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revivemyreverie · 1 day ago

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SKETCH SSR: WISHMASTER’S CONCERT

CREDITS: Wishmaster's Concert Event : @tixdixl, Cyril Zeman (mentioned in story): @ramshacklerumble. I consider following both of them if you haven't already!!!

This event is crazy fun and I cannot believe I finished in under 3 days. anyhow! A short story is under read more :)

Groovification: Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.

Set to Home Screen: Would you like to hear a tune?

Home Transition 1: Are we moving stages? I’ll follow as you desire.

Home Transition 2: My past self would “love” being here, I’m sure. Even if I no longer hold the emotions that came with those memories, the knowledge of how many times he used this violin is logical proof.

Home Transition: 3: These light choices are quite interesting. You usually expect something more refined when it comes to violin performances, but I suppose the inclusion of guitars and death metal muddles that.

Home, after Login: Ashengrotto said this event is in the best interest for both of us, but I am very sure I heard him saying he’s finally rid of me the other day… Is that what you refer to as “disdain"?

Tap Home 1: These clothes are not very optimal, since I cannot move much except the sleeves. I do not mind any of it, however, since I can still make quick movements with my bowstring.

Tap Home 2: I’ve heard it's good to deviate music choices every once in a while for experience, so perhaps adding a few songs into my usual classical music may be good for me.

Tap Home 3: I try to avoid bumping into my bandmates when on stage, as it would be rather terrible if my magic activated mid-performance... A husk might end up singing on stage instead of a person.

Tap Home 4: I’m quite shocked by the people who enjoyed my performance, seeing that I had failed to remember to smile. Those in the crowd even said I looked mysterious. Emotions are such an odd thing.

Tap Home 5: Logically, none of this really matters. All these people do is sit through a bunch of flashy lights while listening to sounds mixed and mashed together through ear-damaging speakers. Still, I partake in it, for I want to understand the past “me”’s love for it.

🎙️.

“I don’t care if it's to show off the school’s music prowess! My Abyssal Lover will not be working with the jerk that broke the head singer's and his boyfriend up!”

Such is the common complaint Allegra has been facing as of late by the head-singer of a little band made in Night Raven College, who the former had the delight of joining thanks to his dorm leader’s so-called recommendation (it was forced, but Allegra's not allowed to sa a word on it).

In his eyes, he had done nothing of what he had been accused of. All Allegra Mahalath had done was help a client and pull a little bit of an emotional possession with his magic. How was it his fault if he revealed that someone was having second thoughts about their relationship? Logically speaking, the singer should have just discussed this nonsensical problem from the get-go.

He might get a punch for such words, however, so the man stayed silent with his usual smile. Their manager spoke in his place, “YOU’RE the one who said anyone would do for our sick violinist, and I’m already in good-standing with Azul! I’m just taking advantage of the situation, so how about you get over yourself and move on?! Do you really want to throw away the chance to impress THE Cyril Zeman?!!”

The Octavinelle student watched his new nemesis remain silent.

“Then stop complaining and start rehearsing! And Allegra,I know you’re good at the violin, but our set also has some more... dramatic... parts in it. Please try your best.”

The therapist kept his demeanor the same. “As you wish, manager.”

—-----

The singer wondered if Allegra had a best to begin with, or was just trying to piss him off. He was awful at acting entirely, his motions being so stiff and short that he looked like a robot compared to the whisking twirls and light steps everyone else had managed to do. His only saving grace was his violin, which somehow made Allegra look far more graceful than the mannequin he turned into when he wasn't playing.

“If you can't bother to dance right, then how about taking off that tacky customer-service smile?” He complained after their 5th rehearsal and failure of an act.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Allegra speaks like one of Ignihyde's new robots. “but if it’s not up to par, I’ll change it.”

“Are you a human? I meant to use your real smile.”

Allegra pokes at his own cheeks, “But this is my real smile? It’s the same one I use everyday, even for my clients. I thought you would understand, seeing as you even had a previous session with me–”

The last sentence seemed to have switched something in the young man. With a aggressive yell, he gets up and grabs the spiral-eyed student's shirt

“Say a thing about my stupid session from that day and I’ll break your nose!"

The other band members ran between them, splitting the two apart to avoid a big fight. The singer clicked his tongue in return, turning to the classroom's door.

“I need a damn break.”

Allegra watched as he walked out, his temporary band mates surrounding him. A silence filled the room, yet the smile on his face remained sweet as always.

—-------

“Do you have an issue with me?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

The vocalist and violinist sat alone in the makeup room, their group having already departed for set preparations and to avoid the ever-growing storm between the two students.

“You’ve shown a great amount of physical hostility towards me.” Allegra spoke with such niceties, “I would love to know why.”

“Oh I’m sure you would.” Sarcasm came up like vomit. “You’re an ass who ruined my goddamn love life, and now I’m expected to work with you and your weirdo facade.”

“Facade?”

The vocalist slammed his hands on the table, tired of dealing with him for the past 3 weeks. “Yes! Facade! You think everyone just takes your little goody-two-shoes employee act as fact? Everyone in the band knows it's all either a cover for you being a creep or that you just hate everyone in the world!”

Allegra turned away from him, looking outside the door’s window. “I don’t hate anyone.”

“Cut the crap! That’s a lie itself!”

“Would you like to hear the truth about me then?” Allegra says, his voice suddenly ice cold.

He turns back to the lead-singer, his face lacking all signs of emotion.

“Such frivolities–this kind voice, warm smile, and upturned brows– none of it has ever been real.”

This is the true Allegra Mahalath, the one who put no effort into any relationships he was expected to care for. The vocalist looked into those empty, spiraling eyes, which grow closer with every step the brunette takes towards him.

“You’re correct, as I am simply playing the part of a false me. In my eyes, anything and everything holds no meaning; Allegra Mahalath doesn’t care for this event, nor its people, or its problems. The same can be said for my clients and their relationships, especially yours." He stated it all so matter-of-factly, as if there truly was nothing inside his heart. "It's most fitting to say that I can't seem to care about anything.”

A shiver ran down the singer’s spine. “...Then why are you even here?"

“Because I want to understand why the past ‘me’ did.”

The announcer’s voice could be heard through the loudspeaker, cutting off their confrontation with the calling of their band's name.

"Next up, from the dark corners of Night Raven College itself, is My Abyssal Lover!"

Allegra’s monotone demeanor remained as cheers could be heard echoing from the crowd. “It’s officially stage time, I kindly suggest you hurry up.”

—-----

“Look! We got put in the event’s article!” The team’s manager exclaimed, showing off his phone to the group. “They even got a photo of you, Mahalath!”

The brunette takes a look at the article presented in front of him, reading the text with a feigned interest.

