and the more i think about it the more it seems like this would be an (unfortunately) common experience. would be grateful to hear if this matches other peoples' experiences...

[inzuinzudesu]

Please zoom in to see small Kakashi! 😭 He kinda disappeared 😭😭😭

Text translation: "Infinite Tsukuyomi" (無限月読)

Drew these in mid-July - when I started doing digital again actually 🤔

Took inspo from the Balut - a street food in my country; I hear a lot of people are grossed out by it?? Don't know if this is controversial, but I personally love the dish. Essentially grew up with it after all!

Wanted to draw something that feels a bit creepy but still has a sense of mysticality to it???

Meh, don't know if the feeling got across or not

I thought since Halloween is coming up, might as well post this haha

About the process of drawing these!

These were very fun to draw! I messed around a lot with photoshop to achieve this glowy dusty effect?? From the brushes to the blending options, and maaan the filter gallery 😭😭 Such fun tools to play with.

The main brush I used to achieve the dusty effect is called "KYLE Bonus Chunky Charcoal", in the Kyle Dry Media brush set. If you can, I recommend checking it out! There are definitely other ways to achieve this sort of effect, though. You can probably just use some sort of scatter texture brush and it'd work just fine. Studying is all about trying things out, right? This is like my first experiment with this type of effect, and I was happy at the time. Now looking back, these could most definitely turn out better, no? I really went overboard with just the effect and forgot everything else. The blood and the plate looks horrible man. If you look closely, you can see the sketch lines haha! I got lazy!

Also, for Obito's pose, I relied heavily on a reference I found on pinterest 😭 I wish I'd changed the pose more tbh, it looks really boring.

And I gotta say, these just look underwhelming in this smaller size. Like reaaaaaally underwhelming. Would love to show you the big version, but oh well! 😭😭😭

Brain vomit time!

I love the prospect (??? is that the right word) of Obito being all god-like and powerful after Tsukuyomi, having control over everybody's dream worlds?? And like he jumps from dream to dream, but stops at Kakashi's and picks it apart???? Observing and tormenting Kakashi with his childhood form that has both sharingan???????

Kakashi would probably be confused with Obito's appearance at first, asking questions like "What are you up to this time, Obito?", but then wouldn't receive any answers??? Like little man would just stare at him creepily, and Kakashi would push this to the back of his mind for a while???

Umm below is the technical stuff, I guess??

My headcanon is that the time span in the dream world is the same as the real world. Meaning, 30 years in the dream world feel incredibly real, with no gap of memories. It's essentially a different timeline. Whether this makes sense or not, who knows haha!

Let's talk about the dream events and how they affect Kakashi! Due to Sakumo and team Minato still living, this Kakashi probably wouldn't be as lax nor sad as in canon?? The relationships and personalities would be different huh???? I'm having a headache thinking about this, so let's just say that: 1. Sakumo lived because the villagers weren't as harsh, but the animosity still remained. Kakashi still developed this obsession with rules, but he doesn't blame his dad as much. 2. Kannabi happened, Kakashi was given the sharingan, along with Obito's ninja way. Team Minato thought that Obito died for a while, but Obito is 'rescued' by Madara, same as canon. 3. Rin would still be targeted by Madara, but Obito came in time to help with the situation, blocking Kakashi's chidori from connecting with Rin's chest, but also knocking Kakashi away. Then, a Mist enemy took advantage of the situation to attack Kakashi, injuring him gravely, to the point where everybody thought he died. With this, Obito activated his Mangekyou and exploded on the Mist enemies, killing them all. Meanwhile, Rin tried to heal Kakashi, just barely saving him. As Obito had dealt with the enemies, there was no need to rush back to the village, and the Sanbi wouldn't be released till then. And so, they waited for Minato to come and help with Rin's seal. (About Obito's Mangekyou activating with Kakashi's death - would that be too far-fetched? My reasoning is that Obito would think that it was his fault Kakashi died, because it was Obito who knocked Kakashi away into the enemy, no?) 4. Because there's no one to become 'Madara' now that Obito came back to the village, Naruto is born, Minato and Kushina live.

5. The Uchiha massacre doesn't happen.

(Everything is incredibly convenient, because I don't have the brain power to make it otherwise, please help 😭😭) -> In conclusion, this Kakashi resembles the Kakashi of the real world, but less depressed and self-destructive??? He loves his living comrades. My man still has a massive obsession (more like crush lol) with Obito by the way, just like in canon. He just doesn't show it.

-> About Obito of the dream world (I'mma call him Dreambito), he is all sunshine and brightness, but he exhibits some dark thoughts and deep rage from time to time due to the residual effects of Madara's seal on his heart. The seal has been removed though. And he has this obsession with Kakashi's safety, as he almost pushed him to his death once, albeit accidentally.

-> I was debating whether to just start this dream world at the point where Obito got crushed, or to start it at the beginning of Kakashi's life. In the end, I went with the latter, cuz ya know, I like the idea of Kakashi living through a whole life all over again, just to finally come to the realization that it's all a dream. Does that make any sense at all??

Obito (child form - 13) first appears in front of Kakashi at the start of the Naruto series, when Kakashi has officially become the teacher of team 7. (Let's not change this okay, my brain would fry haha I'm not gonna deny that the idea of Obito and Kakashi becoming co-teachers of team 7 isn't incredibly fun though)

After the first encounter with this child Obito, Kakashi begins to have flashes of memories from the real world, and he hallucinates about people's deaths - mostly about the members of team Minato. This young Obito is always in the corner of his vision, most of the time silent, sometimes saying things like "You trash" to Kakashi whenever he encounters Rin, who is whole and grown up in this world.

Kakashi exhibits more destructive behaviors as this goes on, the line between the dream events and the real events slowly blurring. He takes more dangerous solo missions out of the village, and shows strong signs of PTSD, just like in canon.

The two Obitos would contrast each other?? Like Dreambito would be all concerned with Kakashi's decline in health (both mental and physical) and goes to confront and comfort him, many times over because that's how it is with them??? Dreambito might even move in with Kakashi, being the obsessive and protective Uchiha that he is. Meanwhile young Obito would be an absolute asshole, saying all these horrible things to poison Kakashi's mind haha

At this point, Dreambito'd be in the last stage on the journey of becoming Hokage, gaining the all the trust from the Uchiha clan, the village elders and the villagers as a whole. I don't know about Rin, though? Should she be romantically involved with Dreambito or no? Would Kakashi dream that??

I think Kakashi's dream would somewhat focus more on Dreambito being happy and satisfied, to be honest. I know there's Sakumo and team Minato as a whole, but as a degenerate shipper, I love the obsession between them🥺

I don't think Obito would directly interfere with what Kakashi is dreaming about, i.e. changing Dreambito's behavior, or like the political situation of the villages (?). But he would most definitely insert himself in Kakashi's psyche, no? Mess it up real good.

Kakashi would slowly realize that he is living a dream world, after all the flashes of memories that Obito generates in his mind. He would most definitely deny it at first though, I think? And then it would reach a point where Kakashi remembers everything from the real world, but he has also lived through 30 something years of the dream world, meaning he'd be in his 60s?? Does that make sense or no?

And so, while Kakashi now knows that everything is a dream, his feelings for everybody in the dream are real. If that's the case, is it really that important anymore that he escapes the Tsukuyomi? Can this dream world really be called fake at this point? Is there even anything in the real world for him to return to?

What's to say 'the real world' isn't a dream at this point?

-> Kakashi would completely close in on himself after this. He still does things that he would normally do, but it'd be all an act. He would feel completely isolated.

-> Dreambito would notice and confront him again, now that they live in the same house??? Kakashi would like say everything is fine and try to act more convincingly, but Dreambito would still know something's wrong????

-> Obito is observing from afar, who knows what his motivation is at this point.

Because this is Kakashi's dream world, I suppose he would have the power to change this world to his will, now that he's aware? This is like a lucid dream situation???

The people in the dream have their own will up until this point, but Kakashi can somewhat change their behavior if he really wants to, whether it's subconsciously or not??? Example: He can probably will Dreambito to kiss him or something lol

So on and so forth!

Man, I'm having waaay too much fun imagining the pain. There are probably like a thousand things that doesn't make sense haha! I do wonder how this sort of storyline should end though, does anybody have any ideas? Personally, I prefer slow burn with a (sort of) happy ending, but ya know, angst all the way is good too! I can't write, but I love thinking about all the things that could happen 😭😭 English isn't my first language, so this might have felt weird to read at some point haha

If anybody wants to develop this, please feel free to do so! And if you've read this far, thank you for reading this absolute brain vomit of mine! I love to yap, as you can tell haha Have a good day!

[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.

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

As always, I have edits:

This will make more sense at the end.

I came across some theories about this song, and wanted to look at it in depth.

We are reading with the understanding that he may be referring to Eddie.

[A gentle piano and bassoon track begins playing.]

The sun is low, it’s cold and dark,— end of season, but could also be a reference to night and danger after dark

Just wind and snow, I must remark,

The bugs all head to slumberland,—interesting given the use of toyland, also the commercial about remderem/insomnia (some must sleep but Wally is in the opposite state. Too aware?), but could be a reference to death, like “the big sleep”

Some might find it sad, but I understand,—on face value, he will miss his friends, but knows that it is inevitable.

Even if I might not be able to see you,—can’t see Eddie because he is gone/buried

I know it’s for the best, I can’t keep you,—Eddie staying would lead to serious consequences for Eddie

It’s time for all of you to get some rest,—after what we saw Eddie go through, I bet he would be better in a different state

To tuck you all into your arthropod nests,—bug stuff; also Julie's hibernation?

At this point, those last few lines could refer to a sort of death for Eddie. Almost like frank can preserve him in some way by giving him a death in this universe. If we are talking puppet world, which we did see in commercials, most of Eddie’s anxiety happened in that state. So, can Frank give Eddie a suspended or death like state in one of the layers of reality and he is preserved in storybook world or our real world?

With one last check, that nothing is amiss,

I can see you safe into your chrysalis,—this reads that he will put Eddie into a different state of being that he can come back from. The coming back is my interpretation only at this point because I assume frank wouldn’t choose death for him or would for sure be hurt by Eddie’s death. Things would have to be very bad if true death is a better option for Eddie.

