grayhyacinth

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Caleb Wallpapers

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Sylus Wallpaper

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Sylus Wallpaper

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Sylus Wallpaper

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Sylus Wallpaper

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Caleb Wallpapers

[grayhyacinth]

Love and Deepspace: Caleb Wallpapers

[grayhyacinth]

I love your gravity falls fics!

Could I possibly request for you to write for the prompt of Dipper dating a vampire who fosters a great interest in humans/human culture despite being hidden away from society and told to fear humans while they grew up? (Kind of like Mavis from Hotel Transylvania)

They were extremely sheltered and decided to sneak away from the forest their parents hid them away in to explore the nearby town, Gravity Falls! In their attempts at adventuring during the night, they'd meet Dipper who'd eventually know without much contemplation that they're a vampire and be mildly interested in their supernatural abilities. Meanwhile the vampire would be very interested in the (cute) human's humanity.

(Also, maybe some conflict as their parents hate humans so...it'd be kinda awkward when they start dating Dip 😅)

Thank you for the request!! I had a lot of fun writing this! Please enjoy!

Links: ao3, tumblr, masterlist

The moon was high, silver light slicing through the thick canopy like a blade. In the heart of the old-growth woods, where no mortal paths dared to tread, nestled a neighborhood that didn't exist on any human map.

Stone cottages rose from mossy roots. Gothic arches curled with thorny ivy. Red roses littered the grey architecture. And watchful eyes, too many of them, glinted from the shadows.

In this mysterious neighborhood, the undead had finally woken from their slumber.

You stood at the edge of your family's estate, cloak pressed to your chest, a brown leather bag slung over your shoulder. Inside it: a tourist map map of Oregon and a journal filled with dreams. Not bloodlines. Not hunting tactics. Dreams. Scribbles about sunsets. Pop music. Slumber parties. Humans.

"Where do you think you're going?" A sharp voice pierced the stillness.

Your unresponsive heart jumps.

It was Uncle Voren, all hunched posture and glinting monocle, stepping out from the shadows with two black-furred bats at his side. His eyes were bloodshot from days of not sleeping. The bats beside him mirrored the same wide eyes paranoia, their fangs curled as they protruded from their little mouths.

"Uncle Voren!" You said carefully, slowly tightening your grip on the strap of your leather bag.

"Out for a midnight stroll, are we?" He asked, voice low and suspicious.

"Umm... yes!" You replied in a tone to chipper to be true. "Just you know... heading to the... um... cemetery."

"The cemetery?"

"Yep!" You nodded enthusiastically, stepping back slightly. "Totally normal vampire things. Just thought I'd get a bit of... inspiration! Tombstones, gloom, you know. Soothing."

You glance away quickly from his scrutinizing stare, eyeing you up and down.

Uncle Voren squinted. "You despise the cemetery. You said it smells like moldy teeth."

"Character building!" You hastely chirped. "Gotta get over my aversions, right? Embrace the rot. Soak in some ambiance. Very serious personal growth arc happening here." You waved your hands up and down, maximizing the point that you were finally growing out of your shell.

The bats' beady eyes stare unwavering, their little noses sniffed, unsure. Voren tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

For a moment, you were sure he could hear the frantic pounding of your unbeating heart.

Then, finally, he let out a grunt.

"Fine. But don't be long. And no funny business. The mortal border is active tonight. I'd hate for you to accidentally wander off."

"Oh, I'd never!" You said brightly, already stepping backward toward the trees. "Wander? Me? Nooo. Just good old-fashioned graveyard loitering. Smell ya later!"

And before Voren could second-guess, you spun on your heel and vanished into the trees.

As soon as he were out of earshot, your grin dropped, and you ran. Boots skimming across the forest floor, branches slapping past your cloak, you whispered a shadowstep spell under their breath and blinked, fwoosh! Through a line of tall pine trees and over the fence that marked the boundary of your hidden society.

On the other side: night wind. Crickets. The distant smell of sweet maple syrup and pancakes. Stopping dead in your tracks, you stared down at the grand human town below. Twinkling lights reflect the tiny lives of insignificant creatures. The town sparkled like spilled fireflies in the valley below.

Gravity Falls.

You breathed in the scent of fast food grease. And freedom. Finally.

"Let's see what's so scary about humans," you whispered to the night.

And with one last glance at the forest behind them, you vanished into the dark.

The bright, round moon casted its gaze onto the tall pine trees below. Long shadows hid your body as you slinked through the forest, inching closer and closer to the human town.

Your cloak snagged on brambles. You didn't care. Your boots were soaked from the creek you half-tripped through. Still didn't care.

You crouched behind a tree, watching from the edge. You could smell humans. Real humans.

You could see one, even. A boy walking alone in the dark forest, holding a flashlight and muttering to himself while flipping through a thick notebook with a giant handprint.

