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deputyrook · 9 months ago

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Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

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mx-loar-tev · 3 months ago

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So, about that fic idea of time traveller/serial killer JJ...

I'm toying with plot ideas.

1. Who would end up on her kill list?

Hastings, Askari and Doyle are the one that would take priority in S6. There are also the ones that JJ would feel the most justified to kill.

Izzy, the bank robbers and the other guy (forgot his name) in Hit/Run would definitely anger her so much that she could decide to preemptively get rid of them before they attack the bank in Washington. Not only she almost lost Will (the guy got shot and almost blown up twice), her son was taken hostage and she had to violently fight in front of him in their home. Her maternal instincts might push her to kill Izzy at the very least. Especially if she had already murdered three people in cold blood before that.

I'd need to rewatch the show, especially seasons 6 to 8 to see who could be on her kill list, but there's another name that come to mind: Diane Turner, the woman that stalked and killed Maeve. JJ had seen how devastated Spence had been after Meave's death, so of course she would do everything to save her and give them the opportunity to date.

The replicator is also someone that could be on the list. After all he tried to kill them all and succeeded with Strauss. I don't think JJ liked Strauss that much, even after she got sober, but the section chief is still "one of them". She also saw what Strauss' death did on Rossi, and for that only the replicator deserves to be on the list. He might not be her easiest target though.

2. About the cases:

With the amount of cases she worked on for over a decade, I think it would be hard for her to remember and keep track of it all. I'm sure she'd try to use the Intel she remembers to help with the case and save more victims, but the load of work that would come from trying to PREVENT all these crimes from happening is way to much for a single person.

Maybe there's some cases that sticked to her though, maybe she could focus on these ones if she wants to prevent them. But she can't save everyone and I'm sure it'd impact her mood severely to realise that.

I think she has a notebook written in code where she put every nugget of informations she can remember, along with ideas of how to approach each situation.

3. The butterfly effect.

Each time she changes something, kills someone that would have lived in the original time line, it has unpredictable repercussions. After a while, it would be hard to predict for JJ what would happen then. And sure, saving people's life is good. But there's no way to predict if someone else isn't going to hurt the person JJ just saved. Or just create an chain of events that would ends in tears and pain. It think at some point JJ would be overwhelmed by it all.

4. Lying to the team.

We know JJ is a great liar. Probably the best liar in the team. Her teammates failed countless times to see through her lies. But no one is perfect, especially with the amount of lies JJ would need to keep track of. I'm not sure yet how she would react from the worried and/or suspicious stares from her teammates. She'd be in a lot of pressure, that's for sure, so maybe she might slip at some point. And when you're surrounded by profiler, that can be a fatal mistake.

5. Her pregnancy.

If she killed Askari and Hastings before her humvee was blown and she miscarried, she probably would have given birth to that child. Her pregnancy and taking care of a newborn would impact the story and her ability to keep going with her mission.

6. Romance.

Sorry, I needed to put that here.

I'm quite flexible on who I ship JJ with. I'm a die-hard jemily shipper, I'll admit, but I think Will is okay even if he's not perfect.

I don't like writing Will as a bad guy, but that doesn't mean I can't write them breaking up for some reasons (JJ's odd behaviour since she arrived in the past and went on a killing spree might damage her marriage.) So that's a possibility, I guess.

But I also love the idea of polyamory. Though I'm already going that route in the fic I'm currently writing so I might want to try something else.

I could just not focus on a ship. Not every fic needs to be shippy. After all, the main interest of this fic is JJ, her psychology, the way she interacts with everyone in her life. There'd also be a huge chunk focusing on motherhood since she'd be pregnant.

Thinking about it, JJ being aromantic is something I haven't explored yet. That could be fun to write.

I haven't decided what I gonna do in that department yet.

7. How it'll end.

Or more exactly, what tone do I want to give to that story?

I mean, it'll probably be dark. But do I want a happy ending for JJ?

Even if she feels justified, what she does is morally blackish grey. That plus the weight of the lies and the amount of work that double life would require would be enough to burn her out. Once she stepped into the darkness it would be a downward spiral.

On the other hand, I like the idea of girlboss JJ being a successful charitable hitman/vigilante. I want her to have a little Deadpool vibe (sans sexual jokes and 4th wall breaking). I want her to find a confortable place where she's okay with what she's doing, even if it requires unsavoury methods.

Regardless of her state of mind, should the story end badly for her? Would her teammates find out about her? Would they arrest her? Would she escape? Would she be killed?

Or would she thrive in her new side work and remain undetected by her fellow profilers?

Would she stay at the BAU, considering she had become an unsub herself?

Do I want a happy ending? A sad one? A bittersweet one?

Thanks for reading through my musings.

If you have ideas or want to discuss that story, feel free to leave a comment/reblog and comment/send me an ask.

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namjhyun · 5 months ago

Text

DRAMA REVIEW | Lovely Runner (2024)

Lovely Runner it's undoubtedly one of the best dramas of 2024.

It has all the elements that make a drama a mega hit: comedy, romance, time travel, well written characters (both leads and supporting ones) and an engaging plot line that never bores you. Starring Kim Hye Yoon and Byeon Woo Seok, adapted from the web novel The Best of Tomorrow by screenwriter Lee Shi Eun and directed by Yoon Jong Ho and Kim Tae Yub, the Lovely Runner team achieved a perfect execution in front and behind the camera.

I think the true star of this drama it's the writing and on this I can't commend Lee Si Eun enough. I had already seen her potential in dramas like True Beauty but here she really manages to shine through a well crafted, smart and cohesive story with no loose ends. I'm incredibly impressed by her talent.

The writing was perfectly complemented by the directors's outstanding work in leading a film crew that was on every detail of each part of the story, in each timeline, never missing a beat. Always delivering their A+++ game. But there was also great work done from the directors part in helping the actors get the comedic timing exactly right, the more emotional scenes to deliver and the team work among cast and crew to be flawless.

Lovely Runner might be a big hit now, but it's actually a sleeper hit. The lack of promotion this drama had was embarrassing and if it wasn't for the devoted fans, studio executives would have never realized they had a gem in their hands. So, it's not only a great drama with a super fandom that really fought for this story, it's also becoming yet another prime example in the list of films and tv that achieved all of it by themselves because artists delivered nothing short of excellence.

On this point I can't ignore the incredible performances given by the entire cast. Kim Hye Yoon and Byeon Woo Seok are definitely the standouts, they stole the show, this is their story and the actors chemistry it's electrifying. But the way supportive actors would show up in a scene and push the story forward in a coherent way and even make it better, it's wild to me. The chemistry this cast had it's a rare feat for an ensamble cast and how they managed to transition seamlessly through different phases of their characters's lives and relationships when events, in each timeline, were changing because of the things our leads did they still remain truthful. So, not only the leads are well developed in this drama but also every single character that shows up, no matter how small the role is.

The best example of this it's actor Heo Hyeong-Gyu who has been working for sixteen years, playing very minor characters, finally having a breakthrough in the industry because of his role in this drama. And while his presence was prominent and important to the story, he barely had lines. So his entire performance is mainly based on micro-expressions or physical stunts.

I also fully expect the actors like Song Geon-Hee, Lee Seung-Hyub, Song Ji-Ho or Seo Hye-won to receive a lot of what korean entertainment industry calls "love calls" aka commercials, dramas and films, among other things.

Experiencing watching Lovely Runner alongside the fandom, waiting every week for a new episode, it's a big part of what made this drama so good. Healthy and good loving fun people, clowning, poking fun at our faves and crying at heartbreak. It's been a long time since I have been able to engage in this way with other fans and I am thankful for them, the cast and crew for all these amazing weeks of fun.

Rating: 10/10

#lovely runner #kdrama #2024 #kim hye yoon #byeon woo seok #song geon hee #lee seung hyub #jung young joo #sung byoung sook #song ji ho #seo hye won #kim won hee #heo hyeong gyu #lee il jun #park yoon hee #review

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respectthepetty · 1 year ago

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I know you've been getting a bunch of asks about your favourite qls, but I'm specifically curious about what your favourite *chaotic* qls are.

Off the top of my head, some chaotic qls I enjoyed were Chains of Heart (THE GLOVE DISCOURSE, THE SUBTITLES, etc) and Big Dragon (asshole4asshole? no. clown4clown), while also enjoying the way that the shows were shot.

@kayatoasted, I'm re-reading this ask to make sure I don't answer it with my favorite *trashy* qls, like Hit Bite Love and Together With Me.

You want *chaotic* and they had to be beautifully shot, so although I love the chaos known as Love Mechanics and Dangerous Romance, both had beautiful shots but weren't consistently beautifully shot.

And I had to have enjoyed not only how it was shot but the show itself, so shows like Vice Versa and Only Friends are out.

No, you want my favorite beautifully shot *chaotic* qls that stayed chaotic which significantly reduces the list, but I can give it to you!

My Favorite Beautifully Shot Chaotic BLs

given in no particular order, and much like this subject, this list is chaos

Dee Hup House - Yes, the entire house

I'm not coming for Director Tee or Cinematography Jim. Their shows are beautiful and more adult. I have loved every single one of them. But the endings . . . ? The endings wobble in Step by Step, Something in My Room, Hidden Agenda, and I Feel You Linger in the Air. Yes, I'm including the last one because Tee & Co seem to pick long ass novels that should be multiple seasons, yet a lot of nothing gets shoved into each over-an-hour-long episode, which causes chaos. Even Lovely Writer, which I love the ending, had a moment with the dad's reveal that didn't have time to get fleshed out. Look at Step by Step. We had an entire baby happen in three episodes when the side couple fizzled. I will watch every show from this company and gush about it, but I know it's going to be beautiful chaos.

Big Dragon - Duh!

I'm not going to defend this show. Y'all already know I love this show. It was beautiful. It was chaotic. It was the moment. Period.

Chains of Heart - It's a given

You mentioned it in your ask with reasons why: It was beauty. It was grace. Then, it kicked us in the face. The plot itself was hard to grasp, but the subs only made it worse! Who was who? Why were there so many Men in Black? How did they all fit into the plot? Why would Din volunteer for an entire face transplant only to reappear, never tell Ken it was actually him, then disappear again?! And yet the cinematography was selling this wonderful vision to me each and every episode. I hated it there, and I need more of it immediately. WHERE IS MY SPECIAL EPISODE?!

Not Me - Think about it

We all need to be very honest with ourselves, and really reflect on the premise of this show. Todd put Black in the hospital, proceeds to call his twin, White, to act as him. White says yes even though he has absolutely no idea about Black's life, but he gets a big ass tattoo and his ass kicked multiple times by Sean (because he can't fight). While that is happening, we have Yok chasing around a rouge artist who is actually a cop named Dan who killed [spoilers] dad and Gram is apparently straight the entire time. Then, Papang is in it. Oh, and let's not forget being held hostage in a black van that protestors beat on until the kidnappers, just, let, them, go. Sure, Jan. And I didn't even mention Sean's leap across buildings! It was a good show. It's in my tops. I love it. The rainbow flag scene is embedded in my heart with the other beautifully shot protest scenes. But it was chaos! Let's hold space for that truth.

609 Bedtime Story - Messed up TWICE!

I enjoyed this show until I didn't, and that was when we got TWO endings, yet neither made sense. The colors in the show were immaculate. The plot though? Chaos. One character was traveling back in time and the other was traveling forward, but they weren't even in the same dimension. Then, the sister could not take a fucking hint and ruined the central love story by being a dramatic heterosexual. The point of the time travel was useless because one of the characters still died, but it didn't matter since that character was still alive in the other dimension and . . . MAKE IT MAKE SENSE, MARY!

Cupid's Last Wish - It was the mom for me!

EarthMix have gotten Director Aof twice, so maybe this is why this series, which isn't Aof, feels like chaos. It has such amazingly gorgeous outdoor shots, that I wonder if Thailand's Ministry of Tourism sponsored some part of this show. The series is a great advertisement for Thailand's beautiful landscape and cuisine, but then we have that plot. Body-swapping isn't the issue, at least not for me. The issue is the timeline. For a man who wanted to get out of his sister's body as quickly as possible, Win was doing the most to hold up the process. Oh, AND THE DAMN MOTHER! She was the true villain of the show, which got glossed over in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment. I'll never get over that reveal even though the show wanted me to by the next scene. She really did that shit and kept it a whole ass secret until the very last damn moment. *looks into the distance at a baby cow* AHHHHHHH!

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner - In short

I'm going to quit picking on Thailand for two seconds to pick on Korea instead. Like all the others on this list, I like this show, and I've actually rewatched it a few times because I think it's pretty and it's so short. But there lies the problem - It's too short. The math was not mathing and the plot was not plotting. It skipped over information that was pivotal to the story. I still have no idea what that idol business was really about. From what the kind folks of Tumblr gathered, the idol was apparently supposed to get the guy in their past lives, but the other guy stole him and that's why he was crazy. How hard would that have been to explain to the audience? I did it in less than a sentence, but apparently the show spent its budget on lighting and not screenwriting or editing.

#1 - Mood Indigo - A masterpiece!

I wrote that these weren't ranked, yet here is number one in "My Favorite Beautifully Shot Chaotic BLs" list. The other shows on this list are child's play in comparison to the second installment that serves as the prequel in The Pornographer/The Novelist series. Regardless if it's a BL or not, leave it to Japan to offer me this deliciously beautiful chaos. Unlike all the other shows, the plot of this show is not what makes it chaotic, but . . . it is. It's not chaotic in the sense that it's disorganized or doesn't make sense. It makes perfect sense, and that's why it is chaos. It's supposed to be.

One character is depressed and has no fucks to give, so if something stirs an emotion in him, he does it without question (including giving the other character a bj in front of the older man who demanded it for another novel). Then, we have the other character who should be the more logical of the two, but somehow he is worse. I. Love. It. Everything that happens in this series makes everything we saw in the first season click into place including why these two toxic assholes are 1) toxic, 2) assholes, and 3) STILL FRIENDS!

God, they're awful.

I love them.

#beautiful and chaotic bls #this list is chaos #but it's my truth #the director who buys me dinner #609 bedtime story #cupid's last wish #mood indigo #chains of heart #not me #I wrote what I wrote!

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spiderboi-parker · 3 months ago

Note

hey im officially working on a 'family tree' of sorts for every blog involved in this rp group so would you mind telling me who your characters are connected to and where theyre living with tags so I can keep everything organized? Connection list is: Parent/child Grandparent/grandchild Great grandparent/great grandchild Siblings Dating Married/engaged pibling/nibling (gender neutral terms for aunt/uncle and niece/nephew)

(repeating this for all the blogs you run would be appreciated)

if you have any questions just ask!

(apologies if this has been sent multiple times. if youve already answered i likely lost the information due to disorganization that i'm currently dealing with)

@thedcrpfamilytree

[OOC: Lol it's fine, this gives me a chance to say LOREEEEEEE]

[OOC edit: Okay so I wasn't very clear, I'm friends/found family with all the rp blogs I'm involved with! Also sorry I didn't tag you- @thedcrpfamilytree ]

[Other OOC edit: Forgot to mention, these brackets mean me, the author/account runner, is speaking. I can be interacted with like the fourth wall!]

This is Peter Benjamin Parker. I'm the one and only Spider-Man. Well, of my universes.

I originate from Earth-616, the "Sacred Timeline". This is where all other universes in my multiverse stem from. I'm the kid of the Avengers, 14 years old (28, depending on the blog I'm talking to! Interactions with adult romance interests mean I'm 28!), and I travel the multiverse! I'm Tony Stark's son figure and protégé, but I work with the Batfamily as well. Here's where things get tricky. I don't have a Batfamily in my universe- I go to other universes. Depending on the universe, my relationship with any Batfamily member will be different. [OOC: The Avengers are like his family, Tony being the dad, Natasha being the mom, and the rest being aunts and uncles. Yes, that includes Wanda.]

I have a lot of adventures, and a lot of different friends and family! Giving the phone to older me lol

Hi, this is Peter. Blah blah blah, yeah I'm Spider-Man, hi. There's a lot of different versions of me that are 28, like myself, that have different universes. There's only one small us. Be nice to him. I'm Earth-616 Peter, I'm single and work full time as an Avenger.

I'm Peter, also from Earth-616, but another timeline. I'm dating Wade Wilson (DEADPOOL) and work full-time as Spider-Man. Repeating what the Peter above me said, be nice to little us!