“Oh. Oops.”

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It appears I forgot to smile during the set.”

For the rest of the band, it seemed like a well-timed joke. They laughed at another one of Allegra's supposed oddities. Only the vocalist remained silent in the classroom’s corner, understanding exactly what the Octavinelle student meant.

#“why is it called sketch its obvs refined”#there is a lack. of usual rev care #so #sketch.#twisted wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twst fanevent #Wishmaster's Concert #twst #allegra mahalath

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honeyslibrary · 2 days ago

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Ghost of You | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); DEATH, grief, mention of car crash, marriage, fluff, edited once.

Summary; A piece based on the song Ghost of You, by 5 Seconds of Summer. I would recommend listening to that while reading to enhance the experience.

Word Count; 4.6k

Author's note; I did cry writing this. This is a lot. I was listening to the song last night, and just started writing. The flow might be a little weird since I did not write this in order, I wrote bits and pieces and then combined it. Also, I couldn't decide between you or she point of view (if there's any mistakes regarding that, please ignore it lol). I ended up going with you, but now I kind of wish I went with she, but it's fine, because I cannot go back and read this again as it is lowkey triggering for me ! Anyways, hope you enjoy it and it makes you cry 😁 -Honey

The house was too quiet again.

It always was now.

The hum of the fridge, the distant creak of settling floorboards—none of it filled the space like your voice used to. No footsteps padding through the kitchen in socks that didn’t match. No soft laughter echoing from the other room. Just Quinn, standing in the dim glow of the stove light, his keys still in his hand, his heart still stuck somewhere between the past and the present.

He hadn’t turned on the main lights when he got in. He never did when he got home late. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to wake anyone, but there was no one to wake anymore. Just him.

And the ghost of you.

His gear still smelled like the rink, sweat, adrenaline. The post-game mix of a man who was supposed to be holding the weight of a team, a city, a legacy—but couldn't even carry himself some nights.

His skates had been sharper today. A little too sharp. Petey noticed and asked if he was okay. Quinn had just nodded and muttered something unheard, then deflected with a chirp about Elias missing an open net. That got a laugh out of the guys. They won tonight. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and everyone saw it. No one said anything.

The silence wrapped around him as he made his way through the house, each step echoing just a bit too loudly. It still looked like you lived here. Your touches were everywhere. The blanket on the couch, the mason jar with dried lavender you refused to throw away, the framed Polaroid of the two of you in front of the house the day you moved in.

God, that day.

You’d barely graduated when he asked you. It was after your ceremony—still in your cap and gown, your smile beaming like summer sun as you clung to your diploma and asked him if he was proud of you. Of course he was. He always was. And when he’d kissed your forehead and said, “Come to Vancouver with me,” you didn’t even hesitate.

You just laughed and said, “Only if we can get the ugly throw pillows I like.”

He let you buy four.

Now he stood in front of one of them—pink and puffy and godawful—and touched it like it might dissolve if he pressed too hard.

The air was thick with memories, and he was always breathing them in.

He passed the kitchen, and the floor creaked under his weight. His gaze flicked to the little speaker on the counter. He hadn’t touched it in weeks. Not since that night he tried to cook dinner—your favorite, the pasta with too much garlic—and ended up standing in the middle of the room, crying while Sinatra sang about moonlight and love and holding someone close.

You used to dance here. Right here on this tile.

It didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight. If he was exhausted from a back-to-back or if he’d just come home from a brutal loss on the road. If you were here, and music was playing, and dinner was cooking—or even just leftovers heating up—you'd grab his hand and pull him into a slow dance like you had all the time in the world.

“Just one song,” you’d say, smiling up at him. “Come on, Cap. You won’t get benched for dancing with your wife.”

He used to tease you. Used to grumble that he was tired. And then he’d give in anyway, and sway with you like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Now the music was off. The speaker was dusty.

So was the record player in the corner.

Quinn exhaled and pressed a hand against the counter to steady himself. His knuckles were scraped from practice—he hadn’t worn his gloves when he took a spill morning skate. The trainers told him to take better care of himself. That the team needed him healthy. That he couldn’t afford to play reckless.

They didn’t understand. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t know how to say it.

He closed his eyes.

The house was heavy with your scent. Faint vanilla, like the candles you loved. They still sat on the shelf by the window. Half-burned. Unfinished. Just like everything else. He kept buying more, like letting smell disappear would make it too real.

It had been two months.

Two months since the phone call. Two months since the early morning rain slicked the roads, and someone ran a red light, and you didn’t come home.

Two months since he last heard your voice that wasn’t trapped in a voicemail or a dream.

He hadn’t gone into your closet. Not once.

He still used your shampoo, though, small amounts in a futile attempt to savor what was left of you. Still wore your hoodie when he couldn’t sleep. The one you stole from him first and claimed as yours.

It still smelled like you, if he closed his eyes and didn’t try too hard to remember.

Quinn wandered to the living room window and looked out at the city. Vancouver glittered beneath the night sky—indifferent, beautiful, alive. He’d once told you that this view made him feel like he could breathe. That was back when you stood beside him, arms wrapped around his waist, head on his shoulder.

Now, all he felt was the ache of where you used to be.

He turned away and glanced at the shelf beside the fireplace. Photos lined it—smiling ones, golden ones, the kind that belonged in a life well-lived.

One caught his eye.

University of Michigan. Fall semester. You were laughing, a coffee cup in hand, your other hand tugging the sleeve of his jacket. He looked stunned in the photo, caught mid-sentence.

He remembered that day.

It was your first week of classes. You were late. He was late. You rounded the corner in the lecture hall, juggling your bag and your drink and your headphones—and he barreled straight into you.

Coffee exploded down your front.

“Oh, shit—I’m—uh—” Quinn panicked, dropping his own backpack and grabbing uselessly at napkins that didn’t exist. “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked down at the damage, then looked up at him. “Wow. You come here often?”

He stared. Speechless.

You grinned. “If this is how you flirt, you’re gonna need to work on your game.”

And just like that—his face broke into a sheepish smile.

“Can I buy you another?” he asked, awkward but sincere. “Coffee, I mean. Not a new shirt. I mean, unless it’s ruined. In which case…”

You laughed. Loud and honest. “Just the coffee, Hughes. For now.”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Sure. But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Hockey.”

That laugh.

He could still hear it sometimes. In his dreams. In the rink. In the echo of the empty house.

Quinn turned away from the photo and wiped a hand over his face. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned. He didn’t let the tears fall. Not tonight.

Instead, he sat down on the couch—the one you picked out—and reached for the remote. Hockey highlights played, muted. He couldn’t watch them anymore. Couldn’t bear to see himself skating, smiling, high-fiving teammates when he felt like he was hollow inside.