Also, it hearkens back to the horror butterfly image. Another also, caterpillar to butterfly, an insinuation of emedging into a new form. I don’t see allusions to Howdy in here, but I suppose it is possible that this could refer to more than one neighbor and Frank is taking them all out.

As you snuggle down into your dirt,—reference to being buried?

I want to assure you that I won’t be hurt.

This clarifies that it is a sleeping type state, not death. Ok, here is we’re Eddie’s Halloween costume comes in. Frankenstein, changed from the Scarecrow in earlier art (presumably from wizard of oz). Interesting thing about scarecrow vs. Frankenstein is that we see scarecrow taken apart during that film and Frankenstein is famously assembled from parts of different people. Interestinger is the fact that they are both afraid of fire. (I love that Young Frankenstein shows up more than the original in a search.)

Frankenstein (and scarecrow) are both put back together, but for Frankenstein it seems more of a new being, not just a reassembling. Frankenstein (aka frankenstein’s monster) is a thinking, speaking individual that was horrified at the situation he was in. Frankenstein in the book murders to punish his creator for the immorality of creating him and the resulting loneliness that the monster feels. As such, the choice is very interesting. If the puppets of welcome home come to be aware or sentient, I wonder how they would feel about Ronald Dorelaine or their situation?

If the movie version is the focus of Eddie’s costume choice, then he would be a potentially thinking and feeling being (he is afraid of fire), but without further evidence we don’t know his thoughts.

Scarecrow is a guy without a brain, with the power of speech, so a kind of opposite. I think they all end up just needing to be confident, which is why some shyster from the Midwest is able to help. This almost seems to be more in tune with Eddie's character--Eddie has a tendency to appear kind of ditsy, is constantly being dismissed by others. In the end, we find out he is actually smart but lacks confidence. I can see that being true for Eddie as well.

If I had to pick out a character for Frank, it would be the Tin Man. Poppy is the Cowardly Lion, Wally is Dorothy. Home is Home. There are more parallels here than I was expecting. Howdy is the Wizard, Julie can be Glenda, and the Wicked Witch...is kind of no one? Sally can be a flying monkey. She works my nerve. Also, the whole spying thing was done by the monkeys in the movie.

But now that I am thinking about it, this comparison makes a lot of sense, in terms of the complex relationships, as well as the levels of reality that you find in Wizard of Oz. A big event leads to a shift in the understanding of reality, and the lead finds themselves in a very colorful world that doesn't much resemble their own, but is very flashy, has songs, beloved characters, and a sense of danger. There are some things when thought about in the context of real life, or the black and white portion of Wizard of Oz, would be truly frightening.

Of course, Wizard of Oz shares a lot of parallels with Alice in Wonderland, which also seems somewhat related. In terms of source material, the Wizard of Oz is considered to be a parable that expresses the thoughts about US economic policy in the 1890's. This is a theory that you can read more about here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_interpretations_of_The_Wonderful_Wizard_of_Oz

It isn't super related, and not everyone believes that this is the case. However, it seems to be a very American type story, no matter what you believe, that touches on the experience of normal people while much larger forces lie and fuck around with everything.

As the holidays begin to approach,

I gently kiss, each and every roach,—kisses for Eddie. We have seen a realistic roach on the secret page with the mishmash of one script where Wally is deciding what to draw

I made sure to keep, my garden cozy,

So you can safely sleep, in fallen posies,—this whole stanza shows a desire to and promise of a quiet death and maybe even a maintained grave. I looked up posies to see where Eddie could potentially be buried. Posies refer to a nosegay, or small bouquet of flowers. It was a Victorian secret code thing, a way to declare love or even reject people based on flower and color. One that sticks with us in the form of red roses signifying love. On the map, there is a cluster of yellow flowers to the side of Frank’s house. Not sure this counts as his garden, since it is on the other side of the house. Julie has a group of flowers behind her house, but once again, not his garden. No fallen flowers that I can ID.

When googling posey, this is what comes up. I felt that there was a flower called a posey, and these do look like the big yellow flowers by Frank’s house. If any flowers fall in updates, I am going to assume someone is buried there.

There is also the ring around the roses rhyme, which could relate, but I don’t really see a correlation.

It’s time to get comfortable in your honeycomb,

take your winter intermission in your garden loam,—dirt, burying again

neatly nestled from the cold in roots and rhi-ya-zomes, — cozy dead

sleeping side by side under stately stones,—2 dead? Headstones is the link I make there--OK, now look at the pic! (I know, it's a reach.)

…And I’ll be inside of my home,—frank is staying to oversee something. It reads like calming the person who will die. This seems to bolster that arguments that I addressed in the post about bugs on the previous website, that Frank is working against, or at least parallel to Wally. With the bugs, the whispering to Eddie, and using his first name, I think it is reasonable to suggest that Frank is working against Wally and/or Home.

Another potential clue is the hidden video with the clothespins where 1 is upside down. I have theorized that it is a reference to Barnaby dying, but it could be Barnaby and Eddie. Only one clothespin is shown upside down though, so Barnaby or Eddie?

Regardless of how I feel you need to go away,

I’ll be the one to tell you, you just can’t stay,—he likes bugs but this is extreme of Frank, if he is talking about actual bugs

Thankfully I lack a sentimental sensibility,—true that, he generally seems calm.

I enjoy my Methodical Mundanity,—why is this capitalized? I looked and looked but I can’t find the origin of this phrase, though it came up a few times in random posts and articles. Clown does have a tendency to capitalize things that seem random. Me below is also capitalized. I listened as well, and I have to wonder why the singing is so bad? I don’t think the voice actors are bad at singing, seems like a deliberate choice to have reedy and unsteady vocals, pitch issues and pacing problems.

Where all that’s left is… Me.

So, this is a bit extreme for a song about hibernating bugs. I think that given our many references to bisecting or otherwise putting people into pieces (Eddie butterfly horror, frank in a pile of body parts, look I made a dog, and slinky Barnaby, now Frankenstein and Scarecrow) that we could be looking at death in a sense that works in one layer of reality. You disassemble a puppet, it is no longer a puppet. So what if Frank = Frankenstein and Eddie is Frankenstein’s monster? Frank can take him apart and put him back together in puppet reality?

If I had to guess, I am sticking with my working theory. Frank, as the smartest guy in the neighborhood, is the resistant force in the neighborhood. Wally/Home is/are the catalyst for the scary stuff. They are central to everything, physically and otherwise.

I have mentioned that in the last update, Sally and Poppy have the appearance of spies or managing Eddie. Given that Poppy doesn’t attend to party, I am anticipating that Eddie was isolated and watched by Sally during this planning period, where Wally and Barnaby walk the neighborhood to find out what Homewarming is. Given that it is said that Wally and Home instigated Homewarming, it is strange that everyone knows what it is except for Wally. It reads more as an attempt to achieve a goal, despite everyone knowing about the holiday. Even Julie is at the party, and she is supposed to be hibernating. Well, they don't say exactly when Julie hibernates (maybe there was something about her doing it after the holiday?) Anyway, Poppy isn't at Homewarming. She could be at home, but the book stating that they are all here seems like an attempt to cover up her absence. What is she doing? Snooping in the Post Office while Sally watches Eddie? Does Eddie want to go home for not feeling well or he has an idea of what is happening while he is gone?

Maybe Frank sees his boyfriend and comrade at arms about to get hit with something bad, so to preserve him and the opposition, he is going to disassemble him (cue Johnny 5) for protection.

In the past, Sonny (the Brazilian bird) was cast as the opposition to Wally, and included in a relationship with Frank. This work in particular comes to mind:

Clown has stated that they removed Sonny from the project due to the story changing from one with a hero, to one without, as that wasn't the story that they wanted to tell. What if, though, instead of Sonny being written out for the hero reason, there was another reason? What if we are seeing Frank taking on being the neighborhood's savior? He is just snarky enough to make it seem less like a hero situation and more because it was impacting his garden.

[crystallizedtwilight]

🎃 LSBC Questions: Part 16! 🎃

Lock, Shock, Barrel, and Calliope questions that call for quick answers will be under the cut in batches of 10-15 🧡

Previous bulk questions batch

First one to complain would be called a BABY so they were all troopers!

LSB always go as themselves for Halloween—a witch, imp, and ghoul. Removing their masks to reveal that they're the real deal is still their favorite trick!

There are so many to choose from! The Fog Juice prank is a classic (and the queen agrees)

You mean what did Lock do when Barrel was on his date with Belladonna? Run off, finally realize his feelings, panic, cry, spiral...

Calliope is my OC!

Jack isn't the best at noticing that sort of thing. Maybe Sally drops a line about it years later and he's like "Is that so??"

They'll swim in the town lake if they're looking for something brisk, but for more beachy days they'll head to 4th of July town during the off-season or a secluded human world beach!

Lock and Barrel love junk food! Mac n' cheese, pizza, and candy count as 3 balanced meals! Shock has a more sophisticated palate, enjoying things like salads, tea with honey, or a lemon-lavender cake.

Thrift stores or hot topic type places. He looks the most human so he just walks in haha. If they're wearing something cool, Sally made it. If they're wearing something with a corny pun on it, Barrel found it.

Shock and Lock never force Barrel to accompany them so there's nothing Barrel ever needed to refuse. And the mischief Shock and Lock concoct is (mostly) harmless, which Barrel doesn't mind participating in. He loves being with his friends, so the activity doesn't really matter. If they're having fun, he's having fun!

[capuccinodoll]

The Invitation

Before the sun hits (chapter one)

Hi there, this is the first time I post something here, so I hope you like it! It's defenitely going to be a fun story to write. This is going to be a Joel series, so feel free to send any ideas and suggestions, as english is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes (if there are, don't hesitate to let me know so I can correct them), x.

DECEMBER 15th.

The window was misted over, softening the pale, nocturnal landscape outside. Winter had started creeping in, slowly but unmistakably. The asphalt below gleamed, slick from the recent rain, and a thin wisp of smog slipped through the narrow crack in the window that your mother had just opened.

"The heat is suffocating me," she murmured, and you nodded, understanding. You couldn’t really blame her; she'd spent the first twenty years of her life far away from Austin's warmth.