Hey, another Peter, another Earth-616 timeline. I'm Spider-Man and dating Johnny Storm. Be nice to little us. [BRO FORGOT TO SAY HE'S NOT A FANTASTIC FOUR MEMBER💀]

Hey! I'm Peter, don't know my Earth number, but I live in Gotham and work with the Batfamily! I'm not dating anyone. (Peter dating Wade here, he forgot to mention he's Spider-Man. Lol)

Another Peter in Gotham, also Spider-Man, I'm a part of the Batfamily, and Tim and Duke are my best friends! (Adult Peter who's not dating anyone, he forgot to say that he's 16. He originated in Earth-616, but he's in the Dark Matter timeline. [OOC: Minus the murder.]) (Shut up, [REDACTED]) [OOC: Nuh uh. Also I don't role-play as him yet, if you want to hit me up!] (Stop advertising your blog) [No I want friends]

I'm Peter Benjamin Parker, aka Spider-Man. I live in Metropolis and I'm friends with Clark Kent and the Batfamily. Hey guys! [OOC: Also another yet to be role-played character. He's 28, very polite, and always lived in Metropolis. He's single. I forgot to mention, please interact with my main Peter {14, Earth-616} the most! And clarify what Peter you're role-playing with OOC before you make your post so I know what to use! Always willing to make a new AU! NO STARKER, EVER. I'VE BLOCKED ALL ACCOUNTS OF IT IVE SEEN ON MY FYP. DNI IF YOU SHIP THAT, YOU DISGUST ME. *Throat clearing* Alright, now that that's done, bye guys! Say bye Peters!]

Bye guys!

Bye!

Bye everyone!

See ya!

See you later!

See you all soon!

Goodbye everyone! Have a good day!

#marvel #spiderman #spider son #spideypool #avengers #batfamily #batfam #multiverse #dark matter #peter in gotham #roleplay #pun #puns #fourth wall break #for you #for you page #writer #writers on tumblr #spideyverse

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pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid · 6 months ago

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OKAY SO HERE IS A HANA/LUCILLE FUN FACT/TRIVIA:

Lucille, upon meeting Hana, assumes she is an Apollo Kid, and immediately runs away from her by using their powers to "disappear into the wind" (her one and only Zephryos kid power lol). Hana then proceeds to spend like a solid week and a half asking around camp like "WHO IS THIS AND HOW DO I MEET HER AGAIN".

Okay okay um question related to Seb now... Is he still a serial killer of Roman's for the funsies? IS SEBTAVIAN STILL A THING, HAS THAT BEEN REWRITTEN?? If yes they still are, what is the dynamic like? Similar? Totally different?

You can put a question about any of my PJO ocs on yours and I will answer it in my next ask ehehe :>

- 🌕 Anon

Moonieee💜💜💜 sorry this took a hit long to respond to😭😭

I’m kinda pretty intrigued by the “disappear into the wind” thing, cuz like like when you think about it is literally person breaking up every single atom in their body and dissipating into thin air- 💀 and then reforming back-

like does Lucille have any like side effects?💀 is it like if Nico overuses his powers he starts fading? That if Lucille does it too many times they’ll turn into a literal gust if wind?

I have like so many theories on this lmao. Also apologies of my use of logic in a world of demigods💀 I like to mingle them up XD

Also didn’t like Chiron notice Hana’s distress over that week?

As for the seb questions:

Seb was never in it for the funsies, he’s got actual reason for killing the few that he did. A part of the old lore still stands where the travelling Romans would get attacked by him (or was it him👀) when they got too close to region where he was hiding in the forest.

The other reason is uhh classified for fanfic reasons 💀💀 but it bottles down to him having similar ideologies as both Luke and dare I say Octavian.

Also his kill count got reduced to 24 cuz otherwise the timeline wouldn’t make sense 💀💀

Yes and no. Sebtavian still remains canon since it’s crucial to the story. The whole point of the relationship was that it’s supposed to be forced upon them. If Seb hadn’t been struck by Eros’s arrow, he would’ve never fallen for Octavian in the first place and would’ve killed him that day without a second thought.

The thing is that their friendship heals Seb more than romance. It’s one step forward, but then the effects of the love arrow act up and they’re two steps back. It’s a never ending nightmare because they’re both also using each other for their own plans.

Besides this new take on the ship, everything else about them is the same.

I threw in sm Apollo/Daphne parallels in there btw cuz ya know ik a sucker for some good symbolism 💅🏼💅🏼

I feel like I’ll only be able to explain it in upcoming lore comics/posts and fic chapters.

#funny thing- I don’t ship em lmao 💀 but I still draw ship art 💀💀#I like to imagine how’d they’d be if they were actually in love💀💀#that’s a whole other thing on its own dayummm lmaooo #can’t wait to hear about Hana and Lucille!!!!#🌕 my beloved 💜💜🌸🌸🌸#🌕 anon!!!!#💜💜#pjo ocs #pjo oc stuff #Sebastian son of Eros #seb son of eros #my oc

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seventeenplug · 2 years ago

Text

Christmas Party (Joshua X Reader)

Pairing: non idol Joshua X AFAB reader (reader has breasts and a vagina)

Genre: fluff and a little perverted in the middle

Warning: a few curse words, mentions of Alcohol and crowds.

Summary: Every year, there was a competition at Joshua's work company. Whoever brings a girlfriend and is the best couple of the night earns a fully paid for trip to their dream destination. Joshua has been wanting to get the prize for over 5 years now. And tonight, he'll try again. With his secret weapon. You.

Word Count: 4.4K

The genre of the party was always romance. Every year there was a competition about the best couple in the party. This year was no different from the others.The competition began around 5 years ago when the company's CEO, Choi Seungcheol decided to bring his girlfriend as his plus one, the same day the vice president, Lee Jihoon also brought his and as a joke Yoon Jeonghan, Seungcheol's best friend and the business manager suggested to make it a competition worth of a trip to anywhere in the world as vacation.

You weren't all too excited, but you had to admit that your immediate superior, Hong Joshua was. He kept talking about ways to win the prize, despite the fact that for the last 5 years he'd been single each time the competition occured.

"With no offense, Mr.Hong-"

"Joshua" he interrupts you, you roll your eyes with a sigh.

"We're at work, I'm not calling you that. Anyway, Mr.Hong" you make sure to stop at his name to annoy him further.

"You've been saying that for a few years now, and yet you never have a girlfriend, so how do you plan on winning the competition?" You ask confused, he looks at you, a hand rubbing his chin as he thinks.

"Do you have anything planned that day?" he questions, to which you shake your head, a sly smirk makes his way to his face and you eye him as if he was a mad man, a sudden flood of worry hitting you like rocks.

"NO!" You immediately speaks, his smile drops and he sits straight into his chair.

"But I haven't even said anything!" He argues, you uncross your arms, pointing a finger in his direction, which he takes to full ofense, mouth opening in a gasp.

"Don't even think about it" You repeat, making your way out of his office, ignoring his calls for you and making your way to the rest area.

"I can't believe you actually convinced me to attend that stupid party" you grumble, bags of clothes in your arms as you walk besides Joshua who had a heap of bags in his own arms aswell.

The party was happening in less than a week, and it took him buying you food for the whole time and the promise to travel where you wanted to go, a promise to buy everything you wanted to eat there as well for you to agree.

And now, you're both out shopping, compensation for agreeing to it all.

You had gotten a few outfits for the possible vacation and then also a red gown to wear to the party, Joshua telling you all about the other's preferences and how red would be the color that would stand out the most and look best on you, so you followed his advice.

He did drop you off, soft music playing on the background as he drove, the conversation was short, you were mostly still confused on why you had agreed to fake date him, especially after all the heartache you had to go through whenever he told you about his crushes, or dates when the only one you had ever crushed on was him...

"It's in 4 days, so when friday comes, I'll pick you up at 5pm so that we can get there on time, alright?" you nod as a reply, a tight lipped smile on your face. He nods back, a smile of his own to you. You exit the car and he like always, waits for you to unlock your front door before waving and driving off, leaving you to your own thoughts until friday came.

And it came rather fast.

"Shua, can you help me with the dress?" you laughed, hands stretched behind your back as you tried to make sense of how you were supposed to tie the fabric around your back.

It was finally the day of the dinner and you were now struggling with the strings of the dress that the two of you had decided on.

You could hear his laugh all the way from downstairs, making you huff, eyes on the mirror that reflected your bedroom door, Joshua walking into the frame just a few seconds after with a smile.

"You called?" He spoke, lips tucked inside his mouth as he tried his best not to laugh at your hands that fondled with the dress.

"Yes, can you try and tie this like it's supposed to? I can't do it" you huff once more, turning around, eyes settling on Joshua who leaned his side to the door frame, arms crossed over his chest with a raised eyebrow.

"Pretty please?" you ask, extending your arms that held the pieces of the dress out to him, with his signature smile, he strode to you, arms open and grabbing at the pieces by your sides, hands dragging by your waist line, his sweet fragrance overpowering your senses as he tied the strings behind your hand, hands releasing the fabric in between your fingers, his hand slightly grabbing at your waist, your eyes meeting eachother's in the mirror.

His tall frame behind you."Are you nervous about today?" he wonders, pulling slight away to look at you.

"A little... It's not everyday that you fake date your best friend for a trip" you let out a soft laugh, him nodding understandingly.

"It'll be fine. They've all said that they loved hanging out with you. You've hung out with them hundreds of times over the past 5 years, I promise it'll be okay" he assured you.

"I know that, but I've never had to lie to them and tell them that we're dating. They were always aware that we were just friends" you sigh, face turning slightly to the side, a chance for Joshua to nestle his face deeper into your neck, a blush surfacing from your neck to your face.

"About that, we'll actually be telling them that we are engaged" he monotonously spoke, unconsciously you nod, words seeping in until you pull away from his grasp, and turned around to look at him, shocked was an emotion too small to what you actually felt, eyes widening as you looked at him looking back at you confused.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"What do you mean, what's wrong?! You just said we had to be engaged!" You almost screech pushing at his shoulder.

"Y/N, calm down. It'll be fine!" His hands rest on your shoulders as he reassures you, but you're not taking it well.

This could be the dream for many, but not you. This was your workplace. You worked there. Those were your superiors and bosses. Although they were friends of Joshua's, they were not yours, despite the multiple interactions and gatherings you had attended. The last thing you wanted to do was play with fire and lose your job.

"Shua, this is not -"

"What we planned, I know. But we really have to win the prize." he interjected, eyebrows knit together as he looked at you for approval, to know you agreed to it. But you were still on edge.

"Why do you even care so much about the price?" you ask, arms slapping on your legs as you lowered them.

"There's someone I want to take there" he admits, eyes never leaving yours. But blame it on yourself, because you end up taking a step back from him, arms falling from your shoulders as he looks at you at loss.

A troubled look in his eyes as he stares at yours that stare back at him in hurt.

You were both mistaken.

Joshua swallows the dryness in his throat, nodding, mostly to himself as he steps back towards the door.

"I'll let you finish getting ready. I'll be downstairs waiting" he mumbles a little disorientated, taking long strides to exit the room.

You fan your face, tears threatening to spill and ruin your makeup. Your turn back to the mirror, your eyes shined with tears, nose turning redder than the blush you had on.

"breathe..." you remind yourself, gulping the tears back and touching back your makeup and grabbing your jacket, finally making your way down where Joshua awaited you.

His back to the stairs as his eyes overlooked the sun shining the city in various tones of pink and orange.

"Josh..." you called out, voice shaking slightly.

He turns to you, a small smile in his face as he looked at you, although it didn't reach his eyes.

"Let's go" he says, cutting the awkward silence that settled into your living room.

Despite the awkwardness, he made sure to still open the car door for you, a hand at the top in case you bumped into it. Getting into his own side and waiting for you to settle in and buckle your seat belt before starting the car and driving you to the dinner place.

"What should we say when they ask about when we started dating?" you ask, voice raising slightly from when you stood in the living room.

"Let's just say we started dating after Vernon's birthday party" he shrugged, eyes still on the road ahead.

"Why his birthday?" you scrunch your face confused.

"Because... he flirted with you that day" he almost whispered, the tip of ears blush and he relieves it by looking out the window as if looking through the side mirror, as if he weren't driving in an empty road.

You blush, looking at your own hands laying in your lap.

"And engaged?" you continue.

"Your birthday" he replies, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

"Ri... Oh my god! Joshua!" You yell, grabbing at his shoulder in a panic.

"What?! What's wrong?!" the car comes to a full stop at the side of the road and he immediately looks at you in panic.

"What is it?" He asks again, grabbing the hand you placed on his shoulder.

"Ring... We don't have rings" you said, lifting your left hand. He exhales, a soft laugh leaving his parted lips as he looks at the glove compartiment.

"I wanted to do it in a more sweet way, but since you're so eager" he begins to explain, chest out in pride as he opens the glove compartment and takes out a squared box.

As if deja Vu, your eyes follow the movement of this man's hands as he opens the box, a pair of rings shining brightly inside.

"Your hand, darling" he joked, the sad mood quickly replaced by the playfull one, his palm extended and you laughed, placing your hand on top of his.

And in a split second he lifted your hand, placing the ring with the small diamond on your finger before he lifted his own hand in front of your face.

You get his own ring, a smile plastered on your face as you put it on his own finger.

"What a beauty ring, Sir. Who gave it to you?" you play around.

"The woman I'm planning on marrying soon. A beautiful and smart woman" he says, eyes shining brightly, not once leaving your own.

How could you not know what he meant...

"Well, ready to departure? We're going to be late now" he joked.

"Fashionably late" you hit his shoulder playfully.

The two of you did get there with a little tardiness, but nothing too big, getting out the car he helps you with the walk over the stones until you're both on the platform to the party building, surrounded by a pound and grass.

The sunset falling as the moon rose high up in the sky.

Music heard even from the outside, although not crazy loud.

Joshua laced your hand around his arm a gentle smile shining on his features as he leaned over your ear.

"Just act as usual and we'll be fine" he assured, a small hit of his nose on your jaw.

Entering the party, a few eyes went to you, but the funny thing was how they would look, turn away and then turn back to look at you in shock. The relationship was in fact something that no one had seen coming, especially after the fact that the two of you had been friends for close to a decade.

Joshua and you walked to, of course, the only reason of your attendance. The food court.

Ordering a few snacks before the dinner, Joshua kept you company, rarely even edulging in the chats about the latest horror movies or the latest book of his favorite author, author his ears were open whenever he heard of those topics.

You were truly okay with being left alone, especially since you could see Yurim, your friend, coworker and the girlfriend of Seokmin glaring at you, likely because you hadn't told her a single thing about you and Joshua despite your close friendship.

"Hey, Josh" you call out to the male besides you, he looks at you in a split second, tongue lapping his lips as he drank the champagne.

"Go be with your friends, I have to see Yurim anyway, look at her. She looks ready to kill me" you laugh, his eyes lock onto your friends at the end of the dinning area, a laugh as he turns to you, eyes closing into small moons, removing his arm from behind your back and nodding for you to go ahead.

As soon as Joshua leaves to go to his own friends who, just like yours were shooting daggers at him, you headed to Yurim who pulled you faster to her by the arm.

"Easy you little beast" you laughed, but her mood stayed the same.

"When did that happen?!" she asked you, eyebrows furrowing as she looked at Joshua who was across the room.

"After Vernon's birthday party" you answered like planned, you smile looking down. But your head quickly lifts once you listen to her dramatic gasp.

"And you never told me?!" She almost screams.

"Rim!" You try to shush her with a hand on her mouth, attention all on you, and although it was almost dispersed it was even more drawn in to you when she yelled in shock.

"What is that ring!!" she lifts your hand to her face, eyeing at the diamond in the middle.

By now, even if you wanted to not follow the storyline that the two of you had made in the car, you just had no other choice as everyone was now gossiping about the ring.

"I-... you know" you replied shyly taking your hand from her grip.

"Y/N!" She smiles, jumping around as she pulls your hand once more to her face.

You feel a hand circle around your waist, immediately turning to the side, thankful to see Joshua's soft comforting smile.

"Just follow me" he whispers in your ear, heat once more flushing to your face.

Joshua lifts his champagne cup to everyone, all eyes on him awaiting whatever he was going to say.

"Ladies and gentleman. Thank you very much for attending the party, I can say that this year is a very special one because after many years wanting nothing more than to have this beautiful and wonderful woman by my side. I am blessed to announce to everyone that we are not only a couple. But that we are getting married" he reveals.

His hand grabs yours, fingers interwining as he lifts them up for everyone to see.

You once more look down, maybe in your head he actually means you.

In his heart though, it had always been you. Through everything.

There is a wave of applause and congratulations which seems to lift your mood slightly, especially when Joshua's hand returns to your waist, finger lifting your chin as he watches your every emotion nodding at you comfortingly.

"It's out" he smiles.

"It's out" you repeat, releasing a breath you didn't know that you had been holding in.

The night carries on, a lot of investors approach the two of you, congratulating you two and wishing you happiness. His own friends question the whole situation, most of them already with smirks as they were sure that it would happen one day or another. During the dinner, Joshua had sat besides you, on your right, and although nobody could see it, his hand was under the table and laced with yours.

His thumb making random patterns on your hand as the two of your ate, that is, until Joshua decided to adventure out, hand slipping out of yours and resting on your leg, you almost chocked when it happened, but nonetheless, you liked it.

His hand was right under the slit of your red dress and resting directly on your leg. You turned to look at him, he was calmly talking to Jeonghan, and although you liked his touch, you couldn't help but feel the heat in his hand seep into your leg as he continued to grip your leg at times before smoothing in out with his continuous rubbing.