You blinked.

He was... shorter than you'd expected. Messier, too. Brown hair sticking out under a trucker hat, oversized black sneakers, and a blue vest that complemented his orange shirt. He looked... human. Entirely human.

And yet, your fangs twitched. Not from hunger, but from something else. Curiosity.

You stepped closer.

A branch beneath your foor snapped in half.

The boy froze.

Then turned.

Flashlight beam cut through the trees.

It misses you.

"Who's there?" His voice cracks halfway through, shrill and falsely bold, like someone trying to bluff their way through a horror movie.

You stay perfectly still.

But your smile grows.

He's scared. Not enough to run. Just enough to be interesting.

You take a silent step forward, letting your boots crunch just slightly on the pine needles. Just enough for him to hear.

He jumps, spinning around. The flashlight beam wobbles. He grabs at a branch for balance, holding it like a sword.

"I've got a weapon," he says, a little too fast. "And--and I'm not afraid to use it! Probably." He mumbles the last word to himself, a silent prayer on the tip of his tongue.

You tilt your head, amused.

You finally step forward, the moonlight catching the edge of your face. Just enough to show the faint glow of your eyes. Just enough for your fangs to glint when you speak.

His eyes widen. His grip on the branch tightens.

"Who--who are you?" he stammers, swallowing hard. "And what are you?"

He steps back instinctively, bumping into a tree with a soft thud. The flashlight trembles in his hand.

"Would you believe me if I said... I'm just a curious traveler?"

He stares.

Your smile wider, teeth sharp but your tone almost playful. "Sheltered most of my life. Raised to think humans were monsters. Figured I’d come see for myself."

Dipper blinks, his eyes trailing to your glinting fangs. "Are you... a vampire?"

"Mm. Very perceptive, human boy with terrible posture."

"...Hey."

Silence falls between the two of you. One with a heavy, labored breath and watchful eyes. The other curiously examining the creature in front of them.

He's cute, for a human.

"You’re not running." You tilt your head. "You’re supposed to run."

"I should be running," he says, still staring. "But now I just kinda want to ask questions."

You pause. Then grin. "Good. I have some too."

You take another step forward, closer now, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of clean laundry and pine on him.

"What’s a ‘pizza bagel’?"

He squints, caught completely off-guard. "A what...?"

"A pizza bagel." You cross your arms, genuinely confused. "You know. The thing you humans eat?"

He stares. "Let me get this straight…" Still gripping his stick like it might ward you off, he sighs heavily. "You’ve never had a pizza bagel before?"

You raise a brow. "Well. We drink blood, human. Bagels are not on the menu."

His eyes widen a little, but to your surprise, he doesn't flinch. In fact, he lowers the stick. "You’re missing out. Come on," he says, a strange confidence in his voice. "Let’s go fix that."

But, just as he spun on his heel to step away from you, he spins back. "And if you try anything,” he lifts the stick dramatically, "I’ve got… this. And sarcasm. Both are very effective."

You grin at his failure of a threat. “Lead the way, human."

The Greasy diner is quiet, only a trucker asleep in a booth, and Lazy Susan humming off-key while wiping the counter. The lights flicker, casting a weird, warm glow over the red vinyl seats.

You sit across from him in a booth by the window, watching the steam curl from his hot cocoa like it’s some strange form of magic.

A paper napkin lays flat between you, a pen already poised in his hand.

"We’re doing this like a contract?" You ask.

"I take monster stuff seriously," he says, scribbling PIZZA BAGEL PACT at the top in all caps. "You tell me about vampire powers, weaknesses, and creepy rules. I teach you about human stuff, pop culture, food, and small talk. We both win."

You glance down at the greasy plate he slid over.

"And what do I call you?"

He looks up mid-writing. A thoughtful expression on his face. "My name is Dipper Pines."

Making eye contact, you smile lightly. "Please to meet you. Mine is (Y/n) (L/n)."

He returns the smile and goes back to writing as you stare down at the plate of food.

The bagel is toasted. Covered in red sauce and melty cheese. It looks like an open wound.

It honestly repulsed you. "I have… so many questions about this."

"Perfect," he says, flipping the pen in his hand and offering it. "Sign here."

You read once over the contract and then sign with a dramatic flourish. Human lives are short, which makes contracts with them a little less dangerous.

Dipper smiles widely. He quickly grabs the napkin, rolls it up as if it's a piece of parchment paper from the 1700s, and tucks it into a hidden pocket in his blue vest. "Okay. First question: sunlight. Does it instantly kill you, or is it more of a slow sizzle?"

You pause with the bagel halfway to your mouth. "It’s more of a... painfully glamorous death. We burst into glitter."

"...You’re joking."

"Am I?"