Inside, the living room felt warm and inviting. Soft, golden light illuminated the white walls, which were lined with family photos, each one a little piece of your history. In the corner by the window, the Christmas tree stood, decorated with a quaint charm that somehow stole the room’s attention.

Your father stepped into the room behind you, his smile wide and content. He wore a green sweater dotted with white stars and red hearts, holding his phone against his ear with exaggerated enthusiasm, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

"Like a kid at Christmas," your mother observed, and she wasn’t wrong.

The holidays hadn't been your favorite for the past few years. They’d been tangled up with messy breakups, the stress of school and work, and a handful of regretful decisions. Like last Christmas, when you decided to leave early for New York instead of staying with family, and ended up drinking cheap wine on the cold floor of your new, empty apartment—far from home, and even closer to a personal catastrophe. Not that you could have known that at the time, of course. 

"Joel is coming," your father announced suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie. "And Sarah too. Remember her, honey? She was this tall the last time we saw her," he said, holding his hand at his waist.

Of course you remembered Sarah. She had stayed with you for a weekend when you were twelve, while her father took care of her brother Tommy in the hospital. She’d been eight then—funny, wide-eyed, a little whirlwind of curiosity. The two of you had spent the weekend browsing your local library, eating far too many sweet treats, and giggling over childhood crushes on the Twilight cast.

"Of course I remember her," you replied, feeling the weight of those intervening years. "It’s been a while, though. She must be an adult by now."

"She turned twenty-one last July. I saw it on Tommy’s Facebook," your father added.

"He’s not coming?" your mother asked, but before you could catch the answer, you found yourself slipping out of the room, seeking a moment of solitude.

Upstairs, your old bedroom welcomed you with silence as you shut the door, muffling the voices from downstairs. You let yourself collapse onto the soft bed, feeling a heavy weariness seep into your bones. You hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with everything yet, but you kept promising yourself that you’d sort it out after the holidays. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling covered with old movie stills and band posters, Eddie Vedder’s frowning face seemed to stare back at you, almost judgmental. 

You’d made a mistake. That was it. You hated your job, and you’d made a mistake. New York wasn’t what you thought it would be—at least, the people in it weren’t. The city had chewed you up, spat you out, and left you feeling raw and disillusioned. But your parents couldn’t know that, not yet. It would break their hearts to learn that their only daughter hated her career and needed a fresh start. They’d worked so hard to make this holiday special. Your mother had even won the family bet on Halloween, the one they did every year, where the winner got to choose the Christmas and New Year’s destination. She’d picked Canmore—her hometown in Canada—where she promised a true winter wonderland that would let everyone leave their troubles behind, if only for a little while.

Leave everyday life behind, you thought. It was exactly what you needed: three weeks away from New York, away from Austin, away from anywhere that already knew you. Maybe the snow would help wash it all away.

*

"Sweetie, it’s time for dinner," your mother’s voice interrupted your thoughts. She stood at the door, her smile tender, with Eddie Vedder’s glowering face staring over her shoulder from the poster on your wall.

"What time is it?" you asked groggily.

"Quarter past eight. We’re waiting for you downstairs. Fix your hair a little, Joel and Sarah are here. You should see her, she’s gorgeous!"

"I’ll be down in a minute," you mumbled, your eyes already sliding shut again.

"No, you won’t," she said knowingly. "I know you too well. You’ll fall back asleep the second I walk away." She perched at the foot of the bed, pressing down on your feet, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

With a resigned groan, you forced your eyes open and sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. She waited, watching until you were fully upright before finally leaving. 

In the bathroom, you saw what she meant about your hair—a mess of tangled strands falling around your face, the braid you’d done earlier completely undone. You quickly brushed it out, splashed some cold water on your face, and tried to shake off the haze of sleep. When you stepped back out, your mother was gone, but you could hear the voices from downstairs—Sarah’s laugh, bright and familiar, followed by your father’s. And then another voice, deeper and more reserved. That must be Joel, you thought.

You remembered him vaguely. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a serious expression that never seemed to soften. He was always in a hurry, rarely stopping to chat, always working to keep things afloat while raising Sarah on his own. Your dad used to talk about their childhood, how he and Joel and your Uncle Luke had grown up in the same neighborhood, the four of them inseparable as teenagers. For some reason, you lingered a moment longer in front of the mirror, fixing stray hairs, before heading downstairs to face whatever awaited you.

*

Before you even stepped onto the first stair, you paused, tugging at the off-the-shoulder black dress you’d chosen on instinct—or maybe not. Oh, of course you knew why you’d picked it. How long had it been since Sarah had last seen you? Back then, you’d been the effortlessly cool older daughter of her dad’s best friend. Now, you were twenty-four, slightly adrift, but she didn’t need to know that.

Still, you’d pulled yourself together in record time. Your skin had a soft glow, your cheeks rosy, your lips glossed with a shade of red that wasn’t too loud but just right. Your eyes, framed by delicate makeup, carried an understated glamour. And you’d even worn the choker your mother had given you three birthdays ago, a beautiful piece that added a touch of sophistication. Yes, you looked good.

As you descended the stairs, the murmur of voices grew louder, the conversation below taking shape. In the living room, your father was enthusiastically recounting a recent match, and your mother kept interrupting him, correcting his version of events with affectionate precision. Sarah’s laughter rang out, bright and easy, clearly entertained by their dynamic. Though you tried to make your footsteps light, they were quickly noticed.

“Sweetheart! Finally, come join us!” your mother called, her face lighting up with a wide smile. She was seated on the couch by the window, your dad beside her. Across from them, with their backs to you, sat Sarah and Joel. Sarah turned as soon as she saw you. Joel didn’t.

“I was just asking Sarah if she remembered that weekend,” your dad said, shifting to make room for you beside him, “She was so small back then! This small!” He held his hand out at the level of his face to demonstrate.

As you sat down, you caught your breath. Sarah wasn’t just grown up—she was stunning. Her smile was warm and playful, though her hands rested a little nervously in her lap. But her eyes were the same, wide and full of light.

“Of course I remember! It was such a fun weekend. You were like the big sister I never had,” Sarah said, her voice warm and nostalgic.

“Really? I’m so glad to hear that. I had a great time, too. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” you admitted, laughing. “God, I sound so old saying that.”

“At least someone had fun that weekend, huh, Joel?” your father joked, and it was then that your eyes finally found Joel for the first time that evening.

Maybe it was nerves that kept you from looking sooner, or maybe it was something else. But Joel was different—very different. Or had he always looked like this? You weren’t sure if you were about to laugh or choke. The transformation felt seismic.

“Don’t remind me,” Joel said, his voice deep, vibrating in the room. He turned to you then, his gaze locking onto yours for just a moment too long before he added, “Kid.”

During that weekend, twelve years ago, you saw Joel two times max; once when he dropped Sarah home, and again when he came back for her. He looked stressed and mainly angry. But you didn't remembered exactly why. Pretty sure it had to do with Tommy having a fall somewhere. 

“Too bad he didn't come to dinner. I haven't seen the bastard in months, though I must say far fewer months than I haven't seen you,” your father added. 

Joel leaned back on the couch, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you took the opportunity to really look at him. He was wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his dark jeans fitting snugly. His hair was streaked with gray, messy in that deliberate way, and God, he was massive. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt, every subtle movement revealing the strength beneath.

Your dad had mentioned Joel was a contractor, and now it made perfect sense. That kind of body was built through hard labor, hours spent lifting, hammering, doing things that required strength and grit. His eyes, though, were what drew you in—dark, a little tired, but still sharp, with the lights of the Christmas tree flickering softly in their depths.

“He’s becoming a bit of a hermit,” Sarah teased, her voice lilting with affection.

Joel smiled then, his whole face softening. “Tommy’s with his in-laws this Christmas,” he explained.

“You owe me a couple of beers, Miller,” your dad teased, and Joel shot him a sideways grin.

“For now, be happy with dinner,” your mother interrupted, her voice brimming with excitement. “I’m sure we’re all starving!”

You couldn’t help but glance at Joel one more time as everyone began moving toward the dining room. There was something about him now, and as he rose from the couch, towering over you, you couldn’t shake the thought.

*

He sat across from you, elbows propped on the table, his focus fixed on your father, who was gesturing animatedly from his spot in the left corner. In this softer, golden light, his face appeared more open, less stern. You let your gaze linger over his features, taking advantage of the fact that he seemed wholly absorbed in your father's story. His eyes, which you remembered as dark and unreadable, now looked a little lighter, a warm honey hue emerging beneath the shadows. Faint lines etched the corners of his eyes and mouth, traces of a life well-worn, and you found it unsettling—indecent, even—how much you liked the way they shaped his face. He looked... you didn’t quite know how to put it. Weathered, maybe. But in a good way, like something that had been around long enough to carry a few secrets.

It wasn’t that you were into older men. You’d never been that girl. Your exes had all been within a reasonable margin of your age, maybe three years older, max. But Joel... well, Joel was looking at you now. And you, with your head tilted slightly and your lips just barely parted, were looking right back at him. Like he was a puzzle, a rare artifact you couldn’t help but analyze. Then reality caught up to you, and you straightened abruptly, trying to regain your composure, your face heating up with the embarrassment of being caught. 

You shifted in your chair, trying to steady yourself, but your foot—unsettled by the awkwardness—stretched out a little too quickly, bumping against his under the table. You froze as heat flushed your cheeks, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But Joel's eyes flashed with a brief moment of surprise, which he smoothed over quickly, turning back to your dad. 

He probably thought you were being clumsy, which, in fairness, you were. You glanced over at Sarah, who sat beside Joel, mirroring her father’s posture, absorbed in whatever they were saying. But then you caught the tail end of their conversation and realized they were talking about you.

“We’ve got to make the most of our time with her,” your dad was saying. “She’s a big city girl now. Since she’s been home, she’s been sleeping like the dead. Completely exhausted, isn’t that right, honey?”

“True, true,” your mom chimed in, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. “We’ve barely had the chance to chat about her life. I bet you understand that feeling, don’t you, Joel?”

“Mom,” you cut in, a twinge of discomfort in your voice, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, his curiosity finally directed your way.

“What do you do?” he asked, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering.

You hesitated, feeling strangely self-conscious under his attention. “I’m in marketing area, in Arcor, uh, in New York.”

“The candy company?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded quickly, like you wanted to get past it.