He clicked the TV off.

And sat there.

Alone.

The morning light crept in like an unwelcome guest, filtering through sheer curtains you’d picked out because they made the bedroom feel “soft and cozy.” That was how you described it. “Soft and cozy, like a Sunday morning,” you’d said, perched cross-legged on their unmade bed with fabric samples fanned out around your legs, excited about decorating your first home together.

Quinn blinked up at the ceiling, unmoving, his head heavy against your pillow. Your scent was gone from it now. He didn’t know when it faded. Just that one day, he buried his face in the cotton and it wasn’t there anymore.

It was the little absences that gutted him most.

Not the obvious ones—not your inactive Instagram , or the toothbrush that was never replaced, or the unopened box of birthday decorations you’d ordered off Etsy two weeks before the crash. No. It was the quiet.

It was brushing his teeth alone and not having you peek around the corner with toothpaste foam in your mouth, saying, “Did you remember to floss, Mr. Hockey?”

It was opening the fridge and not finding your post-it notes stuck to the oat milk: Drink me. Don’t let me expire :(

It was not hearing you hum in the shower.

It was dancing in the kitchen to nothing but his memory.

He didn’t get up right away. Not that morning. Not most mornings. Sometimes he just laid there, listening to the hollow thump of his own heartbeat and the wind outside the window. February was cold this year. Not the bone-deep kind of winter cold, but the wet, lingering kind that made everything feel gray. Vancouver had always felt vibrant with her in it. Even the rain felt romantic when you were in his passenger seat, bare feet on the dash, hair a little wild from the wind, singing along to Fleetwood Mac like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Now, it just felt like grief pressing against the glass.

Eventually, the alarm on his phone buzzed—Skate @ 9:30. He ignored it for seven more minutes. Then he finally got up.

He didn’t shave. Didn’t really look in the mirror, either. Just brushed his teeth, pulled on an old team hoodie—the one you used to wear that hung just a little looser on him now, like everything else in his life—and left the house without breakfast.

The rink was quiet when he arrived. Most of the team wasn’t there yet.

“Morning, Cap,” called out Brock, tossing him a nod from the trainer’s table.

Quinn gave him a tight smile. “Hey.”

Conor passed him in the hallway, shoulder-checking him gently. “You good?”

He nodded. The lie was automatic.

They were good guys—his teammates, his brothers. They didn’t pry. But they didn’t avoid him either. They skated with him, trained with him, laughed around him, and gave him space when his eyes went somewhere else. Somewhere you still lived.

Only Jack and Luke really knew how deep the spiral went. Quinn tried to protect them from the worst of it, especially their parents, but there were nights when he'd call Jack at 2 a.m., voice cracking, and just sit on the phone in silence. And Jack would sit there with him. No questions. No pressure. Just presence.

Sometimes that’s all grief needed. Someone willing to sit inside it with you without trying to fix it.

Practice was a blur. He was sharp. Focused. Too focused. It wasn’t intensity so much as detachment. He skated like he wanted to be somewhere else. Or nowhere at all.

Coach said something about defensive gaps and ice time. Quinn nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

In another time.

Ann Arbor was golden with autumn. The leaves scattered like confetti across the sidewalks, and you always dragged him off the main path so you could crunch every single one under your boots. “It’s a crime to step around a perfect crunchy leaf,” you’d declared, mock-serious.

He loved that about you. The way you found small joys and treated them like treasure. Like they mattered.

That day, after the coffee spill, he met you outside the student union. You were early. He was nervous. He didn’t get nervous often—not about hockey, not about media, not even about scouts in the stands—but he was around you.

You waved when you saw him, eyes bright. “Captain Hughes,” you said with a grin, holding up your new coffee. “Redemption achieved.”

He flushed. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

“Third, actually. The coffee, the shirt, and the delayed class entrance.”

He laughed, and for the first time in what felt like years, it felt easy.

They sat outside on the lawn, trading stories. You told him about your dream of being a kindergarten teacher. About your love for messy finger paint and the chaos of snack time. He told you about growing up in a hockey family, about missing his parents, about how much pressure came with making mistakes.

And you said, “Well, I don’t care about your mistakes, Quinn. I care about your smile. So keep doing that.”

You didn’t know it then, but he’d remember that sentence forever.

After practice, he stayed late. The rink had emptied out. He sat alone in the locker room, taping and re-taping his stick like he didn’t want to go home.

Eventually, he drove. The city flickered around him. He didn’t turn on the radio. Couldn’t. Too many songs you used to sing to.

At home, the front hallway was still cluttered with reminders of you. He'd tried once to clean up. Lasted ten minutes before he ended up sitting on the floor in front of your rain boots, sobbing.

Tonight, though, he made it to the kitchen.

The lavender candle on the counter. The crooked fridge magnet from the weekend trip to Tofino. The playlist you made on the speaker, still titled Midnight Snack Dances.

He reached for the speaker.

His thumb hovered over the button.

Then he pressed it.

The song that came on was Sinatra.

"Fly Me to the Moon."

He didn’t remember the last time he let it play. Didn't remember if you picked this one, or if it came up by accident, one night when you two were tipsy and cooking pasta at 1 a.m. But the second the first note played, he felt you again.

Your hands in his.

Bare feet on tile.

“You’re not even cooking,” he’d murmured once, letting her lead. “You just want to dance.”

You laughed. “Cooking is overrated. But dancing? That’s what makes life delicious.”

Now, he moved to the center of the kitchen, eyes closed.

He let the music wrap around him. Let himself remember the weight of her head on his chest. The sway of your body against his. The way you used to hum along to the trumpet parts like you were in a jazz club in another life.

He danced alone.

To a song that didn’t belong to him anymore.

To a memory that wouldn’t fade.

Later that night, he sat outside on the back step, hoodie drawn up, coffee cooling in his hand. The stars above the city were faint, but he looked for them anyway.

He imagined you up there sometimes.

Not in the spiritual sense—he didn’t know what he believed anymore—but in the poetic one. Like your laugh became starlight. Like your soul settled somewhere that still saw him.

His phone buzzed.

A text from Jack. "You good?"

He stared at it for a long time. Then typed: "Not really. But I’m here."

Jack replied a few seconds later. "That’s enough for tonight."

Quinn nodded to no one, set his phone down, and leaned back against the step.

The air was cold.

But for a moment, in the stillness, he swore he could hear your laugh on the wind.

The third voicemail on his phone had never been deleted, for that reason.

"Hey Quinny… it’s nothing, just calling before you hit the ice. You left your protein bar on the counter again, by the way—one day you’re going to starve during a game and it'll be your fault. Anyway, love you. Don’t get checked into a wall tonight."

You laughed at the end of it.