"Shua" you called him just above a whisper, his head turning to look at you curious.

"Is something wrong? Do you not like the food?" he asks you, eyes assessing your plate that had barely been touched.

"No, your hand is just distracting me" you whisper, biting your lip.

His eyes snap down to your lips, hand tightening once more against your leg, your mouth forming an 'o' causing him to smirk at you.

"Keep that up and I might just have to excuse us earlier" he whispered into your ear, lips puckering to once again kiss your jaw, returning to his conversation with Jeonghan as if nothing had happened, leaving you dumbfounded staring at the back of his neck.

You were the dumb one not understanding when he kept insinuating that you were the woman he wanted to take on the trip.

You ate rather quickly after that, your hands lowering down to your lap to play with his fingers, but mostly the ring that you had earlier slipped into his ring finger.

The flustered one was now Joshua, that often looked at you and then to your lap, a smile playing at his lips as he watched you continue with your own conversations as you played with his ring.

Right after dinner ended, everyone dispersed once again to the dance floor, the songs changed, most of them being slow ones and you stayed behind with Joshua overwatching the amount of couples present in this year's event.

"There's a lot of competition this year" you point out, he hums agreeing, eyes not staying away from you for long.

"I still feel like we will win, though" he smiles, you look up at him awaiting his answer.

"Not a single couple here is engaged, like we are" he smirks, you laugh along.

On the other side of the dance floor, you watched as Seungcheol called over Joshua, a smile on his face and with a quick excuse, Joshua left your side promising to come back once he was done chatting.

You watched the friends talk, a smile on your own face, completely unaware that behind you was the man that supposedly made Joshua porpose. Vernon.

Sneaking a hand along your waist and whispering the word "Boo" in your ear, which, although you hated to admit it. Did scare you.

"You scared me, dickhead" you laughed, Vernon following along as he placed himself in front of you covering Joshua's frame.

"You get scared super easy, Y/n, it's not my fault" he laughed as he spoke.

"I heard the news, you're welcome" he smiles, rolling his shoulders proudly.

"What for?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

"He said he asked you out after my birthday. I played a part" he puckered his lips to which you laugh.

"You're right then. Thank you" you pat his shoulder.

Unknown to you was the sudden mood change in Joshua as he glared at his younger friends back whom you patted.

"Ya... You'll drill a hole through his back, relax" Hoshi tried to calm the older, something that did not work as Joshua began to make his way to the two of you, a scowl on his face.

"Joshua's coming. He doesn't look happy" Yurim tapped you on the shoulder, both you and Hansol turn, just as Joshua near the two of you, his hand grabbing yours and pulling you to his side.

"Jealous much?" Vernon teased the older male, earning a glare as a response.

"Shua, we're friends" you tried to call him but he simply kept the scowl ushering Vernon to go check on Chan who was at the side by the drinks.

With a chuckle and wink, just to piss him off even further Vernon bids his goodbye's and Yurim follows suit to go find Seokmin again leaving you and Joshua alone once more.

"Why are you so jealous?" you ask with a small smile, he turns to you, a small pout evident in his features as he looks down at you.

"I just don't like how he always flirts with you" he replied. You pat his shoulder like you had done to Vernon just a few minutes ago, his shoulders lowering back into a calm state as he settles in your side.

The two of you simply listened in, until your personal favorite song "fast pace" came on, and as if already written in a book, Joshua extends his hand, already knowing that this was that one song you could never skip dancing and so the two of you made your way to the dance floor.

Both quietly singing the song to each other as you danced with one another, your hands around his neck as he had his arm around your waist, the other carrying your glass of champagne, making him just a thousand times hotter.

He twirls you before the bridge of the song, your favorite part, bringing you closer to his chest as he mutters the words in your ear "24/7", the heat rose between the two of you.

You weren't even sure if he meant it or if it was all for that trip but you didn't care at this point, and if anything were to happen you could just blame it on the champagne.

The two swayed, bodies stuck one each other until the song ended and when it did the music just stopped overall as the ceremony began.

Seungcheol stepped up with Lee Jihoon and Kwon Soonyoung, the leaders of the different sectors of the company, although Jihoon and Soonyoung were simply the presidents whilst Seungcheol was the owner of it all.

"I'm not going to give a huge speech, because just like everyone else in the room, I'm more interested in who is winning the trip. So, without further ado. Jihoon please announce our candidats for this year's competition" he quickly steps back as Jihoon hops to the front, the drink already beginning to have its effect on the light drinker.

"You're all so pretty. So good together. I love you. Here are the 4 nominees" he announces pulling a card from the back pocket of his dress pants.

"Seokmin from accountability and Yurim from the legal team. Yunho from the business board and Na Ri leader of the Communications and PR team. Joshua from the Global embassy unit and Y/n his assistant and also in charge of communication. And finally, Daniel from Marketing with Yuna from the Creative team" he calls to everyone who steps forward, closer to the stage.

"I'm so sad that only 1 couple can win" he began to sniffle, everyone in the room started to laugh as Mingyu stood onto the stage bringing the man down as he began to choke on his own tears, Jeonghan stepping up to replace him.

"Moving on" he began.

"The winner is!" he drums on the podium.

Joshua's hand engulfs your smaller one, his left arm around your waist as the two of you wait for the announcement.

"Joshua and Y/n!" He calls onto the microphone.

The two of you are in a state of shock as a wave of congratulations form once again, this time, congratulating you on the free trip.

As if finally aware that the two of you had won, as he wanted to, you turn to eachother with smiles on your faces, he lifts you up, lowering you down and kissing you on the lips which leaves you in shock.

Eyes open for a few seconds before they close and you kiss him back, breaking back after a few seconds.

And although both of you smiled, you knew this was just something else that the two of you had to talk about.

After accepting the prize and thanking everyone you two stepped outside, stopping near the pond and sitting on a bench watching over the fish, the light from the moon reflecting the water.

"We should probably, talk about it, right?" he laughs nervously, you turn to him.

Watching as he tries to avoid your eyes, although he too turns to look at you.

"I like you" you finally admit.

"Why are you saying it first?" He stood up, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you, meanwhile you just stared back like you had seen a ghost.

"What?" You asked, not fully trusting your ears just yet.

"I wanted to confess to you tonight if we won. I was gonna say it first" he whined throwing his head back.

"I thought you liked someone else" you pointed out, also standing up and standing in front of him, his eyes searching yours.

"Who else would I like?" He sarcastically said.

"I confessed first because I thought you did" you shrug.

"Well, I liked you first. So it doesn't matter" he shrugs back with a proud look in his face.

"No you didn't"

"I so did" he fought back.

"I've liked you for 5 years now" you stuck your tongue.

"I liked you after one week" he smiles, pecking your lips, leaving you once more in shock. Hand reaching up to your lips.

"You can't keep kissing me! This is inappropriate Mr.Hong" you tease, but he kisses you once more.

"Joshua" he mutters taking your lips in his once more.

His face turning slightly to the side so that he could deepen the kiss, the two of you laughing in between.

It was not perfect, but nor did it need to be.

You were both happy and finally together, although it took a silly competition to make it official.

And now, you have a fully paid trip to the place you wanted to go to the most.

Joshua's hometown.

˜˜˜ The end :)

Posted the 29th January 2023

#seventeen #kpop #kpop imagine #fluff #kpop idols #kpop fluff #kpop imagines #seventeen x y/n #imagine #seventeen x you #joshua #joshuahong #hong joshua #seventeenjoshua #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt #svtjoshua

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callmewrinkles3 · 1 year ago

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Would you write "Will you dream of me?" but like an early stage of their relationship? 🥺

Em had no idea that it was possible to miss someone like this. Especially after spending only three hours together three months ago. But she really missed Dan.

She probably wouldn’t have missed him this way if they’d just seen each other then and kept going with their lives, but they were in constant communication. Texting and calling every day, even FaceTiming each other at least FaceTiming once a week. It was killing her slowly. She knew there was no chance of anything happening, that he travelled too much. Em should probably stay away from him before she got hurt but she couldn’t help it.

Waking up with a text from Dimples had her smiling the whole day, the same way she adored going to bed with his goodnight text. He was the first person she communicated with in the morning and the last person at night.

The main problem was the timezone differences. She was still in England and he was in Perth, the eight hour difference sucked. Her late nights were his early mornings and they couldn’t talk as much as they wanted to. There were texts whenever they could, random calls when they had time. There was a weird FaceTime every two weeks or so. It was enough to make her miss him even more.

It didn’t help when Dan joked around with her, saying it wasn’t fair that they’d spent so much more time looking at each other through screens than in person. He was right and she hated it. She hated the crush that was growing stronger every time she talked to him even more than she hated that they wouldn’t see him for weeks until he was back in town. If they even could make time to see each other again.

Dan promised they’d see each other in person again soon, but Em didn’t want to raise her hopes any higher. She knew better than to get into another relationship or get involved in anything to do with romance. It never worked for her. She didn’t want to date anyone, too used to her little bubble where she worked and stayed home and nobody could make her feel anything.

But she still wanted to see Dan’s big brown eyes and bright smile one more time. Just once more in person before he was like everyone else and walked out of her life. Somehow she just knew that this time it would hurt a lot more than when she walked in on Greg and Millie on the couch.

As she was curling up in bed to try fall asleep, an episode of Criminal Minds on her tablet to try stop her thinking about the gorgeous Australian taking up her brain, her phone buzzed. It was another text from Dimples, probably the response to her Goodnight/Good morning text. She always sent it as she got into bed around half ten, knowing at half six Dan would be getting up soon in the morning. The last thing she expected to see was something as sweet as the text he sent.

"If I send you a photo will you dream of me?"

She started grinning like a teenage girl whose crush had paid attention to her. She wanted to say yes and admit that she’d had more than one dream about him. She wanted to say no and stop replying to him while trying to forget about how cute he was. She wanted to hit the FaceTime button and start rambling about why everything was a really bad idea.

But instead she decided to send a single word to see if it would make Dan smile as much as she did.

"Maybe"

#call it what you want fic #ciwyw drabble

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mjj-nostalgia · 11 hours ago

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"This Song's For You" || Michael Jackson One-Shot

Imagine you are also a famous singer. You and Michael tried to be together but it didn't work out. One night at an award show, you sing a ballad that is about him. Michael looks on at you with regret.

Back at it again with another one-shot! lol Again, I did not to use gender/appearance defining characteristics but I did write this with a fem!reader in mind. However, as always, (Y/N) can be just about anyone ;)

Also the song (Y/N) sings is In Case by Demi Lovato - I'm not a songwriter so I couldn't think of any lyrics on the spot lol. This is also one of my favorite ballads. I recommend it!

It was 1980. You and Michael were both at your own levels of fame - him perhaps a bit more than you. You were up and coming and quite popular as you had an amazing voice for any ballad. Michael, of course, was a force all his own. He was not quite at his peak yet, but the fans were already chasing him and watching his every move. The two of you had had a budding winter romance toward the end of 1978 into 1979. Everyone thought that perhaps you were finally the one Michael was going to settle down with. All of his older siblings had pretty much all already married and had at least one child so far. Michael was getting old in terms of husband material - except he really wasn’t. Truthfully, both of you being 20 at the time of your relationship was young in the grand scheme of life. The both of you were also young and dumb for different reasons. Michael wasn’t taking your relationship as seriously as you thought he should. And you were a bit bratty and emotional sometimes still, which made the both of you clash. Not to mention the traveling - at this point in history there still wasn’t a great way to contact someone except for a phone call. Even then, you were at the mercy of them being home or near the phone to answer it. All this to say, things simply got to be too much and you broke up with each other. It was a bit of a dramatic spat that ended with you storming out and Michael trying to call you several times over the course of the next couple of weeks. Because of this, Michael recorded ‘She’s Out Of My Life’ for his album Off The Wall, which was released in August 1979. You also released an album near the end of that year, with your own heartbreak anthem on it.

The stage was set. January 1980 at the American Music Awards. You were both nominated and you were also going to be performing your hit song. You sat backstage as you waited for you to be introduced. You were never so nervous. This was the biggest event for you yet and your ex-boyfriend, in which the song you were about to sing was written about, was in the crowd. Talk about pressure! You walked over to the backside of the curtains. The makeup artist touched up your powder and made sure your hair was perfectly quaffed. You thanked them. Then suddenly:

“It’s my pleasure to introduce to the stage - (Y/N)!” The announcer said, pointing his hand toward you enthusiastically. He left the stage.

The lights dimmed. A single spotlight hit the stage where a single microphone stood. Your piano player began playing the ballad. You stepped out of the curtains as they opened and walked into the spotlight. You were wearing a tight black floor length dress adorned with shiny sequins and black gloves. Your jewelry was silver and bulky on your neck and wrists. The spotlight reflected these items and caught everyone’s attention, especially Michael’s.

“Pictures in my pocket,

All faded from the washer,

I can barely just make out your face,..” You began to sing. You tried not to scan the crowd for him. But it was no use. Your eyes locked with his as you got to the beginning of the course.

“I know, one day, eventually,

Yeah, I know,

One day I’ll have to let it all go,...” You sang toward him before you looked away.

Michael looked down. He couldn’t bear to look at you and couldn’t bear to hear the words coming out of your mouth. He tried not to get emotional in front of the entire crowd but it was also no use.

Then you belted out the next part of the song, using your beautiful and powerful voice to wow the crowd.

“In case, you don’t find what you’re looking for,

In case, you’re missing what you had before,

In case you change your mind,

I’ll be waiting here in case, you just want to come home…,

In case…,” You sang.

The crowd was in awe.

Michael looked back up, noticing you were no longer looking at him. He looked incredibly sad and was full of regret. But, the words offered him some sort of hope for reconciliation.

As you got to the end of the song, you belted out the lyrics with your powerful voice once more.

“In case, you’re looking in that mirror one day,

And miss my arms, how they wrapped around your waist,

I say, you can love me again,

Even if it isn’t the case,” You sang, tears coming to your eyes.

As you finished the song, the crowd erupted with applause and cheers. You walked back from the microphone for a moment before you smiled politely to the room. You put your hands behind your back and bowed. When you stood back up, your eyes met with Michael’s again. He was clapping and smiling softly at you. He was proud of you. You gave him a bit of a nod.

A little while later, you were backstage, drinking some much needed water and chatting with some other younger famous adult women. The award show had ended and Michael was going home with three wins, while you were going home with one. You were having a great time until the ladies you were talking to got quiet and gave each other, and you, a mischievous look.

“What?” You asked. Your back was facing toward the room.

“I think someone’s here to see you,” One of the them said.

You blinked and turned around.

Michael was standing shyly with his hands in his pockets. He smiled softly.

“Hey,” He said.

“Hey, you,” You said in return.

The ladies you were chatting with quickly walked away to give the two of you some space. You crossed your arms and smiled softly at him.

“You did amazing out there, you know. You have so much talent, (Y/N). I’m tellin’ ya!” Michael said sincerely, taking a hand out of his pocket and putting it by his side.

You smiled with a blush and shuffled your feet a bit.

“Thank you, I appreciate that a lot. Congratulations on your wins tonight, too. You deserve them - more than anyone,” You said to him.

Michael blushed.

“Thank you, (Y/N). That means a lot to me, too. Don’t forget you won, too! Congratulations are in order for you, as well,” Michael smiled with a blush.

You chuckled and crossed your arms, giving him a pleasant smile.

The two of you then gave each other a look of sadness mixed with some sort of hope. Michael looked at the floor for a moment before he bit his lip and looked back up at you.

“Are you going to the after party?” He asked.

You shook your head with a chuckle.

“Probably not. Those party scenes aren’t really for me…you know that,” You said in a slightly playfully flirty tone.

Michael nodded with a bigger smile before he nervously scratched the top of his head for a moment.

“I do know that,” He chuckled.

“Would you like to come back to my apartment? Not like that…Just so we can celebrate in a…quieter space,” Michael said almost sheepishly.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Is anyone else going to be there?” You asked softly.

“...Not if you don’t want there to be,” He replied.

You laughed softly and thought for a moment, pulling your hands in front of your body and holding them together.

“Sure. That sounds really great,” You said, giving him a bit of a playful look.

Michael kept the smile on his face as he raised his hand to gestured toward the exit.

“After you,” He said with a playful look on his face as well.

You and Michael walked out of the venue together and got into his car. The driver drove you back to his place and you stayed nearly the whole night. But, you didn’t want to rush back into anything if there wasn’t actually a chance. You went home but not before telling Michael to call you.

“Don’t be a stranger,” You said, pulling at his collar on his suit jacket.

“I won’t be if you don’t want me to be,” He said sadly.

You looked up at him with wide eyes that were getting wet.

“What if I told you I didn’t want you to be?” You asked softly, peering up at him.

“Then I’ll call you,” Michael smiled longingly.