“Yeah, that one.”

“And she’s been doing very well. We almost didn’t get her to come home for the holidays,” your mom said, eager to emphasize your success.

The truth was, you had been busy—insanely, overwhelmingly busy. The holiday season meant one of the biggest sales periods at the company, and even though your salary didn’t quite justify it, you’d spent countless late nights at the office, dealing with the endless pressure from above. Or at least, that’s what you’d told them. They bought it, of course. You were the golden child—never rebellious, never a troublemaker. So they believed every word you said. But when they offered to visit you in New York, you’d panicked. Somehow, returning home to Canmore seemed like the lesser of two anxieties.

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” Sarah piped up, her voice carrying a wistful tone. “I bet you never get bored there.”

No, you didn’t get bored. That much was true. Even though the city had left you feeling a little bruised, there was something undeniably captivating about it. The bustling streets, the ever-present hum of life, the art and culture pouring out of every corner—it was beautiful, in its own overwhelming way. If only you had more time, maybe you’d have enjoyed it more.

“You don’t, and it’s stunning, especially at Christmas,” you admitted. “The snow can be a mess, but it’s part of the charm.”

“You say that because you’ve never spent Christmas in Canmore,” your mom interrupted with a knowing smile. “Now that’s as magical as it gets.”

“What’s it like?” Sarah asked, her curiosity making your mom’s eyes light up.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, leaning in with enthusiasm. “The snow-covered mountains, the twinkling lights, tourists bustling through the shops—it’s like a postcard. And there’s so much to do. I was there just last October, and it was lovely then, too. Are you a Halloween fan, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded eagerly, and your mom nodded back, feeding off her energy. “You’d love it in the fall, then. Canmore is perfect for any holiday.”

Your dad chimed in, a twinkle in his eye. “Speaking of the holidays, what about you, Joel? Got any plans?” His smile was wide, as if he’d just come up with the most brilliant idea in the world.

“He doesn’t,” Sarah cut in before Joel could speak, and he shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

Your mom’s brow furrowed. “How’s that?”

“I’m spending Christmas and New Year’s out of town,” Sarah explained. “I invited him to join me, but he doesn’t want to spend that much time with my boyfriend’s family. Right, Dad?”

“That’s not true,” Joel objected, sounding almost wounded, like he’d been caught in an unflattering light.

“Well then, you should come with us,” your dad suggested with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “We’ve rented a great cabin, and there’s plenty of room. Sarah can join us later. It’ll be fun.”

“I’d love to,” Joel replied, but there was a touch of restraint in his voice, enough to make your dad frown. “But I was hoping to use the time to catch up on some work.”

“Joel, you can’t spend the holidays alone,” your mom pressed, sounding like she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “We’d love to have you with us. Really, it’s a beautiful place.”

“We’re leaving next Monday and we’ll be back by January seventh,” your dad added for good measure.

“I’ll drive to the airport with Dean and then head to Canmore myself after New Year’s,” Sarah said, giving Joel a pointed look. “Come on, Dad, don’t be a Grinch.”

Your dad chuckled, taking the opportunity to refill his glass. After a quick sip, he leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Look, Joel, Tommy’s out of town, Sarah’s leaving, so what’s your excuse? And don’t give me that ‘work’ line—it’s the holidays! If you turn me down, I’ll just assume you don’t want to spend time with an old friend who’s missed you.”

Ah, classic Dad, turning everything into a guilt trip. But now, instead of rolling your eyes, you found it amusing, watching Joel squirm a little, unsure how to respond. Even Sarah seemed to enjoy the show.

“Alright, alright,” Joel said, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Let me think about it, okay? And don’t try to manipulate me, Evans, you know that never worked on me.”

*

Dinner continued in a comfortably chaotic way, with your dad peppering Joel with jokes and playful nudges about the Canmore trip. Each time, Joel responded with a small, almost imperceptible smile, offering vague, evasive replies that left you wondering if your dad's persistent charm was working on him or not. You caught yourself studying the little shifts in Joel's expression, trying to decipher if he was actually considering the invitation or just humoring your dad.

Soon, your mother reappeared from the kitchen, carrying her signature apple pie, its golden crust steaming. She served it alongside cups of coffee, each in a mug sporting a different Christmas design. When Sarah mentioned how adorable the mugs were, your mother didn't hesitate to gift her one on the spot, complete with a matching saucer, her face lighting up as she watched Sarah’s delight.

But as the conversation continued, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Joel had begun talking about recent renovations around his house, and your mind kept drifting. You imagined him on a ladder, paintbrush in hand, or lugging a heavy toolbox. How would he look after an afternoon of hard work—sweaty, hair tousled, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows? A warmth spread through you at the thought, but then Joel's gaze flicked toward you, as if sensing your thoughts. Caught, you forced a smile and looked away, focusing on your pie as the heat crept up your neck.

After everyone had finished eating, you busied yourself with gathering the cups and plates, carrying them into the kitchen in a self-imposed silence. As you placed them on the counter, a sudden hollowness settled in your chest. It was the kind of feeling that made you realize just how out of place you were—how far you’d strayed from the person your parents thought you were. How long could you keep up this act, pretending that everything was fine when, in reality, your life had unraveled months ago?

You found your phone sitting on top of the refrigerator, where your mom must have left it earlier. You’d been avoiding checking it, afraid of what you might find, but now you unlocked it and scrolled through the notifications: three messages from Ally, your only real friend in New York, and a random email from an old forum. You made a mental note to unsubscribe, then opened Ally’s texts.

Have you seen his Instagram?

He’s a jerk. I’m sorry.

Are you okay?

Your heart clenched, and you hesitated before searching for what would surely hurt. There it was—a photo of Liam, your ex-coworker, arm wrapped around a woman’s waist as she flaunted a ring on her left hand. You shut your phone with a sharp breath, the realization hitting hard. How could you have been so naïve? Tears pricked at your eyes as your mother’s voice drew nearer, drifting through the door from the dining room. You panicked, ducking out the back door into the hallway. No one could see you like this, not when you’d worked so hard to keep up the illusion. If your mom saw you, the whole truth would tumble out.

You made it to the small bathroom under the stairs, and just as you reached for the handle, the door swung open, making you lurch forward. Joel stood on the other side.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, keeping your eyes down. “I didn’t know it was occupied.”

You turned quickly, ready to retreat, but his voice stopped you.

“Hey, you alright?”

You turned back to him, forcing a smile. “Yeah, yes, I’m fine.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “You sure? Doesn’t look like it.”

“I... I just had a long day, that’s all,” you muttered, but you could feel your composure slipping. Your eyes were fixed on a button of his shirt, trying desperately not to meet his gaze. But then, without warning, your tears broke free. A soft sob escaped, and Joel’s expression softened as he pulled the door open wider.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but the tears kept coming. Joel placed a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of it anchoring you even as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of losing control completely. He glanced down the hallway, then back at you with a furrowed brow.

“I’ll get your parents,” he offered.

“No!” You reached out, gripping his arm too tightly. “Please don’t.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, and for a moment, you both stood there, your grip firm on his forearm. You knew you were making him uncomfortable, but you couldn’t seem to care. You could see the confusion in his eyes as he tried to make sense of your desperation.

"You sure?" you asked, swearing you could read an expression on his face that screamed 'Do I really have a choice?'

Determined, you stepped between him and the door and into the bathroom. Joel turned around in confusion, but quickly understood and closed the door behind him.  The moment felt strange, and it was. The room was cramped and the walls enclosed you in a non-existent, completely unfamiliar intimacy. You looked at him nervously and realized that you were on the verge of doing something irresponsable; of course he would tell your parents, of course he wouldn't keep your secret, why should he? If you had to be rational, you'll do the same thing. At the end of the day, they were best friends.   But it didn't matter. The was no space for consideration as the verbal vomit was about to come out.

“I quit my job, and my ex-boyfriend—who also happens to be my former co-worker—is marrying the woman he cheated on me with. I’ve been pretending like everything’s fine, but I’m probably going to have to move back to Austin because I hate how everything turned out.”

Joel's eyes widened slightly as he took in your confession. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, seeming at a loss for words, and you couldn’t blame him. It was a mess, and you’d just thrown it all in his lap. Finally, he let out a deep sigh.

“So your parents have no idea.”

“No,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” he asked, surprised. “Why would you apologize?”

“Because... I don’t know. It’s not your problem.”

“Alright, don’t apologize,” he replied, sounding unsure of himself. “What’s your plan, then?”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the uncertainty you’d been carrying. “I’m not sure. I thought maybe I’d figure it out over the holidays.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on your face, as if searching for something. Then, with another sigh, he leaned back against the door. “You think you can do it?”

The question stung more than you expected. “You mean, solve my life?”

He quickly clarified. “I mean, keep the secret. Pretending everything’s fine.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll try.”

Joel nodded slowly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Just... don’t push yourself too hard, alright? It’s not the end of the world. Trust me, I know.”

He turned to leave, reaching for the doorknob, but you couldn’t let him go just yet. “Joel,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Please don’t say anything to my parents.”

He studied your face for a few seconds longer than you were comfortable with, then finally nodded. “I won’t.”

Relief washed over you, loosening the tightness in your chest. At least one secret would stay safe, for now.

[wanderingelvis]

Hey I don’t know if your doing requests rn but I had this idea. Maybe like an innocent reader x Elvis and she broke a glass and cut herself on accident and she keeps apologizing because her dad would get mad at her for that and he has to convince her it’s not her fault. Maybe ending in smut? Whatever you wanna do I just thought it was a cool idea

Thank you for the request! I really hope you like it! 🧚

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word Count: 2,649

Pairing: Late 60s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of ab*se (verbal and physical)

You were a little ball of sunshine in Elvis' life. A sensitive little ball of sunshine at that. You quite often reminded Elvis of a little puppy dog, just eager and desperate for his love and attention, always looking at him with those big, round eyes of yours, filled with admiration and adoration for the big old man. 

Your love for Elvis didn't come from nowhere though, he equally showered you with affection and love from the moment he first interacted with you. He became enamoured with your playful and soft giggles and your incessant babbling that he found utterly adorable.

