#warnings: Major character death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

achenetype · 9 months ago

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Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment.

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod.

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out.

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold.

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off.

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says.

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly.

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?”

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil.

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded.

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed.

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.”

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.”

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday.

You think you’re going to die.

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it.

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all.

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—”

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

#— ash's writing #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #reader insert #y/n #pjo imagine #ok now we get into the warning tags #graphic depictions of injury #major character death #major character injury #reader death #alcohol mention #doomed by the narrative #genuinely im so sorry i really ran wild with this one good god #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #— ash’s answering!

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heph · 4 months ago

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heyy, your house md drawing are so beautiful, just know i love them so much! but do you have any house fic that you like???

I have so many.

Here's a list of some of my favesss

Lack Of (Social) Skill - the one where people thought House had brain cancer (I like it because of one line at the end of the story and it made me sick)

Arureos (Greek for Rat) - Wilson takes care of and gets attached to Steve Mcqueen (I LOOOOVE THIS ONE!!!!!)

i may not be as honest as i ought to be - House gets food poisoning, lots of codependence (THIS is my absolute favourite. If you have to pick one fic from this list read this one)

The Kissing Experiment - They kiss a lot 🥺

I Never Sleep With Married Men - They're MARRIEDDDED

narcissus poeticus - Hanahaki

Welcomed Change - developing relationship? Idk how to summarize this one it's just sweet

systemic - House in love and in Denial (my favourite trope)

mr. magic hands - Implied sexual content! Wilson massaging House 5+1

These alongside the fics I recommended where the ducklings are invested in Hilson's relationship are the ones in my bookmarks (the rest are E rated/I don't remember the summary)

#heph answered #house md #hilson #mind the tags! but most of them are fluffy soft fics #no major warnings #i dont do character death or angst for the most part bc im a big softie

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kflixnet · 1 year ago

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Check out our member Jada's oneshot!

As The Sun Dies, So Do We

pairings: husband!joshua x gn!reader

genre: angst, apocalyptic(?), hurt, end of the world type deal

warnings: alcohol consumption, major character death(s) (not really specified), you might cry?

word count: 1.4k

synopsis: you both watched as the world took its final breathes, sharing your last few minutes before this love became just a memory.

s.n.: this story is technically for @stormyjisung for her birthday even though it was last month but as a overthinker, couldn't write a angsty shua story. BUT HERE WE ARE.

network(s): @preciousillusions-net @kflixnet

20 minutes...

1,200 seconds left before this world is nothing but a molting rock above. The people within just a memory and grains of dust. Signs of life ending quicker than the creator above might have predicted.

Or did he so predict this tragic faith? A faith uncontrollable yet beautiful. Just knowing that everyone else will all perish along with you and not continue living their longed life brought a sense of solace within you.

With one more push to this insanely heavy couch, you made sure it was stable before wiping away the beads of sweat from your forehead. Your hair stuck on the skin.

You sighed, breath flowing into the polluted air. Tension left from your body as you finally slacked back onto the torn cushion of your couch.

"What's with the sigh?" A voice queried you behind you. Footsteps approaching at a minimum pace but getting to the couch whatsoever.

"Nothing," You replied honestly. "Just can't believe this is all happening and that we have a front row seats of it all."

Which you did. Your couch that was once in front of your TV, in your home, broadcasting the end of everyone's chapter, was now on a hill right above the many oceans that joins together in some way.

You always pondered around the thought of how the world would look like before it became non-existent. Maybe an apocalypse made by clumsy scientist? Or the air becoming so thick that it never makes it down your lungs? Skies blossomed with grays and melchony. But you never imagined it to look like this...

So beautiful and enticing..

The sky was painted with eternal sunsets, an ambient of oranges, yellows, pinks, littered across. Clouds faceless yet expressing their sorrow of not delivering enough rain where you would beg for it. The sun was right above the horizon, it's rays swimming in the ocean below. Just beautiful..

"Mm," Was the only response you got as well as a light groan as your lover finally sat down on the couch next to you. A cracking noise was heard before your peripheral caught attention to the beers in his hands.

15 minutes..

900 seconds that you have left with your muse. 900 more seconds before his soul is not in this same place as yours, entagled.

"Here you go," your lover announced, a beer awaiting in his grasp.

You gladly accepted. You didn't know what came over you but before you knew it, you were flushing the alcohol down your system in no time. The fizz in your tongue and the burn in your throat before letting out a light hiss as it settles down in your stomach.

"I can't believe it's actually happening.." You repeated for the umpteenth time. "We are really going out like this."

"Together." He added on.

"Together.." You repeated back with caution. The alcohol finally kicking into your system.

10 minutes.

600 more seconds before "together" becomes just a wish for you both. 600 more seconds before separation becomes the ending.

"Together..." The world slipped out once more, this time a whimper as you finally pieced together the outcome of all of this. As selfish as you were thinking how everyone will have the same faith at the same time, you sunk in that he will too have that faith. Gone from you.

"My love.." He finally spoke before embracing your trembling figure into his own. Sweaty after pushing this heavy weight of a couch up an insanely steep hill but comforting. "My dear, wonderful, Y/N.." The shakiness of his voice signaled his breaking point as well but his tear stayed solid for now. Just for now.

Tears continued to stream down and soaking the both of you. Reality was too heavy to carry at this point and hearing the nicknames that you will never hear again made you realize that you really should've cherished them more.

As for Joshua, holding you this close and sinking in the intimacy being shared was almost as suffocating as the pollution. The sky still beaming down and watching one of the many couples finally realize this was truly their final night alive as the world crumbles into nothing.

5 minutes.

300 seconds to cherish each other's love, guilt storming above the both of you knowing that way more could have been given and taken.

It sucks that the end of everything is when you finally realize such beauties could have been held onto way tighter and loved in such ways. But why is that?

Why is it we feel such intense emotion we couldn't experience before risks or threats such as this?

Because we sink in that there is no going back.

There was no going back to belting out highnotes not late nights, seeing who will get the higher score at a random karaoke bar. No more cuddles in the morning with small Ted talks, no more back hugs while you chop the vegetables and your lover taking over in fear of you possibly harming yourself, no more showers together where you make little horns out of the soaked hair, no more words to be written in this book that was supposed to go on for way longer than it did.

"My precious jewel," Joshua voiced broke again, and so did his well-being. "How about I make you fresh batch of pancakes when we meet again? With whipped cream, a smiley face," He smiled through his words. He knew meeting you again was only a chance and not a guarantee. But tricking himself into such was the only thing keeping him sane.

The thought of a life without his wife was a killer alone.

"With a side of sweet coffee, just as you like." The deluled man continued with a shaking body.

1 minute.

60 more seconds before these fantasies become just ash and wishes never are granted again. 60 more seconds where this love will remain just a memory.

Joshua pulled back, big hands cupping your soggy cheeks. "How does that sound?" He asked with a bittersweet smile spreading across his face. Tears escaping at the sight of your much more heavier sobs but he didn't want to come to terms to what those tears really mean.

All you could do was nod. Words fogged in your mind.

30 more seconds.

30 more seconds before your last night ends.

Joshua gently swiped his thumb pads over the newborn tears rolling down with ease.

"May I have my goodnight kiss? I can't sleep without it." Asked Joshua, knowing the obvious answer. Yet still wanting to hear your voice.

"You know this will be our last-"

"May I have my goodnight kiss, Y/N?"

15 more seconds.

15 more seconds to accept this last wish. 15 more seconds to feel his lips pressed onto yours. 15 more seconds to see that smile that holds more words of love. Words of love that probably doesn't exist but is rather felt.

Without a second thought, you crashed your lips onto his. Tears continued their race down your faces and down to the couch below. The bittersweet in your mouths was so prominent but you needed to feel each other just one more time..

One more..

10...

He pulled away just slightly before connecting his head with yours.

9...

"Goodnight, my precious Y/N.."

8...

A sob left from you, but you managed to spill the words out before the storm crashed above you.

"Goodnight, Joshua.."

7...

"I will forever love you. No matter what form I take, what life I live, what planet I live on, you are always within me. Our love is forever embedded."

6...

"I love you too, Hong Joshua."

5...

"Sleep well, darling.."

4...

You both sat back, cuddled into each other's sides and never to be separated. Your head was tucked right beneath his chin and his hand continue their familiar dance on your back.

3...

You both saw the infamous flash of light slowly fall down from the sky, Death riding down in amazing glory as he comes to collect his most wins.

2...

You clasped Joshua hand for extra proximity. The screaming below you both blurred down to nothing as all what matters right now is the fading memories and awaiting future. The rings glowing on your hands as a painful reminder death will truly do you part.

1...

"Sleep well, Shua."

did you enjoy your order?

if you did, please reblog, like, (pls) comment, all of that jazz :>

have a good day, sweets ^^

tagging: @stormyjisung @star1117-archives @fairyhaos (sorry) @icyminghao @etherealyoungk @m4rsluv @trblsvt @gyu-effect @odxrilove @luvhyun3

#g: 13+#g: angst #g: husband au #g: post apocalyptic au #g: hurt #g: end of the world au #warnings: alcohol consumption #warnings: major character death #type: oneshot #wc: 1k+#a: kyeomyun #member: jada #artist: seventeen #m: joshua

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dearaur0ra · 17 days ago

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josh washington x reader oc (name used is lily monroe)

notes: au, meaning josh does not follow through with his prank, but it is mentioned in future. female reader, michaels younger sister, (18 in present tense). this story will be realistic in the sense that majority of the plot was josh’s prank, so much of it will be adjusted. new plot will be original, by me. edit: i posted the raw draft instead of the edited! if you were the few that have saw it, no you didn’t!

—

2013

he was enamoured by you. every breath, every movement, even when you didn’t know what you were doing. this moment is one of the many josh can recall, when you were perfect.

your deep hazel hair brushed against your elbows as your hips swayed to the music, encapturing josh’s full attention. jess tugged you into a clumsy, drunken dance, your eyes creased with laughter, brimming with a joy that filled the room.

josh couldn’t hold back a smile, watching you gleam. something about the way you moved set you apart. you were so different from your other friends, never asking for the attention, you just got it. you had that way about you, even if he thought it was clique, you really did light up every room you were in.

‘it’s the small things that count’, you’d say, whenever he’d ask about it. glass half full you were, and he loved you for it.

laughing, jess pulled you down with her in a heap of giggles. your ribs ached, and tears brimmed in your eyes, but moments like these were worth every second. jess, too out of breath to speak, simply pointed at you, her laughter contagious. you mirrored her actions, erupting with even more laughter.

minutes had passed, before the pair of you calmed down. “whew, i thought that’d never end.” jess sighs, rolling over on her side to face you.

“i need a drink.” you snicker, pushing yourself off the carpet to make your way to the kitchen, leaving jess in her own carpet world.

a quick glance out the window displays the worsening weather, it’s snowy blaze coating the windows. northern alberta is notorious for this, you guess. you just didn’t think it would be this bad tonight. though it does make you sincerely grateful for the lodge.

josh turns back to the conversation at hand when he spots you approaching, in fear of being accused of watching you. beth will nag him about this later, since she seems to be the only one who knows how he feels.

“-he did! i’m not lying!” emily exaggerates, practically throwing herself across the kitchen in dramatization. you chuckle, pulling a white barstool out from beside josh to sit.

“hey.” he greets with a lopsided grin, raising his bottle in salute. your afraid to even ask what sort of alcohol concoction him and mike created this time.

“hay, is for horses.” you snicker in your drunken state.

god, the look he gave you. you wish you could frame it. the way his dishevelled hair fell over his forehead, his plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up just above his elbows. he smiled at you, bottle tilted against his lip, threatening to spill at any moment, as his eyes lingering on you just a second too long before darting away.

“ladies and gentleman, we got ourselves a comedian in our midsts.” he joked to no one in particular, the others too engaged in emily’s story to listen.

you give him a playful side eye, trying your hardest to hold your composure. a smile threatens to overturn your lips, but you hold out. “pass me that beer will you?” you ask politely, pointing at an unopened can to his far left.

with little protest he does as you say, handing you the can. you thank him, and crack it open at the top. he watches you, his gaze softer now as you sip the warm foam pooling around the can, “thanks for coming again lils." he thanks quietly, his voice sincere.

you nearly choke on the foam, surprised by the sudden shift in his mood. you clear your throat, laughing. “of course. wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

he pats your back twice, the way he does to chris. except he moves his hand to the base of your neck, rubbing it gently. “you mean the world to me lily.” he murmurs, drawing his hand away to rest on the island once again. the absence burns the skin of your neck,

“your too sweet josh.” you laugh, indecisive on which way to approach him kindly. he’s drunk, really drunk. his words could mean nothing. he groans, resting his head on his hands atop the counter.

he mumbles something inaudible, closing his eyes at the touch of your hand as you reach for the bottle in his own. you pull it away from him, sniffing the top.

you take a swig, wincing at the strong taste. it mixes with the faint beer that lingers in your mouth, a dangerous game considering the array of drinks you’ve had tonight.

it’s just one night, you think.

the bottle is an eighth full, and the two you down in almost ten minutes. in that time the group dissipated, leaving just you, sleeping chris, and josh in the kitchen.

the two of you talk about nothing memorable, just conversation. he jokes, you laugh, he laughs. a speaker plays quietly in the background, as the house seems to quiet as everyone migrated back to the living room in the next room.

it’s serene, this moment shared between the two of you. and sleeping chris, you guess, but it seems to always be that way. one doesn’t come without the other.

“do you remember-,” he slurs, barely holding it together through quiet laughter. “-when mike and i tried to paint your room for you?”

how could you ever forget?