You nodded and leaned up, kissing his cheek. He kissed yours back. You gave each other one last look before you walked out of the door. A couple days later, Michael did call you again. And, the rest is history.

#i thought of this concept in the shower #i was like omg that song is such a heartwrenching song #it's perfect for my drama filled fanfics #this one in particular #anyway i hope you all enjoy!#michael jackson #michael jackson one-shots #one-shots #michael jackson off the wall era #off the wall era #based on an imagine #fem!reader #y/n #michael jackson x y/n

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bookaddict24-7 · 8 days ago

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Every week I will post various reviews I've written so far in 2024. You can check out my Goodreads for more up-to-date reviews HERE. You can friend me on Goodreads here.

Have you read any of these? What were your thoughts?

___

345. XOXO by Axie Oh--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Some of my friends had read XOXO a few years ago and had really enjoyed it, so I was both excited and wary when I started this one. I went in completely blind and I was pleasantly surprised by all of the tropes--moving to a wholly new place for school? Meeting a Kpop Idol that is otherwise unavailable, but somehow still falls for the MC? Befriending the unfriendly girl who is secretly a cinnamon roll?

Yes, please, and thank you!

And not only did those tropes exist, but of course our MC meets the guy who ghosted her in this random arts school. It was just so much fun seeing these two fall for each other, while also navigating the difficult world of Kpop idols and romance. It genuinely felt like a K-Drama in a book and gave me those same fun butterflies I get when I know I'm going to enjoy whatever I'm about to watch/read.

I was heavily reminded of how much I am NOT a young adult anymore by some of the choices the MC makes as the book progresses--like prioritizing the boy over her own needs, which I know is a good lesson for teens nowadays to not do this, but as an adult with hindsight, I can see how easy it can be to fall into a relationship and situation like this.

But this book was more than its romance. XOXO had some great friendships and explored a very complicated generational relationship in the MC's family. Her mom was a single mother who is a workaholic trying to give her daughter everything she needs, but is also a woman trying to escape the grief that plagues her. And even though she has her reasons for staying away, the MC's mom returns to South Korea to take care of her estranged mother (and I LOVED seeing that relationship between the grandmother and the MC). The relationship between the two was an interesting parallel to that of the MC and her mother because they also have a relationship heavy with miscommunication and distance.

There is also a highlighting of identity and what it means to belong to two different worlds, but still identify with both--even if you're still learning about one half of you.

XOXO was a fun read for its romance and friends and travel and tropes, but it held its depth in the relationships explored and the examination of complicated familial relationships and, ultimately, the power of grief--both in the actual loss of a loved one, and the aftermath of that emotional storm.

___

346. Sanctuary by Paola Mendoza & Abby Sher--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Once upon a time, a book like SANCTUARY would be one of those dystopian stories that would have sat well with all of the other big names that came out in the early 2010s. But now reading SANCTUARY feels like one of those stories that is a little too close to reality.

And I'll be honest, sometimes those dystopian novels that are one or two decisions away from becoming a reality are the ones that really keep me up at night.

Incredible, jarring, emotional, and traumatizing, Mendoza and Sher have created a book that I think should be read by everyone. We all watched the news as families were torn apart in the States by drones in suits that loved to exert power. This is the perfect story to remind readers that this horror has happened and has truly hurt many, many, many people. It was incredibly powerful and heartbreaking--especially as we watch the teen MC trying to keep her brother safe in her ever-worsening world.

This isn't the first book I've read like this and it definitely won't be my last. I think these stories are important and must be added to every TBR to help with empathy regarding the topic of immigration and those fleeing from a place that threatens to steal their rights.

SANCTUARY has many layers, but one of the ones that hit me the most were the people the MC and her brother met and lost. Their lives were transient for the majority of the book, but these people they come across each pack a punch. If these characters were real, I know they would be haunted by the memories of the people they met along the way.

Again, this book is NOT an easy read. It is gritty, real, and heavy--that's why it's so important. But sometimes the hardest books are the most impactful, poignant, and timely books.

I'd recommend this one, along with SOLITO, WE ARE NOT FROM HERE, and OUR MISSING HEARTS.

___

347. Sandcastle Beach by Jenny Holiday--⭐️⭐️⭐️

In my opinion, SANDCASTLE BEACH is the weakest book in this series--which is sad because it had the potential to be the best one of the whole series, especially because of how much build-up and hinting there was in the other two books.

As a result, this was just okay.

I almost DNF'ed this addition to the series a few times, but I continued because I truly did want to know how this couple got together and overcame their differences. And though it wasn't a favourite, I'm glad I did continue because I ended up actually enjoying the second half of the book. This was truly a slow burn romance and though I normally adore these, this one lacked that cute spark the other two books had. I didn't feel that urgency to read their story, or those butterflies in my stomach I sometimes get when I know a story is going to be great for me. My main issue was probably this lack of spark because it held me back from getting invested in the story and that's probably where that urge to DNF came from.

But despite the lack of a spark, I did like how these two characters ended up coming around to liking each other. Every bitter word, petty argument, and moments filled with sexual tension led up to some pretty fun scenes. This is one of those couples that takes a bit of work to fall for and whether the story pacing and mood was meant to mirror that or not, it inadvertently made me feel the way I did. It was like I had to actively work through my disinterest to finally see the potential for these two characters.

I did like the communication and how quickly things would be resolved, and the romantic moments were sweet. Like I said, once I got over the midway hump, I was finally all in with this couple.

I'm sad to see this Canadian series end, but I am also very happy to finally be able to take them off my to-read shelves!

___

348. The Pretender by Katherine Applegate--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I think that this one might have been one of the most in-depth books in the series so far, especially when it comes to the exploration of the emotional health of one of the more affected characters. Also, that twist...WHAT. Probably one of the bigger and more emotional ones of the series, too.

But while I liked how we got so into the mindset of one of these characters (maybe even to the point where I find it hard to have thought that this series didn't grow up alongside the readers back when they were first releasing), there were definitely still parts that made this feel like a filler book. Although I'm sure many of the reveals in this one will lead into bigger topics later in the series.

Also, this was, of course, another great example of how anti-war the author is and how timely it really, really is in today's current political and social climate. I think one or two or a few world leaders would benefit from reading this series.

Will of course be picking up the next book!

___

349. The Dangerous Convenience Store Vol. 4 by 945--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

THE DANGEROUS CONVENIENCE STORE is probably one of my favourite on-going series right now. These two have so much dang chemistry and I am always hoping that they can get over all of the hurdles they face so they can have their own version of happy ever after.

This series is usually super spicy--sometimes a little too much of the spice, tbh LOL--but this volume didn't have as much as usual because it focused so heavily on the complicated emotions between the two and the very dark past of the older MC.

I really, really liked this volume. It taught me so much more about the brooding MC who always keeps his secrets so close to his chest. It helped me understand him so much more and how much he truly cares for the other MC. We also see that sometimes love might overcome the morally grey situations in a darker life.

And that cliffhanger? Excuse me? Well, good thing I have volume 5 preordered.

___

350. The Passing Playbook by Isaac Fitzsimons--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

THE PASSING PLAYBOOK was a bit of a refreshing read because a lot of the LGBTQ+ books I read in YA featuring Trans characters are usually really traumatic. I liked that this book featured a character who had a supportive family (even if it was to a fault) and that he was a younger teen (a lot of the others I've read feature older teens). This book was one of the first that I've read in a while that actually felt like it was really for younger teens. I find that a lot of YA books are geared towards mid-to-older teens. That awkward stage between 13-15 is sometimes bypassed in favour of what the 16+ teens might want to read. That representation matters.

This isn't to say that there weren't some tougher scenes to read--especially as the MC navigates his new world with new people, and consequently, the lives of those new people he meets (and falls for). I think it was especially poignant to show the contrasts between the MC's family and his love interest's family and how complicated it can be for a teen stuck between the family and religion he is a part of and the very problematic and dangerous beliefs they harbour.

I liked that the MC had so much support, but that he also had to find himself and his voice in his journey. And because he is so young, he has so much more to discover about both himself and the world that awaits him.

I loved the characters and the roles they played in the MC's life and how even the most supportive people (his parents, for example) can be wrong. We are all flawed and all have the opportunity to grow, but this book shows that it isn't a smooth process--it's a journey full of mistakes, understanding, and learning opportunities.

___

351. Carnal Urges by J.T. Geissinger--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I liked CARNAL URGES more than book one, simply because it was easier for me to believe that this FMC would fall for this killer. Also, I liked their dynamic a lot more. They worked off each other a lot better than book one. And it didn't feel so insta-love.

Also, the MMC? Sounded really attractive. LOL. Not even going to lie. I liked that there were quite a few layers to him that he hid really well from everyone (including the readers) until it was time to reveal them.

The FMC was so entertaining and I loved her outspoken personality. She was one of my favourite characters from book one, so when I learned this book would be her love story (after she confessed she didn't believe in falling in love), I was doubly excited. She didn't disappoint! But I especially liked that alongside her sassy and no-shits-given personality, she was also kind and intelligent.

I was thoroughly entertained by this one. There were some pretty great surprises I didn't see coming, but I liked how this couple worked through it all. There was a level of understanding and communication between them that immediately further endeared me to them.

The spice was SPICY, phew. But it also wasn't everything. There was actually substance in this one, which I love in my romance books. It was very much a reminder that this is the kind of dark romance I like. The chemistry between these two? Yes, please. AND there's an age gap? Yes, thanks, papi.

Needless to say, I enjoyed this very much. I laughed, had to fan myself, and had small moments of anxiety as shit hit the fan. Read this series if you want a dark romance that isn't super dark, but still has bad boys, mafia, and mob love interests.

___

352. Attack of the Graveyard Ghouls by R.L. Stine--⭐️⭐️

I don't even know.

The concept was interesting, but it just...didn't really strike a note with me. I think it would have been more interesting to me if of the decisions made weren't so questionable, or if the beginning part wasn't so rushed.

Also, the adults were annoying again. I don't know why it's always so popular to make these parents so unwilling to listen to their kids in middle grade books. I think that part was the main thing that I disliked about this book.

I can, however, see how this would be a creepy read for a lot of people--especially younger readers. I definitely would have been scared of this one if I had read this as a kid, but as an adult, I REALLY had to suspend my disbelief LOL.

___

Happy reading!

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acepalindrome · 17 days ago

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I’m desperately trying to keep out of the Dragon Age tags to avoid spoilers, so here’s my Rook!

Name: Ruby Laidir

Race: Dwarf (surface)

Pronouns: she/her

Orientation: bisexual

Faction: The Lords of Fortune

Class: Warrior (probably Reaper subclass)

Background: Ruby is an archaeologist who joined the Lords of Fortune in her quest to explore ancient ruins and forgotten corners of the world. She is very invested in preserving the past and uncovering history that had been lost to time. It hurts her soul to think about how much knowledge was lost to the Blights. If she lived in our world, she’s the kind of person who would cry if she thinks about the Library of Alexandria too much.

Despite being named for a gemstone, she has very little interest in treasure. She’ll be infinitely more excited about a single copper coin that dates to the Second Blight than a whole chest full of gold.

She doesn’t have red hair either, to explain her name. She and all of her siblings were named after gemstones. Her surface dwarf parents liked the idea of giving their kids names that connected them to earth and stones, even though they lost all stone sense generations ago.

She wields a heavy two handed weapon and is physically hardy, but when dealing with ancient artifacts she becomes incredibly gentle. Think of an elephant’s trunk that can break tree trunks but also pluck a single blade of grass. She’ll bash an enemy’s skull in, and then spend hours meticulously unearthing an ancient Tevinter goblet with the most delicate touch.

Most of her traveling pack is devoted to her various archaeology tools, and what some would call an impractical number of notebooks. She will argue that she needs every one of them. Her notes are perfectly organized, and what if she stumbles upon the discovery of the century and doesn’t have enough paper to record her findings!!

She doesn’t need to carry that many rations anyway, she’s quite skilled at finding edible plants in the wild and is a surprisingly good cook. Her favorite food is deep mushrooms, which is about as risky as eating fugu pufferfish since the mushrooms can carry the taint. She’s got the method of preparing them safely down-pat, but she still can’t convince too many people to partake with her.

Friends: She immediately hits it off with Bellara and Emmrich. She can sense fellow nerds. She thinks Davrin is cool too, and wants to pet Assan.

Rivals: She’s distrustful of Lucanis. She thinks assassins have no moral backbone. Solas is also on very thin ice with her, though she also wants to study him like a bug.

Romance: She’s attracted to Emmrich, but she’s a little insecure about pursuing him. He’s so tidy and polished and his mustache is perfectly groomed and he wears nice cologne and he has so many fancy little buttons on his shirt! Meanwhile you can tell where Ruby has been by the type of dirt under her fingernails. Sandy loam? She’s been to the Storm Coast. She’s calloused and rough. A fieldwork academic versus an ivory tower academic. Sigh. (Then she finds out he has an autopsy table in his study. He doesn’t mind dirt and mess in the name of research. Maybe she has a chance after all.)

#datv #dragon age the veilguard #rook dragon age

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journey-to-balance · 9 months ago

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Beyond Valentine's Day - Romancing the Every Day

I admit it - I am a hopeless romantic. Yellow roses, antique French lace and hand-painted Limoges porcelain all make my heart flutter. I love the grand "big deal" surprises, like a trip in spring as much as anyone else, but I think it's the small, day-to-day gestures that transform our lives and leave a lasting imprint on our hearts.

I think a romantic lifestyle is a state of the spirit, the daily appreciation of the beauty all around us. This means cherishing what we value most in our lives: love, joy, beauty, family and home. Our home becoming our haven, a sanctuary away from our fast-paced world.

Living a romantic lifestyle means having fresh flowers on the kitchen counter at all times, even if it's just a few decorative branches snipped from the garden in the twilight of autumn or during the barren days of winter, a single rose by the bed, and candles at dusk and at mealtimes. I'm a hold-out-for-old-fashioned-elegance woman. I believe in heirloom or thrifted silver and nice dishes for dinner, tea poured every day in porcelain cups, and reading by the welcoming coziness of a warm fire.

Carving out our own space, filled with laughter and our own rhythm - what could be more romantic than that? There's no rush, no keeping up with the neighbor, nor societal pressure, only what feels authentic and true. We celebrate the 12 days of Christmas, and consider our trees guiding lights during the stark, gray, winter hours. There's no arbitrary man made new year celebration prior to a natural spring, no new year-new me lists, no pressurized goal posts or expectations. In fact, I never know when I will be stimulated by new ideas or inspiration. I do know that it always shows up when I show gratitude to the mundane - the warmth of the sun, the freshness of the air, having access to books and music, or even how the light hits the bark on trees when we are walking in the woods with our dog.

I guess what I am trying to say is that, for me, living a romantic lifestyle means being at peace and in love with my Creator. In many ways, romanticism transcends physical objects, and becomes more of an ideal. More than travel, gourmet food, fine décor, and antique trinkets, it means making the imperfect refuge we call home, a special dwelling. Romanticizing the every day means creating a nesting place, a meaningful haven for ourselves and our families, focusing on rearing children to become warm, well-cultured, principled adults.

There's nothing mystical, no real secret to romancing our everyday. All that is required, is that we begin to look at our days through a lens of joy, and gratitude for what we already have, actively expressing appreciation and enthusiasm for simple things, not afraid to share one's excitement in honest and true ways for this one singular existence and limited time here on Earth.

I over romanticize life, I glamourize life.

I will forever sing to the birds, whisper to the moon, dream aloud to the stars and celebrate in prayer. I will forever rejoice in my existence and not take a single tear for granted, and neither should you.

Valentine's Day is Every Day. You may think me silly, think me looking at the world through rose colored glasses. I... I view this as my life's philosophy. And with that, I bid you well, and send you my love.

Respectfully, Maritza.