Elvis picked up early on that you had some underlying issues. He would notice you flinch at a loud noise or a raised voice, the way you'd instantly stop talking if someone began to speak over you, the way you'd trip over your words when any sort of confrontation would occur. He knew that there must have been something in your past that had created those behaviours and he was right.

You opened up to him about your past and your upbringing early on in your relationship with Elvis after Elvis had asked you about your childhood. You'd told Elvis tentatively, all about the tense and aggressive environment that you grew up in, and even when you'd trip over you words or start to feel anxious when recalling the events, Elvis hushed you, telling you to take your time, everything was okay and that you were his special girl now.

Since then, you'd really gone from strength to strength, you were this little diamond on Elvis' arm, charming everyone just like Elvis did, and together, you really were the new 'it' couple. 

You were so eager to please everyone but most importantly Elvis, that you would wear yourself out, trying so hard to impress him that you'd often end up becoming drowsy at 8pm, nodding off in Elvis' strong hold as he would laugh and chat with the Mafia. 

Elvis didn't mind one bit, he thought there was no cuter sight than you drifting off whilst clinging to him as if he were your security blanket or nighttime teddy bear. Once Elvis was sure that you'd be fully asleep, he'd always excuse himself from whatever was going on to carry you to your shared room and put you into bed, knowing that the worst thing for you would be to fall asleep only to be woken up by someone getting drunk and starting to holler and wake you up and mess up your routine. 

You truly were Elvis' little baby, he treated you like a princess and you truly were head over heels in love with the big, old, rockstar.

The two of you being the social butterflies you were meant that you loved a crowded house, hosting parties for any event, Christmas, Halloween, 4th of July - heck, even if it was a Friday, that would be enough to warrant an extravagant party.

And that's exactly what had happened, a lavish party in December had taken place in Graceland where the Mafia, their wives, a few fans and fellow musicians had all attended in what could only have been described as an 'early Christmas' in Graceland, with endless drinks, cigars, and laughter. 

It was about 3am and everyone had left apart from a few members of the Mafia, Lamar, Sonny, Charlie and Joe, all in the Jungle room relaxing with you nestled into Elvis' side, completely wiped and a little tipsy from the expensive champagne that Elvis had let you drink.

"Why dontchu be a doll n'go n'get us some drinks eh, Y/N? Might wanna make a start on the mess while yer at it?" Charlie laughed, nodding at you. 

You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes, the excitement of the party taking its toll on your little body before you nodded, pushing your body up from where it rested by Elvis. 

"That how you talk to a little girl huh, Charlie? No wonder you're goddamn single," Elvis retorted sharply, with an ever so bitter chuckle at the end of his pointed comment, clearly agitated at some other fella telling you what to do.

See, Elvis knew that you craved praise and even more so, you were absolutely desperate to avoid any sort of conflict or trouble, so you'd always do anything that anyone asked of you. Naturally, this could lead to people taking advantage of your sweet state but that's where Elvis was perfect for you. His authoritative and dominant presence meant that people would seldom cross him just to get you to do some task they were too lazy to do. 

Elvis reached over with his cold, ring clad fingers wrapping around your tender wrist, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Elvis tsked, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't you move baby, Charlie's a big boy, he can get himself a drink if he needs one."

"Oh, no, Elvis it's okay! Really, I don't mind, it's okay!" You said earnestly.

"I know you don't mind darlin', but you're readin' your fun little magazine, no need for you to be bothered hm? Charlie can do it himself just fine." Elvis said, just about managing to shoot Charlie another stern look.

"S'okay! I was gon' get myself a drink anyways! A hot lemon and tea, I think I hurt my throat from how much I was talkin'!" You sleepily giggled, the angelic sound quelling Elvis' frustrations, you were just so heavenly. Elvis equally knew that you'd just be sitting and feeling anxious if he kept you by his side so he released his tender grip on you, tapping his cheek with his finger, indicating he wanted a kiss from you.

You complied docilely, bending down to press a kiss on Elvis cheek, a soft giggle leaving your lips afterwards as you skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Charlie to the wrath of Elvis.

You carefully prepared the tea and got Charlie's favourite drink sorted too - an Old Fashioned, biting down on your lip as you tried to get the measurements just right! 

It wasn't until you were carrying the tray of tea and cocktails that everything fell apart - quite literally. 

The damned carpet corner wasn't properly pinned down, making you trip over your own feet just like Bambi, sending the tray, along with its contents flying and tumbling down onto the pristine carpet, the glass and china shattering  everywhere. 

You gasped and immediately your heart dropped and sheer panic set in. Your clumsiness, whilst adored by Elvis, had not been your fathers favourite trait of yours, with violent punishments incurring whenever you'd make a little mistake and those punishments had had a lasting impact on you. Obviously, this caused your body to go into automatic panic and defence as you knelt down, trying to clear up the glass and china shards before anyone that heard the accident came running through.

As tears began to pool in your eyes, making your vision cloudy and your breathing became erratic with panic and fear of being punished, you didn't even register the shards of glass cutting through the skin on your knees and the palms of your hands. 

You began to create more mess than tidy it as droplets of blood now began to drip onto the carpet as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, smudging the pretty black eye makeup Elvis had so lovingly put on you for the party. 

That's when you began to hear footsteps and you dared not look up when you heard Elvis' familiar deep Southern voice.

"Baby?" Elvis said lowly, concern lacing his voice that you mistook for disappointment.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, p-please don't be mad, p-please, I didn't m-mean it," You stuttered with a shaky, cracked voice, stopping every couple of words to sniffle as you cowered into yourself like a frightened little puppy, scared of anything that might approach it.

As Elvis' concern grew rapidly, his demeanour softened, knowing that you were now in an extra fragile and sensitive state and you needed to be treated delicately.

So that's how the big man ended up slowly walked over to you, rolling up the sleeves on his silk shirt and crouching down so that he could be on your level - even if he was still towering over you. 

"Ssh baby, s'okay, I'm not mad with you princess." Elvis hushed, reaching out to gently to push away the hair that had fallen in front of your pretty face, making sure to be as tender as he could be as to not startle you as he knew you were frightened of any sudden contact.

You flinched ever so slightly as Elvis touched you, sniffling as you tried to steady your panic, your wet lashes fluttering up to meet Elvis' concerned gaze. 

"Do ya think you can tell me what happened little one?" Elvis asked as his eyes scanned the scene, realising how badly you'd hurt yourself.

Your eyes widened as you began to recall what happened. "I-I-, um, I, tried to get the, get the drinks and I got um, um, tripped over, by the carpet, I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I p-promise!" You said shakily, panic beginning to set in again which Elvis picked up on immediately.

"Uh uh baby, you're gettin' yerself all worked up aren't ya?" Elvis soothed, and you nodded, your chest still erratically rising and falling as you hiccupped through tears. You nodded feverishly, your shaky hand wiping away snot and tears. 

"M'sorry! It was just an accident, I promise, I'll c-clean it all up, I p-promise." You whimpered.

"I know it was an accident baby, we all have accidents don't we hm?" Elvis cooed, trying to soothe you and calm you down. "Accidents happen, it's okay honey, I ain't mad, I ain't mad at all." Elvis tried to reassure as you trembled opposite him, your hands still in a bloodied mess along with your knees.

Elvis knew that your sudden panicky and frightened little state was the result of your father, beating you and verbally abusing you at any possible chance he had, particularly when an incident like this would happen. He knew that you'd revert back to the child-like state that you'd first experienced the abuse in, but he knew it was now his job and responsibility to look after you and take care of you and make you feel better and feel loved.

"I d-didn't mean it, p-promise." You mewled softly, growing calmer but still tender and frightened. 

Elvis nodded understandingly, holding eye contact with you, wanting to make it absolutely clear to you that you weren't in any trouble and nothing was bad was going to happen to you whilst you were in his care. 

"I know you didn't sweet girl. You were just doin' yer best weren't you honey? You did nothin' wrong, you were busy bein' a good girl and gettin' Charlie a drink for him." Elvis praised, knowing you needed it. "What happened to yer hands n'knees little one?" Elvis asked, pointing to your injuries.

You hadn't even acknowledged that you were hurt or bleeding, your mind far too occupied with fear. Your eyes widened cutely as you blinked a few times, realising how bad your hands really were as you held them up in front of you. Elvis watched you, his attempt to get your mind to stop panicking was working.

"I, um, I hurt them," You said quietly, your voice trailing off as you studied your hands. "They hurt." You whimpered slightly, the realisation of what had happened setting in, as well as the pain. 

"They look sore don't they honey?" Elvis observed and you nodded, successfully distracted from the internalised fear that had consumed you. "I think we need to get you cleaned up little one, make you feel all good n'better? What do you think princess?" Elvis asked calmly.

Again, you nodded, your habit of becoming ever-so-slightly more non-verbal kicking in when you were upset and scared and overstimulated. "Okay..." You replied, with the small word being all you could muster.

"Okay." Elvis repeated in confirmation with a reassuring nod. "Now, I'm gon' help you up little 'un, then I'm gon' get the fellas outta here, they've had enough partyin' for one night, then we're gon' get you cleaned up and into our nice big, warm, bed, how does that sound Y/N?" Elvis said to you gently. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat as your damp eyelashes fluttered and you scanned the mess around you on the floor. "B-But I need to clean up my mess." You stuttered.

"Oh little one, no, no this will all get cleaned by the staff who are comin' to sort out the mess from the party 'kay? Your only job is to let me clean you up and feel better, okay little girl?" Elvis said with a raised eyebrow as you sniffled and reached out for him, desperately craving physically affection from him. "Careful pretty girl, I don't wanna hurt yer pretty little hands now, do I? M'gon pick you up from your elbows, okay?" Elvis told you, standing back up before leaning down and slowly hauling you up from under your arms, making sure as to not cause you any more harm.

Once you were up, Elvis quickly dashed to the Jungle room to get rid of the remaining guys, explaining the situation to them before they all told Elvis that they hoped you were okay. They all thought of you as a little gem of a girl and they all had a soft spot for you. They were also protective of you, perhaps not as much as Elvis was, but they all knew you were a sweet girl and they all sincerely hoped you'd feel better as quickly as possible.

Elvis then carried you up the stairs and straight to your bathroom, setting you on the bathroom counter where your legs dangled and your cheeks were sticky with dried tears and smudged eyeliner. 