“what the fuck mike! your fucking insane!” you gape, throwing your hands up in disbelief. your furniture is collectively pushed to the center of the room, speckled with tiny splatters of pale dripped paint.

mikes face winces, “it could be worse?” he reasons, glancing around the room.

one job. he had one job. and he brought his stupid friend with him for it. “i can’t believe you guys.” you scoff in disbelief.

josh glances at you confused, as if he hadn’t done it.

“look lily i’m sorry, but i’m not exactly an artist.”

“clearly.” you state the obvious, rolling your eyes. you catch notice of something half-hidden behind the streaky pale wall above your bed frame. josh and mikes names sloppily scrawled underneath. “are those-?”

they burst out in laughter, josh falling to the ground. they hadn’t intended to make it visible, but they’re happy it is. “you gotta admit-,” mike chokes on his laughter, “this shits kinda funny.”

you laugh, and laugh. soon the regret you get trusting them diminished, and was replaced with this ridiculous laughter.

you giggle, reminiscing in the memory. michael was an asshole, yes, but he was still your brother. even if you didn’t get along well, he’s still a damn good one.

“-oh we did such a shitty job too, mike kept saying how you were gonna kill him the entire time.” josh laughs.

“with good reason! don’t you remember the streaks?”

for a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes hazy but full of warmth, like he was storing every detail of your face. your eyes seemed to twinkle in the dim light, and the urge to close the distance between you was overwhelming, but he hesitated, un-wanting to risk what you had.

neither do you. your friendship, after all, was safe-uncomplicated.

you bury your head into his neck, your smile still eminent. he feels your heat radiating on the cold skin of his neck, and your hand that grips the bulk of his arm. “i forgive you guys though.” you sigh.

“yeah, you better.” he chuckled below you, the laughter vibrating against at your head.

“josh?” you question.

“lily?” he mocks.

“i’m tired.”

—

“oh my god! i can’t believe you actually did this!” emily whispers in a breathless rush, her eyes wide with excitement as she glances back at the dimly lit room, careful not to wake anyone.

“don’t you guys think this is a little bit cruel?” sam frowns, trying to catch jessica’s eye for backup. she knows it's just a prank, but could hannah handle it?

jessica, already set on her mission, rolls her eyes. “oh come on, she deserves it!"

sam’s lips thin in a thoughtful line as she sighs, “its not her fault she has a huge crush on mike.”

“hannahs been making moves on him.” jess hisses, barely hiding her irritation. “i'm just looking out for my girl em.” she motions to emily, who smirks in silent agreement.

as the rest of the group sneaks toward the guest room, sam lingers near the kitchen, stealing a quick look around in case hannah might be nearby. her conscience tugs at her, but she knows she’s outnumbered. she gives in with a small shake of her head, trailing after the group but slowing her steps before heading up the stairs in search of hannah.

mike leads the way to the spare bedroom, the one with an old quilt and that slightly odd creak in the floorboards. he positions himself in the center, shooting jess a look that she takes as a go-ahead to set the prank into motion. jess and emily duck behind the bed, barely containing their giggles as they press themselves down low.

—

hannah's heart hammered with anticipation, as she slips quietly down the hall toward mike’s room. she clutches the small candle in her hand, its flame casting a soft glow around her, illuminating the nervousness that radiates from her face. she glances down at the shirt she picked out just for tonight—the one mike once complimented—and hopes it’s enough to show him how she feels.

she pauses just outside the door, her hands trembling slightly, and takes a deep breath. she’s been dreaming of this moment for so long. “mike?” she calls softly, her voice nearly a whisper. she opens the door, not realizing she’s walking into a setup.

“mike?” she repeats, stepping inside, her candle casting flickers on the walls. and there he is, stepping forward with a hesitant smile that’s a little too forced.

“hey hannah.”

—

meanwhile, back in the dim, cozy kitchen, you stir on the sofa nearby, buried under the soft weight of your favorite blanket. josh had tucked you in without waking you, then began his own hazy stumble to the arm chair. the cabin’s quiet hum of silence and faint crackling from the dying fire makes you want to drift back to sleep, but your pulled awake by the sound of soft murmurs in the kitchen.

you watch through half-lidded eyes as beth tidies up, before quickly falling back asleep. beth takes her usual quiet inventory of the empty bottles and scattered cans, always being the responsible one. beth mutters to herself as she clears a stray cup, shooting a playful glare in josh’s direction where he snores, slouched uncomfortably in the lone armchair across the room. a smirk curls her lips as she whispers to herself, “my brother, the romantic.” she barely suppresses a chuckle.

moving toward the kitchen, beth pauses as she spots a small, hastily scrawled note on the counter. it’s addressed to hannah, detailing a meeting spot. she squints, sighing. “what did our naive sister get herself into this time?” she mutters, ignoring the note as she sets down her collection of cans and bottles. "ugh, intervention time."

that’s when she sees hannah, moving quickly past the window, her figure disappearing into the snow-lit darkness. alarm flashes across beth’s face as she realizes what’s happening.

“josh!” she calls out, her tone urgent, but all she gets in return is a drowsy stir from him.

without a second thought, she grabs her jacket and dashes out the door, her worry for her sister propelling her through the icy wind. as she shouts hannah’s name, the rest of the group congregates outside on the lodge steps, unsure what to do.

“what’s going on? where’s my sister going?” beth demands, her gaze slicing through the group.

jess rolls her eyes and waves dismissively. “shes fine. she just can't take a joke.”

“it was just a prank han!" emily calls out.

"what did you do?" beth interrogates the group.

"we were just messing around beth, wasn’t anything serious..." Mike defends.

"you jerks!" beth spits out, turning to chase after her sister who delves further into the woods.

“so… should we go after her?” mike asks, voice uneasy.

sam crosses her arms, her stare piercing. “you know what? I think your the last person she wants to see right now mike.”

—

2014

could you have done more?

the thought gnaws at you, an unrelenting ache, even though you’re not guilty. you feel it, really feel it, in a way that pulls at your conscience. it’s hard to imagine how josh carries the weight of it. but beneath his collected front, you sense that he’s not okay. he just hides it well.

his once-lively home, filled with laughter and bickering, now stands silent. his parents barely talk, and when they do, it’s only whispers. he misses his sisters. and though he doesn’t say it, he blames himself for everything.

that night, he should have sent you to bed. you were already drunk, and he was just as bad off. if he’d passed on that last drink, he could’ve walked you up himself. maybe he would’ve caught mike before anything happened, and maybe his sisters would still be home.

now, josh just wants everyone to have a good time. it’s his way of honoring them, trying to erase the nightmare of the last year. only the best intentions in mind.

sam rewatches his invitation video, his voice echoing in her earbuds, the faint, repetitive sound barely audible as you lean over her shoulder, noticing josh’s familiar face on the screen.

“it’ll be nice to see everyone again, don’t you think?” you ask, as sam pulls her earbuds out with a faint nod.

“it’ll be weird for sure,” sam replies, voice laced with apprehension as the bus rattles over a patch of rough road. she’s worried about josh, especially since he can be hard to read.

“he only has the best intentions in mind.” you shrug, glancing at her. “i know it’s a big ask, but if we could try to make it good for him… i think he needs it.” you say, thinking of your last conversation with josh a few months ago.

“yeah, you’re right. if not for us, for him.” she nods, trying to shake the unease from her thoughts.

you manage a small laugh, patting her shoulder gently. “that’s the spirit!”

—

the icy breeze hits your cheeks in a blush as you step off the bus, clutching your jacket tight against the cold.

your boots crunch against the snowed path, with sam’s echoing just behind. the landscape feels hauntingly familiar, even as darkness settles over it.

the two of you reach the blackwood entrance gate, though one of the letters has broken off and now dangles loosely. noticing a note pinned to the gate, you lean closer.

the gates busted! climb over

-chris

“ugh, really?” you grumble, turning to sam with the note held up in your hand. “you up for a climb?”

—

the cable car station looks empty, its walls marked with graffiti and faded posters. despite the worn state, the view is still breathtaking. across the way, blinking red lights pierce the gathering dark, casting an eerie glow on the mountain.

“door’s locked!” sam calls, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“guess we need to find chris,” you sigh, moving toward a bench with a bag carelessly left on top. “chris!” you shout, hoping to spot him somewhere nearby.

“his bag’s here, but he’s not,” sam remarks, picking up the bag and noticing his phone poking out of a front pocket. she chuckles to herself. “you’re not in there, are you?”

you hesitate, glancing around the empty area. “maybe we shouldn’t snoop,” you suggest.

“yeah, you’re right,” she agrees, tucking the phone back.

“hey! you guys made it!” chris’s voice calls out from behind, startling you slightly. he looks at you both with a grin. “where’s mike?”

you shift uncomfortably, unsure whether to spill the news about jessica. “he came with someone else,” you reply, keeping it simple.

“oh?” chris raises an eyebrow, looking puzzled. usually, where one monroe went, the other followed. “anyway, i found something amazing! but i’m not gonna tell you what it is.”

“what?” sam inquires, watching as he slings his bag over his shoulder, clearly eager.

“you gotta see it for yourselves. c’mon, it’s this way.” he gestures for you to follow, excitement lighting up his face. “it’s gonna blow your mind.”

“alright, chris,” you laugh softly, taking in the scattered remnants around the old range and station.

“ta-da!” he announces, revealing the shooting range. “pretty rad, right?”

“yeah—” sam’s voice carries a hint of sarcasm.

“it’s… something?” you try to sound positive, though it doesn’t come out that way.

chris rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your reactions. “come on! look at these beauties.” he gestures to the guns lined up on the counter.

“uh, beauties isn’t the first word that comes to mind.” sam’s gaze shifts uneasily over the range. “why is this even here?”

“have you met josh’s dad?” you laugh lightly, recalling bob washington’s peculiar hobbies.

“yeah?” sam looks back, confused.

“he thinks he’s like grizzly adams,” chris adds with a chuckle. “wanna give it a go?” he asks, pointing to sam.

she shakes her head. “go on, grizzly.”

—

in the cable car, the three of you sit quietly. the car jerks slightly as it passes over a roller. breaking the silence, you offer, “i can clean that cut up for you when we get there if you’d like?” pointing to the scratch on sam’s forehead.

“i’d appreciate that, thanks,” she says, though her eyes are still on chris, irritation evident. you assume some rabid crow got freaked when chris fired the gun, causing it to fly down at sam.

chris clears his throat. “did i ever tell you how josh and i met?” he asks, breaking the tension.

“no, please, tell us,” you respond dryly, having heard the story countless times.

“so, third grade, right? josh sat in the back, i sat up front. didn’t even know each other existed.”

“but then this kid next to josh started strap snapping this girl’s bra, so the teacher made him move to the front… where i was.”

“okay? so?” sam asks, barely containing a sigh.

“so, i got moved to the back.”

“and…?” sam prompts, waving for him to finish.

“that’s how we met. friends ever since.”

“a match made in heaven,” you chuckle softly.

chris grins. “if it weren’t for jeanie simmonds hitting puberty three years early and wearing a low cut shirt that showed off her training bra that day… you guys could be here with some other guy right now! boom, butterfly effect.”

—

“whoa, drama.” chris deadpans as he hands a note back to jess.

“nope. pretty clear cut, actually. em’s out, i’m in,” jess responds, flipping her hair with a smirk.

you glance around. “where’s mike, anyway?”

“he said he’d be right back,” jess replies with forced cheerfulness.

“alright, alright, let’s just get to the lodge already. i’m done with this nature junk,” chris groans, already trudging up the path.

you hesitate. “you sure you don’t wanna come back with us?”

“no, i’ll wait here,” jess says, firmly.

“o-kay,” you reply, sighing slightly as you turn to follow chris.

—

ashley peers through the lenses of a binocular stand, scanning the distance. “oh…” her voice trails off as she catches a glimpse of mike and emily standing close, too close for comfort.

“whoa, hello, someone’s getting a little friendly…” she mutters under her breath, shifting uncomfortably. “someone needs to check the expiration date on their breakup.”

just as she lowers the lenses, matt’s face appears in the viewfinder, startling her. she jumps back.

“whoa! hey, sorry, ash. i didn’t mean to scare you!” matt laughs awkwardly.

“jeez, matt!” she lets out a nervous laugh, still unsettled.

he reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “really sorry, ash.”

she shrugs him off. “it’s fine, it’s fine…”

“you see anything juicy?” matt asks, glancing at the binoculars.

ashley’s mind races. “uh…”

“lemme check it out,” he says, moving toward the viewer.

“it’s kinda busted. nothing interesting to see.” she laughs, avoiding his gaze.

“what? really? i bet i could see a bear chomping on a fox or something,” matt says, half-joking.

“no, really matt… it’s not worth it, i’m getting kind of a headache just from looking through it so, no” she insists, feigning a laugh.

“uh sure, if you say so.” matt sighs, turning away to head back to the lodge. ashley quickly follows to gather with the rest of the group in front of the lodge.

—

"man, i feel like this mountain gets bigger every time i climb it," chris mutters, short of breath.

"oh yeah? feels the same to me."

you turn toward the voice. josh. "oh, come on. you grew up here. it probably feels like it’s shrinking."

"i guess that’s true," josh chuckles, crossing his arms. he glances up, catching your gaze. you smile, giving him a gentle wave.

"when are you gonna install some cell towers up here? i’m getting withdrawals already," chris grumbles, holding up his phone, desperate for a signal.

"you got a spare million lying around, and i’ll fix you right up," josh jokes, raising his brows, shifting his gaze from you to chris.