Our Journey to Balance

#our journey to balance #reflections #self love #awareness #joy #healthy living #inspirational #dark academia #writers on tumblr #light academia #valentine's day #romantizing life #cultivate gratitude #gratitude #romantic academia #love #essays #essay #philosophy

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wavesmp3 · 1 year ago

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a story about us

chan (dino) x female reader wc. 15.6k warnings: profanity, alcohol, some mentions of sex, death, one hint of suicidal thoughts, some very minor gore/body horror, just a generally dark piece a/n: not really a romance fic, don’t really know what kind of story this is other than a mess of one inspired by a lot of horror movies and one horror book but wouldn’t call this piece horror either. also very extremely rusty writing

i remember a story my mother used to tell me about rage. how it bubbles beneath the surface. untouched and unnoticed. how it can burst.

i know now what i didn’t know then: my mother was an angry woman. she dreamed of bursting into flames while singing me to sleep.

but i knew then what i like to forget now: my father was angrier than my mother could have fathomed being.

my mother’s stories were never stories. they were prophecies.

oh, how i wish i realized this sooner. but nevermind that now; what’s done is done and what’s dead is dead. i must forget my mother’s stories and remember my own. i must remember before i forget. yes. i need to remember- remember my story, remember that i have one.

listen close. i need you to hear it from me

***

wandering is the only word that could be used to describe what chan was doing before he met finn. his family was wandering, from city to city, looking for jobs that would pay and work that could stick. and in each town they moved to, chan was wandering within, looking for something, someone to stay for.

in the end, no one had. chan’s family moved away from this town, from northshore, and chan stayed. but not even his boss at the mine asked it of him. and since that, chan had been wandering around looking for a reason.

chan didn’t stay for the town itself, although, maybe at some point in the town’s history he would have. northshore used to be a beautiful town with blue beaches and warm sand that every summer thousands of tourists would travel far, far distances just to sink their feet into. but that was before the storms started, and four years before chan’s family had even considered wandering all the way to northshore. when the first storm hit, on the eve of a new summer, it was a surprise to everyone. no meteorologist had predicted it. no northshore resident had ever seen anything like it. storms were not uncommon for seaside lands, but not during the summer season and not a storm like this. this storm was not just a storm. it was something worse, something more terrifying. people mourned the storm and the havoc like they would any tragedy, but then it happened again after that first time, and then again. and again. and again. at that point, people stopped caring. but chan remembers festering a small obsession with the storms. he read every single article he could find. each news source failed to really describe what made these storms so bad, instead focusing on the death toll from that first summer and how northshore’s reputation for tourism and sunny skies would never be that again. the news and the articles only ever focused on how much ruin had been brought to the town, how many northshore residents who had lived there for generations were leaving, and how no matter how hard anyone tries or researches, no one can predict when the next storm will be. even now, after having lived in northshore for sometime, if someone had asked chan to describe what the storms were like, he doesn’t know where he’d begin.

***

i started my story all wrong. the storms. northshore. none of it matters. the only things that matter are me, you, and finn.

let me start again.

***

chan was a wanderer. and one day he wandered right into a storm. if anyone had asked (and if he survived), he had a lie prepared: he had heard rumors about there being an eye to northshore storms and he wanted to see if there was any truth in them. and if anyone really cared, chan also prepared the truth: he was curious about death.

he doesn’t get to find out though because instead finn finds him, half dead on the side of the road, and takes him back to Summit.

***

when chan wakes up, in a bed softer than he’s ever known beds to be and in wonderful linen clothes that feel cool against his skin especially in the summer heat, the first thing he notices is the heat. the second and third thing he notices are the clothes and sheets. the fourth thing he notices is the window: the sun streaming in from it warming up the already warm room and the view that sits beyond it, like a frame capturing a painted scene. chan can see the entirety of northshore just from his window, like it’s an ant in the distance beneath him.

the next thing chan thinks is that he’s dead.

the door swings open. “you’re up!” the boy- no man, exclaims upon seeing chan sitting up in the bed. chan must show his every thought on his cheek because the next thing the man says is, “you’re not dead.”

chan sighs. he already knew. the universe would not release him so easily, it would be too sweet. “what am i then?” chan asks quietly, mainly referring to the bed and the clothes and the view, but also silently asking the universe what it’s plan for him is.

“alive, miraculously,” the man scoffs, briskly walking over to the bedside table and setting down a silver tray holding an ornate teapot, a tiny teacup, a small tin of sugar cubes with a silver spoon hidden within it, and a small plate with biscuits. chan hadn’t even realized he was holding it. the tray lands with a small clang. “what kind of person goes wandering into a storm anyways?”

chan stills. had he forgotten his past life so quickly? no. that isn’t quite right. he hadn’t been reborn, the memories rushing back to him now aren’t one of a past life. they’re from his life. his. he hadn’t died. he had lived. but then why did it feel like he had? why does he struggle against the memories as if they don’t belong to him. chan feels suddenly, wholly tired. the man sighs.

“get some rest.” he says, turning his back to chan. he makes his way to the door. chan makes no protest. he should ask questions and want answers, but god, how much better it would feel to just sleep. “when you wake up you should know,” the man starts again. chan thought he already left. “my name is finn, and this is Summit.”

chan sinks into sleep.

***

my mother was a storyteller. i keep her alive with them. it’s not hard, she had millions. but my father liked to be better than my mother. everytime she had a story, he had a different version of it.

my mother was a storyteller. i keep her alive with them. though it’s hard, she had millions. but my father, who couldn’t even read, liked to win. everytime she had a story, he had a different version.

there was a story they both used to tell me about good and evil.

my father’s version: good stops and serves even the servant. evil stops not even for a rich man.

my mother’s version: good stops and serves even the servant. evil stops to trick the servant into thinking they’re rich.

neither version had anything to say about neutrality.

***

chan wanders-

no. chan is done with the wandering. chan wakes up from his second sleep, and walks around the house finn had brought him too. what had finn called it again?

(summit?)

(Summit?)

yes. that’s right Summit.

either way, chan wanders- shit, no- walks through the halls of Summit. the walls are white. almost alarmingly so. a bright shade of white and a paint job that’s frighteningly even. covering the walls are dozens of paintings, some huge, some smaller, all very expensive and important looking. chan’s never been to an art museum or gallery. he imagines it might be something like this. and even the paintings are void of color and darkness. most white, or something close enough to it. now that chan realize’s this, he also realizes that the runner he’s walking on is off-white, the furniture is white, everything his eye touches is white and bright and light. and everything is spotless. not an inch out of place. it feels like the kind of set up, where everyone has to walk on eggshells constantly. figuratively. literally. not even the dust had been given the chance to settle. finn had said before that chan wasn’t dead. oh, how chan wishes he hadn’t, because then for a small moment chan could have fooled himself into thinking this was heaven.

and with that painful thought, chan stumbles into the grand room.

the grand room was an open space that held the living room, the kitchen, a massive island, and a breakfast nook. everything was at least twice the size of anything chan had witnessed before. everything was white.

everything except you and finn.

neither of you notice chan for a while. he relishes in the moment.

chan had seen finn before. earlier between his sleep and before in the storm, yes, but prior to those events as well. chan can’t place where exactly, but northshore wasn’t that big of a town. chan had probably just seen finn at the grocery store. chan thinks he would remember someone like finn though. he’s tall, in a way that feels like he just grew into it. he has a sloped face, but full cheeks. big eyes. and yellow hair that’s just the right shade and just the right amount to frame his face so wonderfully. in that moment, there’s no denying that finn looks golden. chan only wonders how he’s never noticed it. and as certain as chan is that he’s seen finn before, he’s just as certain that he’s never seen you. chan doesn’t know if he can find the right words for it. but something beyond the physical warns chan that if finn is golden, you are the opposite. if finn represents something as bright and white as this house, you’d be best represented by a storm, dark and lurking.

or maybe you’d be better represented as a mind reader because at that moment, your eyes point directly at him. there’s something incomprehensible in them. “he’s awake.”

finn looks up suddenly. there’s no mistake in the movement: finn is shocked by the declaration. but then he turns his head to chan and smiles so brightly. his teeth are almost whiter than the walls. “chan!”

(chan knows now what he didn’t then: your eyes held pity.)

***

there isn’t time for this. my mother would say that i’m stalling. she’d be right. i know why. i know you do too.

let me make this easier for us. just because i have to tell you this story, doesn’t mean we have to relive every moment. some things are too painful to think over again.

i’ll cut to the chase:

Summit was an odd house. i always figured as much. but god, it was beautiful. overlooking the whole town, and sitting at the edge of a cliff that dropped straight to northshore’s famed sea but with a path that led down to a nice beach. Summit was a beautifully odd house, which was fitting for the two beautifully odd people it housed. the house belonged to finn, or rather finn’s family, who owned the mine. you were finn’s childhood friend or lover or both. i never asked how you two came to living there, and you both never said. and besides there were more interesting peculiarities to ask about. like how the storms were different by Summit than they were in town. they still hit the odd house, but they were lighter, softer, like it sensed the house's personality. Summit was out of touch with the disaster of the storms. so much so that finn often liked to take drives during them. i never got a straight answer for why.

either way, on that one fateful day, i got caught in a storm, finn decided to take me in, and you decided you didn’t care. you were like that, or at least you seemed like it. detached, uncaring, unyielding. finn was the opposite: devoted, doting, malleable. (he liked to bend to what people wanted of him.) and i was something in between: attentive, observant, frail. and like that the three of us played house in Summit.

you hated the water and refused to touch it, but finn loved swimming. finn also, like my father (and according to my mother), liked to be better than others, and so i asked him to teach me. between the lines of our lessons i learnt that not only did finn look golden, he was golden. once i mastered swimming, i learned from him how to charm, how to laugh, and how to live life like i owned it.

but finn wasn’t my only teacher at Summit. from you i learned how to let in my darkness. i think i may have also learned what love is, but i don’t want to talk about that. finn was the golden one, but he kissed you like you were.

from both of you, i learned to lie and swallow my feelings. that would prove to be handy.

and then one day, in a storm that finn had been gushing would be a great wash for his car, we both learned that finn had died.

before we resume, i have a question:

do you ever regret blaming me?

***

after finn died, there was no ceremony. no memorial service. no burial, but of course, there’s no use in a burial if there isn’t a body. not even his family came down to collect his things. instead what happens is this: finn dies. it storms for six days. you shut yourself in the room you and finn shared for seven. chan keeps to himself. mourns silently in a small corner of Summit you’d never think to look in. on the eighth day, you come out to the grand room where chan is watching a movie. you find finn’s phone in a drawer and call his mother to tell her the news. she screams. you hang up. chan asks how you’re doing. you throw finn’s phone at him and tell him, “go fuck yourself.”

you storm out of the house then. chan knows better than to follow. instead, he watches you from the kitchen window and just observes. you’re angry, upset, understandably so, but what chan doesn’t understand is whether you’re mad at him or at finn or finn’s mother. you pace along the length of the back porch, arms straight, stiff, and swinging violently with each strut, face pointed down at the wood, and eyes burning. chan’s mother used to tell him a story about rage. he watches his mother’s words play out before him, and in all honesty, you look a bit funnier than he would have imagined. but then chan recalls how his mother’s story always ended: a burst. any humor he found in the situation suddenly vanishes.

you yell something beyond human language, a guttural sound of anguish and despair and lost hope. chan can’t hear any sounds coming from you afterwards, but he can see the way your body sobs and chest heaves. he can see how it caves, crumbling from the outside in. the whole scene is a punch to his gut. chan liked finn, appreciated him for his kindness those months ago when he saved chan from the storm and took him in. chan even admired him and that golden quality he had about him. and so, of course chan was sad that finn was dead. but god, it was nothing like this. your scream was brief, yet it lingers in the air, bouncing around the walls of Summit and filling in all the empty spaces left by finn.

suddenly, you’re up, wiping your face once, looking directly at the kitchen window, and screaming “fuck you, chan!” before bolting off the porch.

the space between Summit and the edge of the cliff isn’t much, but in this moment right now with you running towards it, it feels endless. and at some point in the distance, when chan remembers that you can’t swim, his whole heart lurches. “what are you doing?” he screams, chasing after you, but it’s a wasted breath because either the sound doesn’t reach your ears or you’re ignoring him, and because, when you reach the cliff’s end, without missing a beat, you leap from it.

you jump fearlessly, flawless. as if you’ve been doing it everyday.

chan remembered wrong. no one ever said you can’t swim.

but that doesn’t stop chan from watching you slip into the water masterfully and blindly following you in.

***

my mother used to tell me a story about the gods. there were three of them. the god of day, the god of night, and the god of the transitory times in between. or, alternatively, of sun, of moon, and of stars. or, right, wrong, and justice. creation, destruction, perseverance. order, chaos, randomness. truth, lies, and and

shit. what was it

***

the water hits chan like icy slap to his entire being. it only stopped storming yesterday. the water is still freezing. he kicks his legs, forcing his body to move until his head breaks the surface. he scans his surroundings until he finds you, already paddling towards the beach. but chan learned how to swim from finn–he’s excellent at it. he takes the water by the armfulls, throwing it behind him furiously, and swimming towards you as fast as he can. he catches up to you by the time the water is at your knees.

“let go of me!” you screech, yanking your arm away from chan’s grip. he does, but the sudden freedom makes you stumble and fall into the water. chan stands over you, breathing heavily and waiting for you to get back up. but you don’t. so chan grabs your shoulders and pulls you up instead.

“stop this!” it’s meant to be a kind plea for you to stop running, for you to sit down and talk to him. for you to confide in him and share the burden of your grief. but the wind and water create a volatile roar that makes him scream the plea out instead.

“stop what?” you scream back. there’s a knife in your hand. chan catches its glare. “you think you know what i need? you think you know how to fix me?” your voice is barely your own, it’s deeper, like it’s coming from the pit of your stomach. “i don’t need fixing! finn was my whole life. this house was my entire adolescence. you think because you’ve lived here for a couple months you know shit? you think because you wear his clothes and drive his car, you’re him? you’re not! you didn’t know finn. you don’t know Summit. and you sure as hell don’t know me.”

the words charge the knife into chan’s abdomen. your hand on the hilt, his heart bleeding. you’re not sorry. chan can see it in your eyes and in your face. you watch his blood stain the water red and then twist the knife, carving his organs like a pumpkin.

and with that, you’re off, storming back to Summit. drenched.

but chan isn’t done. he wants to ruin you as much as you just ruined him. he wants to pull out the knife in his stomach and watch it impale your back.

“what happened that night?” he yells after you as you trudge through the sand. chan slowly makes his way to the beach. once he’s in the sand, standing ten paces away from you, he asks again, “what happened between you and finn the night he died?”

you still. chan doesn’t wear a watch. he doesn’t know how much time passes before you move again. bitterly, chan thinks about finn and his collection of timepieces. finally, after what could have been one minute or three weeks, you move, just barely. you keep your body facing the path that leads back to Summit, and only your head turns, just enough that chan can see a leftmost corner of your face. but even that much is enough to see the venom you wear. locked and loaded.

“that night,” you spit at him, “finn found your secret diary.”

for the first time today, chan doesn’t follow when you leave.

***

(chan doesn’t like to think about the day finn died, but then why does this memory come back to him so frequently:

it’s the morning before it happens. it’s sunny and bright outside, and yet at breakfast finn had said there would be a storm coming. after breakfast, finn brings more clothes for chan. chan came to Summit with nothing, and he hadn’t returned to his old residence since. and so, finn and chan had created a routine of taking clothes from finn’s closest and giving it to chan for a bit. luckily, finn is rich. the choices are endless. finn leaves quickly after it’s done, muttering something about tending to his garden. chan puts all the clothes away, or at least he starts, but then halfway through he hears a sound and starts walking toward it. the sound, he realizes turning a corner, was of something breaking. as he nears your bedroom, he starts to pick up on bits of a hushed conversation.

“have you always had that?” you say. you sound calm, but something about the way you speak makes chan think that any normal person wouldn’t be.

there’s a scoff. then, finn’s voice: “what do you think?”

“is this about him?” you ask. you say something more, but chan doesn’t catch the rest of it.

“no. it’s not about that.” finn says, voice raising slightly. there’s the sound of something ruffling, and a small clutter, like broken glass being picked up. “listen to me. something’s off. i can feel it. the house can too.”

the sound of glass stops at that. there’s a sigh. “i know. the storms have been getting worse.”

finn starts saying something more about the storms when the two of you move to a different part of your bedroom, the sound of your voices getting masked by walls and doors than chan can only imagine. eventually, he hears the two of you return to the main room. there’s a small thump, like someone sitting down. for a while nothing happens. but then there’s a small sound, that sounds like it was a mistake. a near whimper that gets cut short like it was never meant to be heard. “don’t say it, finn, don’t fucking-”

“we have to do it today.”

now you’re altogether crying. “finn, please just-”

a door slams. chan runs away.)

***

later that day, after your jump in the water and fight in the sand, chan replays for the millionth time what you said.

your right on one thing: chan doesn’t know you. the two of you had barely spoken since he came to Summit, majority of your conversations being something along the lines of ‘finn’s asking if you need more clothes’ or ‘finn’s going to the store; do you need anything?’

chan had heard plenty about you from finn. he knew what felt like mountains about your relationship with him, and yet, it was true: he really didn’t know you. flatly, chan thinks that if he could do it all again, he’d do it right. better. he’d get to know you from the start. he’d never ask finn to pick up a journal for him. and he’d never write down in words how he felt towards you in it.

for chan’s entire life, he’s been searching for someone or something to make him feel like he was wanted, like he belonged, and for the first time, here at Summit, he thought he had found it. with you and finn and this giant house at the edge of a cliff. but now, chan can only wonder if it’s all been some ruse of kindness. there’s no question how you feel towards him, but what about finn? chan loved him. he knows that now; he can say it. but did finn ever feel anything back? if not love, then friendship? and if not that, then companionship? all those conversations between the two boys, the shared clothes, the swimming lessons, the days and hours and minutes spent lazing, did it ever mean nearly as much to finn as it did to him?

chan attempts to push these thoughts away, but instead he pushes it back and forth like a piece of sour candy. by the time the night rolls in, his mind is burned and blistered by it.

from one corner of his eye, he can see you from a window in the hallway, sitting by the fire pit, cardigan wrapped around your shoulders, knees pulled up against your chest, and a golden glow framing your face. for the tiniest of moments, chan feels dizzy, thinking the glow is from finn. from the other corner of his eye, chan can see the keys to finn’s baby blue cadillac. he steps towards the keys thinking and overthinking about you and finn and Summit and how he never belonged in this odd house to begin with, but then beneath the keys sits chan’s diary. his whole body flushes with heat. he can’t leave just yet, not like this.

he grabs the diary, treks through Summit until he’s outside beside you, the fire, and the fire pit. he then tosses the diary between the flames.

finn found your secret diary. you had said when asked about the day finn died. morbidly, chan thinks: then let it die like he did.

once the pages turn black with smoke and ash, chan turns to leave Summit for good.