Elvis spent the next couple of hours cleaning you, carefully getting rid of any glass that was stuck in your skin and applying cream and ointment onto your wounds, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead every time you winced from the anti-septic. 

"Hurts." You cried as you recoiled every time Elvis applied anti-septic onto your body somewhere. 

"I know it does baby, I know it does, but you're bein' such a brave girl f'me, aren't you? That's right, bein' so brave f'me, m'so proud of you." Elvis cooed. "But this is going to make you better so you gotta keep bein' a brave girl for me, just a little bit more medicine and then we'll go to bed little one." Elvis assured.

Sweet nothings and words of comfort and praise kept coming from Elvis as he continued to clean you up, change you out of your sweet little pink party dress, put your pyjamas on for you and get you all cuddled up into bed. 

Exhaustion consumed you, overwhelming you and making your whole body feel heavy as you sank into the big, plush bed that you and Elvis shared. 

You glanced up at Elvis who settled in next to you, your big eyes gazing up at him. "Promise I didn't mean it, promise I'm sorry." You mumbled feebly.

Elvis sighed, looking down at you as he cupped your face with his large hand that had so delicately looked after you all evening. "I know baby, you ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about princess. There ain't no need to be worried little one, yer with me now baby, I ain't ever gon' be mad atchu, okay? Now, you need to rest, you're overwhelmed baby, but m'gon be right here when you wake up and m'gon make you pancakes for bein' such a good girl f'me tonight." Elvis smiled, watching as a sleepy smile crept onto your face.

"Love you." You lazily hummed before you closed your eyes.

Elvis didn't sleep until he knew you were sleeping soundly, his little sunshine.

[random-imaginess]

i’m obsessed with ur work rn omg :o can you please write a shayne x reader fic where it’s their first halloween together and they’re just indulging in all the mushy couple activities? like matching costumes, scary movies, pumpkin carving, sweater sharing, all the sweet cozy fall vibes? thanks so much! <3

Hi!! Thank you so much for sending in a request, and I appreciate your comments so much! I’m sorry it took a little bit to get posted. (Tumblr is being a pain and not letting me post things directly from my computer so I have to jump through hoops just to get these to post, it’s so frustrating!) I really hope this meets your expectations. There were so many ways I wanted to start this and so many options of what to focus on, I couldn’t decide! I do plan on posting another version of this that will capture more of a cozy couple-y vibe! And it will be longer! But I hope you like this as well!

Not to be dramatic or anything, but Halloween was THE best time of the year, and to say that you were excited to finally be able to start decorating for it would be an understatement. If you had it your way, and technically you could have, you’d keep your place decorated in a spooky aesthetic all year round! Or at least fall themed, though either option would be equally valid. This year particularly, though, you were even more excited because you were able to spend it with your boyfriend, Shayne. You and him had been friends for a little short of a decade so it wasn’t even close to being the first year you two did something together, but this year was different because you were a C O U P L E and it just hit different.

Practically since after the 4th of July you were in plot mode, having a serious conversation with him about what you were doing for Halloween. It was important to know what you were going to dress up as, and it was vital to get ahead of it so you had time to get on the same page about what you were doing. Costume parties were going to be starting soon, and you had to be ready! You had both talked about options; going as a salt and pepper shaker, Mario and Princess Peach, Morticia and Gomez Addams, or more cliché, Barbie and Ken (though Shayne would most definitely be an Allan)!

“We should go as a cat burglar!” You exclaimed out of nowhere, startling Shayne a bit as he adjusted a leaf garland he was hanging up. “What?” He chuckled. “For a matching costume idea. We could go as a cat burglar! I’d be a cat and you a burglar and together we would be a cat burglar!” You raised your brows, enthusiasm sketched all over your face like it was the most brilliant idea. “Say cat burglar again, I don’t think you said it enough times,” he teased playfully. “That would be pretty funny, though.” “Or OOOH!! Pennywise and Georgie! Wouldn’t matter who would be who!” Shayne just laughed, watching you go back to placing plastic pumpkins on the mantle above the fireplace.

“I think the best part of this costume planning is going to be watching you get all excited about what idea to go with,” he laughed again. Shayne’s ideas were more subtle, which was great too. You didn’t normally go crazy about the dressing up aspect of it, but this year you wanted to do something special since you had someone to plan this sort of thing with. And you appreciated him being such a trooper about it! “It feels weird getting this amped up about costumes because normally I would prefer to just stay in and have horror movie marathons, which you can expect we’ll be doing because you can’t not do that during the spooky season.” “Yes, of course. Though technically spooky season isn’t until October..” “That’s up for debate,” you retorted quickly, getting another laugh out of him.

“Spooky season should always happen directly after the 4th, just like they do it with Christmas after Thanksgiving. But TECHNICALLY, spooky season gets started August 1st because that’s when all the fun things start, like horror nights and spooky conventions.” You let out an excited squeal as you hyped yourself up all over again. “So many fun things are starting!!”

After finishing up the decorations, your placed mostly decked out with fall themed items; apple cider and pumpkin spice scented candles and black cats and garlands everywhere, you were very pleased with how it all turned out. Standing next to Shayne, you wrapped your arms around his waist and marveled at both of your work for a few moments. “It looks like a Spirit Halloween store threw up in here.” “I know, don’t you love it?” You grinned. Shayne wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed, giving you a long hug before breaking it.

Thinking about what the next couple months were going to bring brought you so much joy. You were anxiously awaiting for the colder weather to kick in so you both could snuggle up on the couch with hot drinks and a crackling fire while you watched scary movies. You were excited for when you could carve pumpkins, make halloween goodies together, experiment with spooky themed bread because you knew Shayne would enjoy the hell out of that! There was so much to look forward to and you couldn’t wait to share this all with him.

[theneighborhoodwatch]

The neighborhood map changed again! I'm not sure if the black thing (to borrow a Madeline L'Engle term) under Home has grown anymore. Some things I notice are Poppy's house's windows shut, Barnaby's pawprints, vines growing on the roof of Frank's house, and lots of sidewalk chalk doodles presumably from Julie (and maybe Wally drew Frank's face?).

I've noticed subtle changes to the neighborhood in previous updates too, but with more continuing to happen, as well as content we've gotten this Halloween update, I have a feeling these neighborhood changes are more... current than we might have previously thought.

This is a bit of a long shot, but I think everyone in Welcome Home is active, at least somewhat. Some characters are more aware than others. Maybe they're "waking up"; we've had two puppets, Wally through his doodles and Sally through the Halloween record, speak directly to us now.

In the secret bug audio, found on the transcript page for the Halloween record, the puppets mention that the spooky storytelling went well, as if it's a direct follow-up to the Halloween record. It's a discrepancy, sure, but perhaps not an unfounded one. Maybe the neighborhood's stuck in some sort of limbo between the present and the past, and only now, with the WHRP, Q/A, and us discovering it, is it literally reviving in front of our eyes.

correct me if i'm wrong, but uh - weren't all of those map details present from before the halloween update? i'm looking at these screenshots and my older captures of the map to compare, but i can't find any differences. i'm pretty sure the map's the same, aside from julie and frank's character cards changing to make it more explicit that they were intended as a couple in-universe (haha, knowing what we know, that's not worrying at all. /s)

anyways, to get to the Meat of this ask: i don't sally was speaking to us in the storybook record, just the neighbors As A Group, but i definitely think this update makes it a Lot more likely that home (the town) kind of exists, like, Outside of linear time? that it isn't so much that there's a divide between the stuff that was produced Then and what we see in the present day so much as it is that the stuff that the WHRP is uncovering is like, a window into what's going on in home Right Now, whether they realize it or not (and something may be actively blocking them from realizing??? not sure if it's that or if it's simply willful ignorance; i suppose we'll see.)

i'm reminded of a couple posts i made a little while ago, about the possibility that welcome home as a proper show never Actually existed, and the stuff that the WHRP's digging up is welcome home's attempts to will itself into reality anyway, for lack of a better description. but it also suffers from being tethered to a single person/group of people's Vision of it instead of being allowed to be an ever-evolving thing, or only being allowed to evolve in a Specific way. i dunno. i just kept thinking about that the entire time i was reading through this update.

anyways i'm also thinking about the way wally's eye-eating ability was represented in that post-storybook tape. i kind of like that it seems to be almost Overwhelming for him, like he hasn't gotten much of an opportunity to try it out before (if he's gotten any opportunity) and is like "oh. Oh. Oh. I Get It Now. holy shit." i don't have much to add onto that and that's just how i see it as of the time of this writing, but i would feel foolish if i didn't make note of it for later.

[lacasadeasterionpdf]

ok so i think im officially turning this into the complaining abt my ex diary because i can't talk about it literally anywhere else FUCK i got invited to two halloween parties one she was going to one she wasn't and i was like hey i dont feel like going to party 1 anymore i think id have more fun in party 2 and she was like um i miss you can i come AND the thing here is her Monogamous Girlfriend lets her see me but only in public and in events and such so im like yeahhh sure we meet up we go to the party we get touchier and touchier but she cant kiss me on the lips (shes kissed me once since we broke up and said it was the last one) and by the end shes like heyyy can i go sleep at your house (she lives pretty far away) and im like um i think you cant? and shes like well dont tell anyone so we Go To My House we talk on the way a whole lot abt the breakup im drunk shes on shrooms we're insane we get to my bed we cuddle but in a sort of friendly way ? like not the way we would when we were together we get three hours of sleep because i had to go do a school thing and in the morning, under the effects of Nothing but sleep deprivation, she starts kissing me all over my face, actively puts her finger over my lips to avoid kissing me on the mouth, starts scratching my back AND. MY FUCKING GOD. simulates riding me. w clothes on ?? for like 15 minutes ?? and at this point ive completely lost my mind im sort of petrified also turned on but very insane and im like are u gonna make me responsible for this and shes like noooo :3 and i do believe her but god in what way is that not cheating on her partner just because we didn't kiss this woman was like moaning in my arms i put my hands on the middle of her chest at one point and she moved them to her tits i think she should murder me and itd be better for me. and we havent kissed. and this is exactly what she did in july. and i cant tell anyone she even slept at my place not my partner not my best friend not anyone because shes insane and cant commit to the choices she made and im going to live with the guilt forever and this is obviously going to happen a couple times more until it explodes one way or another. arrrgrgghhh

[brown-little-robin]

how my scheduled posts work

January: snow, citrus fruit, things I think will help me get through the long winter, encouragements

February: black and white art, pen illustrations, and such. I don't remember why I started doing that, but it's tradition now

March: flowers start to appear. the color pink creeps in. postage stamps and trinkets spill over

April: flowers proliferate. the tulip festival happens in my hometown, and for that week/weekend I reblog 1 million pictures of tulips. it's my way to celebrate from afar

May: the pink theme from march reappears even more vividly; opalescence and sculptures abound

June: light blue and light green—pastels, pokemon, and water

July: greenery of all sorts, ceramics, frogs, and vivid colors

August: forest scenes, purple and green, special treats just for me (it's my birthday month!), reminders about life and taking it one day at a time (birthday month reminders :])

September: yellow brown and golden things: honey, bread, hamsters, bees, sunlight. I love september

October: darker and more orange tones than september; wild things. halloween does color my october posting, I admit. forest animals feature strongly

November: preparing for winter, my queue begins to consist of comfortable things (fabric art, plushies, artworks of hugs). also, sublime if barren landscapes, to embrace the november feel(tm)

December: cozy. house paintings, fabric arts like sewing, knitting, quilts, & plushies, and Advent stuff.