That quiet, musical kind of laugh that only came when you were talking to him. He used to play the message on away trips when he couldn’t sleep. Not every night. Just the bad ones. The nights when the hotel room felt unfamiliar, or when the game went wrong, or when the silence inside his own chest started to get too loud.

Now he barely listened to it at all. It hurt too much. The laugh, especially. It sounded so alive. So present. So unaware of what was coming.

They told him it was instant. That you didn’t feel it. That you didn’t suffer.

He didn’t believe them.

Not because he thought they were lying, but because part of him needed to believe you’d known he loved you in that final moment. That you had thought of him. That you felt him, even as the world tilted and shattered and the rain kept falling like it had every damn day since.

Some nights, the guilt clawed at him like an animal. He’d replay the morning over and over.

You had argued. Stupidly. Quietly. One of those soft-voiced, tension-tight arguments that stretched through breakfast and followed them into the hallway. He was distracted—thinking about line changes, about the upcoming game against Vegas, about whether his hip was going to hold up under the forecheck.

You wanted to show him something. One of your students made a drawing: Mrs. Hughes and the Hockey Prince. Stick figures. Crayon crowns. A dog, even though you two didn’t own one.

“You’ve gotta see this one,” you said, smiling. “It’s so cute.”

“Later,” he said. “I’m late.”

He rushed out.

He didn’t kiss you goodbye.

He always kissed you goodbye.

And then you were gone.

He told no one about that. Not his family. Not even his therapist, the one the team’s mental health staff gently encouraged him to see after he broke down in two post-game interviews in one week.

He’d gone to one session.

Sat in the parking lot for thirty minutes.

Left.

The grief didn’t hit in full force all at once. It came in waves.

Sometimes it was a tsunami—pulling him under so fast he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t be.

Other times, it was soft.

A song on the radio. A kid in a Canucks jersey pointing at him with wide eyes at the grocery store. The lavender scent in a stranger’s shampoo. A memory triggered by a piece of toast he accidentally burned the way you used to when you were distracted in the mornings.

He never knew which version of grief he was going to get.

He’d surprised you after practice. You had parent-teacher meetings that night, and he figured he’d swing by, bring her a coffee, maybe dinner. He was trying to be romantic.

You met him at the door, a smear of glitter across her cheek and a string of construction paper hearts dangling from her wrist.

“You look like a kindergarten Picasso,” he teased, handing her the coffee.

You kissed his cheek. “We made valentines. One kid ate the glue.”

He laughed. “Are you allowed to admit that?”

“I’m not naming names. Teacher code.”

Your classroom was pure chaos—bright drawings, finger-painted handprints on the wall, tiny desks with tiny chairs. But it was magic. It was yours. And when you moved between the kids, kneeling to their level, praising their stick-figure whales and lopsided hearts, he swore he’d never seen anyone shine like that.

After the parents left, you walked him through the class library, stopping to point out your favorite picture books.

“You know,” you said, brushing hair out of your face, “this job is exhausting, but it’s the best kind of exhausting.”

He smiled. “You’re good at it.”

You shrugged. “They make it easy. Kids see the good in people first. Grown-ups forget how.”

That memory haunted him now.

The funeral had blurred past, just weeks after your passing. It felt too quick for him. The condolences, the flowers, the carefully constructed eulogies. Everyone told him you’d been light. That you lit up a room. That you were joy, wrapped in wild curls and vanilla-scented perfume.

He knew that.

He didn’t need to hear it in past tense.

The school had invited him to a small gathering for the parents and students. The kids adored you. The staff adored you.

He went.

He stood in the back, silent, hands jammed in his coat pockets, and listened to one of her students—a little girl with sparkly clips in her braids—read a letter she wrote:

“Mrs. Hughes said I was brave when I was scared. She let me wear the crown even when it wasn’t my birthday. She smelled like sunshine. I hope she’s dancing in the sky.”

He didn’t cry there.

He waited until everyone had left.

Then he stepped into your classroom.

It smelled like glue and markers.

Your handwriting still covered the whiteboard: “Be kind. Be brave. Be YOU.”

Your coffee mug—Kindergarten Queen—still sat on her desk. He touched it like it might shatter under his fingertips.

On the back wall was a photo of them at the team’s charity skate day. You’d worn a Canucks hoodie that hung off her shoulder, laughing as a kindergartener tried to chase Quinn across the ice.

He stared at that photo for a long time.

Then he left without saying a word.

He went home, and opened the bedroom closet.

He sank to the floor, hoodie bunched in his fists, your clothes surrounding him like a cocoon.

He cried like a man unmade.

No noise. Just the kind of sobbing that comes from somewhere deep and private and untouched by language.

And when it passed, when he couldn’t cry anymore, he sat there, eyes swollen, heart split down the middle, whispering to the dark.

“I’m so sorry.”

For the argument.

For the missed kiss.

For not being there.

For not saving you.

He took you back to Michigan.

Said it was a nostalgic trip.

You suspected it from the beginning—he wasn’t good at lying—but you played along.

The two of you walked the campus. Stopped by the coffee shop where he spilled your first drink. You ordered the same thing: vanilla oat milk latte, two pumps, no foam.

He dropped to one knee just outside the old lecture hall.

“I know the timing’s crazy, and the travel sucks, and my schedule is chaos, but there’s no world I want to live in where I’m not waking up next to you.”

Your hands flew to your mouth.

“I love you,” he said, voice shaking. “Always. Even when I’m a pain in the ass. Even when the season’s long and I’m gone more than I should be. You make me better. You make me whole. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, laughing through her tears.

And whispered, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, he took off his wedding ring.

Not forever.

Just to clean it.

He set it carefully on the bedside table, wiped it gently a small cleaning towelette.

He held it up to the light.

“Love you,” he whispered.

And in the silence that followed, he thought he could almost hear you say it back.

The ring felt heavier once he put it back on.

It wasn’t symbolic. Not in a grand, poetic sense. It just felt heavier—like maybe his body was finally acknowledging the weight of everything he’d been carrying alone.

He stared at his hand for a long time after sliding the band over his knuckle again. The skin underneath was lighter now. A thin line. A ghost of something permanent. Something that once was.

The ceremony had been simple.

Lakefront. Small. Close friends and family.

He remembered every second.

You walking barefoot down the aisle.

You whispering, “You’re shaking,” when you reached him at the altar.

Him choking out, “I’ve never been this happy.”

The vows.

Yours: “You are my home. Whether we’re in Vancouver or Michigan or on the moon, if you’re there, that’s where I want to be.”

His: “You remind me who I am. And who I want to be. You make the world make sense.”

They danced to Can’t Help Falling in Love. You sang softly into his ear as they swayed.

“I’ll love you in every lifetime,” you whispered.