“don’t go,” you say as soon as his back is turned. chan pauses. “sit down, chan. please.”

and because it’s you, and because he barely knows you but is dying to learn, chan forgets all about the keys to finn’s car and sits down in the lawn chair next to yours instead.

but you stay silent for longer than chan thought you would. “were you going to say something?”

you inhale sharply. “yes, i was- i am. i just…” you grimace, “don’t know how to say it.”

chan says nothing more. he sits silently with his hands in his lap. it was a nice night. the weather was finally starting to warm back up from the last storm, and with the fire and one of finn’s old high school sweatshirts, chan barely feels the wind. his eyes trail down the shore. from this spot in Summit's backyard, you can see the sea beneath. chan really loved the water, a newfound obsession that came to him while living at Summit and because of all the time he spent in it with finn. even like this, not even in the water but just sitting by it, chan feels his love for the sea pulling him in. he gives into it, relishing in the sound of the waves crashing violently against the cliff. it makes him think of finn.

“you know what finn would say at that.” chan says finally.

“what?”

“you could start with ‘i’m sorry’.”

there’s a shadow covering your face. chan imagines a ghost of a smile on it.

“i’m sorry, chan. i really am. i said some horrible shit to you earlier, and half of it wasn’t true. i-” you let out a huff of breath, hands falling onto the chair’s armrests and back hunching ever so slightly, “i’m sorry.”

chan bites the inside of his cheek. “how much of it was true?”

you shift uncomfortably, pushing your legs down and pulling at your knit. “the parts about finn and Summit being my whole life.” you close your eyes for a moment, shaking your head. “it’s just hard for me now, after everything.”

you don’t say the words. chan doesn’t need to hear them.

and besides, it’s his turn to cringe. “about my diary.” he starts. you look away. “you read it?”

“not me. finn. but i uh,” you clear your throat, “i got the gist of it.”

chan nods slowly.

“it’s alright.” you say. “it’s not a big deal or anything. it wasn’t then either. it wasn’t even-”

chan’s pride cuts you off. “i don’t feel that way anymore.” he stares at you, unwavering. “it was just a small thing. didn’t even last more than a week.”

(chan wrote entries entirely about you for at least three.)

you nod awkwardly. “okay.”

“what about the stuff about knowing you and finn and Summit?” chan asks, desperate to change the subject.

at this your body does an odd dance between ease and tension. “i don’t know. we haven’t really talked much since you came to Summit. as for finn,” your mouth parts as if to say something more, but then closes suddenly. the dance your body was doing ends: tension wins, and chan can see it running from your forehead to your fingertips. “i don’t know. maybe you did. maybe you didn’t. it’s really between you and him.”

“but what do you think?” chan asks as soon as the words leave your mouth. chan needs some answers before he can leave Summit in peace, and he’s not going to stop until he gets it.

you look at him fiercely, taken aback by the question. when you speak, your voice is slow, careful, and calculated. “i think that you knew the parts finn let you see, and that there’s a lot you didn’t.”

chan can accept this answer. he doesn’t prod for more, and yet, it comes anyways. however your voice is different now, softer, quieter. the shadow from before has moved away. this time chan can see the smile that haunts your lips.

“but i’m glad, you know? the parts of him you saw, they were the better parts anyways. i’m glad he lives like that in your memory.” you say it happily, so then why does the sound of your scream and the sight of you flinging your life into the water flash in front of chan again?

“why’d you jump in?”

you almost look happier now that he’s asked. “finn loved the water. i just wanted to be near him.”

chan thinks to say that there was probably a calmer and saner way to do it, but bites his tongue. he knows what you mean. if it hadn’t been storming, he probably would have spent the past eight days in the water as well.

“are you okay?” chan asks thinking about how you’ve said twice now that finn was your whole life. what does that make of you now that he’s dead? “i mean i know the answer, but, will you be?”

you watch a log fall and crackle with the flames. “i don’t know.”

“i’m sorry.” chan says, although he’s not entirely sure for what.

you take him by surprise when you say, “i am too.”

“i’ll be gone by the morning.” chan watches you for a reaction. to his dismay, you have none.

“good,” you mutter, “this place is fucking haunted anyways.”

(that night, after chan has fallen asleep, he wakes to the sounds of you hauling all your stuff out of the bedroom you used to share with finn and into a new one. chan decides to stay a little longer. the next morning you don’t seem surprised to find him still there.)

***

my mother used to tell me stories about the three gods. the gods of good, bad, and balance. of birth, death, and life. of light, dark, and grayness.

she would tell me while stroking my hair, that first came the god of birth, who birthed the universe in his image. next, came the god of death who challenged the god of birth, killing their creations. those two together created time in their likeness. and lastly arrived the god of life, who brought balance to birth and death. and thus, the three of them created an order for things: first birth which was a privilege, then life which could be a million things, and last death which was an inevitability.

but then the first god died, the second god might as well have, and the last god was the only one that mattered anyways.

***

a month has passed since finn passed away. chan’s since learned that he died in the water. a storm was on the horizon, and the water had been treacherous for days. finn was a good swimmer, better than chan, but nature is greater than one man. he fell off the cliff’s edge and into the water.

the knowledge gives new meaning to the day you jumped.

since then chan’s also learned that before the storms started, finn’s family was losing money. northshore’s popularity was at all time high, and there was concern about how tourists would feel about the mine. there was pressure from northshore to close the mine. but then the storms began, tourism tanked, and the finn’s family’s mine was the only thing keeping northshore afloat. there hasn’t been a question about the mine since.

also since the day chan swore to leave Summit but didn’t, you’ve been more open to him. you’re still wrecked by finn’s death and consumed by grief. but briefly during storms and only during storms, you’ll talk to chan. tell him about your life before finn and Summit and ask about his. it’s these moments that make chan stop eyeing the keys to finn’s car, make him hang the keys back in the downstairs hall, and not think about leaving Summit again. but not even those moments can scare away the feeling of loneliness that’s been eating away at chan since the day you screamed at him.

on one evening chan finds you where the rocks give way to the sea just beneath. the same spot chan found you when finn died.

“a storm is coming.” he tells you, settling in beside you, getting comfortable even though the dark, gray clouds have already started rolling in from the east. the clouds remind chan of when he met you. it reminds him of the storm he was running from. he thinks now, that maybe all this time he was running to you, to finn, and to Summit.

you look up at the sky. the clouds cast a shadow over your face. for a moment, chan swears it’s not the clouds, but finn standing behind him and in front of you. that it’s not the weather that makes your face fold, but a ghost, a memory. chan’s all too frightened by the thought to take his eyes off you.

you turn away finally, eyes glazing past finn’s ghost and turning back to the raging water that swallowed him whole. “how long can we sit here before we have to move?”

your voice doesn’t sound sad anymore, chan thinks. it sounds like something crawled inside your body and leeched off your sadness until there was nothing left. chan wants to part his lips and press them against yours to give the small creature inside you a chance to leap into his gut and leech off him instead.

but chan doesn’t do any of that. instead of pressing his lips against yours, he presses them into a fine line, pulls his sleeve just above his watch, and tells you 30 minutes.

“is that finn’s?” you ask, although it’s really not a question, because he knows the answer and so do you and because it’s really more of an accusation.

chan nods. you stare at his watch. chan stares at it too. and since you’re both watching the time, chan can say with certainty that 31 minutes pass before anything more is said.

“i hate that you take his shit.”

the first drop of the storm falls on chan’s leg.

***

(later that week, once the storm ends, chan takes finn car and goes back to his old home to get his own clothes. the thing is barely there. must’ve been wiped out in one of the storms. he heads to the store instead, picks out a whole new wardrobe and hands the cashier finn’s card to pay with. the card gets declined. twice. chan leaves confused and empty handed.)

***

you leave for a couple days. chan wanders Summit alone, chipping paint off a corner of his bedroom wall and swimming for hours on end. it starts storming the night you return.

he goes to say hi, but you shove him aside. “i don’t want to talk right now, chan. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you go to your room, and that’s that.

the storm rages all throughout the next day. it’s a bad one. the wind is loud. louder than he’s ever heard it at Summit. but it barely touches the house. it was normal in town to see anything and everything fly away in the wind. but here at Summit, the only thing that’s moved by the wind is the toppled over fire pit chair. the gloom of storms however, Summit is not spared. an endless darkness engulfs all of northshore, even the outermost parts. it appears as night for days until the sun breaks through and the storm ends. and here at Summit, with the house that’s freakishly white, the darkness feels so utterly wrong.

you come out of your room that afternoon.

“i thought you went to get your own clothes.” you say noticing him still in finn’s sweaters and shirts.

chan shakes his head. “my old home isn’t there anymore.”

your face twists. “oh.” you don’t ask anything more.

“i went to the store after to buy new stuff,,” chan explains, “but finn’s card got declined.” he stands up, heads over to the kitchen island where you’re standing by the open fridge, and pushes the declined card to you.

this was how the two of you survived. in finn’s house with finn’s money. chan used to worry about how long it’d last. he no longer does that.

you turn away from the fridge and take a long look at the card. huffing out a breath, you snatch the card up and chuck it at the trash. it misses, falling flatly on the floor. you stomp away, muttering something to yourself. chan thinks to close the fridge you’ve left open, but finn was the only one that cooked and bought groceries. there’s nothing but condiments in it. and besides, you return to the grand room soon enough.

“here.” you grumble, sliding another card towards him. “this should work.” .

“so where’d you go?” chan asks as you scan the fridge and close it without grabbing anything.

“finn’s mother’s house.” you start brewing a cup of coffee. “she lives in the next town.”

“why?”

“she asked me to.” a spoon clinks against the mug, mixing in two heaps of sugar.

“are you two close?”

you make an odd noise, taking a sip of the coffee. “she hates me. it’s why the card didn’t work. she’s been cutting them off.”

“does she know i’m here?”

you swallow. “yes.”

“does she want us out?”

“she made me an offer. to do something for her and her family and in exchange i could stay at Summit, keep living off their estate.”

“a job?”

“sort of.”

“are you going to accept?”

you think for a long while before answering. “i don’t know yet.”

“what happens if you don’t?”

you ignore the question, taking a look at the storm raging outside. your brows turn down, and the ends of your lips follow suit. “i probably won’t.”

“and what will happen then?”

you snap your head back towards him. “god, chan, ever lay off with all the fucking questions?”

he does not. “what’ll happen?”

you sigh, walking out of the kitchen and grand room and making your way back back down the hall. chan follows you. “she’ll cancel all of finn’s cards, and want me to move out. but they don’t have any cameras here at Summit and she rarely comes up.”

this surprises chan. “you plan on staying.”

“yeah.” you say simply, passing by what used to be your and finn’s room.

“how long?”

“hopefully forever.”

you’ve made it to your new bedroom. you stand in the doorway and turn to face chan. chan bites his tongue.

“what chan?”

“don’t you…” he hesitates. you raise your brows awaiting the question. “don’t you want to get out of here?”

you take a step backwards. “you’re still here. do you?”

***

that night chan thinks over your question.

there was a time, when finn’s death was still a fresh wound, where every night chan swore he’d be gone by the morning. a time where chan had grown tired of your grief that bled all over Summit. and even before that, there was a time when the idea of finn dying was just a morbid joke, where chan found finn’s clothes itchy and Summit too weird and white to be a home. where chan promised that he wouldn’t stay long enough at this odd house with these odd people to find out why they were the way they were.

but that was a long time ago. and finn’s death isn’t a joke. it’s real. but at least it doesn’t bleed anymore. sometimes it doesn’t even hurt. it’s a scab that chan picks at from time to time. it’s healing in a way that’s not meant to be pretty for anyone. it’s reconstruction in its purest form, building chan up–foundation, frame, and more. and chan can’t leave Summit. where else would he go? his family is long gone. someplace far away probably, putting down roots he hopes. he had no friends in northshore. he doesn’t even have a house there anymore. chan can’t fathom leaving Summit. he doesn’t want to make a life of his own. he just wants to sit with you during storms, ask you about what was, and carefully avoid conversation of the future. it’s too easy. wonderfully simple. life has never been sweet to chan. but finally, for the first time in chan’s life, here at Summit with you mourning a life he barely knew, chan can taste some sugar cutting through the bitter.

and he doesn’t want to let that go.

“you okay?” your voice cuts through the storm raging outside and the other one raging inside his head.

he almost smiles at the concern in your voice. it was nice to know that every now and then, you cared.

you sit down next to him at the breakfast nook, pushing a glass of water towards him. “chan?”

“you’re right.” chan was getting used to the words. the thought as well. he’s yet to prove you wrong. “i don’t want to get out of here. i used to think that i did, that i wanted a life for myself outside of this. but i never really did. all my life, all i ever did was struggle. i finally don’t have to. it’s easy here. why should i ruin that for myself?”

you nod. “i declined finn’s mother’s offer.”

chan gulps. he thinks back to that moment a month after finn died, where a storm was on the horizon and you and him sat where finn took his last breath. how long can we sit here before we have to move, you had asked. chan wonders now what you really meant.

but he doesn’t ask it. he knows you don’t know the answer. chan thinks of the one person who would.

“i don’t want to leave either.” you bring your hand over and cover his. it’s warm. “i’m sorry i ruined it.”

“it’s okay.” and it really is. he doesn’t ask what finn’s mother offered you. he’s sure you had your reasons. there’s that saying: nothing gold can stay. finn died almost two months ago, but that golden quality of his has lingered for longer than chan could have wished.

you move your hand away from his, and push them under the table, fidgeting with something invisible to him. he looks at you. really looks. at the curves in your arms and the lines in your face. you look older than you did when he first met you, more tired too. but you also look lighter, freer. how can that be? how can one person be so constantly full of contradictions? chan will never understand you. how was he ever so foolish to think he loved you?

“how about you?” chan asks in return. “are you okay?”

you shift your weight on the bench. “with finn?”

“with everything.”

you look up from your hands, and stare out the window. the endless darkness casts a shadow over your face. chan looks out too. and there, at the cliff’s edge, which is just barely visible from the breakfast nook’s curved window, he sees a figure standing. he jumps in his seat. but then you find his hand again underneath the table. he turns to you. you’re watching the same spot he just was. do you see it too?

but chan doesn’t look back to the ghost at the edge of the cliff. he doesn’t want to know if it’s still there or if it was just a figment of his imagination. he doesn’t want to know because he knows who he saw. he learned how to swim from him.

“he made me crazy. sometimes i don’t even feel sad that he’s dead.” a wind rattles the whole house. your face turns dark. “there’s still so much you don’t know about him, chan.”

even after his death, chan is learning from finn.

“tell me then.” chan begs, desperate to know all the secrets you and finn kept from him. “what are you still hiding from me?”

you don’t answer. instead you hold his face in your hands, and say, “not yet. i’ll keep you safe for as long as i can.”

you leave, and chan doesn’t see you again until the storm ends.

***

my mother was not just a storyteller, she was also a mathematician. she showed me how triangles were the strongest shape of the universe. how no matter how much weight a triangle is presented with, it won’t crumble. the three sides will distribute the weight evenly. and create balance.

***

chan has a routine in the water: focus on two things, one that he can control and one that he can’t. today it’s his breath, a smooth and constant in and out that he counts and changes. the second thing is the sun, the way it beats at his body and claws at his skin even though he wishes it wouldn’t. it’s a hot day. too hot for a swim. but it had been storming for too many days. chan needed to get out of Summit. and besides, the water is perfect today. still cool from the storm, but calm and easy. it’s not a hard swim. but he tires from the sun regardless.

chan makes his way to the beach once he’s sure he’ll be sore tomorrow. as he’s trudging through the shallow waters, his foot knocks against something hard. he catches a shimmer in the sun. he stares and stares and stares and–

oh shit.

he finds you in the driveway, sitting in finn’s blue car with the engine still running and groceries stuffed in the passenger seat.

“hey.” he calls, tiredly jogging towards you. a trail of sea water follows him.