This is synesthesia related (for instance, putting blue things in June, scheduling green things for days with "5" in them) but also related to what I think I'll need/want in each month, and what other people will need/want in each month.

[merakiui]

Mera! I'm losing track of the days lol, but so long as i send an ask a week, i think i should be okay 😂

Also feel free to post your hsr hair thoughts bc i love to read your rambles as much as your fics! I'm looking forward to the jade one and him imitating floyd is really amusing. I like to think jade has a sort of pride about him where he loathes being compared to floyd but also jokes it off when someone does or when someone mistakes them, so i can imagine his pride and ego taking a hit but he endures it for sake of reader. Almost like he gets addicted to acting like floyd bc everyone likes floyd better anyways, right? So why not give the people what they want! He receives such a positive response when he acts like floyd that it rewires the hurt in his brain and suddenly the thing he hates is now cathartic for him but theres still that underlying hurt underneath >.<

BUT thats not why im here hehehe, for this weeks questionnnnn......

Who do you think would be the 'final girl' in a slasher film from each dorm? And then if u can, who do you think would be the ultimate survivor? You can optionally bestow the other titles; the virgin who lives but is hurt, the killer in hiding and the idiots who are the first to go, etc :D i read a yandere slasher fic here on tumblr where reader goes into a cabin with her friends and they get killed off one by one until the yandere presumably fucks reader and it has me back in my horror phase 😅 just pretend its Halloween in june, like xmas in july hahaha

-🐔 anon!!!!

:D hi hi 🐔!!!! Thank you for enjoying my writings and ramblings and for your interest in the upcoming Jade fic!! He'd do anything for you, even if it means he has to endure bittersweet pain just to see you smile. >_< all he wants is a chance with you and he gets that when he acts as Floyd. It may be uncomfortable and it may chip away pieces of his pride as an individual, but you laugh at his jokes and look at him like he's the only one in your world. He'll do whatever he can just to receive a crumb of your affection, even if it's all meant to be reserved for Floyd. Aaaa I love writing this version of Jade!!!! He's just so interesting and obsessed!! orz

Ooooo final girls from each dorm!!! That's such a fun question. Here are my thoughts!!! ^w^

Heartslabyul's final girl would be Cater. He's so perfect for the final girl trope! You think he might die first because he's pretty and can't let go of his phone for the life of him, but when he gets serious he can be very cutthroat. <3 the idiotic duo would have to be Ace and Deuce. Deuce hears a strange noise and wants to check it out because he's definitely not scared of demons or killers and he'll beat up anything that tries to hurt him and his friends. Ace thinks he's trying to prank him, but he begrudgingly follows him, thinking it's either nothing and Deuce is trying to scare him or it'll just turn out to be something with a completely natural explanation. It's neither, and while they're both bickering the killer looms from behind. Riddle is the logical one who tries to put everything into perspective and figure out a logical reason behind everything. Trey is, unsurprisingly, the mom friend who just wants everyone to stay in one place because hopefully the authorities will show up soon (they never will).

Savanaclaw's final girl is Ruggie. He's resourceful and cunning; you think he may die first, but he's actually very good at survival. He'll live, but he comes out of the horrific night covered in blood after he's just fought the killer to the death. Jack is your typical jock, kind-hearted and caring, who doesn't believe in any of that ghost stuff or horror movie trope stuff, but when it becomes too real he gets even more serious than before, determined to survive and protect those close to him. Leona strikes me as the type who, upon the first sign of something suspicious or dangerous, promptly leaves. He will not be swept up in any murder plots, no thank you. <3 either that or he sleeps through it all and the killer thinks he's dead at first glance LOL.

Octavinelle's final girl would be Floyd. As goofy as he is, he's also another cutthroat guy who can and will survive. He may throw himself directly at danger, but somehow he always comes out of it alive. Jade is your typical killer-in-hiding. You won't suspect him until it's too late, and by then nearly half the cast is dead. Azul is the type who acts like an ally to everyone, but he's secretly either plotting with the killer or planning to sacrifice everyone in order to save himself.

Scarabia's final girl is Jamil. Most of his decisions are made solely to protect Kalim (who naturally is the comedic relief/carefree friend who is just too sweet for this world), but there's a build-up in this movie where the plot twist is that Jamil ultimately ends up tricking Kalim. Is it possible for both him and Jamil to survive? Perhaps, but this isn't that kind of movie. :) and from the bloodshed, Jamil emerges, alive, exhausted, and traumatized. (Or I could also see Jamil as a killer-in-hiding and Kalim as the final girl; it fits either way in my mind hehe!! :D)

Pomefiore's final girl is either Epel or Vil. It's hard to choose just one of them for the trope because I feel like it can fit them both in different ways. Rook is obviously the killer-in-hiding or he's just that really unnerving character who happens to know too much about how a killer thinks. >_< Vil as a final girl would be so cool because I think he can also be quite cutthroat. He's the character type who spends most of his focus on himself throughout the movie, yet he still manages to survive. How, you may ask? He weaponized various beauty products or, my most favorite idea, he fought the killer in heels and won, by which the heels absolutely became his weapon. >:) Epel as a final girl would be somewhat surprising because he's the character who no one really expects to live because he's "so petite and cute and omg how will he ever survive the big, scary killer!!!!" D: but then Epel shocks everyone when he ends up arming himself with brass knuckles or a baseball bat to go hunt down the killer himself.

Ignihyde's final girl is Idia, but then he also fits into the loser nerd category. Idia as a final girl is a little frustrating because he spends the entire movie being prideful and rude to the other characters, so everyone sort of wants him to be killed off first because he's so unlikable. But because Idia's seen all of these tropes before and knows his way around a horror movie, he ends up surviving. Ortho survives as well, but then I can also picture him being something of a sci-fi horror villain (i.e. technology becomes bad and targets humans). It's something like in book six where he was giving the students little tests in order to advance to the next level. Just a little villainous and devious!

Diasomnia's final girl is Silver. The stress of the situation manages to keep him awake, and so he's mainly in survival mode for the entirety of the film. Silver does his best to protect everyone, even putting himself at risk if it means he can save his friends. Sebek likely puts up a good fight, but he's far too stubborn and can't be quiet to save his life, so he ends up getting killed. I feel like Lilia could be a killer-in-hiding, or he's just the mischievous trickster type. Malleus could also be a killer-in-hiding, or he's the trope of "misunderstood character with a reputation that is solely rumors who turns out to be quite sweet and helpful to the main character."

[chirpsythismorning]

Today is Day 185: What This Line Means for El's Letter to Mike at the Start of Season 4

I know a lot of fans are convinced that the Duffers are careless since they 'forgot' Will's birthday. But I assure you… they’re not.

There's zero doubt in my mind that the writers have a calendar which they refer to religiously, especially when making decisions about the timeline for the story. 

Literally every season starts with a date to establish the setting. Do we think they just settle on a date, without referring to any sort of notes?

There’s a basic responsibility there, at the very least, to be aware of what the characters would be doing at that moment in time, based on what generally happens during that time of year. This would require research beyond just picking a date and slapping it on the first episode of the season. 

Is it Spring, Summer, Fall or Winter? What events are likely to take place during that time of year and how do they plan the expectations of the setting around the characters and the story itself? That's all intentional and well thought out. There’s a reason every season is surrounding some sort of holiday/event at some point, and it’s because time is very very important in the world of Stranger Things.

Think about the various times they’ve had characters literally countdown events?

Mike with El in s2? El with Mike in s4? Suzie when referring to Dustin’s birthday in s4? They wouldn’t throw out lines like that if they didn’t do the math at least once themselves.

The ‘353 days’ line is one perfect example of the Duffer’s proving to us that they have access to calendars, calculators or even simply, google.

Look at that! It appears when Mike used the walkie to call El on Halloween of 1984 (October 31st) in s2, it had indeed been 353 days!

What makes this detail so so so so so fucking important, is that this might hold the answer to the murkiness of the s3 ending going into s4.

Because as of now, we don't really know when s3 ended exactly.

But the similarities of s3's ending to previous seasons, might help us figure out that answer...

Every season ends with a vague timestamp for the literal ending; the epilogue. They only offer up the date at the start of the season, but when it comes to the ending, they never do. It's always months or days if we're lucky.

For s1-2 we got a vague 'one month later', for s3 we got an even more vague 'three months later' and for s4 we surprisingly got something more specific, with 'two days later'.

I think the reasoning for this seems complicated, but it's fairly simple.

While it is quite commonplace to give exact dates at the start of stories, to set the scene and everything, there's this agreed upon understanding in film and even books arguably, that also providing an exact date for the epilogue feels a little cheap? Or maybe a bit too 'handholdy' is a better word? I could see that being something an amateur would do without realizing it looks tacky.

I also think it allows the writers to be more vague in what exactly the date is for the end, according to the audience at least. Because they 100% know what the date is on their end, but that doesn't mean they have to reveal it to us.