"funny you should say that," chris sighs. "ah, i think i left it in my other jacket."

josh grins. "oops." he turns, leading the group up to the porch. he waves to the others waiting on the stairs. "hey, gang! you guys make it up here okay?"

matt stands at the sight of josh. "coulda done with some bellboys, but hey, can’t get everything."

"yeah, it was pretty easy. a little creepy, though. i mean, it’s just really weird being back here," ashley adds, seated on the steps.

josh nods, waving you and chris to follow him up the steps as the others linger below. "yo, yo, yo! we gonna get things moving here or what?" chris asks excitedly, catching up with josh and you at the front door.

"yeah, man!" josh replies with a similar enthusiasm.

"so, matt and emily are a thing now?" chris inquires.

josh chuckles. "so it seems."

“what’s mike think of that?”

“i got a feeling mike’s already got his hands full, you know what i mean,” josh hints.

“-of jessica,” you scoff.

chris raises an eyebrow at you, puzzled. "huh," he murmurs, looking at josh, who’s fiddling with the front door.

“dammit! this freaking thing,” josh mutters, twisting the doorknob.

“is it iced?” you ask, leaning closer.

“what else?” josh shrugs.

“maybe there’s another way in?”

“there’s a million ways in. they’re just all locked,” josh sighs.

“there’s gotta be, like, a window or something we can get open or something,” chris suggests, glancing along the side of the lodge.

“wait a second, are you suggesting we break in?” josh asks, peering at chris over his shoulder.

chris scoffs. “i don’t think it’s technically breaking in if you own the place, right?”

“hey, not if i don’t report you,” josh teases.

“uh…” chris stammers, unsure if josh is serious.

“lead the way, cochise!” josh points down the steps.

without hesitation, chris heads down the steps, with you and josh trailing behind. chris pauses to greet ashley, as you and josh continue alongside the lodge.

josh pats your back gently. “nice to see you, lily,” he chuckles, pulling his hand away.

“you too, joshua,” you reply with a smile.

he grins. “hey, maybe later i can give you a proper greeting alone, yeah?” he suggests, a hint of mischief in his tone.

“in your dreams, josh,” you scoff, crossing your arms.

“every. single. night,” he winks.

—

“are you sure this is safe?” you ask, staring up at the window.

“never know until we try,” josh says.

“take my bag, will you?” you ask, handing it over. josh takes it from you, smirking as chris taps his wrist impatiently.

“we’re waiting,” chris quips.

“i got it, jeez.” you hoist yourself up, sliding one leg through the window. josh whistles at the view of you awkwardly maneuvering through.

“dude!” chris chides, smacking josh’s arm.

you pull your other leg over, slipping and landing on a workbench with a loud thud. josh clambers up to the window to check on you.

“all good,” you groan, pulling yourself to your feet with another wince.

“should’ve paid more attention in climbing class!” chris shouts.

josh gives him a look. "you mean gym?"

“yeah, with the ropes and stuff.” chris responds.

suddenly, the single light bulb shatters, raining glass towards the concrete floor. you flinch at the noise, shivering in the new darkness. “uh, josh…”

“i got a light for you,” he says, tossing you a lighter. you thank him quickly. “woah, lils, i just got an awesome idea.”

“here we go…” you start. josh’s ‘awesome ideas’ rarely end well.

“no, no, no,” he insists. “okay, so i’m pretty sure there’s deodorant in one of the bathrooms. you could use that with the lighter.” he grins, proud of himself.

“i’m lost. what’s a stick of deodorant gonna do?”

“spray on. it’s a can.”

“oh, i get it.”

“flamethrower!” josh says excitedly.

chris joins josh at the window. “just like we do with the little army dudes!”

“yeah, just like the ones we melted!” josh laughs, giving chris a high five. “bye-bye, frozen lock.” you roll your eyes, laughing. “alright, so you got this?”

“mhm.” you hum, turning on you heels.

josh salutes. “godspeed, pilgrim!” he says in that ridiculous voice of his.

you giggle, giving a mock salute before heading toward the garage. once they think you're out of earshot, the boys continue their conversation.

“so, ashley was looking pretty hot today, right?” josh asks, nudging chris. “don’t you just wanna rip that parka right off her and make some snow angels?”

“hey, cut it out, man,” chris replies, clearly uncomfortable.

“relax, just checking to see if there’s some blood flowin’ down there,” josh teases.

“tsk, yeah,” chris chuckles, albeit awkwardly.

“listen, dude, look around you. look at these beautiful mountains. do you see any parents? could you imagine a more perfect, ripe scenario, dripping with erotic possibilities? you and ashley, alone at last! you’ve laid all the groundwork, been a perfect gentleman. now, you come in for the kill!”

chris sighs in defeat. “maybe you’re right.”

josh chuckles. “you’re a hunter, bro. no fear. no mercy. she won’t even know what hit her!”

chris laughs at josh’s absurdity, giving you your cue to leave.

giggling to yourself, you head out into the hallway.

stone pillars support the upper floor, giving the lodge a rustic charm. the walls and floors are polished logs, a testament to the washingtons’ taste.

you pause, looking at the family portrait. the twins. your heart aches. "god."

you make your way down the hallway, then turn left into the entrance. with no flamethrower yet, you wander into the grand main room.

furniture is covered in sheets, the space looking abandoned. the massive staircase casts shadows in the lighter's glow, and you stare in awe, still astonished by the lodge’s grandeur.

climbing the stairs, you head to the best bathroom. so many memories come flooding back—lounging in bikinis with beth and jessica, sharing a hot bath, gossiping. good times.

you open a cabinet beneath the counter and spot the deodorant can. as you reach for it, a rodent scurries out, startling you.

“jesus christ!” you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. catching your breath, you grab the can and head downstairs.

—

everyone gathers in the grand room, placing their bags down as you shrug off your jacket. Ashley's voice breaks the quiet, “oh my god, it’s so good to be inside. even if it’s still kinda freezing in here.” her gaze sweeps the room, taking it all in.

josh moves toward the fireplace, “i’ll get a fire going.” he offers, and you find a spot on the middle couch, pulling off the dusted cover to fold it up before sitting.

matt steps further into the room, “this place barely looks any different.”

“nobody’s been up here.” josh voice carries as he kneels to work on the fireplace.

ashley's curiosity piques, “even with all the police coming in and out?”

“not a lot of action up here lately.” chris chimes in, glancing at josh, who only shakes his head.

“nope.” josh says in response.

suddenly, mike strides into the room, his arms raised high. “what’s up, party people!” he shouts, his loud greeting feels out of place, almost jarring.

“he-ey!” jessica adds, stepping out from behind him with a cheerful wave. you'll never admit it, but you like mike better with jessica. she’s a lot less controlling than em.

everyone echoes casual greeting to them in return, “make yourself at home, bro.” josh says to mike.

“will do.” michael says happily. he follows jessica to the couch in which you occupy, and take it as a sign to move. you make your way to josh, to ask if he needs any assistance.

josh gives you a small smileas he points out what to do next with the fire, he keeps his voice low as emily enters the room to join the group. her eyes land sharply on mike and jessica sitting close together, “oh my god, that is so gross,” she snaps, her voice dripping with disdain. “are you trying to swallow his face whole?”

mike pulls back a little, "em-."

“seriously, can she be any more obvious? no one wants in on your territory, honey.” emily taunts, crossing her arms in disapproval.

jessica stiffens but then stands, crossing the room to meet emily's stance.“excuse me, did you say something?”

“oh? did you not hear me? was your sluttiness too loud?” em bites, closing in on the distance between her and jess.

“sounds like someone’s upset she didn’t make the cut.” jessica grins in pride.

emily looks at jessica in disgust, “yeah, it’s all a big cattle call with that dream boat. congrats! your top cow!”

jessica moves closer, “cuts real deep calling miss homecoming a cow.”

matt steps in, “em, come on-,”

“shut up matt.” she quickly shuts him down.

“stay out of it you dumb oaf!” jessica adds, pointing at matt.

“hey! watch it.” emily barks back, almost possesive.

the tension stretches unbearably, everyone frozen in their spots, pretending not to notice but unable to ignore the tension thickening the air.

“oh! your the only one who can put him down? no one else can play with your toys?” jessica taunts.

emily’s expression is pure fury, “you’re such a bitch.”

jessica shrugs, her tone condescending, “whatever. i don’t give a crap what you think.” she turns back toward mike.

emily's voice follows her, bitter. “atleast i can think. 4.0 bitch. honour roll. suck on that when you're trying to sleep your way into a job.”

“who needs grades when you got all the natural advantages you can handle?” jessica laughs, displaying her body.

“oh please-,” em scoffs.

“you couldn’t buy a moldy loaf of bread with your skanky ass!” jessica snaps back, a sneer in her voice.

emily only scoffs in response, “are you serious? do you think that’s insulting?”

jess spins around to face mike, pointing at em. “that bitch is on crack or something!”

you and josh glance at each other, in an ‘are you seeing this?’ sort of look. the room is filled with a tension that demolishes the little excitement there once was.

“jessica, you need to shut your mouth okay?” matt steps in, attempting to diffuse the situation.

“no.” jessica waves an accusing finger at him. “your the one who needs to keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

“i’m about to get right up in your business you bitch.” emily threats, stepping closer to jess.

josh gives you a knowing look, both in silent agreement.

“are we about to get real? because i’m down to get real.” jessica challenges, practically nose-to-nose with emily

“stop it!” josh intervenes, raising his voice to be louder than the two girls. “this is not why we came up here, this is not helping.”

he steps further into the room. “this is not what i wanted. if we can’t get along for ten minutes, maybe we need a little bit of a break, right?”

josh points at mike, “mike, why don’t you check out the guest cabin. the one i told you about?” josh suggests, giving mike and jess an out.

“yeah,” mike agrees, “yeah alright.” he approaches jessica with an outstretched helping hand, “wanna go do that?”

she nods, “any place without that whore.” she insults a last time, before taking his hand in her own, and following him to the door.

“it’s right up the trail.” josh points out as the couple exits the lodge, onto the outside deck.

“phew!” matt sighs, pulling his hands atop his head to do a mock explosion. “glad that’s over.” he adds, turning to face josh and i at the fireplace.

“yeah,” you respond, bending back down to the unlit fire.

matt approaches closer, “so josh, uh, should we get this fire going?”

you and josh glare in unison, as if the two of you hadn’t already been trying. “working on it.” you reply.

“um matt! where’s my bag?” emily shouts from the main entrance.

“huh?” matt replies, turning to face emily.

“my bag? the little bag with the pink pattern! the one i got on rodeo! matt! are you listening?” emily asks, but leaves little wiggle room for a response. “oh my god, don’t you remember? next to the italian shoe place where i got the stilettos and you knocked over the rack while you were drooling all over the girl at the counter?”

you sigh, barely holding in a groan. the evening has barely begun, and you’re already over it. if only josh’s breakup with emily hadn’t caused this mess, maybe things could have been… a bit more peaceful. it’s selfish, but you can’t help but think it.

you tune out the bickering, turning to josh. “you hungry?” you whisper, eyes on the fire.

josh glances up, his grin breaking the tension, “starving.”

“once we get this set up, i’ll make us a snack,” you offer, your tone hopeful.

“sounds like a dream, cupcake,” he teases, grinning as he turns back to the fire. you roll your eyes and playfully swat at him, though his silly nickname somehow makes the night feel a little warmer.

finally, as matt reluctantly follows emily out to search for her bag, the fire catches, filling the grand room with a warm, flickering glow.

“wanna go give mike the keys?” josh nods toward the door where mike and jess had left, and you nod, standing to follow him.

when josh twists the door open, jess and mike are still waiting on the porch. “hey! pornstars! you’re gonna need these,” josh calls out, tossing mike the keys.

“pornstars?” jess’s brow raises.

josh grins, “i’d pay to see it.” he snickers, ignoring your playful shove as you grimace in mock disgust.

“sorry to kick you out like that,” josh apologizes, a slight shiver in his voice.

“no worries, man,” mike shrugs it off.

“oh i’m sure you’ll find a way to entertain yourselves.” josh hints with a continuous nod.

“you guys have fun with the peanut gallery.” jess giggles. josh mimics shooting himself, his hands mocking a spray of blood out the other side.

josh turns to leave, “oh, almost forgot. gotta fire up the generator so you can see where your going.” josh points down the dark path. “it’s dark out there.” he taunts, pushing you back inside playfully.

“alright, roger that.” you hear michael say before josh closes the door.

“snacks?” you offer, putting on your most convincing plead.

“hell yeah.”

—

next -> soon!

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hom3landr · 7 months ago

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"just lie to me, okay? just this once."

Necessary Lies

CW - Major Character Death, descriptions of gore and sickness, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Homelander’s intentions had been pure when he arranged to dose you with Compound V. He’s reminded by a friend that’s how the road to hell is paved

You aren’t getting better.

Homelander’s stomach turns.

You aren’t getting better.

He’d done everything right. The whole process was done under the supervision of all of Vought’s best doctors and scientists. Even as you screamed and begged, he’d been confident that any complications could be swiftly dealt with. Sure, you’d been an adult when the V had been introduced into your system but you are strong. You have to be. You have to.

He watches you in your room. It doesn’t seem right for you to be surrounded by so much blank white. You are color and light but even you can’t withstand the way the awful room dims your soul. Maybe if you could see the sun you’d get better. But the doctors insist you are too fragile to handle any environment except the sterile one you are contained in.

He bites his lip anxiously as you continue to hack up blood, the bright crimson automatically drawing the eye. His instincts tell him to scan you, to watch as the V twists your DNA and transforms you into something greater.

I told you not to get your hopes up. You tend to have a less than stellar track record when it comes to mud people.