The phone buzzed beside him. A name on the screen: Mom.

He didn’t answer.

He went home.

Real home.

Michigan.

The house hadn’t changed. The same backyard net. The same cluttered garage. His childhood bedroom still had the worn poster of Datsyuk, corners curled.

Ellen opened the door before he knocked.

“Hi, baby,” she said softly, and pulled him into her arms.

He didn’t say anything. Just held on.

Inside, the house smelled like soup. Like love. Like memory.

He didn’t eat much.

But he sat at the kitchen table, head bowed, while Ellen laid her hand over his.

“You have to let yourself feel it,” she said.

“I’m afraid if I do,” he whispered, “I won’t come back from it.”

“You will,” she promised. “Because she wouldn’t let you drown.”

He stayed a week.

Jim didn’t say much—just sat with him in front of old Leafs games, passing popcorn, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

It was raining the day he opened your side of the closet again.

Five months had passed since the accident.

He hadn’t touched it since that first time he broke down.

Not the hoodies you stole from him. Not the floral dress you wore to the engagement party. Not the polaroids clipped to the inside wall.

But he needed something. He didn’t know what. A sweater, maybe. A memory.

He reached for a box tucked in the corner.

Inside, he found a card. A sealed envelope with his name on it, one he hadn't seen before. Your handwriting, unmistakable, the date on it—the night of your wedding. The sticker was a tiny gold heart.

He opened it.

My love,

There are things I feel so big I can never say them out loud without crying, and I don’t want to cry tonight. I just want to smile until my cheeks hurt.

Quinn… you are everything. You’re strength and softness. You’re the calm in every storm I’ve ever had. You are more than the name on your jersey or the goals you score. You are home.

I know sometimes you don’t see the light in yourself. But I do. I always will. You make me feel safe and wild and alive and steady—all at once. I’m so proud of you. Not for what you do. But for who you are.

I can’t wait to build a life with you. To wake up beside you. To dance barefoot in our kitchen at midnight. To grow old, and grumpy, and still completely in love.

You are my beginning. And my end.

Love, Y/N

He read it three times.

Then pressed it to his chest, and let the tears come—not like before. Not broken. But whole.

Full.

Alive.

Spring came late to Vancouver.

Not the bright, sudden kind of spring that bursts through like a symphony, but a slow one—measured and hesitant, like the world was still grieving something too.

Quinn woke to the sound of rain easing against the windows, not hammering. For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel oppressive. Just… soft. Like it was letting up.

He sat in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. The Sinatra playlist still played quietly in the background—track number four, your favorite. “The Way You Look Tonight.”

There was toast burning in the toaster.

He didn’t even mind.

He’d read the letter every night for a week.

Not because he wanted to memorize it, but because it felt like you. Not a memory, but a conversation. A tether. Words from beyond the veil that didn’t close the wound, but helped him breathe through it.

He tucked it into the inside pocket of his gear bag. Right beside the laces you used to knot for him when you got bored in the locker room.

“Only the left ones,” you’d say, grinning. “I’m superstitious.”

He tied both the same way now. Just in case.

He’d gone back to therapy.

Not for anyone else. For himself.

It wasn’t easy. The words didn’t come all at once. But the therapist—an older man with gentle eyes and quiet pauses—just sat with him. Listened. Let Quinn unravel slowly.

One session, Quinn brought the letter.

Read it out loud.

Didn’t make it past the second paragraph.

Didn’t need to.

At the rink, the guys had started chirping him again. In the old way. Not walking on eggshells. Just giving him hell like brothers do.

It was the best thing in the world.

Brock called him “washed-up.”

Petey joked he “didn’t look like a homeless man anymore.”

Even Demko raised a brow when Quinn played Sinatra during pre-practice warmup.

“You good, Cap?”

Quinn nodded. “Getting there.”

That was enough.

One morning, Quinn visited the cemetery.

He didn’t go often. You weren’t there. Not really. But this time, he brought something.

The ugly pink throw pillow you loved—the one he always said was hideous. The one you insisted gave the living room “character.”

He set it down beside the headstone and smiled.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I admit it. It made the couch better.”

Then he sat with you.

Told you about the last game of the season, the Canucks narrowly missing a ticket to the playoffs. About his teammates, Conor’s new baby boy, and his family. About the letter he found.

“I read it,” he said softly. "I miss you so much" He admits, for the first time out loud.

The wind shifted gently.

He closed his eyes and imagined you there, arms folded, leaning on the stone like you were teasing him from the other side of the veil.

“Still sappy, Hughes,” you’d probably say.

And he’d reply, “Still yours.”

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uncannydevotion · 9 hours ago

Text

“ i'll love you 'til the day that i die! ”

a/n: this one is a mixture of dark content and light content so i really do recommend reading the warnings for this. the mh ones might be a little vague in canon bc it's been a little over two years since my last rewatch so!!

synopsis: realizations of love and what comes with.

includes: slenderman, jeff the killer, jane the killer, nina the killer, homicidal liu, sully, the bloody painter, nurse ann, eyeless jack, laughing jack, hobo heart, ticci toby, clockwork, jason the toymaker, the puppeteer, the doll maker, zalgo, x-virus, laughing jill, candy pop, dr smiley, kagekao, nathan the nobody, zero, judge angels, kate the chaser, rouge the proxy, tim wright, brian thomas, jay merrick, alex kralie, jessica locke.

warnings: gn!reader, varying lengths, multiple mentions of unhealthy relationships, mentions of murder, blood, cults (zalgo), harm against reader (jane, nathan), reader death (dr smiley, alex kralie), obsession (nina, zalgo, dr smiley, nathan, helen), possessive behavior (zalgo, dr smiley, jason, zero, candy), references to a work on my old blog in the puppeteer's part, jealousy (x-virus), jay's death, numerous mentions of unhealthy co-dependency.

SLENDERMAN — does not understand the concept of love. this isn't to say it can't feel it, it just... won't be able to immediately identify when it starts to develop such an emotion for you. it goes through many experiences where it has a moment of 'you are... an interesting being' towards you, and those are like mini realizations. it won't realize it loves you until someone explains to it what love is.

and once it does understand that the strange feeling you made it feel was love, well... it's a bit hesitant to indulge, to be honest. slender has never felt something like this before. it didn't even know it was capable of such an emotion. it's something it always viewed as a weakness. it'll take a while for slender to accept its feelings for you, to be honest.