He narrows his eyes, trying not to smile. You take your first bite of the pizza bagel, and immediately your expression shifts.

You freeze.

He leans forward. His chin rests on the back of his hand as his eyebrows raise up with an expectant look. "Well?"

"…I want fifteen more of these."

He grins.

"Welcome to humanity."

You finish chewing the last bit of molten cheese and crust, eyes wide like you’ve just tasted enlightenment. You lick your fingers slowly, thoughtfully. "Okay. My turn."

Dipper sips his cocoa. "Hit me."

You lean forward, elbows on the table, fangs just barely showing as you ask, deadly serious:

"Why do you have so many condiments? Humans carry like, five sauces just for potatoes. Is that a dominance thing?"

Dipper choked on his drink. "I--what? No! It’s just… taste. Variety."

You nod a few times, thinking carefully. "Flavor hierarchy. Understood."

Dipper lets out a breath, still blinking at you like he’s not sure if you're joking or genuinely building a thesis on human cuisine.

“Does all blood taste the same?” he asks.

You perk up slightly. “Nope.” You say it far too casually, like someone talking about ice cream.

He leans back a little, half-wary, half-intrigued. “Okay… should I be concerned that you answered that so fast?”

You smirk. You rest your chin on your hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. "We're taught early how to tell the differences. Human blood varies by diet, age, and even mood. Some of it's sweet. Some's spicy. Some tastes like sadness and instant noodles."

Dipper makes a face. "That's horrifying. And weirdly specific."

You grin. "I like to be prepared."

He stares for a moment, then slowly raises a finger. "Do not try to guess what mine would taste like."

You lean forward, fangs peeking just slightly. "Oh, I already have theories."

He grabs a nearby glass bottle salt shaker and shakes it at you, and you laugh, a soft, rich sound that echoes in the diner's cozy lighting.

Despite his disturbed expression, he smiles at the merry sounds that escape you.

A moment passes allowing you to quickly finish the pizza bagel, you tap the table again, eyes burning with curiosity.

"What is the purpose of a 'middle school dance' if no one is actually mating?"

He sputters, coughing. "Whoa! Whoa. Okay. Time-out."

You grin, all fangs and amusement. "Too much?"

The boy coughs again, a red blush creeps up the sides of his face and onto the tip of his ears. "I think actually it’s my turn to ask a question," he says, trying and failing to sound smooth.

You lean in, chin resting in your hand, clearly amused. "Oh? The human strikes back."

He clears his throat, attempting to regain some composure. "Right. Okay. So…" He pauses, glancing at you more directly now. His voice drops just a bit, softer, more genuine. "Why now?"

You blink. "Why what?"

"Why come to Gravity Falls? Why sneak out of your creepy vampire forest just to show up here?" He shrugs, smile tilting.

You hesitate for a beat, surprised by the weight behind the question. Then, slowly, you look toward the window, watching the moonlight touch the tops of the trees beyond the glass.

"Because I got tired of looking at the world through stained glass and iron bars," you murmur. "Because the stories they told me didn't match what I saw when I watched from the shadows. And maybe…" Your eyes drift back to his. His dark hues reflect your expression, your desperation beyond superficial obedience. "Maybe I hoped someone out here would prove them wrong."

He doesn't say anything for a second. Just looks at you like you're a puzzle he actually wants to figure out.

"…You picked a good town for that," he says finally.

You smile faintly. "I think I picked a good human, too."

He doesn't say anything at first. Just kind of… looks at you. Like he's trying to memorize you. But then realization hits him.

Then the color in his cheeks deepens again. "You picked a good human, huh?" He reaches up, his fingers gripping the brim of his hat to straighten it.

You nod, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Curious. Kind. A little awkward. Definitely brave." You pause, eyes twinkling. "And cute. Don't forget that part."

He chokes on absolutely nothing, grabbing his cup like it might protect him. "I--uh--okay, wow. You can't just--say stuff like that."

You lean in across the table just a little, resting your chin in your hand again. "Why not?"

"Because…" He gestures vaguely, flustered. "You're, like… mysterious and cool and undead and definitely out of my league."

You tilt your head. "But you're the first human to ever share a pizza bagel with me."

Dipper blinks. "But anyone could have shared a pizza bagel with you!"

You arch a brow. "Mm. True. But you did."

He falters, mouth opening like he wants to argue, but then his brain catches up, and he just sort of… gives up with a quiet, nervous laugh.

"Okay, that's not fair," he groans aloud. "You're using vampire logic. You're twisting it to make me sound special."

You grin, unapologetic. "That’s because you are special. Most humans would've run screaming. Or thrown garlic at me. You just... offered me junk food."

"I panicked!" He protests, flustered again. "I don't like messing with the undead."

You chuckle under your breath and lean forward, eyes gleaming in the diner light. "Well. Your panic was oddly endearing."