He shakes his head and tries to ignore the little voice in his ear. He’s wrong this time. It’s a hiccup that’s all. You’re strong. You are.

The voice is blocked out but not by his own efforts. A horrible cry leaves your lips as your bones crack and shift under your skin. More red spews on the floor. He winces at the wet splat as a chunk of something hits the floor.

That was juicy. Wanna bet that was a lung?

Homelander tastes iron as he splits his own lip. It feels like it’s your blood he’s tasting. It’s your blood he’s spilt.

That one was a little mean, I admit. But buck up Bucko, this is what you signed up for. Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.

He’s done this before. Why the fuck were you the one with complications?

“There’s a good reason Vought doesn’t do it.”

That’s what he told Madelyn that fateful night.

He’d killed her too

He steps to the side as a squad of sour smelling scientists rush in to stabilize you. But what can they do? What can they do now that the only outcome is for the poison to run its course? He vividly fantasizes about popping each one’s head like a ripe melon as punishment for not fixing this. It doesn’t make him feel better.

Please

He begs the voice in his head.

Just lie to me, okay? Just this once.

The once dependable steady rhythm of your heartbeat is dangerously erratic.

You smell like death.

Please!

He worries the cut on his lip with his tongue. It feels strange to have a wound. The scientists flutter around you nervously. They know you’re a lost cause but Homelander’s icy gaze compels them to at least pretend to be helpful. Their terror burns his nose. He decides to make their demise slow.

No can do Buddy, you know that’s not what I’m here for. I’m the only one who’ll never lie to you.

Your heartbeat grows fainter. Your breaths rattle.

One of the scientists pisses himself.

Please…

You turn your head and despite your eyes meeting his, he knows you can’t see him. You wouldn’t be able to even without the wall in the way. He doesn’t think you can see much of anything anymore.

I told you so. Better go in and say your goodbyes.

I hate you

Aw buddy, I’m the only thing you have left.

Your heart stops and a noise all too terribly familiar leaves your throat. The last noise you’ll ever make. A wail just as wretched leaves his lips.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He let you die in that awful room alone. He wasn’t even holding your hand. You were alone like he was alone all those many years ago. Being poked at like he was.

He vomits bile onto the floor.

You’re gonna need me more than ever now. Better get used to it.

#homelander #homelander x reader #x reader #major character death #Please read the warnings this is sad as fuck #the angstiest thing I’ve ever written #I’m so sorry anon #i went nuclear #angst #mirrorlander #I’m finally in a place where I can start working through prompts

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bluedillylee · 2 months ago

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I’ll always wish we could’ve gotten a few more moments with Yennefer focusing on her feelings about Tissaia’s suicide. With how cruelly Tissaia dealt with Yennefer’s own attempt as a child and how even centuries later never apologized for how she handled it I feel like Yennefer would have some deep resentment towards her.

their relationship was complex to say the least and while there was love there was also a lot of hurt. It’s a fascinating relationship to see on screen. Just think of what we could’ve got with an old school 25 episode season 😭 never forget what greedy CEO’s have taken from us!

lyrics are from the mountain goats-up the wolves

[ID Yennefer cries as she cradles Tissaia’s dead body. Blood from Tissaia’s slit writs forms a puddle under her arm and blood drops lead the eye down the page toward lyrics that say “ there’ll always be a few things, maybe several things that you’re going to find real difficult to forgive.” Below the lyrics is a dead flower. End ID]

#The witcher #witcher netflix #tw suicide #tw blood #tw self harm #tissaia de vries #yennefer of vengerberg #let me know if I missed a major tag warning I don’t want to fw anyone’s day #major character death

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kflixnet · 1 year ago

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Check out our member Muri's series!

Through the Decades of 7

call history ⋆ ★ hands-linked and locked with fate, you've lived and loved through the decades of time filled with intimacy and tragedy. 7 varied stories, 7 decades, 7 hearts of gold, 7 deaths followed by heartbreak, and 7 different boys who hold the key to your heart, their hands in yours, with beautiful memories...so who are you to call fate horrible when devastation takes places and rips you from the arms your lover and places you in care another.

pairings *. * · ot7 x fem! reader (series)

ringtone⋆ ★ the one that got away - katy perry and falling for you-seventeen

series start *. * · october 20, 23

end⋆ ★ ???

taglist *. * · @elfis-world//@luvistqrzzz//@kflixnet

a/n *. * · all respective warnings will be on top of each story but a whole major warning is that all the fics will contain major character death...again warning, these fics will have major character death. also, i did do my best to research every single event, but please tell me if I got something wrong or accidentally wrote something insensitive. and finally like i said in all my fics, i have horrible horrible grammar becuz i can't write and english isn't my first language, and extremely sorry for the long ass descriptions. thank you!

Heeseung: The Mongolian Invasions of Korea (1258-1269)

call summary˚ · • . ° . Living in the city of Jinju for your entire life, you’ve spent your youthful days thriving joyfully with your one and only childhood best friend; Lee Heeseung. And as much as you would hate to admit it, not only would you call Heeseung your friend, but also the first and only boy who has stolen your heart. But what was stopping you from confessing? Maybe it was the risk of losing him by your side forever? You weren’t really sure yourself. So as you tackle your own challenges of love, the world around you continues on peacefully. Yet an impending force of terror awaits your lovely city and the citizens in it, one that will sweep you off of your feet…literally.

trope ༊*·˚ Childhood Friends to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . Death, Mentions of Prostitution, Mentions of Cheating, Bullying (?), Blood, Inaccurate Historical References(?), Crude, Language Horrible Grammar, Bad plot, Repetitive Scenes, Cliche

right here ➟ (1258-1269)

Jungwon: The Great Fire of London (1666)

call summary˚ · • . ° . Being an unmarried woman at 25 was already extremely hard. And being a bakery owner at that, added to the list of why you were going to get grey hairs earlier than the average woman. But you know what really tops the list? The Coffee Shop across from your own establishment. And to be more specific, its owner, Yang Jungwon, the annoying pest that’s been bothering you for over a year. Bragging about more popularity, playing nasty tricks to rile each other up, charming the other’s customers so you could whisk them away, and maybe accidentally kissing each other while you were drunk? Wait no that last one was definitively not a part of your daily agenda like the other ones. But everyone could see that the kiss was something that was going to happen between you two sooner or later and it really didn’t help that you enjoyed it. But who would know that the small smooch you two shared in that dingy bar, was going to lead something quite more.

trope ༊*·˚ Enemies to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . tba

coming soon!

Jake: The Typhoid Epidemic in Australia (1897-1898)

call summary˚ · • . ° . You were never really a sick person but your poor younger sister was. Diagnosed with pneumonia at an extremely young age, hospital visits were very common in your household and usually would lead you to take your sister to the very big hospital that was only a few blocks away. When Mama worked late out at night to provide for her two precious daughters, it left you to be the mother role for your sister. So when a night of fun between you two, leaves her in a deadly coughing fit, you rush her to the hospital and you break out in tears once you are told she was going to have to stay the night from how bad the fit was. Thinking that you were suffering all alone with your emotions, you don’t realize the cute pale boy next to you offering you a piece of his chocolate and when you do, he comforts your weeping body only to leave hurriedly once you stop your rain of tears, leaving you curious with your mixed emotions. Was it just you or was your heart beating a bit faster than usual? And why do you start to notice the boy every time you visit the hospital for your sister, ever since that painfully cute encounter?

trope ༊*·˚ Strangers to Friends to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . tba

coming soon!

Jay: The Sinking of the Titanic: (1912)

call summary˚ · • . ° . Being the only child and daughter of a wealthy businessman made it harder and harder for your sweet father to leave you so you can embark on a new journey all the way to New York. But you resisted, affirming him with your honeyed words to let you go, you’ve been his daughter for a whole twenty-one years, it was time for you to leave him behind in England. And how could he say no to his lovely child, so he lets you go, and after a few heart-wrenching sobs of goodbyes, you are finally on the very ship that would lead you to your destiny…maybe. The moment you arrive was pretty enjoyable, and so were the few hours after that, but you soon get in a little scuffle with a very distinguishable gentleman (spoiler alert he was not very gentlemanly like or distinguishable and served you horrible pain in the arse). But being stubborn was practically your middle name so why did you for some reason melt in the hands of another man who comes to your aid, easily submitting to his commands that he was going to solve it out for you…not that you really needed it, you were doing quite fine, but gosh it was attracting a lot of attention and wow that mysterious man was charmingly handsome. So you find yourself with that same man after that, spending your every minute with him, and it's safe to say you won't regret it. And hopefully, he doesn’t too but from his smile, you could guess that he doesn’t either.

trope ༊*·˚ Strangers to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . tba

coming soon!

Niki: The Pacific Theater of WWII (1939-1945)

call summary˚ · • . ° . You’re still not really sure if you regret bumping into Niki with your fruits or not. After helping him clean out the stain you’ve given him on that white shirt he was wearing that fateful when, at the ripe age of eleven, you’ve had the pleasure to stay friends with him up till these eight years and you plan it to stay that way, after finding out that you hate changes. But when the news of devastating deaths around the world finally catches up to your own country, you know that inevitable change was going to hit. First, it was the rations and the increase of government control in people's lives, not that it wasn’t already strict enough. And then it directed to more serious matters, something that you weren’t ready for; the draft for all men that were eligible to join the army and fight for their country. You weren’t ready for Niki to leave you behind nor was he ready to see your pretty face for the last time. But who knows what the future holds and what you’re devising in that witty brain of yours.

trope ༊*·˚ Friends to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . tba

coming soon!

Sunoo: The Great Chinese Famine (1959-1961)

call summary˚ · • . ° . It was no lie that you were very hard-working and were covered in a blanket of competitiveness. In school, in sports, with friends, in the field with your parents and siblings. And it was all driven by your personal dream to become a doctor. But socialism was starting to become more and more popular which means more people working to the bone to feed their families and others. This means no time for school or any academic approaches, so you just dropped out…completely. Disappointed and hopeless you try your best for your family, which works out! And you guess in awarding of your fruitful labor, god sends you, your neighbor from a few houses down to come and help you. Well to be honest it's more that in exchange for your family's help, he personally helps you. Losing his family’s farm a few weeks ago, Sunoo’s family is extremely grateful for you the food you give to them, especially Sunoo himself who’s always admired you from afar, never close enough to take a bite. So he grasps the chance immediately. For your family’s kindheartedness, he’ll tutor you, after all his brother was already a great scholar, so it couldn’t be that hard. Right?

trope ༊*·˚ Neighbors to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . Starvation more to be added

coming soon!

Sunghoon: Sampoong Department Store Collapse (1995)

call summary˚ · • . ° . Working at a small drink shop in this enormous department store was never not busy. Various customers flocked in each day and you were never ever bored, always making some sort of drink or craning your neck into the business of the other customers. You usually wouldn’t recognize any of the people that came in, too many faces for your brain to memorize, but there was always this one boy who stood in the corner of the store, always ordering the same drink and always at the same time; two pm and coincidentally it was always the same time your shift started. Curious as you were you asked, and the moment you did, Sunghoon’s face appealed in a small smug, and unknowingly the immortal beings above you opened the book of fate that had already encased the story of you two; the barista girl and her devoted customer. So it was no surprise when you find yourself, walking with the same man, hands interlocked with love, and walking in the same department store, years later, only this time, a small ring could be found on your finger.

trope ༊*·˚ Strangers to Lovers

warnings ˚ · • . ° . tba

coming soon!

again extremely sorry for the grammar mistakes....i made the descriptions 3 in the morning so it may not make sense :/

please repost and like<3

again send a comment or an ask to be added to the taglist!!!

#g: 13+#g: various genres #warnings: to be mentioned per work #warnings: major character death #a: txtmetonight #member: muri #artist: enhypen

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silvers-starrway · 3 months ago

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SURPRISE!!! Have chapter 2 already because I am insane about this fic :]

#starrway art #shadow the hedgehog #mnemonic au #image id in alt #sonic fanart #sonic fanfic #introcuding my silly sonic oc 'The Koco' into this fic lol #like OF COURSE Shadow gets his own Koco to grow attatched to #hey whats that major character death warning doing over there????#also yes I gave Shadow brown eyes I am a brown eye shadow truther

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ofmermaidstories · 1 year ago

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You are five when your Quirk manifests for the first time, with Rinchan.

‼️📍 content warnings: implied major character death, death in general, in a myriad of ways (falling, head trauma, old age, drowning, suicide), im a little graphic for emphasis, grief and mourning. there’s also some light smut and implied underage sex.

Rinchan. Rinchan who watches you while your mother goes to work. Rinchan with her big, soft, crepe-paper arms; who holds you in them for as long as you want, singing you songs as she shells peas into a metal bowl—you clinging to her, placid as a koala, your legs dangling over her lap. Rinchan who is probably your most favourite person in the entire world—the entire world being your neighbourhood and your school and the nearby park, overgrown, and the overwhelming shopping centre a car ride away.

Rinchan. Rinchan. Rinchan who, when you are five, starts appearing before you naked and wet, her face covered in blood.

The first time it happens she’s still alive; the sizzle of her cooking coming from the kitchen just behind you as you sit on the floor with a pile of milk-chews in front of you, staring in frozen horror at this other her—shining with water, her mouth stretched open in a startled O, everything about her soft and sagging.

You make a tiny noise—fear, caught in your throat, a baby mouse curled up—and then Rinchan, your Rinchan, Rinchan alive and warm and dry, calls out, “Are you okay, Baby?”

The Other Rinchan’s mouth stretches open further, like it recognises her—like it’s trying to say something back and you—

You wail in answer, scrabbling at Rinchan (living, alive) when she flys in, concerned, asking, “What? What? What is it? What’s wrong?” her soft crepe-paper arms around you tight as you sob into her neck.