JEFF THE KILLER — realizes he's in love with you when he shows up at your place one evening to find you struggling to stay awake while waiting for him. it hits him suddenly, seeing you drifting in and out of sleep while staring at your phone. you hadn't realized he was there yet, and honestly, he doesn't want you to know. because if you look over at him, you'll see the disgusting fondness in his gaze.

he won't tell you he loves you for a long time. it's something that makes him feel weak. he'd always believed he had nothing to lose, and now that he does... it's just not something he was ready to acknowledge. those three words will only slip past his lips when he thinks he's about to lose you, because that's the only way you'd probably get him to admit he loves you.

JANE THE KILLER — only realizes she's in love with you when jeff threatens your life. you two were friends, and she cared deeply for you, but it was nothing more than that, surely. but then that rat bastard dared to hurt you, and suddenly she's a teenager again, losing everything she's ever loved. your blood on her hands is something she never wants to experience again.

but you survive, and jane is telling you that she loves you the moment your eyes open. you don't have to love her back, but she needs to get these feelings off her chest because it felt like she'd drown in them if she didn't. whether you reciprocate them or not doesn't matter to her, because jane will make a vow to ensure that no harm comes to you ever again.

NINA THE KILLER — likes to say she knew she loved you from the start, but that was just infatuation. nina is a bit desperate for a relationship, truth be told, so she's deeply invested in anyone who shows her an ounce of kindness because she thinks it could lead to something more. it's led to her being disappointed far too many times, and everyone had assumed it would be the same with you.

but as the weeks went by, her infatuation never went away. you didn't try pushing her away when she was around, and you always included her in the conversation. you went out of your way to make sure she didn't feel neglected. at this point, she doesn't care if it's genuine love or not. all she knows is that you and her are meant to be together, and she will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.

HOMICIDAL LIU — has numerous reasons as to why he doesn't realize he's in love with you until it literally smacks him in the face. he's busy trying to kill jeff, he's never been in a relationship before, he thinks he doesn't deserve the happiness a relationship might give him. just about all of that, all wrapped up into one giant mess of a ball. the way he realizes he's in love with you is sully literally screaming at him in his head and giving him the world's worst migraine.

even with this realization, he hesitates to indulge. once he does, he'll be baring all his flaws to you. you'll see every nasty part of him that he doesn't want you to know about, and you'll realize that he's no good for you. but when those words of love quietly escape him, and you smile at him and tell him you feel the same, he can't stop himself from being selfish. just this once, he decides. and if you ever want to leave, he'll let you go. he hopes.

SULLY — experiences something akin to love at first sight, actually. the moment he met you, he liked you. it was a strange fascination, one that had his heart racing when he was fronting. of course, he's not delusional enough to think it was actually love. still, it doesn't stop him from admiring you, and constantly telling you that he likes you whenever the chance presented itself. the moment it turns to genuine love, however, it's like this switch flips.

the playful glint in his eyes whenever he'd dramatically drape himself over you, the smug smile when he'd get you flustered, it was different. his touch lingered now, like he wanted to just be glued to your side. his smile was softer, like seeing you flustered was something more than a joke. his eyes held an emotion in them that was bordered on uncanny, like he wanted to devour you whole. his love for you could easily become twisted, if under the right circumstances.

THE BLOODY PAINTER — has absolutely no interest in romance whatsoever until you. helen's entire childhood revolved around being good enough for his parents, so he never had the opportunity to read romance novels or watch romance movies. now it's simply not something he cared about. the only thing that had his attention was his art. it was a part of his very being, after all. and the way you interact with his art is actually what made him fall for you.

he's used to people complimenting his work. empty words, things that meant nothing to him. but you criticized him. you pointed out certain things about his paintings that you didn't like, and highlighted the things you did. you were honest with him. and honesty is a quality he finds to be very attractive, apparently, because you end up stuck in his mind, the focal piece of all his work. his muse. something that bordered on obsession.

NURSE ANN — has a hard time feeling emotions to begin with, so she probably won't realize she loves you for a long time. her emotions are... dull, to put it simply. vague things that she struggles to identify. if it's not anger, then it'll take her a while to identify how she feels. it takes even longer for her to even articulate her emotions into something she can explain to you, considering she can't speak.

but ann realizes she's in love with you randomly one night, when you're not around. you're in her mind a lot more than she would like, but it's not something that upsets her. she spent a good chunk of the night wandering the halls of the abandoned hospital just... thinking about how she feels about you, and what the proper way to describe that feeling would be. she's not sure if she's ever been in love before, but she'd like to experience it with you.

EYELESS JACK — realizes he loves you in bits and pieces, over the course of your companionship. originally, he had wanted to eat you. but for one reason or another, he opted not to, and it led to a strange friendship blossoming instead. you took his demonic nature in stride, and never seemed repulsed by his less than human qualities. you appeared curious, more often than not. your curiosity is the first thing he finds himself falling in love with.

but the thing that solidified his feelings for you was when he paid you a visit one night, and you had excitedly guided him to this mini freezer you had bough a while ago. inside was just... numerous things of raw meat. animal meat, you had explained, because you weren't willing to dabble in illegal activities to get human meat. you just wanted him to be able to snack on something whenever he decided to spend the night, and he just... he ends up kissing you right then and there, yeah.

LAUGHING JACK — refuses to believe that he could ever fall in love with you. he's evil, he's cruel, he's never going to experience such stupid feelings like love. but it's like the universe is always out to make a fool out of him, because you come crashing into his life and suddenly colors start appearing again, and he hates it. he hates you, hates that you make him feel something after spending centuries feeling nothing.

and yet, he's somehow always finding excuses to be in the same room as you. he's stubborn enough to not admit that he's in love with you for a long time, but trust that his abandonment issues will make it known that he would kill you if you ever thought about leaving him. love him, hate him, he doesn't care as long as you're with him.

HOBO HEART — didn't think he could fall in love again after what happened with celina. he spent decades roaming the earth, taking the hearts of those who didn't deserve it, just to prolong his own existence before he met you. he could sense the purity in your heart, and it's what drew him to you to begin with. he was waiting for you to reveal your true colors, to give him a reason to kill you and take your heart but... it never came.

instead, you just proved to him that he could fall in love even without having a heart of his own. it's different from the first time he felt like this, and yet it was oh so familiar. the only possible downside to hobo being in love with you is the fact that he takes everything very literally, so anything you say is like the law of existence to him. he'll give you the hearts of hundreds of people to prove his devotion to you.

TICCI TOBY — realizes he's in love with you when he finds himself seeking out your presence. love is a scary thing to him, because he's not sure it's something he can handle. not anymore. he built up so many walls just to protect himself that it was... terrifying, really, how easily you were able to worm your way into his life. what confused him the most was the fact that he welcomed you.

it'll take him a while to actually come to terms with his feelings for you. he may even go as far as to avoid you entirely during the process, simply because you being around made it hard for him to focus. he never wanted a relationship, not that he can remember. being a proxy is all he knows, but now he's thinking about kissing you, and spending time with you, and wondering if you'll try talking to him today, and... it's all you.