We don't know when s3 ends exactly. We know that the battle at Starcourt ended on July 4th-5th (respectively). Though we also know that based on s1's timeline, Mike's countdown considered El's death to be the morning of November 13th, and so we can presume perhaps that s3 technically ended on July 5th.

And so the s3 epilogue being 'three months later' would bring us to October 5th, 1985 right?

Well, not exactly.

You see, when the Duffers give us their vague epilogue scenes, they're not saying that it's exactly one month or three months later, to the exact day. They're being intentionally vague.

Season 1 ending says one month later, but it's actually been 25 days.

Season 2 ending says one month later, but it's actually been 40 days.

Season 3 ending says three months later, but it's actually been... well we don't fucking know!!!

BUT I don't think it really matters, because if the Duffer's made an effort to do the math correctly for their 353 days line in s2, then it's probably safe to assume they'd do math for their 185 days line in s4 as well? And to also give us the answer to that question somewhere in the show already, as opposed to throwing out some random date seasons later?

Otherwise why have countdowns like that at all? It literally makes no sense for them to give us an exact number, like 353 or 185, without checking that the days match up with the exact countdown they're giving us.

I'm just one fan, and it only took me maybe 3 google searches to figure this out in a matter of seconds. They are however literal experts in their profession, and for that reason I do feel comfortable giving them some credit here.

So now, let's try to apply this logic then to s3.

Perhaps it's safe to assume that El's countdown didn't start when the Byers moved to Cali in the s3 epilogue, just like Mike's countdown didn't start at the end of the s1 epilogue either.

It's believed that the Byers, but El specifically, had to go into hiding after the battle at Starcourt. And so, could this mean that El's countdown started on July 5th?

The day that Hopper died? The day she lost her powers? The day she had to go into hiding and probably couldn't properly communicate with Mike for about three months?

Honestly, I think it would make a lot more sense to have their countdown's (Mike's 353 vs. El's 185) parallel in how they started.

And it would be weird to restart that countdown simply because they reunited for one afternoon to move, again because there was obviously so much significance to everything that happened on July 5th, that it does make sense to me that El's countdown would have started there.

Also, I want to be thorough by mentioning that, the main reason we can easily rule out the Byers move date being the start of El's countdown, is that it doesn't add up whatsoever.

El saying it has been 185 days since the Byers moved, would mean she was writing the letter on April 7th, 1986, which is impossible. (Also Mike's birthday, which is hilariously ironic).

Even if we spread out that three month window, we still have to take into account that if it was closer to two months or four months, they would've just said that instead. So either the Byers moved on October 4th, or sometime between September 5th at the earliest and November 5th at the latest.

And so where do we go from here? 

Basically, from what we understand in canon on the show, there isn’t much to go off of besides that. And I think that’s the intention.

Over the seasons, the obscurity of the time jump between the epilogues has allowed for them to say obscure comments between seasons, such as, Yeah for like a month (Jonathan in s2) and It’s been a year, Mike (Will in s4) and so they obviously like this appeal of the audience not knowing for certain. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know for certain.

I would argue they have to know for certain, and have very likely done the math at least once or twice or ten times, especially because as I mentioned, there would be no reason to have characters countdown to the exact day, on multiple occasions, if the creators/writers or literally anyone involved with the show wasn't checking to make sure those numbers added up correctly.

And so, based on all of that, I think that El started counting down from the day they separated, just like the previous season, which would’ve been July 4th-5th (respectfully).

And so 185 days after July 4th-5th, 1985, would be January 5th-6th, 1986. 

Just work with me here. Because while there are several things that could work against this theory, I think those things could have intentionally been there to trick the audience into thinking this letter was written very close to spring break, even though the math for that doesn't add up. And so lets look at some of the details that might be telling us this letter isn't as recent as we're being lead to believe.

The main detail I want to mention, is that major projects like the one El describes in her letter, requiring a visual aid, is more likely to be assigned at the start of the trimester.

If you don’t live in the United States, or are unfamiliar, basically how it tends to work for most high schools is the school year get’s split into 3 trimesters. The 1st trimester goes from September-December, the second goes from January-March, and the third goes from March-June. It varies depending on the city/county/state. Though it may not seem very equal, it goes like this to accommodate the major holidays with extensive breaks. The first trimester has Thanksgiving then a brief return to school, followed by Christmas/New years. The 2nd trimester starts right after New Years, and ends with Spring break. Then once you return afterward Spring break, that’s the start of the 3rd trimester. It evens out to each trimester being about 3 months.

I think El would've mentioned this assignment to Mike closer to when it was assigned and not right before she was turning it in. And the reasoning for this is kind of obvious but understandably overlooked.

While most kids would probably not think about working on a project like this until the last minute, because most of us are expert procrastinators after almost a decade in school, El however is completely new to this experience. And so I imagine the moment she heard about this assignment, she was just like 'best get to it!!'! We even see her still working on it after the project was already graded because the significance of it was clearly important to her. And so if her and Mike were writing somewhat consistently as it appears, then this would have been mentioned a lot sooner than her most recent letter to him.

And when it comes to the rest of the letter, there are several clues that could also support this theory that it wasn't written as close to spring break as we're being lead to assume.

Like the mention of Joyce's new telemarketer job. It wouldn't really make sense for her job to have been like super new, within the last week from March 22nd, especially if it's intended to be this sort of deterrent for Mike getting ahold of Will on the Byers phone presumably since the move.

Also Jonathan's car, is looked like it had been deserted there for a long time, not a matter of days or weeks, but possibly months (since early winter)... And so Argyle driving them to school wasn't something that happened within the last week worth mentioning to Mike right before their reunion in her most recent letter, but most likely another detail she mentioned as an update, since Jonathan's car is being referred to as still broken.

Even separate from the letter, I wondered if there was evidence somewhere else that they could sneakily be trying to hint to us that this is actually being written early in the Winter trimester and not the very end. Then it hit me.

The lyrics in the background...

Although, there are some things that contradict this theory, again I think those details were put there for the sake of tricking us.

Like just think about it, if this was El's most recent letter, wouldn't it make more sense for her to mention both the countdown for when they last saw each other, and how many days until they'd be seeing each other if it was really that close? Unless of course that number of days until their reunion was still too high at the time for her to hype it up, assuming she was writing this letter, perhaps 1-2 months out?...

I also do think that it's likely Mike and El are quite active in their writing back and forth. After all, Will said El had like a book of letters from Mike, so they want us to think that they wrote a decent amount.

I'm guessing the conversation was casual and broad for this letter specifically, because El is still new at writing/reading obviously and because this letter was also being used to update the audience about the characters whereabouts since we last saw them.

This might not seem that groundbreaking, but what this theory boils down to, is that s4 opened with an old letter, not a recent one. It means Mike was reading a letter, possibly from as early as January, 2 months previous to present. This would mean Mike presumably had other, more recent letters available to him to look at, with countdowns like 20 days and 10 days or 5 days, with El gushing even more intensely over the fact that they're closer and closer to finally reuniting.

And yet Mike was fixating on this letter specifically the morning before their reunion, AN OLD LETTER!!

But why?

Let's again look at the vibe of El's letter. If you look really close, it comes off like a response to a questionnaire.

I've always said that although El's lied a lot in her entire letter to Mike, there's a reason they never let us see a letter from Mike to El, and it's because he probably wouldn't have faired much better.

I don't even think it's actually that Mike would've lied necessarily, as much as I think it was mostly a lie of omission situation.

He showed up in Cali as his inauthentic self, and so it wouldn't make sense for him to have given El updates on Hellfire in his letters, which was pretty much all he focused on back in Hawkins from what it looked like.

And so I think the letter he wrote, which El was responding to in that specific letter, was Mike focusing on asking her questions about how she was doing and how the Byers were doing. It's also probably the last time he asked about the others because of one specific detail he got that time, which he's been fixating on ever since... (you know the one...)

Regardless, Mike was reading an old letter, which makes the implications of this (and this)... astounding.

[transformersandturtles]

So uh I feel like I should give some sort of warning for this as this is not the usual content I post but god do I love making spooky things. Since it is Halloween month, the spookiest month of the season of JASON (y’know, like Jason Voorhees. July, August, September, October, November) I figured I’d do some spooky art. This is a work in progress cause my pen is dead so that’s fun.

Don’t ask about the anatomy of the arm my strong suit is NOT arms or anatomy my strong suit is breaking shapes to make ✨creatures✨ as you can see with the sketch I have an idea but I’ve made my canvas SO FUCKING BIG THAT UH IM LOSING IT FML 🫠

This is loosely based on @nana-doodles ‘s TFA Cancelled Season 4 AU and I love it so much I am eating it and letting it turn my brain to soup 💜

[azrielgreen]

hiiiii I hope you’re having a lovely day. I know sort of during black out days you hinted at what your next story was going to be (touched) and I was just wondering if you have any idea what you’re going to be writing next! In no way is this meant to come off as rushing you or ANYTHING of that sort I would wait a million years to read whatever you decided to write!

You have such a way with words that I would literally read a grocery list of yours and be satisfied 😭😭 just simple curiosity 💜💜💜

Oh, what an amazingly lovely question!! I'm always amazed that people remember the little details, that means a lot to me.

So, this answer might make people a little sad but I don't actually have another major fic lined up after Touched is complete. I've been writing back to back in overlap since WSJK in July 2022 for a year straight and this is the first time I don't have a major fic idea in the works.

What I will be doing, is completing ALL existing works and commissions up until the winter, while working on Prism of course, and then in March 2024, I'm aiming to have EVERYTHING completed, after which I will not be writing Steddie anymore as March is always my personal and spiritual new year. With a million plus words and 20+ fics, I genuinely feel that I've been able to explore almost everything i wanted to in this fandom... except for one thing.

I'm unsure if I'll write this at all now, for various reasons, but I did really want to write this "toxic obsessive Professor Eddie and College Student Steve having an intensely obscene and outlandish affair" fic. I would love to write that, but we'll have to see.

My move away from Steddie, however, is partially so that I can write and PUBLISH original works of my own! I have SO MANY stories to share and I'm really excited for that.

Oh, and I'll be writing a ghostface AU for Halloween. Oh... and, like, Big Bang Steddie and Big Bang Harringrove too🤔 plus all commissions and new chapters of existing works towards completion, so I mean, there will still be TONS more from me until March!! 💜💜💜