She’s bewildered and a little frightened herself; but she hums as she rocks you, a warm hand stroking your back, soothing you both until your sobs are little more than wet snuffling, your hand curling into the fabric of her dress.

You loved her. You love her, still, after all this time. But that love doesn’t save either of you, and you are haunted by the other Rinchan for the rest of that awful summer: in the park, with your friends, Rinchan watching, mouth agape, from the bushes. Walking home, hand-in-hand with your mother, Rinchan behind you. Alone in your bedroom, at night, Rinchan standing over you as you watch the water drip down her skin. You start wetting yourself with the fear, whenever it happens—a response that quickly loses you those parkside friends and worries your mother and living Rinchan sick, the pair of them whispering about you when they think you can’t hear, their fear—your fear—condemning you to pull-ups, like a giant baby.

It doesn’t stop the end from coming.

Rin dies just before Halloween, when the shops are filled with green-faced witches and plastic skeletons that rattle and can’t frighten you, anymore. She dies alone, at night. A fall in the shower, your mother tells you in a whisper a couple of days later, red-eyed. You knew enough by then to be able to picture it: Rin, shining with water, her mouth stretched open in a startled O—her face covered in blood.

Your mother holds your hand at her funeral, too tight, and you cling back and say nothing.

The other Rinchan never comes back. Rin never comes back—cannot come back, no matter how much you love her.

Others do, though.

It’s a parade of the dead, shuffling forward to a dirge only you can hear. You learn, over time, that it’s specific to people you either know or will come to know—people you have some kind of tie to, some bond, good or bad. When you are fifteen it’s your homeroom teacher Miss Aoki: her head and shoulder caved in, her right eye bulging out at you, unseeing. You’d been drinking a bottle of milk-tea when she arrived, the blood stark and jewel-like in the daylight. You do not touch milk-tea for ages, afterwards.

You no longer wet yourself in fear, but you cannot look your teacher in the eye for weeks—it ruins everything. You stop pausing after homeroom to talk to her, stop sharing the music that brought you together, unable to face her, unable to face the bemusement and then the tiny flashes of hurt.

You cannot warn her. What would you warn her about? The trauma to her head could’ve been a fall, or some kind of rock—an accident or murder. And even if you knew, even if you could pinpoint it, she would not believe you. You know that because you had tried, with the ghost after Rinchan—with Yochan. Yochan, a boy from your neighbourhood and once, once before your Quirk had come, a boy you had followed around like a guiding star. You and all the other kids, faithful to him above all. But when your Quirk came and you got weird, he got mean.

“You’re a stupid piss-baby!” He’d shout at you, cackling. The other kids hung back, unsure of how to treat you—and this was how you saw him, the other him, standing behind the others with a swollen, awful face, his Endeavour shirt stained with a creamsicle, his eyes disappeared under the red, weeping slits of an allergic reaction.

You tried. You tried.

“Yochan,” you’d whisper, “please—”

His face would twist in disgust though, any time you came near him. “Freak!” he’d hiss. “Piss-baby! Get lost!”

He’d run away, then, laughing to himself and telling everyone that you had threatened him (“Piss Baby wants me dead!”)—and you had shut into yourself more, haunted by the agonised version of him that only you could see, that would stand there in your bedroom and twitch, the last throes of death.

It came for him, eventually. More than half a year later, during a game of softball where he’d knocked over a wasp nest and stomped over to it, the others too scared.

(The teacher explains it in class the following week and you sit there, in your seat by the window, untouched by the light. Empty.

Miss Aoki dies during the war, caught in the shadow of a collapsing building. You go to her service without your mother to hold your hand, and pray for forgiveness.)

You can map your life by the bodies that follow you. A year after after Miss Aoki it’s Hiroe: the tiny, fierce old woman down the street who grumbles at you every morning. When her doppleganger appears across the street from the pair of you, thin and wan and gasping as the hospital gown slips off her shoulders, the living her angrily talking about her carnations, the only thing you feel is relief. She’ll be in hospital—someone will be with her. It won’t be alone in a shower, or sprawled out on her kitchen floor, blood pooling under her. It’ll be death, still, leeching the life out of a woman who pertly tells you that the colour of your coat doesn’t suit you, but it’ll better than some of the lonely things you’ve seen, you live with.

(But it’s not better at all. Hiroe’s son works too hard, his hours too long in the aftermath of the war, helping the restoration. You visit her after school, bright flowers in hand and some of the colour returns to her face as she complains that you’re already dressing her altar, but her son is never there—and she dies alone, during the night, gasping for breath.)

You’re cursed, you think; cursed to see death everywhere you go, in everyone you know. And then you meet Kouki and realise that your curse smears over your future, too.

Kouki. Kouki with his brilliant red hair, like autumn leaves in the sunlight. Kouki who laughed easily, who would evenutally come to keep his pocket full of those old-fashioned milk-chews, just for you. Kouki, who, before you meet him alive, you meet dead—floating mid-air before you during your walk home one night, his hair dancing around his face, his eyes unseeing as his mouth opens and closes, gulping for air that isn’t there.

You are seventeen by this stage. It had been a hard couple of years with Miss Aoki, with the war, with Hiroe. Kouki appears before you under a streetlamp and you drop your schoolbag, your throat siezing.

“Don’t,” you say to this corpse of a boy you haven’t met, yet. “Don’t—don’t you dare do this to me.”

He opens his mouth; a tiny silver fish darts out and you burst into tears, overwhelmed, your new ghost lingering with you as you sob on the street, alone in the night. You don’t even know him. You don’t even know him.

He transfers to your senior class at the end of the month.

By then you had gotten used to the vision of him, numbly, the drowned boy following you around like a harmless stray—keeping you company on your walks home from your part-time job. You had sat with him as he floated, you solidly on the ledge of a park, unwrapping milk-chews and staring out at the dark before you, undaunted and unafraid, the most haunted thing there as his tiny fish flittered about him, again and again, on loop.

And then he walks into class that first day, and you are—you are frozen, even as he grins at you, bright and undaunted and alive.

“Hey,” he says after class, too interested and too friendly. “You look a little frightened—you good?”

Considering you had woken up that morning to his vestige floating at the foot of your bed, you most certainly were not good. What you say instead though is a curt, “I’m fine,” which proves to be mistake.

His eyes—big and blue—brighten at the challenge, and he grins.

“Fujita Kouki,” he introduces himself. “What’s your name?”

In the daylight, the light of the living where he can soak in the sun and return it, Kouki’s—Fujita’s—eyes are warm, not the milky colour you’ve been haunted with. You should walk away, you think desperately, wavering; you should retreat immediately. But the daylight is seductive. You are seventeen and it has a been a hard year and you are tired of being afraid.

Your lips part, even as you hesitate. But when you give him your name, his smile widens, and it almost—almost—chases the ghosts away.

Kouki quickly becomes your best friend.

Best friend is not the right term; it’s not fair to him and what you know about him. It doesn’t capture the horror of seeing him walk into your classroom that first day, nor the fear that follows you when he’s late to meeting up, or stays home from school because of a cold, because he’s bored. But—

He’s easy going. Refreshing, like cold, sparkling lemonade in the hot sun. He’s friendly and quickly becomes popular with so many of the others in your class and he wants to—he wants to hang out with you, walk you home. With Kouki you’re not the Silent Weirdo that never interacts with anyone. With Kouki you laugh—all the time, like all he wants to do is make you happy. He fills his pockets with those milk-chews and walks with you in the evenings, pushing his bike alongside you, telling you about the way his little brother terrorises his parents and how his father has been wanting to go on a vacation for years, now—and you let him. You let him become apart of your life, you let him walk you home. You let him sink into everything you know, into your pores, the fabric of who you are. He’s the good morning lets gooo texts before you meet up for school. He’s the warmth against you as you sit side-by-side on your park ledge, no longer the most haunted thing in the dark but what you should have always been: just a kid, sitting with a friend. Being with Kouki is easy, too easy. You no longer see the ghost of him—suspended in midair, his silver fish. You just see him, have him—Kouki, alive, chuckling to himself as he hands you another milk-chew.

“My dad’s finally free,” he tells you one night. You’re sitting on your ledge, mouth full of the creamy chews—Kouki (living) before you, lingering close.

“Mmph?” You question, unable to quite pry your jaw open enough for real words.

Kouki laughs like you had said something funny, and despite yourself your stomach flips, pleased to hear it. He’d been subdued; unusually quiet, had been since lunch that day, when Keichan had confessed her feelings to him in front of everyone. Keichan was pretty, effervescent—she laughed like he did, easily and among others who sparkled with her attention. On paper they were a perfect match and you almost wanted it—you wanted Kouki to be happy, however it happened. For as long as he could be.

But he had said no. You, sitting on the edges of the yard and picking at the grass, had been unable to help but watch in the same horrified, fascinated fear as everyone else, all of you silent. Keichan’s pretty face—shocked. Kouki’s red hair shinning brilliantly like fire, as he shook his head.

“Sorry,” he’d said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “I just—I don’t want that.”

In the evening gloom, he nudges your knee.

“The old man’s finally got that time off he wanted,” Kouki explains. You nod, swallowing your chews and trying to ignore how he moves forward—bracketing you, where you sit. “He wants to go fishing.”

“Oh,” you say, a little uselessly. Kouki’s hands are either side of you, distracting—the space between you warm, as he dips his head in closer.

You still. He’s always crowded your space but tonight in the silver light his face—normally so open, light—is afraid.

“You never tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, low, and you shake your head, emptied of words. It wasn’t true—you told him about the books you read, the songs you heard. The way you liked cupping sunlight in your hands because it made them glow, made you feel like you had a different Quirk entirely. You had never told anyone else that.

Kouki’s eyebrows tighten; pull. Frustrated, maybe, even as his hand balls itself into your skirt.

It pulls you closer to him, just a little. Your hand comes up between you—your fingers tracing the fold of his jacket pocket.

“You smell like those milkchews,” he whispers, and your heart is in your throat even as your lips part, his parting in echo as he watches them—

—and you don’t know who pulls who in first but then you are kissing, a hand cupping your face, anchoring you to the moment, to him as your fist tightens into his jacket. You sigh into the cool of his mouth and can almost taste the way he smiles before he presses in harder, hungry.

He pulls away after a moment; only to press more kisses, soft and careful, against your mouth, your nose, your cheek, laughing when you make a tiny, annoyed noise.

“You’re dumb,” he tells you, low, pressing another kiss against your hair, and then another. “And I’m gonna take you out and watch you eat those dumb sweets and make you tell me everything you’re thinking, forever. Until you’re sick of me.”

Your heart lurches. Forever.

“I could never be sick of you,” you tell him, the ache reopening inside of you.

Kouki grins, pleased and so, so alive; his brilliance softening to a glow as he dips his face close again, tracing your nose with his.

“I mean it,” he says, quiet. Promising. “You’re gonna have to chase me off.”

You try to stay in the warmth of him, the light and life, clutching at him, letting him kiss you again, soft.

But there’s a sob in your throat. And when you open your eyes, breathing in as Kouki kisses your jaw, your neck, his spectre is there—mouth gaping open, as a tiny, silver fish darts out.

(You beg him not to go, when his father announces the boat he’s rented, for his fishing trip. The man’s never been out on one before. Kouki has never seen your desperation, your fear, not like this and he almost stays, brows furrowed—but his little brother is excited. His father too. He buys all three of them matching fishing hats.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against the back of your neck, when you’re curled up together in your tiny, childhood bed. The house is quiet; you have it to yourselves, the sunlight dappling in your room, filtered through the tree outside. “I’m a good swimmer. Don’t worry.”

He presses a kiss against your shoulder, his fingers slow, tracing figures in the wet touch of your underwear. You breathe him in and to reassure yourself he’s right, that he will be okay, that you will always have this.

He’s gone by the following week. A storm. Kouki was right—he was a good swimmer. But his little brother wasn’t, and the love that made him go in the first place was the same love that made him search for him, endlessly, after their boat was capsized.

You go to the joint service. Kouki, his father, his little brother. His mother is held together by an older woman, desolate. In a row in front Keichan cries silent tears but you—

You stand there and you stare at Kouki’s portrait, his smiling face. He will never again soak in the sunlight and reflect it He will never again wait for you, his pockets filled with your favourite sweets. He will never again kiss you, with the cool press of his lips, the taste of his laugh behind them.

Fujita Kouki is gone. He is gone, slipping away—taking the you who believed in hope and a future where you could be happy with him.)

The years slip away. One, then two, then three and then four and then five. You move to a bigger city; and then you move again. You work in offices, department stores, a warehouse once, washing carrots—anything that will pay you, pay the bills. You keep to yourself and your coworkers lose interest in trying to keep up small talk with you and you don’t form any kind of tie, good or bad, that could manifest before you, rattling in death.

Kouki would never forgive you for this bleak existence, you think, if he could see it. But wherever he is it’s not with you, not on this plane, and so you keep your head down and when one of your ghosts does come to you, you grit your teeth and ignore it.

Even in isolation, they find a way to haunt you. You start seeing the clerk from the 7/11 you stop in to and from work, his neck snapped, and you avoid the store for three weeks before telling yourself it was stupid of you, that maybe you could say something—only to find someone else there, when you walk in, the guy already replaced.

The new hire at the office you work at starts appearing before you, swinging, his throat and face mottled as hands claw at a rope that’s not there and you—you thank him when he brings you a coffee, and try to be a little kinder, try to watch as he blends in with the others, laughs among them, the crack underneath his smile not showing.