CLOCKWORK — knows that she's in love with you when you don't distance yourself from her when you see her ugly side. her angry outbursts, her random breakdowns, things that she doesn't like people seeing. you've seen it all, and you've never let that change the way you viewed her. a part of her hates that you're so accepting, because it makes it so damn easy to get attached to you, and she's always wondering when the other shoe will drop.

natalie doesn't like feeling weak, but god... you make it so easy to just let loose, and it's a feeling she starts to crave when she's away from you for too long. i don't think she'll tell you she loves you, mostly because she's got this idea instilled in her head that if she does, you'll drop her immediately. if this relationship were to go anywhere, you'd have to take the first step.

JASON THE TOYMAKER — is telling you he loves you the moment he decides you're the one for him. he does this with all of his victims. but you won't be like the rest, surely. you'll stay, and never need anyone other than him. but he doesn't realize that he's truly, deeply, in love with you until it just hits him while he's in the middle of sewing up some random stuffed animal. jason loves you. it's a revelation that shouldn't shock him, but it does.

and the next time he sees you, the words are tumbling out of him mouth as he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you so tightly that you felt like you'd suffocate in his arms. you were the one for him. you had to be. nobody has ever made him feel like this before. the place where his heart should be burned whenever you were around, and it's such an odd feeling that he was becoming obsessed with. you can't leave him, and he won't let you even if you tried.

THE PUPPETEER — staunchly refuses to acknowledge his feelings for you for a very long time. he's always had a bit of a soft spot for you the moment he made you his proxy, but he ignored it. he'd even get angry if anyone brought it up, because no. he is not in love with you. you're merely a tool for him to use, nothing more. but as time went on, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the aching in his chest whenever you were around.

it all tips over when he catches you carefully tending to emra's injuries while he had been away. he's been known to be very possessive of his creations, not letting anyone touch them but him. but you hadn't known when he'd be back, and emra needed her hand fixed, and he just... you were being so careful with her, treating her like the masterpiece that she was. he'll never say the words, but you'll know in the way he's gentler with you. the way his touch lingers, and the way golden strings always seem to coil around you whenever he's near.

THE DOLL MAKER — seems like the type of person who will only truly fall in love with someone who is as passionate about his work as he is. the moment he catches you carefully moving one of his dolls around like it was something to be treasured, or if you decide to make little accessories to match the outfits he designs... well, the wedding is already planned out in his head and he's wondering when to pop the question.

in all seriousness, he'd take his time before he ever told you how he felt. vine isn't experienced in the world of romance, so he doesn't know when the right timing would be to confess his love. he just hopes that it's something that he's made obvious in his other actions. but when he does decide to tell you those three words, he hopes that you'll say them back.

ZALGO — similarly to slender, did not think he could feel such an emotion. he was a being that transcended human understanding, after all. he made people go insane with a single thought, so how could he ever possibly feel something such as love? the mere idea was enough to have him laughing. no. something such as that wasn't possible. but then you come into his life. a strange, curious human with far too much confidence around an eldritch horror.

zalgo will make you understand the horrors that come with having him love you. you became a deity in the eyes of his numerous cults, essentially. there's no telling how many people have been sacrificed in your honor. how many loved ones you've lost, simply because you had made a creature beyond your understanding love you. it's not pretty. it's cruel, and gruesome, and you will never be able to leave him.

X-VIRUS — is that slow burn sort of realization. honestly, he seems like he's the type to be oblivious to romance unless it's laid on thick. to him, for a long time, you're just a really close friend who sometimes helps him with his experiments. cody will only realize his feelings for you if you start spending time with someone other than him. your absence is something he becomes painfully aware of, to the point that it makes it impossible to focus on anything.

he's not the possessive type by any means, but there's this feeling of jealousy in his gut when he sees you with someone else. that's when it clicks in his mind, 'oh. i'm in love.'. i want you to picture a classic friends to lovers romance, with a side of medical experimentation and murder. cody would like to think his confession was super romantic and the greatest thing ever, but no. no, he stumbles over his words, he's nervous, and he's just hoping you'll reciprocate his feelings.

LAUGHING JILL — finds herself falling in love with you when she realizes she can feel when you're around. the usual bitterness and anger that she felt on a constant always seemed to die down around you, and that joy that she came into existence with bubbled to the surface. it was childish, almost, the way she got excited whenever you wanted to include her in something. no matter how small, she took any excuse she could just to spend time with you.

it's too the point where jill feels as if she cannot exist without you. you've become so intertwined with her existence that she feels as if she'll die without you. it's unhealthy, and she knows this, but she finds it hard to care when the happiness you bring with you was just too addicting for her to give up.

CANDY POP — wasn't the type to grow attached to people easily. he had friends, sure, but it had taken him ages to actually refer to them as such. to him, everyone is a toy for him to play with however he pleases. you were meant to be just that, and yet you somehow turned the tables on him and he ended up falling in love with you like a pathetic fool. it's a realization that has him reeling, because he didn't think love was something he was capable of.

candy tries to be the picture perfect suitor you could only dream of having, he really does, but if you're not reciprocating his feelings within the first week of him confessing to you, he's dropping the act and just taking you for himself. you lost all choice in the matter the moment he entered your life, actually. and if you're really adamant on getting away from him, then trust that he will not hesitate to drag you into the abyss he's tethered to.

DR SMILEY — won't realize he's in love with you until you're already dead. you were just a victim of his that he kept around far longer than he normally did, but the silence that surrounded him when you were no longer around was... haunting. he tries to replace you, thinking another victim crying and begging for mercy would fill the silence but it just wasn't the same.

they didn't make his heart race the way you had. he didn't feel that excitement he had felt when he was with you. he won't call it love, but it was a strong enough feeling that it had him gathering the pieces of your body. he's a doctor. he'll stitch you back together, and bring you back to him. and when you wake from the dead to see the sharp smile of the man who killed you, you'll realize that there's truly no escaping him.

KAGEKAO — isn't a stranger to romance. he's had his fair share of relationships, what with sadie and then realizing he's gay and the awkward breakup that came with that, plus the numerous flings and situationships. you were meant to be nothing more than another situationship, and maybe even a victim if he got bored of you, but... that boredom never came. and neither did the end of your weird relationship.

kagekao somehow always ended up at your place whenever he wasn't off tormenting some poor soul. then he started to pop up whenever he was bored, and he'd somehow always end up staying the night. there were times when he'd even bring over some cheap takeout and wine. he knew he was gone when you rested your head on his lap while you two were watching some silent film, and the movie suddenly seemed irrelevant to the feeling of you. ah... you'll keep him entertained for a while, he's sure of it.