Then, impulsively, and with a sudden flicker of boldness, you reach out and gently play with the tilt of his hat, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair as you do.

Dipper stiffens like he forgot how to breathe, eyes wide.

"There," you say softly, letting your hand fall back. "Perfectly lopsided again."

He stares at you, heart probably doing cartwheels.

"…You're going to be the death of me," he mumbles under his breath.

You just smile, fangs peeking slightly. "Ironic, coming from the mortal."

[grayhyacinth]

But then again, how do you even begin? How do you share that? How do you tell someone that they have unwittingly become the axis on which your quiet world spins? The thought seems too big, too messy to put into words.

[grayhyacinth]

Do you know I think about you when the room is silent?

Do you know I leave space for you in places I shouldn’t?

[grayhyacinth]

White lies hold comfort in the hopes of tomorrow, where it'll all continue for another day, and then another, and then another. In the center of it all, is the undeniable underlying that in the temporary falsehood that's spread, the truth will be revealed and judgement will fall on the liar.

The liar, the one who spun delusion into the very fabric of reality, weaving daydreams into dialogue, and fiction into fact, until even they could no longer find the thread that led back to truth.

But then, who are we to judge the noble liar—who tells embellished truths not to deceive, but to survive? The noble liar does not beg for pity, only understanding. Their truth is not in the accuracy of facts, but in the sincerity of intention.

[grayhyacinth]

You see it in his tear drop eyes, sparkling like sun rays spilling on top of a pond. His boisterous smile, pulling at his red lips like snapping the excess petals off a rose, exposing an even grander expression. His stare could captivate an audience, leaving spectators opened mouth at a sublime performance.

He was like a painter's muse preparing to be reproduced on a blank canvas, but the painter was unable to catch all of his characteristics down to the slight raise in eyebrow.

As you sit basking in the sound of his teasing voice, you forget to respond. You blink. Everyone in the background has faded, you take a notice of how close he is.

Your lips part. Some words left your mouth, but you didn't registered them. A missed opportunity.

The room has grown hotter as midday approaches, but your scorched skin isn't flush because of the heat. You hardly recognize it as embarrassment, as your body betrays all reason to keep cool. It's sweltering.

[grayhyacinth]

I yearn for every moment with you—those early mornings and evenings, when the sun casts its rays against the windows, or when the soft raindrops fall beneath the grey clouds. I long for those times when the world is so dark and dim that everything disappears, or when the room is full of life, but your attention is elsewhere, moving between people and moments.

I want to see your smile, those twinkling eyes that sparkle with a mocking laugh, like stars glistening as the sun sets. I’m drawn to those hidden intentions of yours, the ones that seem to speak volumes beyond your words, reflecting a decade of dreams I’ve only ever read in books.

I stay up thinking about you, and it’s driving me insane. I keep waking up in the middle of the night, my mind wandering to you haphazardly. It’s no wonder I talk about you to everyone I know—I was obsessed before I even realized it

[grayhyacinth]

I'm still stuck in a dizzy spell, praying to some false god that you like me. I think about you all the time, in crazy fantasies and absolute wonders. You're always on my mind. In between thoughts and in connecting sentences.

What I long for are those simple moments when the world fades to dark, and all that’s left is a vast emptiness. I want to sink into silence, and I hope, in that silence, you’ll be there with me.

[grayhyacinth]

I could make bargains with the devil, repeat mantras in candlelit rooms, or pray to any god that might be listening in the hopes that you’ll like me back, that you’ll reach out first. But telling you how I feel is harder than any false effort I could make to try and manifest your response.

[grayhyacinth]

Your expectant gaze is similar to what I've written in stories. The smiles of hidden intentions, the small habits that echo character. You are my muse, a discovery I never anticipated, yet it feels as if I’ve always been writing about you, capturing moments I never knew belonged to you until now.

[grayhyacinth]

I enjoy reading slow burns. The close intimacy that balances precariously on the cusp of familiarity is strangely more captivating than any sudden explosion of love. The strong impact of wants and needs becomes entangled with sobering patience, creating chains that restrict impulsive behavior.

Yet, there’s a frustration in it too. The slow progression towards an eventual ending, a game that demands restraint. In video games, we’re often caught in the grueling grind, the adversity that stretches the promise of victory. That short-term mindset, the rush toward the end, is enticing, like a speedrun aiming for the fastest exit. The achievement, once reached, is only fleeting before another goal arises, starting the cycle anew.

Worth is synonymous with how a reward is earned. It becomes more valuable when labor is poured into a leaking glass. Every drop is flavored with the needs of survival, thus becoming overwhelming satiation.

Love therefore only equates to effort. It’s why the relationship forged at the end of a slow-burn novel feels sweeter than any quick-fix affection. It's a love designed to endure, built on a foundation of time.