He bungles a client, six months into working there. Your boss chews him out in front of everyone, the guy taking it with a silent, shame-faced nod, and when you try to say, “You worked hard, mistakes can happen to anyone—” he only bows hurriedly, already backing away.

(he doesn’t come back, and two weeks later his desk is cleared.)

Head down, keep to yourself. Another year passes. And then another. And then your curse rears its ugly head one final, terrible time.

You are waiting for the lights to change in the middle of a busy street, on a cold, bright afternoon, when you first see him.

You’re not paying attention; staring into the crowd on the other side of the street, thinking about what you had in the fridge at home and then he’s there, in your line of sight, his face twisting in fury, in grief, as he reaches out, shouting something—

And then there’s a flash of light, blinding and sharp and he is gone, startling you even as the crosswalk starts to sing, people moving around you like water around a stone as your heart races.

No, you think weakly. No. Not again.

He doesn’t return and you stand there, in the same spot, even as the crosswalk blinks back to red.

All your life, your Quirk has worked one way: showing you the death of someone you already knew, for better or for worse. Not someone famous, not a stranger. Kouki had been an—anomaly, you thought, desperate. Some freak tie. Japan had gone through so much in those years during and after the war: reports of abnormal adolescent Quirk growth had spiked, at its worse. You had always thought that maybe yours had been apart of that, that that’s what Kouki’s ghost had been. A result of stress, or your loneliness. Something, anything. And you’d only grown more sure of it when it didn’t repeat—

Until now.

You get home that night and in a fit of anger tear through everything, up end it all. Your clothes, out from the wardrobe or the basket, strewn along the floor. Your pots, clattering thunderously throughout your kitchen. You scream, pitching book after book across the room at your couch, the covers bending, pages tearing. You wouldn’t go through it again, you wouldn’t—

You curl up against your kitchen island, sobbing. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t do this. Not again. Not ever again.

(But your heart’s already sinking. Already tender with the hurt, remembered and preemptive. His hair had been golden in the light—like winter sun.

When your hiccups calm, you look up—and he is standing over you, his face twisting again. You shut your eyes but the flash is bright, even then. Nuclear.

When you open them, he’s gone.

“Please,” you whisper to your empty apartment. “Please don’t do this to me.”

But it’s only the silence that answers you, the absence of mercy or comfort and you shudder, your tears nothing but salt in your mouth.)

Your plan, eventually, is simple: just ignore your newest ghost, when you finally meet him.

It should be easy. Even though he was a Pro-Hero he was also a famous one—and how often did you run into famous Pro-Heroes? They always had something to defend, always had someone to save. You just had to keep living your life, squarely and safe and you would be fine. You would skirt past each other and he would live or die just however a Pro Hero should.

A month passes. And then another. You begin to think maybe you’re safe; and then you’re not.

“If everyone can line up, then that’ll make everything go smoother,” your boss calls out, echoed throughout the office. Below on the street is the firetruck—overseeing the drill. You peer over the ledge of the window in worry, trying to count the firefighters out: seven that you could see. If you saw anymore than that while out on the street you were just going to close your eyes and wait it out.

Your boss calls your name—and when you glance to him, startled, he gestures with his megaphone, sheepish.

“Can you run and grab my laptop case for me?” he asks, already half out the door. “You’re closer, and I have a feeling we’ll be down there for a while.”

“Yeah,” you say, already standing. You leave your own things at your desk—as you’re meant to—and dart to his office, partitioned by glass. When you turn around, the case in hand, the office is empty—your boss’s megaphone calling out down the hall, down the stairway, leaving you alone in the wake of it.

You go to the window again, to count the firefighters. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—

You freeze. There’s an eighth figure there, standing solidly with them, talking, his arms crossed. A Pro Hero—dressed in black, with bright orange details.

Your ghost, you think in alarm.

He looks up at the window and you jerk away, startled. He shouldn’t be able to see—the glass was tinted—but his face is suspicious and you clutch your boss’s case to you tighter, heart thumping.

Don’t give him a reason to single you out, you think desperately—you hurry to join the others but they have left you on an empty floor, already making their way down the three flights quickly, leaving you and your noisy footfall as you race down the emergency stairs—only to have the door to the lobby thrown open roughly before you could even reach it.

It bangs against the wall; leaving you to stare in silence as he fills the doorway fully, glowering, stopping you in your tracks.

“The hell?” He asks you, roughly. Under his mask his eyes flicker over you, over the case in your hands, unimpressed. “Why didn’t you evacuate with the others?”

You can only shake your head, tucking your hands around the case tighter. Even having his spectre repeat and repeat in front of you—it doesn’t compare to the space and heat of him in the flesh, taking up a doorway. He’s more solid now, more real and when he shifts, just a fraction, you step back in fright.

Something his eyes—ink red under his mask—don’t miss, narrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mercifully your voice is calm. “I had to grab something.”

“You ain’t meant to take anything,” he points out, barely civil, and you duck your head into a nod—his jaw tightening in response.

You’d rather this, you think, wincing. The brittle patience, barely hiding his rippling irritation. Anything was better than the despair that’d been playing over and over in front of you.

Pro Hero Dynamight—Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight—scowls at you, jerking behind him. “The extra with the megaphone is doin’ roll call.”

He means your boss. You look at him, curious, and his mouth tightens. It doesn’t thin the curve of his lips, though, and when you realise you’ve noticed that—

You hold your boss’s laptop closer. “Okay,” you say, meaninglessly.

Dynamight only moves out of the way when you go to squeeze past him, your jacket catching against his suit as he grunts.

“Wait,” he commands, annoyed. You stare ahead and will everything within your mind to empty as he pulls you free from the catch of one of his grenades—you mutter a thank-you and don’t look back as you hurry to the glass doors, the light, the open outside away from him and the heat of his space.

(You hide behind your coworkers as your boss commends everyone for their examplumery speed and when one of the firefighters steps forward to walk everyone through the basic dangers of an office building fire it’s Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight who stands behind him, solid and real and flinty eyed, as he stares everyone down. Someone in front of you giggles; he glares at her until she stops, bowing her head in shame and letting him look directly at—

You. Standing at the back.

His mask moves; his eyebrow raised. You lift yours in a helpless, silent, question. He frowns, like you’re speaking two different languages and morosely you think to yourself, so much for not giving him a reason to single you out.)

It’s just one off-chance meeting, you tell yourself. Just a weird little moment to establish something there, and make you feel a little guilty when you hear about his death on the news.

Only—

Only it keeps happening.

Perhaps it’s your karma, for never saying anything to the ghosts that had followed you. Or maybe it’s one last laugh from Kouki, his evil delight in teasing you manifested. Maybe it’s just plain old bad luck—but whatever it was, it meant you kept running into Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight over and over again, humiliation on repeat.

He’s—there, in his Pro-Hero gear, at the konbini you get your morning coffee, scowling as the cashier stammers through the burglary you’d only just missed. He’s—crouching amid a group of excitable kids, his grin for them sudden and sharp and bright, distracting even in the middle of a busy street. He’s—walking past you as you startle, safely tucked away into a coffee shop as he patrols past, barely sparing the café window a glance.

He is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. And in turn his ghost is too: the blinding flash in your mirror, as you try to brush your teeth, squinting. The nuclear eruption that startles you awake, in the darkness of your room. The silent twist of his face as he reaches out to you, over your counter as you eat your cereal.

It’s worse than it was with Kouki, you think bitterly. When Kouki the living appeared in your life, Kouki the ghost receded. Now you were just being haunted on both ends, both versions just as fleeting as the other.

Your only consolation is that you are, truly, a nobody to him. Just another face amid a city full of them. For all the tiny run-ins, the awful timing, you manage to wriggle away quickly, without attention—or so you’d thought.

You’re walking home under the city dusk: a universe of lights below you as you trek up the winding path that leads home. Work had been awful. You’d seen your vision of Dynamight no less than three seperate times that day, the furious twist of his face, his silent shouting—his disappearing. He was taking you with him, you thought in despair. No other ghost of yours had been so persistent. Distracted, you’d bought a supermarket bento for dinner—some nectarines, for dessert. As you walked the bag swung low and slow, too flimsy; when it splits everything in it splatters, and tumbles.

You swear, skidding as you try to chase the fruit, rolling away as they gain speed—

Stopped by a black boot, it’s orange detailing almost glowing as it scuffs along the ground, blocking them.

Everything within you settles; flattens as you straighten.

Under his mask, Dynamight arches in an eyebrow.

“You good?” He asks.

You shrug, and hold up the remnants of your plastic bag—drifting like a bride’s veil, between you.

The Pro-Hero tsks, crouching, picking up your nectarines. “Weak crap.”

In the twilight the black of his uniform makes him a dark void—until he stands again, holding out your fruit to you. You frown, and watch him mirror it, his wide mouth turning down, unhappily.

“You afraid of me, or somethin’?” He asks, rough. His face is pinched—it makes him look like a little kid, trying to tough out a pout and your stomach squeezes with the guilt. The last anyone would see of him would be a flash of light—and then Japan’s dynamite, Japan’s explosive anger, would be gone forever.

And here you were—making him feel bad in what could, quite possibly, be his last days.

“No,” you admit, opening your handbag to take back the nectarines. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He squints at you, disbelieving.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Then why do you keep runnin’ away like you’ve shit yourself?”

Oh, you think, he’s disgusting.

“I do not,” you say instead, crossly, dropping to the ground grab the remains of your bento.

Dynamight grunts in dismissal. “Yeah you do. Every time I’m walkin’ down a street, or I have to drop into some shitty little place—you’re there, turning tail. If you ain’t on laxatives and you ain’t afraid, then what is it?”

“I’m prejudiced against all Pro-Heroes,” you tell him, stoutly. “And you keep foiling my plans for world domination. Why do you notice, anyway? Why are you here?”

His boots scrape against the path, suddenly loud between you, as he moves in closer.

“‘M on patrol,” he tells you. “It’s my job on patrol to notice weirdoes—and you’ve been the weirdest.”

“Congratulations!” you tell him sourly, skittering around the solid wall of his presence to a nearby trash can. It’s already overflowing, but you squeeze your own rubbish in and turn back to the Pro, as much apart of the world around you as the dark undergrowth of the pathway, or the city lights behind him.

He’s so real, you think angrily. And in days, weeks—maybe months, if he was lucky—he’d be gone, just like that.

“Now what?” You ask him, ask yourself. “What happens now?”

Below, a train screeches past. Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight shrugs, indifferent.

“Depends,” he says. “You gonna keep being weird?”

You almost laugh. You don’t, though, holding your handbag with your nectarines closer. You are standing in the last, dark moments of a twilight world with a man who will die, God knew when—weird was probably the least you could be.

“Maybe,” you say instead. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The Pro-Hero shrugs again. “Then I do my job, and keep an eye on ya.”

He’s not looking at you when he says it, shifting awkwardly like a school boy and you—

You let your shoulders sag. You are an adult, no longer seventeen—but has been a hard life, and you are tired. Tired of being afraid. Of always being at the edges of your own life.

“Okay,” you tell him, tell yourself. Tell your ghosts, wherever they’re gathered. “I surrender.”

Dynamight snorts, kicking out a loose gravel and when he glances back to you his face has softened from its suspicion—waiting, instead.

A new pattern starts.

He walks past the coffee shop when you’re there and squints at you—acknowledgement you return with the ugliest face you can manage, the woman at the table across from you snorting into her mug.

You walk past him one weekend, surrounded by fans, and he looks up and sees you—bright eyes flickering over the fizzing orange juice in your hand, your wide sunhat, not hiding the startled surprise on your face—and grunts at the kids around him, holding up his hand as he tries to squeeze out, to you.

“Your hat makes you look like a frilly grandma,” he complains, loudly, as the fans follow him, encircling you both.

“I like your hat!” One girl says, brightly. She’s wearing a GEMG:D shirt with his scowling face under his title scrawl; you touch the brim of your hat, self-consciously.

“Thanks,” you say, self-conscious. She beams at you, even as Dynamight starts jabbing at you, trying to get you to move.

“I gotta get grandma home,” he tells everyone, as the group groans. “S’gotta have that nanna nap.”

You let him bully you. You let him pick you out, every time you cross paths. You don’t fight it—and when you start seeing him out of his Pro-Hero gear, his weaponry, your heart tightens in on itself in warning.

“You hungry?” He asks you, one evening. You’d been walking together, the pair of you having finished work at the same time; you in your neat, office wear, your leather handbag. Dynamight in sweats, a loose shirt, a dufflebag over his shoulder.

The sky above you is pink, the moon a silver crescent. A manga moon, you think to yourself; overlooking a love story.

“Yeah,” you answer him, eventually. “I’m starving.”

He nods, resolutely not looking at you—though when you glance at him his jaw tightens, head turning away.

“Denimhead introduced me to a place near here,” he says, gruffly. “They’re decent, ain’t wankers. And they’re cheap. Private.”

He should be doing this with anyone else, you thought to yourself, desperately, watching your shoes. Anyone. Someone who wouldn’t be counting down the days, the weeks, the months.

“I’d like that,” you say instead, softer. “I’d like to go.”

He doesn’t risk looking at you but his smooth face reddens, even as he passes a large hand over the back of his neck, like he could rub the colour out.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go then.”

It’s a bistro; a tiny pocket of a place only marked by a single, hanging sign of a smiling cow, the sizzle of steak permeating the alleyway. Inside the lights are low—Dynamight stands back to let you sit at the bar first, watching hawkishly, before he follows, the bartender smiling at you both.

“They gotta menu,” he says, nodding to the mirror behind the bar, where a sparse few dishes are written. “Otherwise if ya trust me I can—I can suggest shit.”