NATHAN THE NOBODY — is so obsessed with finding the people who kidnapped his sister that he never has the energy to focus on anything else. anyone he perceived to be part of the organization was an immediate target, and that's basically everyone he meets. so you have to be real special right off the bat for him to even not think about killing you. and lucky for you, you were his sister's best friend. you weren't part of the organization, you were safe. you could be trusted.

so when someone tries hurting you, it's like the entire world narrows down to that person. crystal would hate if anything happened to you, and nathan... seeing your face contort in pain had this sick feeling in his chest. you were terrified of him, the blood on his hands sticking to your skin as he pulls you into a suffocating hug, his heart pounding. the thought of losing you had never occurred to him, and while he doesn't label the feeling as love, he definitely doesn't plan on letting anything happen to you. no matter what, he'll keep you safe.

ZERO — cannot feel love the way other people feel it. love isn't even in her vocabulary. her only interest in this world is to kill anyone she comes across, to revel in their pain and agony because that's just how she is. yet somehow, she took an interest in you. you can kiss your normal life goodbye, because the moment she decides you're worth keeping around, she's not letting you go until she wants you dead. in her mind, you belong to her now.

so it's not love. not a healthy kind, at least. it's a desire to own, a need to claim. don't worry, though, she'll make sure to take good care of you. anyone who causes you trouble is nothing more than another story for the local news, and all she wants in return is a simple thank you and kiss on the cheek. she loves playing house with you! she'll be a great girlfriend as long as you play along.

JUDGE ANGELS — is wholly oblivious to romance as a whole. her entire life, she was sheltered. even years after becoming the murderer she is today, she never formed any bonds with people. none that were positive, at least. but then you came along. someone that dina found herself getting attached to the longer she spent time with you. she didn't understand why her heart raced whenever you got too close to her, and the feeling was overwhelming enough that she ended up pushing you away because she thought it was something bad.

with enough time, and exposure, she'll come to realize that the feelings she has for you aren't bad. she'll always be worrying about doing something wrong that'll make you hate her enough to leave her. you're the first person she's ever loved, the first person to love her. she can't lose that. just promise that you won't leave her, even if you stop loving her.

KATE THE CHASER — shouldn't have fallen in love to begin with. her sole reason of existence was slenderman, so she shouldn't care for anything else. she kept herself distant from the other proxies for that reason, because she didn't feel the need to connect with anyone. she was fine in her solitude. she wasn't meant to fall in love, so why does she feel so alive when you spend time with her?

you were always accommodating to her, visiting her when it was dark out and making sure you never shined your flashlight at her whenever you two went on walks through the forest. it's a relationship that will never work out, because proxies aren't meant to be anything but a vessel for slender. and yet, as time goes on, her feelings only get stronger and stronger, and she wonders... maybe it's okay to be selfish and indulge in you.

ROUGE THE PROXY — certainly didn't think she would fall in love after everything she's been through, and yet here she is, hovering around you like a guard dog as you dealt with the target you were meant to kill. she knew you could handle yourself, you're a proxy after all, yet she stood there, waiting. even after the mission was over, she would linger for a bit just to make sure you were safe.

her feelings for you are no secret. every proxy, including you, were aware of the special place you had in her heart. yet your relationship with her was so vague. she hasn't asked you out, but you two already act as if you're dating. it's this really strange 'will they, won't they' situation that all the proxies have made bets on. she's content with how things are now, though, so it might take time for her to actually verbalize her feelings for you.

TIM WRIGHT — is a little more confident before the events of marble hornets, so if he realizes he's in love with you during that time period, he won't have too much trouble telling you. maybe he'll need brian to hype him up a bit, and maybe he'll be a bit awkward when he does tell you that he's head over heels in love with you, but he still manages to tell you.

but tim during and after the events of marble hornets? total opposite. everyone he knew and loved died, and it's all his fault. how could he ever allow himself the privilege of your love when it's something he knows he doesn't deserve? even if you were to try and take the initiative, he'd turn you down. you can do so much better than him. getting close to him is basically signing your death certificate, and he's already lost so much. he's not sure if he can bear the pain of losing you, too.

BRIAN THOMAS — out of the entire marble hornets cast, save for maybe jessica, is the most in tune with his emotions. the moment he developed a romantic interest in you, he was asking you out. when he wasn't helping alex with marble hornets or hanging out with tim, he was taking you out on dates and solidifying his interest in you. he had actually planned on dropping the love bomb after the filming wrapped up, but...

even though he can't remember, he knows you. the man in the hoodie feels something for you. it's different from the protectiveness he feels for tim. for some reason, he doesn't want you involved in this mess. the moment jay reaches out to you and drags you in, he's doing everything he can to get you out. there were cryptic warnings directed towards you specifically, and when jay or tim weren't around, you'd sometimes catch him watching. you were scared, but you had made a vow that you wouldn't back out until you find brain.

JAY MERRICK — didn't think he'd really fall in love with someone while investigating the tapes, but he did. hard. he had met you early on since you were the first person part of the marble hornets crew he was able to get into contact with. it's almost scary how easily you guys hit it off. before things went to shit, jay really thought you two would become good friends. and unfortunately, jay doesn't realize he's in love with you until he's dying.

his entire life flashed before his eyes the moment alex shot that gun, and all he could think about was you. you, who stood by his side throughout this whole experience. you, who desperately tried to keep him from getting in too deep. you, who he had carelessly shrugged off because the operator's influence was far too strong. he can only hope you make it out of this hell alive.

ALEX KRALIE — will never realize he's in love with you post-operator. the feelings will be there, but he's already too far gone to go deep into what they might mean. all he knows is that he's desperate to kill you first, to get you out of this mess early on. it's because you two are close friends, that's all. and the hollow feeling left afterwards if he's successful is a price he's willing to pay.

but pre-operator alex will find himself falling in love with you when you support his passions. the moment he talks about marble hornets with you, you're passionate about supporting him, and it had him getting all nervous. he'll even offer you a role in the project, either as an actor or just crew if you're not comfortable with being filmed. anything to be able to spend more time with you. he had planned on asking you out on an official date when filming wrapped up.

JESSICA LOCKE — is stuttering over her own words the moment she locks eyes with you for the first time, because she is just that captivated by you. it's not love at first sight, but she definitely wants to take you out on a date. it's only with amy's encouragement that she actually does, and you two just... naturally hit it off that it sorta became a casual thing.

but she realizes she's in love with you when all this shit with marble hornets has blown over, and you're the first person she thinks of. she'd been missing for months, and you probably thought she had ghosted you. it's a little mortifying, honestly. she can't explain what happened, but she hopes you'll be willing to let her back into your life. because she really really really wants to be your girlfriend.

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