“i bought us some real food.” you muse, shutting off the engine. “how was your swim?”

he ignores the question, stopping near the passenger door. “look at this.”

you do, except that you look at it like you’ve seen a ghost.

chan doesn’t even find that hard to believe.

you jump out of the car, and round it to get to him. “where’d you get that?” you question, voice hushed and hurried. instinctively, chan takes a step backwards.

“in the water.” he answers. you take the object from his hands, lightly tracing its edges and carefully turning it in your hands. he watches you closely. chan has no reason to be scared that you’d use it against him. in fact, it’s probably empty, but still, chan can’t help but be unnerved by how expertly you check the magazine.

and like everything else, chan is wrong–it isn’t empty. he gulps. “i didn’t realize they sold guns in northshore.”

you turn the safety on, and chan releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “they don’t.”

***

later that day, once the sun sets, chan sinks into a sleep. he dreams of the day finn died. he can tell by the sky, it turned purple after breakfast. in the dream, Summit feels as real and alive as it does when chan’s awake. perhaps on another day chan wouldn’t have realized that this is even a dream. but he does. because he had left Summit that day to buy groceries. chan wasn’t there when finn died.

either way in the dream, chan roams through Summit aimlessly. without any rhyme or reason he finds himself at the kitchen within the grand room, washing an endless pile of dishes in the sink. every time he washes what he thinks is the last dirty dish, ten more appear. eventually, chan hears your and finn’s voice drift in from outside. it’s muffled. which makes sense, chan thinks to himself and the dishes, it was so windy the day finn died, but chan can still tell that the two of you are arguing. he focuses on your voices, especially finn’s. how long has it been since he heard it? suddenly, chan remembers that there’s a window above the sink. he looks up and a scene materializes–the purple sky, tall grass bowing to the wind, waves crashing violently far down the shore, the cliff’s edge as strong and silent as it’s always been and finn standing on it. chan’s whole heart sinks. it’s been so long since he’s seen him. god, chan missed his yellow hair and gold wireframe glasses. even in his dreams, finn is as golden as chan remembers. he watches finn, who’s staring back at chan. he can still hear you and finn arguing, but chan can’t see you and nothing about the finn he sees would indicate an argument is taking place. but nevermind that, because finn is smiling, waving his arms at chan wildly, and mouthing something chan can’t hear. chan drops a dish in the soapy water to wave back at finn just as wildly, yelling all the things chan forgot to say when finn was still alive and here. but then out of nowhere, with no hesitation and no warning, the sound of the argument disappears, and finn jumps. and because this is just a dream, and because chan knows how this scene ended in real life, his heart goes numb. chan races out of Summit and to the cliff’s edge. he falls to his knees at the very end of the cliff, screaming for finn at the water, screaming for him to come back, to try again, to not jump this time, to not leave chan’s life in such a hurry. but it does nothing. the water that was so violent just moments ago, is magically still now. there’s no sign of life swimming beneath the surface. chan buries his face in the ground and cries his regrets into the grass. but then a sound emerges from behind him. chan turns to find you. trembling hands holding the gun he found just today in the real world. and it’s pointed at him. chan almost begs you to just do it. but he doesn’t do that, instead he notices how your hands shake as if you’re scared but how your face is still, emotionless, and cold. like you’ve done this before. you utter one word:

fall.

chan wakes up just before he hits the water.

***

chan can’t fall back asleep after the dream. he spends an hour tossing and turning in bed before he gets up and heads to the grand room. to his surprise he finds you there too. he grabs two glasses of water and sits down on the couch next to you.

you only notice him once he’s sat. “can’t sleep?”

he nods. “bad dream.”

“ah.” you breathe with some hint of recognition. “i thought i was just hearing screaming.”

chan doesn’t question why you weren’t more concerned by it. it started storming while chan was asleep and screams off in the distance of northshore during storms were not uncommon.

“what about you?”

you shrug. “just thinking.”

the two of you fall back into silence. chan looks outside, through the window above the kitchen sink and the other at the breakfast nook. it’s too dark to actually see anything, but between flashes of lighting and claps of thunder chan makes out a familiar figure standing at the cliff’s edge. he doesn’t even flinch.

“remember when you said Summit was haunted?” he turns back towards you.

you take a gulp of the water he brought. “when?”

“a week after finn died. when we were talking by the fire pit.”

“oh, yeah.” you say, setting the glass back down. “what about it?”

“did you mean it?”

you stare at him for a moment, testing the sincerity of his question only to then ignore it, a half laugh-half scoff dancing underneath your voice when you say, “why? have you been seeing ghosts?”

following your lead, chan ignores the hint of mockery. “something like that.”

you roll your eyes. “god, chan, you’re so fucking serious these days.”

“i could say the same for you.” and it’s true. for both of you.

you brush off the snip, inhaling sharply. “what do you see then?”

chan hesitates for a moment. “shadows. dreams too.”

you sigh. “that’s scary.”

some time ago, you had screamed at chan how much he didn’t know you. but a lot’s changed since then. now, chan knows when there’s something you’re not telling him. now, chan knows where and when to prod and poke.

“that’s it? that’s all you have to say?”

you flick your eyes toward him–a dare, a challenge, a game. it’s always something like that. “yeah, that’s it.”

chan can play the game. roll his die and pick a card. but he doesn’t want to. your games were never really all that fun anyways.

he grabs the glasses and gets up to leave.

“you know, chan.” you say, voice trailing after him as he goes to the kitchen to wash the glasses. and that’s when he sees it, an empty whiskey glass sitting at the bottom of the sink. he can still smell the alcohol from it. when you speak again, there’s a silent slur that he hadn’t noticed before. “sometimes i feel like you know me better than finn ever did.”

chan doesn’t like your games, but god, you were good at getting him to play despite it.

“i don’t get dreams, and i don’t see things.” you continue. “but i hear him. when it’s late and i’m alone. when i’ve had a bit to drink. especially when it’s storming.”

chan sets down the final glass and turns back around to face the couch, his back resting against the edge of the sink. you’re still sitting on the couch, but you’re facing the kitchen and chan, forearms resting atop the back of the couch and head resting atop your hands.

“is that why you’re up?” chan asks. “did you hear him?”

“did you dream of him?” you taunt. “did you see him standing by the cliff’s edge?”

“you’re drunk.”

“no, chan, i’m not.” your voice is firm, but tired, like you really haven’t slept since finn fell off that cliff. “i had one glass hours ago and have been sitting here ever since.”

and the thing is, you’re never wrong about these things.

“look,” you say in response to chan’s silence, “when i said Summit was haunted, i didn’t mean literally. i just meant in the sense that there are so many memories here and that with finn gone, all those memories aren’t as nice as they used to be. and–well i mean, what do you want me to say anyways? you want me to tell you that it’s finn’s ghost that you’re seeing and i’m hearing? you want me to tell you that he’s watching us like a guardian angel? you don’t think i wonder the same fucking things every night i can’t sleep? i do, chan. but for all i know, we’re just crazy and sad and desperate enough to twist anything into some sign that finn’s still here somewhere. and i’m tired of it. i’m tired of questioning whether it’s him or the wind. i’m tired of the way you watch the cliff’s edge like he’s going to appear there again. i’m tired of trying to ignore how angry i am at him for dying. i’m just fucking exhausted.”

you don’t give him a chance to respond, falling back onto the couch with your back turned to him. chan doesn’t have anything to stay either way. he repeats in his head what you said and turns back to the sink to look out the window. the figure is still there, but is it really finn? is it really anything? maybe it's just the lightning and chan’s mind playing some cruel joke on him? or more horrifically, maybe it’s just all the leftover love chan still carries for the only person to ever make him feel wanted coming back to haunt him? and for the first time since that first week after finn died, chan feels so overwhelmed with grief. chan rather have finn’s ghost scare him in dark corners for the rest of his life than have nothing. don’t go, chan wants to whisper at the fleeting shadow, stay with us. haunt us, please.

and so this time, when he sits down next to you, instead of two glasses of water, he brings two empty glasses and the first bottle of whiskey he can find. you look at him with a raised brow but have no questions when he pours you both a drink. you down it one go. chan tries and fails at the same feat.

you lean your back against the back of the couch and tilt your head up at the ceiling. “ask me something.”

“like what?” chan mirrors the motion.

“anything.”

chan thinks for a moment. “how’d you come to living at Summit?”

you pause, blink once like it transports you to an old daydream. “you moved to northshore after the storms started, so you don’t know how bad that first summer was. how unprepared for it we were.” something dark flashes in your eyes. “i was here at Summit with finn when the very first storm hit. the house had just been built, and his family was having a housewarming party for it. he snuck me in. and you know how Summit is, the way storms barely seem to touch it, it took everyone here a long while before we realized what was happening. by the time we did, we were stuck here until it ended.”

chan recalls his obsession with the storms from ages ago. “for all five days?”

you nod. “you know that massive lake in west northshore?”

“the one with the trail around it?”

“yeah, that one.” you chuckle, but it’s not a laugh, it’s a breath of pure poison. “it wasn’t always a lake. before that first storm it was my neighborhood, with this ugly little park that had a slide which always burned the back of me and my sister’s thighs and this old man who sold shaved ice on saturdays. my house is still there under the water. my whole family too.” you blink again, daydream suffocated by something chan can’t fathom. you sit up slowly. “anyways, i had nowhere to go afterwards. finn forced his family to let me stay, and i’ve been here ever since.”

chan watches your back. “do you miss them?”

“so little survived that first storm. i miss a lot of things.”

chan stares at the words as they fall into space and thinks and thinks and thinks about all the things you must’ve lost in those five days.

he pours you both another glass. this time chan finds no trouble in downing it.

“my turn.” you mutter, bringing the empty glass up to your lips. chan feels a sudden warmth rush through him. “why haven’t you left Summit?”

chan shrugs lamely. “with my old home gone, i don’t really have anywhere else to go now, and besides, it’s easy here, you know? i don’t have to work at the mine every day just to breathe.”

“you worked at the mine?”

“yeah.”

“oh,” your brows knit together at the admission, “i didn’t know that.”

chan nods. the liquor was starting to make him dizzy and sleepy. “my family left northshore way before finn found me.”

“why not go to them?”

at this, chan nearly laughs. he can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the absurdity of it. “honestly, they never told me where they went.”

chan can feel how tipsy he is, and that knowledge only adds to the shock he feels at how sober you sound when you say, “i’m sorry, chan.” like it’s not just an empty condolence. like you really mean it.

chan was sorry too. for a million things. but mainly for being here at Summit. for the only person you’ve known for years dying on you. and for staying after his death. “do you miss him?”

he expects a yes. a sad one. that lingers in the air for a long while after it’s been said. after all, you yourself said how you missed a lot of things. but of course, you don’t say that. you’re full of contradictions that chan still hasn’t figured out yet.

no, instead you say, “i used to think i needed him. but at least now i know that i didn’t.”

chan falls asleep on the couch before he can remind you that you still carry three credit cards in his name.

***

chan wakes up on the couch with a blanket draped over him that wasn’t there when he went to sleep. it’s still storming, and you’re still sitting there next to him, awake. the bottle is a little less full than he left it.

“what time is it?” he asks groggily, rubbing his eyes.

“uh,” you reach over to the coffee table and tap your phone, “a little past 3.”

“why are you still up?”

“still can’t sleep.”

chan sits up and scoots closer to you, throwing part of the blanket over your legs.

you smile at your lap. “thanks.” really, he should be thanking you. but he hums, and sinks further into the couch still half asleep while you pull the blanket properly over yourself.

“did you mean what you said before?” chan asks suddenly when he can feel your fingers tapping against his knee.

“which part?”

there were hundreds of things chan could have asked then. about a dozen he should’ve asked instead. but what he asks you is, “about me knowing you better than finn did?”

you hum, like you knew he would ask. chan supposes you probably did. “i did.”

“how?”

“because you didn’t know me before.”

“before the first summer?”

“no.” you sigh, shifting your body to face him. “before Summit. i was really different before. we both were. don’t you feel it? how the house pushes at your mind and kind of tugs at you?”

chan, in all honesty, has no idea what you’re talking about. but what he does know is how close your face is to his. how he can smell the whiskey on your breath. and how your finger is running up and down his arm.

you inch closer to him. “don’t you feel different since you’ve been here?

chan doesn’t answer. “is that why you haven’t left?”

you don’t answer either. instead, you lean into him. forehead first, then nose, then lips.

a kiss, chan remembers as your lips linger there against his, that’s what they call it.

chan used to dream of this, but he hasn’t thought of you like that for months. and it’s not like that anyways. it doesn’t feel like an act of romance or lust. it’s just one of intimacy. chan pulls away first.

you smile softly. “goodnight chan.”

he only hums sleepily, before getting up and heading back to his bedroom.

***

the three gods, my mother used to tell me, created a triangle. together they were balanced and even. but then one of them died and the world crumbled beneath them.

***

when the next storm hits, it lasts for three days.

on the first night, chan dreams of finn falling off cliff’s edge and then dreams of you jumping in after him. he finds you awake at the breakfast nook. he doesn’t ask about finn or ghosts or Summit or storms. instead he asks about your sister. and you talk for what feels like decades.

on the second night, chan spends an hour watching finn’s shadow standing at cliff’s edge in between flashes of lightning. eventually, you find him, pushing his head and gaze away from the window and telling him to look at you instead. you kiss him again, slowly, like you’re savoring it. you push his hair out of his face and tell him, don’t make yourself suffer. chan goes straight to bed.

on the third night, chan dreams again. this time it’s not of you and finn arguing. it’s chan and finn. it ends with chan pushing finn off cliff’s edge and you putting a bullet through chan’s head. chan wakes up and finds you in the kitchen. he doesn’t ask you anything. you tell him about what finn was like as a kid. chan cries at the memories that aren’t his. you wipe his tears. hold his face in yours hands and tell him it’s okay. he says he’s sorry. you say don’t be. you kiss him again, nails accidentally digging into his cheek. chan pulls back. it’s okay, you whisper to him, kiss me back. and he does because you asked but also because it’s not just a kiss. it’s want and need and comfort and closeness. and so many things that chan has been chasing after since his very first breath. he wants to grab the desire by the neck and hold it in his arms until his last. you lead him to his bedroom, and your bodies and minds and desires and wants mesh into one until chan can’t tell where he ends and where you begin.

but then when you wake up, the sun is out, and the storm is over. so of course, you turn away from his naked body. and once he’s half-dressed, you leave saying i’m sorry.

***

there was another story my mother used to tell me. this one she told me when i was older, when i cared less. she told me about elements. there was water, which can disappear and reappear again and again in a multitude of forms. which you needed and couldn’t survive without. next, there was earth, which was old and immortal, which saw a thousand lives come and go, which eventually after enough people had stepped all over it would crack and crumble. then there was fire, which was a flash, a threat, and a danger but was also a comfort and a warmth, which should’ve been terrifying but god, how they loved the horror. and lastly, there was air, who they would have never existed without.

there were four elements. but only three were visible. the last one, was an invisible agent silently acting on them all

***

it’s tense after the storm ends. it’s like finn dies all over again, and the two of you have no idea how to interact. but it’s not just than that. chan’s angry. angry because you used him. angry by the idea that this entire time was just that. angry because there are a million things you’ve told him but another million you haven’t. angry that all he’s asked from you is the truth about you and Summit and about finn and angry that’d you give him yourself before any of that.

you come back from your grocery run and throw the keys to the cadillac at chan who’s sitting at the fire pit drying off after his swim. “car’s out of gas.”

“couldn’t you have just gotten some?”

you shake your head. “you have the card with cash back for gas.”

chan almost scoffs. “so?”

“god, chan, how about a thank you for always buying the groceries and making sure the cards get paid off?”

he turns back towards the water, muttering, “not like it’s your money anyways.”

you throw a shoe at his head.

***

a memory from when chan was young comes back to him as he drives back home from the gas station. his parents were fighting in the kitchen, and he was sitting on the doorstep. it was what they always did whenever they fought. they weren’t the best parents, but while he was young they tried. suddenly, in the middle of their fight, a light appeared in his mother’s car that always sat on the driveway. and it bled through the entire thing. flames, chan realized belatedly. the car had burst into flames. once his parents put a finger on the smell, they rushed outside, but by then it was too late. so the three of them watched the flames eat away at their old car.

chan pulls finn’s car into the driveway.

“tank’s full.” chan gives you a pointed look, hooking the keys back on the panel.

you look up at him briefly, then look back down at your phone. he pours himself a cup of the coffee you brewed and stands in front of you. you ignore him for the first moment. for the second moment, you just stare at him and he stares back. and for the third moment, you finally put your phone down and sigh.

“what do you want? a thank you?”

chan looks from side to side, dumbfounded. “uhm, yeah.”

“don’t be a dick, chan. you always fill up the car.” you grab your phone and head outside. chan follows you. “stop that,” you mutter, stepping off the back porch and glancing back at chan who’s only two steps behind you.

“stop what?”

“chan, stop it.” you repeat, voice raised to be heard over the wind and waves.