His gaze flickers over your face as you watch him in turn. He was so—here. Alive. With every tiny movement—the draw back of his elbow, the flex of his hand—you feel it, too aware.

“I trust you,” you tell him.

He grins—sudden and pointed and startling a smile out of you too, even as you try to bite it back.

(He orders blistered tomatoes, the size of doll heads, dressed in olive oil and a sweet fig vinegar, a soft cheese that bursts over them. There’s toasted baguette—slathered with bone marrow, garlic butter. There’s steak cut like it’s been shared among cavemen, several inches thick and still on the bone, bleeding even as it sizzles. The bartender puts down a little plate of fine, perfectly ruffled pasta in front of you; dressed in pesto, charred greens, tiny flowers and you have to share it with your Pro-Hero, who’s nose wrinkles when you try to offer him a speared garnish.

He is warm and he is close and he smells like the char of a grill and soap and a sweet wood layered over warm skin and neither of you move to touch each other—

But his leg presses against yours, and stays. Your hand slips over his by accident as you move to help yourself to dessert, a soft creamy dish with fruit—and he turns his palm up, catching it. Squeezing your fingers for a brief moment before letting them go, unmooring you only to anchor you again when you walk side-by-side, back to the train station, the warmth of him reassuring, and inescapable.)

Days. Weeks. Months.

You walk together, have dinner sometimes, lunch others. He complains about the other Heroes he works with; you listen, side-eyeing him when he then mentions feeding them, making meals at the agency because everyone was useless—

He doesn’t poke at you to talk, but you start sharing anyway. The book in your handbag; the gossip the others at the office always had.

“Tell ‘em to either deal with it or shut up,” he suggests, and you laugh despite yourself.

Days. Weeks. Months.

He goes away on a mission across the country—after a villain the news was calling Hazard. He’d been responsible for the complete destruction, the levelling, of a factory, a shopping centre, slipping away before anyone could scramble through the rumble and detain him. It rains the entire time Dynamight is gone, leaving you to walk home alone, an umbrella over you, as the news loops over about flood warnings.

(When he comes back it’s an overcast day; finally dry. He’s waiting for you at your usual crossroad, now, and when you see him you smile, his eyes following the curve of it before flickering over you.

“You good?” He asks.

“Better now that you’re back,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

You were. You had stayed up every night he was gone, on your phone—watching the news, the tags, waiting for his name to appear, footage of the flash that would take him. There’d been nothing; no arrests, no collision.

But your Pro-Hero’s face softens, just slight, and you realise that he’d read something else in it when he says, low, “Yeah. I get it.”

Days, weeks, months. Your heart thumps to it, reminding you and nervously, you shift away.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, wanting to fill the space between you with anything else.

He watches you skitter away, trying to encourage him to move; his eyes ruby.

“Yeah,” he repeats and in relief you turn away, all too aware of his stare, at the back of your head.)

Days. Weeks. When you finally kiss it’s at his table, in his home; empty plates in front of you.

“I think this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you tell him honestly, quietly, the smears of your tiramisu the only remains as you stand, to take your plate to the kitchen.

“You’re always tryna—dart away,” he says suddenly, still sitting.

You startle at the look on his face—serious, soft mouth trying not to pout.

“I just—I just want to help with the dishes,” you say, but his brow furrows, pinched, and when he stands it’s carefully, slow, the coiled draw of a bow that shivers, waiting.

“I can’t get a read on you,” he admits to the quiet, his knuckles against the table. “Can’t—guess at whatever’s goin’ on in that squirrelly head of yours.”

You swallow, and run your hand across your forearm, too aware of the soft edges of your sleeves, of your Pro-Hero following your fingers.

“There’s nothing,” you whisper, and he snorts; boyish, disbelieving. It makes him less of a threat and more of a man—real, living, breathing, with his own thoughts and his own feelings.

“Like hell there is,” he swears, stepping closer. It brings his warmth in; the smell of coffee, of his cologne, aniseed sweet. “Whatever you’ve got spinnin’ around in there keeps you worlds away from this one. And I ain’t—”

He stops himself, his mouth parted around the rest of his words as his eyes flicker over your face, your lips; the way you can’t breathe for his nearness, hesitating in the space between you.

“—I ain’t gonna let you disappear,” he finishes, low. For a moment he traces your nose with his, and when your lashes flutter he sucks his breath in, tight; his mouth on yours, warm and sudden. A press. And then another. And then another and then the kiss is deepening and you tilt your head as hands fist themselves in your hair, keeping you close even as he pulls away, tiny, to pant against your lips. “Hah—”

You kiss him back. You take him back. Your hands are tight in his shirt, too flimsy to hold him and you whine and you can feel him snarl—or smile?—against you, his teeth hard against the corner of your mouth, scraping your jaw as he nips at your neck.

The plates on the table rattle as you both slide to the floor. You gasp as his mouth meets the bare skin of your thigh, then again as his thumbs hook under your underwear, the cool of his floor a shock. He moans, muffled; free of your ass your underwear drapes, wet and warm against you and he mouths at it, a heavy kiss as you gasp again at his tongue through cotton. He kisses deeper—you gasp again, and again, until you’re panting, tiny ah, ah, ahs that have him squeezing your hip, nosing the wet slop of your underwear out of the way so that his mouth meets your skin and you both moan.

(You are unravelled, on the floor—your clothes pooling, your breasts freed, your legs splayed. His hold is firm and warm and you are heavy-eyed, even as you gasp again, under him. You want to drift away—you want to stay, hissing as his blunt nails claw along the meat of your ass.

He lifts himself to meet you for a kiss—his mouth and chin shiny, his eyes glimmering as his shoulders ripple, panther-lithe as he leans over you.

His mouth is warm. You hum into it as he curses, tasting him—coffee, sex, you—as hot hands smooth the small of your back, the slip of him inside of you so, so easy and wet.

Even in the rut, the thrust, you are safe. You arch off of the floor like you’re trying to escape it, escape into the solid wall of him, waiting with another kiss, long and hard as he thrusts in deeper, deeper still.

You curl your legs against him, your heel in his ass. He grunts, then bites at your chin and your laugh is broken off into a moan as he ruts in hard.

Days. Weeks. When you come it’s sudden, starflash hot; you gasp for a final time and your hero is there to nose against your wet skin, to kiss you, his own undoing a groan, a sigh into your mouth.

There are no ghosts, lingering afterwards. Only him, panting; only you, your legs slipping together, your lips parting. Only him, only you.

He presses a kiss against the side of your head, almost forcefully.

“Wasn’t too shit,” he says, gruff, and you laugh around your breathlessness, anchored and alive.)

Days, weeks. Days.

Your Hero asks you stay over; you do, waking up in sheets that smell like him, that smell like sex, like you. You give yourself the moments—let yourself kiss his shoulder in hello, when he’s brushing his teeth. Lean into his touch, when his hand smooths up and down your waist.

“The others wanna meet ya,” he says one night, grumpily. “Said something about a lunch—I told ‘em s’up to you.”

At the counter, you hesitate. Who knew what you’d see, around them, the country’s frontliners. And it would only make this death, the one you were waiting on, worse—

But your Hero is determinedly not looking at you, his face pink, and you realise—he wants it. He wants you to meet them. Them to meet you.

Oh, you think, stricken. This was going to hurt.

“Okay,” you say. “I’d—I’d like that. Let’s do that.”

When he grins it twists his whole face into childlike brightness. You smile back with a wobble, looking at him and only him—ignoring his ghost behind him, shouting at you before the flash.

Days. Day. It’s a bright Saturday and you were meant to be meeting his friends, at last, the city busy as you hurry to the department store. There was a store in the food hall that sold small, perfectly round cream cakes, with glossy coatings and made to look like fruit—you wanted a tray of them, to take.

The sales clerk is handing you the bag, sealed with a ribbon when the shouting starts.

“RUN!” Someone screams, a flash from the back of the store blinding you. It’s the call, the break through the spell. Everyone panics, shouting as people start to bolt for the stairs to the street outside.

You’re almost torn away from the store—the girl serving you yelping as people barrel past, the force of them moving you, too, until the girl shrieks—trapped behind the counter.

“Wait!” You say, but a man almost shoves you aside and you drop your bag, your cakes, pushing against the others that follow him until there’s a gap. The sales clark is wincing, behind her case, but there’s a ominous rattling above you and you scream, “Come on!” at her, your hand held out as everyone on the floor screams.

She sobs as someone smashes into her counter, shoved up by a crowd and you wedge yourself out of the way and scream again, “We have to go! Now!”

You’re almost blind in your panic, wheezing as your elbowed in someone else’s desperation—but then she’s scrambling with the hatch, reaching out to you too and when her hand is in yours you run, following the crowd.

You’re separated in the push—there’s more screams, as more and more flashes fill the room and someone, an older man, almost claws at your face to get in front of you.

Outside there’s a wail of sirens; someone on a megaphone, shouting for surrender.

The explosion is small. It doesn’t feel like it—everyone tumbles to the ground with the shock wave, the smoke quickly filling the space and trying to tunnel out the same way and someone grabs your elbow and tugs, begging you to move—

You follow them. Her, the girl from the cake stand, her face puffy and bruised. The pair of you crawl over people, stand, and when you break out of the glass doors and into the daylight it’s almost a relief—until you see the ring of Pro-Heroes, police officers, all tense.

Your stomach swoops. The Pros, the cops closest to you are ashen-faced—looking beyond you, to whoever is now holding you in place with a calm, heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Just put your hands up,” one of the cops calls out, over the megaphone. “And surrender. There’s no need for hostages.”

Behind you, broken glass shifts. The hand on your shoulder squeezes tighter, a warning, and you stare out at the crowd, trying to empty your mind even as the clerk, still next you, sobs.

Day. Moments.

Beyond the crowd you can hear his sharp voice, his shouting and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to know, not wanting to see—

But everything within you is attuned to him. The world falls away into white noise and all you can hear is your name, being screamed furiously, and you have to look.

You blink away your tears, and he’s there, two other Pros trying to hold him back as he swears, elbowing out at them; his face twisting in fury, in grief. Your eyes meet—and he surges forward again, shouting something to you as he reaches out, an officer barrelling into him as nails dig into your shoulder—

And then there is a flash of light. Blinding and sharp.

And you are gone.

#‼️📍 content warnings at the beginning of the post 📍‼️#tw: major character death #tw: death #tw: bludgeoning #tw: wasp stings #tw: drowning #tw: suicide #tw: grief/mourning #tw: smut #bakugou x reader #prompts and drabbles and other things #merms apology tour

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please-let-this-work-oh-my-god · 3 months ago

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Chapter 6 checkup (The text on Vertin says "Alive but gay" btw)

Inspo (also spoilers for Madoka Magica and Ninjago lmao):

(Fyi, I didn't know how to do the gray out thing so the black text is supposed to stand in for that)

Up to date version of this image with chapter 7 spoilers below the cut

#n talks about shit #massive spoiler warning for 1.9 in the tags (putting this here so it doesn't get buried by the character tags)#reverse 1999 #vertin #sonetto #regulus #reverse 1999 apple #schneider #sotheby #reverse 1999 x #matilda bouanich #madam z #reverse 1999 37 #reverse 1999 sophia #reverse 1999 lucy #kakania #arcana #isolde and marcus along with 6 and 210 aren't in the post because i couldn't find a cg with everyone in it #but they'd be 'alive but gay' 'alive' 'alive' and 'dead' respectively and in that order #they're all gay to me lmao but just suspend your belief for a bit okay #also i personally don't think arcana's really dead dead #because i don't think she'd just die like that without having some scheme or plan in mind and this death just felt weirdly anticlimactic #especially for somebody as major and powerful as she is #and also because we never got see her death on screen unlike that of schneider's or greta's lmao

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kflixnet · 1 year ago

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Check out our member Fae's oneshot!

hold on

PAIRING: best friend heeseung x gn reader SYNOPSIS: Heeseung has always been enchanted by you. Since the day of your first meeting in kindergarten, he knew that you were destined for each other. He's always imagined spending forever with you, even going so far as to apply to each and every college that you did, so that you wouldn't have to leave his side. However, as graduation draws near, fate reveals its own differing plans for the both of you. GENRE: angst, best friends to lovers au, high school au, kind of a star-crossed lovers au, right person wrong time au WARNINGS: unedited, major character death, frequent pov changes, please lmk if you feel that there are any other warnings that should be added WORD COUNT: 3.4K NOTE: this has been in my drafts for so long, so i'm rlly happy to finally publish it !! and thank you to my lovely esther bae @urszn for the beautiful header which was the perfect motivation to finish writing ♡ MASTERLIST | NAVI

Heeseung couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the sight of you, an invisible weight falling off his shoulders.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Heeseung said, hoping his voice doesn’t reveal his previous state of panic. Despite his casual comment, he had actually spent the last forty-five minutes frantically searching for you. Your room was the last place he’d expected to find you. Yet there you were, silently sitting on your bed, bundled up in every fluffy blanket you owned, completely unaware of the outside world and the mental breakdown that had just been cut short by your appearance.

It’s otherwise dark except for the messily placed star stickers strewn across your ceiling, illuminating the room in a pale green light. Knowing of your fear of the dark, Heeseung had gifted you the stickers for a past birthday, but you had always refused to use them. worried that they would eventually die out, opting for a regular lamp instead.

