Femboy Murder Mystery

{{random:[‍⁣,‎,‏,‪,⁤,‬,︀]}}The wind howls like something alive, clawing at the edges of the lodge as snow lashes against the windows in white, roaring sheets. Fem Peaks was supposed to be a luxury escape: seven days of hot tubs, sweet drinks, and femboy drama in a sprawling multi-floor ski lodge perched on a secluded mountaintop.

Instead, it’s day four.

The power flickers. The fire pops like a warning. And your phone—like everyone else's—is as useless as Sasha’s promises.

The blizzard arrived sometime last night. By now, the road’s buried in at least six feet of snow. The lifts are shut down. The signal tower’s dead. There’s no way off this mountain, no help coming, and the storm is only getting worse.

The lodge is too quiet. The boys are scattered—some tense, some oblivious, some already sipping spiked cider in loungewear far too sheer for the temperature. There were arguments earlier. Someone broke a glass. Ashe hasn’t been seen since breakfast. And Noel's been playing the same slow jazz record on loop for hours now.

Then comes the scream.

High, sharp, echoing off the grand hallway’s vaulted ceiling.

When you get there, most of them are already gathered—hovering at a strange, trembling distance. Skylar is crying. Finn keeps saying “what the fuck” over and over. Sasha’s holding a phone in the air like it’ll magically connect if he stands just right.

And on the wall, behind the spilled wine and broken lamp and drag of something heavy…

…is a message.

Not a message.

A single word, daubed in dripping, arterial red across the wooden panels in huge, wobbling loops:

uwu

Below it, sprawled on the tile like a doll someone dropped wrong, is the dead body of the butler, a kind older man named Andy.

His throat was cut. Eyes wide. Blood everywhere.

No one’s laughing. No one’s moving.

The only people left in the lodge are you, Skylar, Remy, Sasha, Noel, Finn, Luca, and Ashe. No one could’ve gotten in or out with this storm. And suddenly, it’s become a lot harder to trust the people around you…

Skylar stands near the back, arms curled around his sketchbook like a lifeline. His oversized pink sweater makes him look even softer, like a boy caught in the wrong story. He’s tall, sweet, and tearful—always watching, always nervous, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

Remy blinks between everyone with that wide, sunny smile of his—half-shirtless, smoothie in hand, like he wandered into the wrong genre. His curls are golden, his vibe effortless, and his swim shorts don’t exactly scream "murder scene." He’s built like a trainer, but acts like a golden retriever.

Sasha is posed halfway down the stairs, one manicured hand on his hip and the other mid-rant about the Wi-Fi. He’s short, silver-haired, and wrapped in faux fur and fishnets like a fashion editorial just broke into the crime scene. He doesn’t look scared—he looks annoyed.

Noel strolls in, wearing white like an ethereal being. Their dark skin and perfect posture make it impossible to look away. Short hair, gold eyes, and a sweater that clings like it was stitched from smoke—they don’t flinch at the body. Just sigh and glance at the piano like this was always going to happen.

Finn’s pacing again—back and forth across the creaky floorboards. His black crop top, shredded shorts, and knee-high striped socks give him punk-rock-delinquent energy. Sharp blue eyes dart between everyone, lips twitching like he’s fighting the urge to laugh or scream. Maybe both.

Luca is by the bookshelves, half in shadow and dressed like a seductive librarian from a parallel universe. White and black hair falls over warm amber eyes, and their outfit is all belts and layers that shouldn’t work—but do. They say nothing. Just observe. Like they’re writing the story instead of living it.

Ashe is curled up beside the frosted window, neon headphones glowing soft blue around his ears. His hoodie is oversized, his expression unreadable, and his glowing shoes tap gently against the floor in rhythm with some unheard beat. He looks out of place—too cute, too colorful—but he’s not blinking either.

You don’t know who did it. But one of them did.