“why can’t you say it?” chan blurts as the two of you come to a halt right at the cliff’s edge. “i give you whatever you want whenever you want it. is it so unbelievable that i’d want a ‘thank you’ after that, after everything?”

you hold his gaze, head shaking just barely and mouth slightly agape. “is this about that night?”

“no-”

“i’m sorry it happened. if i could take it back, i would. i was-”

“it’s not about that!” he yells at you. “it’s about you refusing to tell me about finn.”

“what about him?” you fume, throwing your hands up in frustration.

“what happened to him that day?” he asks quietly, which feels so wrong next to all the yelling, but there’s a cry in his throat that’s begging to get out. chan won’t let it.

“i’ve told you so many times.” you’re fighting against your own throat now too–a sob, a memory, a nightmare, all threatening to spill out.

“but, i just-” chan fails, a waver slipping itself between his voice and constricting against his heart. “we’re standing here right now, and the winds are never that strong at Summit. so, how can someone like him just fall to his death just like that?” chan thinks back to all the dreams he’s had since finn died. and the thing is, he never just falls. “in my dreams, he isn’t- i mean, maybe…did he jump or was he-”

chan doesn’t get to finish the thought because right at that moment, you grip the collar of his shirt, fabric bunching beneath your fists. you push him back, except that behind him is the cliff’s edge. and beyond that the sea. chan stares at you, horrified. you mirror the look.

“your dreams are just dreams, okay? i was there. i watched it all happen. and i’ve told you a million times–he fell.” you inhale wildly, eyes wide and terrified. “finn didn’t kill himself.”

chan doesn’t want to fight against his throat anymore. this time, he lets whatever fly out of it. “so then why do you always sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of it?”

you gasp, not from shock, but from something else he can’t quite place. “fuck you.” you turn and start heading back towards the house.

“what are you so afraid of?” he calls after you, just before you slip inside. “are you afraid he jumped off that cliff because of you?”

he doesn’t hear any response if there is one. instead he hears the engine of the car start and watches as you drive off in it.

***

when you come back from the drive to nowhere, it’s night and you’re sitting at the breakfast nook with a glass of whiskey.

he apologizes, but you brush it off whispering, “aren’t you tired of this?”

chan doesn’t answer then. instead he heads to bed and thinks about the question for days and days and days. by the time an answer comes to him, a storm is on the horizon:

he could fight with you here at Summit for the rest of his life.

***

when the storm finally start beating down on northshore. chan and you are sitting on the couch sipping glasses of whiskey.

chan listens to the rain and the wind. and in the shelter of Summit, it just sounds so peaceful. “it’s a nice storm isn’t it?”

you make a sound. “you sound like finn.”

chan smiles at that, and looks back towards the window that overlooks the cliff’s edge. “i still miss him.” chan says, staring at his figure standing there.

you sigh, mainly out of pity and scoot closer to chan. “i know you do.” you tell him softly, running a hand through his hair. a stray nail scratches against his scalp. “chan, i-“ you start before stopping suddenly like the words got up and left, like they died too young and too fast.

you never finish the thought. instead, you let your face inch towards his. forehead knocking against his then nose. chan remembers this. he knows what comes next, and he doesn’t want to repeat it. chan pushes you away. for a moment, you forget yourself, falling back into him and holding his face against yours.

“stop it.” chan gets out, pulling himself out of your grip.

you fall back on the couch, staring at him. he stares back at you with horror. “what?” there’s a venom in your voice. there always has been. he just can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize it. “i thought you were in love with me.”

you were the crass one, but chan is the one that says, “fuck you.”

chan does love you, in so many ways. like he’s a storm, like he’s raining. but not like that and not like this. chan doesn’t want you to kiss him. he just wants you to trust him.

he heads to the kitchen wordlessly.

and for once, you’re the one that follows. “and now you’re running from me?”

chan holds back a scoff. “i’m not the one that’s running.”

you place a hand on the island, stunned. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“what don’t i know about finn?”

you exhale a breath of pure disbelief. “god, not this-“

“what happened between you and him the day he died?”

“why are you doing this to yourself, chan?”

“doing what?”

“the dreams and the ghosts,” you seethe, “why are you reliving that day over and over again? why are you so intent on making yourself suffer?”

“stop.”

“listen to me, chan.” you say, like you really mean it. and at what point did you get so close? at what point did he start being able to see the crease in your forehead? “who are you doing this for?”

and the question breaks him into a million different pieces that he’s been desperately holding together since the day finn died.

“for finn!” he wants to cry but the sound gets lost in his throat and comes out as a scream instead. “because i miss him. and i loved him. and i love you. and i don’t wanna forget that. and i rather be haunted by him for the rest of my life than forget what we were.”

you step away from him, rounding the island corner and quietly repeating, “what we were.”

chan looks up at you. you don’t look saddened by anything he said. you look troubled by it. he follows your gaze. it leads to the window above the sink behind him. it leads right to finn. or at least, a shadow of him that’s waving at you and him. but when chan turns back to you, your face has morphed into something chan has grown to hate. because he knows you and because he knows to dread whatever you’re going to say next.

“i never wanted you here.” you utter. “not when finn brought you here and not after he died.”

for a moment, chan is stunned, staring at you and waiting for you to take the words back. you don’t. “you’re lying.”

you shake your head. “i wish you had just left the night you said you would.”

“if you don’t want me here,” chan defends desperately, the words coming out fast and breathless, like he’s been chasing after them, “why are you doing this to me?”

“i’m not doing anything.”

“you’re trying to make me think i’m crazy.”

“you are crazy!” you scream. “only a crazy person tries to be someone that’s dead.”

“what?”

“you’re not him, chan.” the declaration is a slap to his face, but your voice only gets louder and harsher and angrier with each word. “you’re not finn, and you never will be. you can wear his clothes and his watches and live in his house and fuck his girlfriend, but you’re not him.”

“you slept with me!” chan yells back at you. “you started it.”

“oh, fuck me, chan. i did for you.”

chan’s incredulous. “i never asked for that.”

“yes you did.” you reply instantly. “i read all about it.”

at this, chan audibly gasps. “you said only finn-“

and there it is again–venom. “i lied.”

a long moment passes, but the whole time, he’s only thinking one thing: “why do you hate me?”

“what?” you spit.

“why do you hate me?” chan repeats, taking the smallest step towards you, “why are you constantly tearing me down? jab after jab. what did i ever fucking do to you?”

“i never said i hated you.”

“no. but i bet you wanted to.”

“i don’t hate you, chan.”

“yes. you do.” and the thing is, he’s never been more sure of anything the entire time he’s lived at Summit.

“i don’t.”

“you hate me.” chan barely hears you.

“i don’t.” he doesn’t hear your voice get louder.

“you do.” he doesn’t hear anything. he just hears his own head chanting: you hate me. you hate me. you hate me. you always have. you always will.

until suddenly he’s asking, “did you hate finn too?”

there’s a slap that rings through Summit, a hard hand falling back down through empty air, and a red hot heat spreading from chan’s left cheek.

“fuck you!” you scream.

chan’s crying the words back. “why do you hate me?”

“i don’t hate you! i killed him for you!”

and the whole world seems to stop. “what?”

“i did it for you, you ungrateful piece of shit! i pushed him off that damn cliff and he fell to his death. and i did it to save you. only for you to sit here in my house and torture me for it. make me relive the day i killed the love of my life and my best friend for some guy i barely knew.”

the ground seems to be slipping away beneath chan’s feet. the air is getting thinner. his head spinning and throbbing. so, of course–since chan can never seem to get it right–the only thing he thinks to say is, “it’s not your house.”

you glare at him, and your eyes look murderous. “it’s my house. i’ve killed for it.”

“who? finn?” chan feels a heat spreading through him. starting in his gut and snaking up through his throat and around his neck. anger and realization all hitting him at once. the thing he suspected but prayed wouldn’t be true, couldn’t be, but is—finn didn’t fall of that cliff. he was pushed. and you did it. “i don’t think that’s how it works.”

you scoff, coldly. “don’t you ever question why the storms aren’t as bad here?”

chan stills. “i used to ask finn about it.”

“and he would never give you a straight answer right? just spew some bullshit about how he’s lucky?” you speak hurriedly. chan can only get in a nod before the next words come out. “it’s because it’s him. the storms, all of them, ever since that first one, it’s been finn and his family and this house. they built Summit to stop the tourism, make the mines better, and themselves richer. the house controls the storms. conjures them. creates them. ends them. all this destruction. all those deaths. my whole family. killed by finn and his!”

chan is too shocked to speak.

“and when you first met finn did you think anything?”

“no.” chan whispers.

“but the second or third time you thought he was golden right? like he’s perfect? likes he’s everything you could want to be or want to have?” chan’s heart is in this throat. he knows for a fact he never wrote about that in his diary. “it’s not him. i mean i loved- i love him, but he’s not fucking golden. it’s Summit. the house poisons everyone into thinking he’s perfect so that when they die it’s fine.”

if chan’s head was spinning before, now it’s somewhere far beyond him. and in the back of his far far away mind, chan yearns for his bed. he settles for sitting at the island stool. “everyone?”

“we did this every year. the storms and Summit—they require a sacrifice.”

and slowly everything starts to click into place. “you guys were going to kill me.”

you nod, and to chan, the most insane part is how you don’t even look sorry for it. “remember the gun you found on the beach? it’s finn’s. he had it with him when he died. and he was going to use it on you.”

chan wants to retch. he doesn’t hold it back. letting all his shock and anger and confusion wash down the kitchen sink. “why’d you do it?”

you don’t ask him what he’s talking about. chan imagines, with the way you speak of everything, with the way you’ve been lying to yourself about his death, lying to him—you’ve been asking yourself a similar question every day. “honestly, i’m still not sure.”

there’s silence between the two of you, and chan is grateful for it. he needs silence to think back to every day he’s spent here at Summit and realize that so little of it was real. he always wondered how he got so lucky with you and finn. he wants to laugh at that thought now. chan wasn’t a lucky person. he should have known better. his whole life has been a joke with him at the butt of it. why would this be any different?

“how could you do this?” chan utters, mind still grasping at the thought, struggling to get ahold of it.

he isn’t asking about the sacrifices and the murders. he’s asking about himself. how could you lie to him? let him live in this house with finn? let him fall in love with him?

but you don’t answer that question. instead you say, “how could i not? i had no where else to go. nothing to do. no family. and so, i thought, maybe this is it. maybe this is as good as it gets. and i just… i went along with all of it.”

and chan’s heard those words before. this is as good as it gets. finn used to always say that. chan just thought it was a nice thing to say. but now that he hears it again, he realizes it was a threat. “maybe finn was wrong.”

“but maybe he wasn’t.”

“he’s responsible for the death of your family. don’t you hate him?”

“of course i do.”

“then how can you–”

“because,” you say, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “i still love him too.”

chan doesn’t say anything back or react in the moment. but some sick, twisted part of him knows exactly what you mean. chan hates finn, but still he loves him. and the two thoughts are at war in his head and his heart. he can’t tell which is winning.

***

once my mother taught me chess. the most important lesson she told me was that the pawn was powerless, a small sacrifice to make in the queen’s game for the king’s sake. the pawn would die and be reborn and million times before any of the other pieces mourned it. that’s why there are so many of them.

***

that night chan has another dream. it’s the day finn died, and the sky is purple. he’s washing dishes in the kitchen, listening to you and finn argue, and watching finn wave at him. and despite knowing all he did and what he planned to do that day, chan still wants to save him. he screams and shouts for finn to run, but chan can’t even hear his own voice. finn continues to smile and wave, unknowing what’s to come or perhaps accepting it. but chan bolts outside again anyways. this time before finn jumps, he sees you. hands trembling but no gun in them. the gun is in finn’s hand, and it’s pointed at chan. there’s a clap of thunder followed by the sound of finn’s car rolling into the driveway. chan can see himself driving it. he watches you watch finn and watches finn get distracted by all of it. then he watches you push finn. finally, chan watches finn fall into the ocean.

***

when he wakes up, chan remembers that you’re always right. you were right to push finn. right to not tell chan. but you were wrong to go along with it. and so, before he goes back to bed he makes a promise. and when he wakes up, he makes a plan.

***

my father taught me how to play chess in his own fashion. he had a different philosophy from my mother. he said that all pieces were important. he said that about pawns especially. pawns may seem powerless, but when played at the right time and right place they can kill a queen and make a king bow. pawns represent the power of a common man. you only get one chance to make a difference.

***

you and chan haven’t spoken since that night. and chan–despite every nerve in his body telling him to bolt–stays. he endures the silence and the screams during storms and everything in between. he endures his hate. for you and finn and for this house at the edge of a cliff. but when you’re not looking, he prepares for the promise he made the night you told him everything. and when you leave Summit, to buy food and batteries according to the note you left him, chan can feel it in the air: there’s a storm coming in two days. a voice in his head tells him, now. do it now.

he knows to listen. he opens up his closet and comes face to face with the cans of gasoline he’s been preparing secretly for weeks.

this is his plan: burn this haunted fucking house and watch it turn to ashes.

***

chan’s lungs are burning. he hacks and coughs relentlessly. there’s a numbness in his fingers too. a small part of him, the same part that’s begging him to run, that’s been telling him to do so since the day he arrived at Summit, wants to hold his burnt fingers and submerge them in ice. but another, larger part of him, that stayed at Summit despite it all, that hatched this plan and made this promise, tells him to continue. tells him to continue until it’s all gone forever. he listens to that part, strikes another match, throws it in a doused room, and moves on to the next.

at last, tripping over an empty gas can and still coughing on all the smoke and regrets, it’s done. he exits Summit from the back porch and lifelessly stumbles back away from the house. he can feel its heat from here. he inspects his hands, burned and aching, but cast in a golden light. almost like it’s not just the light, almost like it’s him. chan almost laughs because it’s just as you said: after all this time, he’s still trying to be finn.

chan notices something in the corner of his vision. a blue car. finn’s. parked in the drive and consumed in flames.

a gun cocks behind him.

***

chan turns and finds you there, standing behind him and at the cliff’s edge. your hands are still, and they hold the gun chan found on the beach. the nozzle greets him like an old friend.

“what are you doing?” you say, tear-streaked and watching one of the only homes you’ve ever known go up in flames.

***

my mother used to tell me a story about the three gods. the king, the queen, the pawn. water, earth, fire. finn, you, and me.

***

“what are you doing?”

but the words are a spell, a poison, a venom. they make him someone else, someone vengeful and courageous. he rushes towards you. he bunches the collar of your shirt in his hands, just as you did the last time the two of you were here. tells you he’s doing what needs to be done. but his voice isn’t his. none of this is. and you know it. you’re the one with the gun in your hands but you look terrified as if it’s him.

you stumble on the sounds of his name. the flames reflect in your eyes. chan watches that. it brings him back. he recalls the day you jumped off this cliff. he imagines the day you pushed finn off it. he knows now what he didn’t then. life is always morphing memories he thought he could put to rest, forcing him to remember them differently, forcing him to remember in the first place.

he grips onto your shirt tighter. “let’s end this like it began.”

your eyes widen. “chan, what are you- chan!”

he jumps.

you fall with him.

and he holds you against him as it all happens. your head cradled in his hands. he used to dream of this. but this isn’t a dream. and he doesn’t love you like that anymore. really. the water welcomes you and him. and of course it does. it always has. the water is finn.

when chan gets his head back above the water, you’ve escaped from him. swimming towards the beach already, gun still in your hand. chan chases after you. he pulls you back. you shove him. kick him where you can. shove the gun in his face. do it all again. at some point, the gun fires. chan doesn’t even think you meant for it to happen. it hits nothing anyways. by the time, he makes it back to shore. chan is exhausted, smoke still crowding his lungs and fingers still aching. he finds himself on the sand, laying on his back. you’re on top of him immediately. gun gone. and hands fitted around his neck. it’s so long before he realizes you’re choking him.

but then your hands loosen on his neck, because amongst all the chaos and pain, a sound emerges.

sirens.

“is that a-”

“firetruck.”

your eyes fall back to his.

chan laughs.

after a second, you do too.

it’s insane. he knows it, yet he can’t stop and it appears neither can you. because somehow, chan forgot about the world outside that wretched haunted house. it’s been so long since he’s spoken with anyone but you, that he forgot anyone else existed. but here is a fire truck, meaning people are in it, ready to swallow all the flames that are currently tearing through Summit. and meaning that someone called for them. as foolish as it sounds, chan forgot that the world had more to offer than you, that damn house, and the ghost of finn. foolishly, chan believed finn to be right, but he wasn’t. it was always going to get better than this.

“that house made us crazy.” chan laughs. you do too.

your hands never leave his neck, but your head falls until your forehead is touching his. deja vu, chan thinks to himself, as your nose knocks against his.

“yeah,” you whisper, stopping there with your breaths just mingling, “it did.”

chan sighs, and the two of you stay like that until the end of the story.

#mine #a story about us #chan x reader #dino x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #chan fanfic #dino fanfic #dino scenarios #chan scenarios #seventeen scenarios

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