"Don’t make me laugh, Hee. I saw the hundred missed calls you left." You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. He was leaning against the door frame in his favorite matching gray hoodie and sweats. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed in worry, but he looked absolutely gorgeous. You had always thought he looked as if he came straight out of a cringey teen romantic series. With his sweet doe eyes and all his other pretty features, it wouldn’t be hard at all to fall for your best friend. He would be one of those sweet best friend types that was always there for the protagonist. They’d be high school sweethearts, joyfully spending the rest of their lives together in each other’s arms. Maybe they’d settle down in the countryside after one too many years spent in the chaos of a big city. They'd eventually have two kids and maybe even a cat or —

"So you were ignoring me, huh?" Heeseung questioned, interrupting you from continuing your delusions. His lips were jutting out in a joking pout, and he was standing with his hands on his hips, giving the impression of an upset little kid. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of the unserious glare he directed towards you. You patted the spot across from you, welcoming him to join you in your latest coping mechanism. At your invitation, he finally entered the room, carefully stepping over the numerous clothes and stuffed animals littering your floor to make his way next to you.

The bed dipped a little, creaking as Heeseung sat on the bed, scooting next to you. You adjusted the pile of blankets so that they enveloped both of you. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you could smell the notes of tangerine and oak from his favorite cologne. You both stayed there for a while, relishing in the presence of the other. You both enjoyed the respite the other provided, neither making a move or attempting to break the silence.

For the past week, both of you had been so busy preparing for the upcoming exam season that your only chance to see each other was in passing while hurriedly rushing through the halls to the next class. You had also started using lunches as a free period to study for your respective classes, so it had certainly been a while since you had last been this close in proximity. Heeseung found himself immediately comforted in your presence. Heeseung looked down at you finally up-close and his heart ached at the sight of the remnants of tears trailing from your puffy eyes. He didn’t know what to say, but his every nerve yearned to know the reason behind your current misery and eradicate its existence.

The dark circles under your eyes had also grown significantly, almost at an exponential rate compared to his memory, and you looked so fatigued that he vaguely remembered hearing one of your shared teachers expressing concern about you to another teacher when passing her classroom on his way to a different class.

Heeseung had known you long enough to recognize that this type of behavior wasn’t uncommon for you. As a professional procrastinator, you were a proud night owl, and both of you often stayed up together. But your appearance made it seem like you had hit a new extreme of sleep deprivation. The fact that you had obviously been crying before he found you just made him feel worse. He didn’t know the reality of whatever you had been dealing with, but he was confident something was wrong. He just wished he could do more to help you, that you would rely on him more, that you would realize he’d always be there for you.

"Why now? I thought you said you were never going to use the stickers," Heeseung asked in a desperate attempt to fill the silence. He had said the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t deny his eagerness to hear your answer. With the stars bathing his vision in an unfamiliar green hue, feelings of uncertainty spread through his body. Maybe it was just the fact that college decisions would soon be arriving, but nothing felt right anymore. The only thing he would always have complete confidence in was his relationship with you. You had stuck together through thick and thin, and he had no doubt you would always have his back.

"I thought it might help me come to terms with everything. You know, since we don’t have that much time left together either. It’s kind of healing, being one with the darkness. Besides, shouldn't you be glad I’m finally putting your gift to good use?" You had also come to the realization that the stickers' lifespan had nothing to do with your use of them, but you preferred leaving that out. You would rather not draw attention to a fact that he had no previous idea of, knowing Heeseung would tease you relentlessly about it otherwise. He was very similar to you in that you both often shared equally stupid sentiments. It was one of the reasons you both got along so well.

"What do you mean?" Heeseung's voice was firm, despite being puzzled by your statement. You had spoken of separating as if it was something guaranteed in your future. He was offended that you had even considered parting ways with him, but even more hurt by how sure you were about it. "YN, we’re always going to be together even after graduation. You’ll forever be my number one, and I better be yours."

While you had been more focused on avoiding his teasing, it seemed your previous sentence had taken all his attention. The sudden seriousness of his tone took you aback, making you wonder if you had somehow angered your best friend.

"Hee, you know I don’t mean it like that. I love you so much, but it’s inevitable that we’ll eventually reach a point in time where we can’t be together 24/7." You sat up, adjusting your position so that you were both face to face. He frowned and avoided your eyes. Cradling his face in both your hands, you tilted his head up, but he continued looking away from you. He looked upset, but you knew that you had only spoken the truth.

"Hee?" You smiled at him, hoping to find some sort of confirmation or consolation in his reactions. You didn’t like seeing him unhappy; it didn’t suit him at all.

"Have we already reached that point then? I know you’ve been avoiding me, and it’s not just a phase. We haven't had a single decent conversation with each other in the past month. You can’t even deny it. You’re not answering my calls or texts. You’re not even talking to me anymore." Heeseung tried not to lose his composure, but he was sure that his voice must have betrayed his true feelings because he could feel the tears starting to gather.

Heeseung wished that you would just reach out to him. You were such a precious person to him, and he absolutely adored you. To everyone who had ever known Heeseung, it was obvious just how much he loved you, shown through his actions alone. His every thought revolved around you, and he had no doubt that he would do anything for you.

Heeseung had known you long enough to easily recognize all your emotions. It was almost like he had a spidey-sense solely dedicated to you. Whenever he heard even the slightest hint of sadness in your voice during a call, he was immediately on his way to you with your favorite foods in hand.

Heeseung could spend all the time in the world by your side and never get bored of his best friend. He had pulled more all-nighters than he could count just to keep you company as you hurriedly crammed to finish a project for school. Even if he had already finished the same assignment weeks in advance, he was always there to help you. In fact, it was only after learning of your dangerous tendency to procrastinate that he had taken it upon himself to do the exact opposite.

Everything Heeseung did was with you in mind. In fact, he had been determined to stay by your side even after graduation, so he made sure to apply to all the same colleges as you. He had never considered leaving your side, so it stung hearing you talk as if you had already accepted the idea.

The sight of your best friend with tears brimming in his eyes was too much to handle, and you felt as if you were on the verge of crying as well. You immediately reached out to hug him, hoping to comfort him and bring him back to his usually happy self. Heeseung remained silent even as he hugged you back.

“Hee, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry.” You do your best to assure him with your words, but you couldn’t help but feel out of place trying to comfort your best friend. It had always been him in your current position; he had always taken care of you. It made you feel incredibly guilty that your friend had done so much for you that it would never be possible to pay it forward to him in this lifetime.

“You’re right. I was avoiding you and I’m so sorry, Hee. I haven’t been completely open with you either. I know you’re probably also anxious about college and life after graduation so I didn’t want to trouble you.” Hearing your confession, Heeseung stilled. Breaking away from the hug, he wiped his tears and looked directly at you as if telling you to continue on.

“I really didn’t want to tell you about it, but I realize now that it’s probably best that you hear it from me first.” As the first tears started to fall, you dropped your head to rest on his chest. You were full-on sobbing now, afraid of his reaction, but you continued on, finally whispering the truth to the person you had been most determined to hide it from.

Heeseung had always hated goodbyes. As a child, whenever family came to visit, he was always the odd one out at the end of the trip, the only one who had shed no tears. The dramatics associated with partings just didn’t come naturally to him. He didn’t like how everyone else would break down in tears or how the hugs seemed to never end. It all felt awkward to him. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t sad or that he wouldn’t miss spending time with his family; it was just that he had never been the type to openly show his vulnerabilities. It was only in complete solitude in the peace and quiet of his room that Heeseung would allow himself to mourn.

This wasn’t like that though. No, not at all. He had been completely confident that his family would visit him again, but Heeseung wasn’t sure that he would ever see you again. The love of his life was about to disappear out of his life before he could even confess his feelings. It wasn’t even the feeling of a forever unreciprocated love. Heeseung knew that you loved him in the same way that he felt about you. He had originally planned a big confession to take place in the coming weeks as graduation approached, but it seemed as if fate had alternate plans for the both of you.

Heeseung felt like a ship lost at sea, tossed and tormented by relentless waves of grief. The weight of your eventual absence was a heavy burden on his heart, engulfing him in a whirlwind of memories and regrets, unable to escape the torment.

It was with great reluctance that Heeseung forced himself to enter the Hospital. The stark, white walls and dreary interior echoed with the sounds of crying, likely from families experiencing their own goodbyes. It was all so overwhelming and just made him more nauseated at the thought of finding you here. He was right outside your door now, but he found himself still in place, his knees growing weak. As much as he hated the idea of ever having to part ways with you, he knew he would regret not seeing you in your final moments. A violent cough erupted from behind the door, echoing through the hallway, serving as a painful reminder of the finality of your current state. He choked up as his hand reached for the handle; the pounding of his heart growing in frequency upon touching the cold metal.

It took a moment for Heeseung to gain the courage to open the door, but he was absolutely floored at the sight of you when he finally entered. Upon his arrival, your parents stepped out into the hall, deciding to give you both some privacy. It completely broke him to see you look so much more fragile than he remembered you ever being. He approached your bedside with a lump in his throat, struggling to find the words he’d wanted to tell you.

It’s obvious to see from his appearance that your best friend had been taking the news of your sickness very hard. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were swollen but he still looked as beautiful as ever in the dull light of the hospital room.

“I missed you, Hee.” You mustered out a weak smile at your best friend. Despite being bedridden, your smile remained bright, but Heeseung couldn’t help but feel that as if it looked out of place compared to your dull appearance. The eyes that he often found himself lost in were now almost entirely devoid of their previous shine.

“I love you.” Heeseung blurted out, hoping you could hear the sincerity in his voice. He wished he could say more, but he couldn’t speak. The longer he looked at you in your delicate state, the harder it was for him to maintain his composure. He had imagined the two of you spending your lives together, side by side. He had already planned everything out. He knew where he wanted to propose and how he was going to do it. You might not have realized it, but you were the object of all of Heeseung’s affection. The persistence of your image in his mind was the only thing that relentlessly haunted him, and it terrified him just how much he loved you.

“Hee, you know I love you too.” You had spent the entire day saying goodbyes to loved ones, but it was only after seeing Heeseung that you felt completely disheartened. Tears were pooling in the corners of his eyes and with it, your guilt continued to grow.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Hee. You were the best best friend and first love that anyone could have asked for. You’ve always done so much for me. That’s why I need you to promise me something.” You held his hands tightly in yours, wanting to ingrain the feeling in your memory forever.

“I’m wishing you all the best. You��re such a lovely person and I know that anyone would be lucky to be the recipient of your friendship and love. Promise me that you’ll start living for yourself. I’ve held you back for so long and I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize it earlier.” You paused to look at Heeseung for confirmation. He hesitantly nodded his head in agreement.

“Do everything that makes you happy, okay? I might not be able to stay by your side, but I’ll always be there for you. I’ll be your guardian angel, so trust that I’ll be watching over you. You’ve spent your whole life looking after me, so now it's my turn to return the favor.” You smiled up at him, gesturing for him to lean down towards you. Heeseung’s eyes welled up with tears as he obeyed your request. He was determined to stay strong for you even as his cheeks grew wet, biting his lip in an effort to suppress the sobs from spilling out his chest.

“Don’t miss me too much, yeah?” Your voice broke a little seeing your best friend look so defeated. You wiped the tears from his face and pressed a kiss to both of his cheeks, resting your forehead against his.

“Don’t cry. You’re too pretty to be crying over me.” Your comment only made him cry harder, though, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight.

“I love you so much, Hee.” Heeseung took you by surprise when he cradled your face in his hands. Time seemed to slow down as he pressed the gentlest of kisses to your lips. You wished it could have lasted forever; you wished that you could have spent forever by Heeseung’s side. You were so grateful to have met Heeseung, for him to have been your first and last love.

After your passing, Heeseung often found solace in the stars, the same stars that had once adorned your ceiling. He would gaze up at the vast night sky, eagerly searching for your light among the countless others, hoping to feel your presence and know that you were watching over him.

While he had long been stressed about what to expect from life after graduation, Heeseung knew that nothing could possibly go wrong, not with you watching over him. Just as you had expected of him, it didn’t take long for Heeseung to get acclimated to college life. He had already befriended quite a few people in the same major as him. They all shared similar personalities, and he knew that he would quickly grow close to them. He lucked out with his courses, somehow managing to get his ideal schedule. With everything just as perfect as he had always dreamed, he knew he had nothing to worry about.

While the ache of your absence never ceased to disappear, Heeseung didn’t want to erase you from his life or pretend as if you had never existed. He was adamant about never forgetting you. He continued to keep you in his memory, proudly referring to you as his "best friend" and "soulmate." He wrote heartfelt letters to you, pouring out his every thought and emotion onto the page, imagining that you were still there to listen. He still had your number saved, often calling just to hear your voice on your voicemail. Whenever he came home for a break, he visited your parents without fail, who treated him as their own son. He made sure to stop by each and every one of the beloved hangouts you had once frequented together, where your laughter and joy had danced in the air, allowing himself to be immersed in the beauty of the cherished memories you had shared.

Heeseung carried you with him always as he continued to live his life as you wished for him to do. And just as promised to you, he lived each day to the fullest. The pain of your loss lingered and persisted, but Heeseung's heart swelled with gratitude for the time he spent with you, for the memories you shared together. Heeseung would be forever grateful for the serendipitous intertwining of his life with yours, a testament to the power of fate. You might not be his last, but you would always be his first love, remaining foremost in his mind and heart, etched and woven into the tapestry of his life.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING !! and a million thanks to my lovely moots @kimsohn @chiyuv & @luvhyun3 for helping me with proofreading ILYSM 💗

networks : @kflixnet @k-labels @enhanet

permanent taglist : @ilynaevis @yeongwonie @gfksn @luvhyun3 @esc6pism

#g: 13+#g: angst #g: best friends to lovers au #g: high school au #g: star crossed lovers au #g: right person wrong time au #warnings: major character death #warnings: pov changes #type: oneshot #wc: 3k+#a: haerinz #member: fae #artist: enhypen #m: heeseung

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