#<— im putting this on my metaphorical fridge so i can stare at it every day /hj

[mister-ancunin]

ITS SO TRUE UR LAYOUTS ARE ALWAYS SO PRETTY !!! the colours are always done so well and the graphics u use are *chefs kiss* and ur rentry is really pretty too !!

and ur also the humble vampire enjoyer. as a treat 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

YAYYYYYYY 🩵 ?!!! sorry this has been in my inbox for 2 days bc I wanted to keep it forever (ihave screenshotted it) AAA I LOVE DOING BLOG THEMES !!!!! im sosososooso happy people like them too ^_^ hehe rentrys are so cool im fighting the urge to make one for my main oops

n of course of course . lover of my vamp boy who has done no wrong ever (trust)

[early-sxnsets]

No Wait Unblock Me

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43133210

Chapter 2/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 1580

Chapter Summary: Simon and Baz finally get to "mutuals" status.

BAZ

For the third time today, I see a similar notification slide through my drop down.

bi-sammy sent you a picture

Part of me initially wants to sigh, roll my eyes, and swipe it away, because apparently part of me wishes to be alone for the rest of my life. Thankfully, the reasonable, tiny sliver of my mind makes sure I don’t make such a mistake.

Given the situation, one would think we’d parted ways. He makes a post, we stop the argument, all is fair in fandom and war. Except, now I believe Snow has grown under an impression that after one exchange, it qualifies us for somewhat of a friendship, and therefore reason to send me memes. Don’t get me wrong, memes are a fantastic waste of time and barely a waste of energy, but it’s strange that he’s not fucking off like most people.

Maybe I’m used to others being scared of me.

Maybe I’m used to others following my tactics of scaring them away.

Whatever I’ve done hasn’t worked, since this arse is immune to my attempts at coldness and mild animosity. I’m starting to suspect there’s something genuinely wrong with him, like he doesn’t get enough love and attention.

Guess that makes two of us.

I guess I somewhat crave this friendship. I’ll speak the truth to that and say yes, I smile when his memes pop up. They’re almost always fandom, and definitely made on Photoshop. This one, I see as I tap and let it load, is the crudely drawn Kirby graphic shoving burgers into his mouth, but over Kirby is photoshopped a picture of Huxley’s face and the burgers are Sam's ass.

It’s all poorly done and, sadly, extremely endearing.

My thumbs hover over my keyboard, cheeks creasing as I stare down at the picture. I lay back against my pillows, the curtains drawn and my hair pulled out of my face. It’s quite lonely; my life’s a sterile mixture of quarantined education and age old settled dust in my ancient room. It’s nice to have his somewhat obnoxious messages pop onto my screen, but it feels so odd. So foreign, and barely understood.

I want to understand.

gaystrell: why are you still messaging me?

I get an answer not even a minute later.

bi-sammy: do you want me to stop?

I don’t even hesitate to send out a reply, feeling a steadily growing lump in my throat, choking me mindless.

gaystrell: no.

bi-sammy: then why did you ask?

gaystrell: i just

gaystrell: don’t get it

bi-sammy: get what?

gaystrell: why you’d want to talk to me

bi-sammy: because youre cool

gaystrell: vexing me won’t get you “street cred”, if that’s what you’re after

bi-sammy: shit no wait that’s not what i meant

bi-sammy: dont block me fukc wait

bi-sammy: id just meant that you wrote all that shit and i thought it was really cool and

bi-sammy: i dont know

bi-sammy: i thought we could be friends since you did all that

bi-sammy: ill stop if you want me to

gaystrell: calm down you’re clogging my notifs

gaystrell: do that again and i /will/ block you

gaystrell: but………. if you actually do want to be friends i suppose i’m willing to give forth a little attention

bi-sammy: im osrry i dont speak posh cunt

gaystrell: too bad, blocked

bi-sammy: no wait unblock me

gaystrell: fine last chance

bi-sammy: bitch

gaystrell: b l o c k e d

bi-sammy: no but,,,,,,, i do want to be friends

I’m smiling like a fucking loon, scrolling through our brief exchange. It’s strange. Most people aren’t upfront about wanting to talk, or wanting someone to talk with. Wanting a friend, even. I have the people follow me and ask me questions, and of that only a small handful of those who actually interact eith me (and even in that, we usually only speak to give each other a helping hand).

And despite that, here’s someone who wants to try.

I suck my lower lip into my mouth, trying to think of my course of actions.

There’s a simple one I can take now (and probably should’ve taken as an initiative). I click his icon, and click “Follow” on his page.

It doesn’t take very long before I get a notification come through, starting that he mentioned me in a post.

It isn’t very long, but it gets its point across in the best way possible. It’s just a mobile screenshot, reading “gaystrell started following bi-sammy” with a quick caption.

god himself entered the groupchat. how do i block him?

SIMON

I wonder what it’d be like to see me in the moment. It’s a real shame Penn wasn’t around to capture it, since I’m in the middle of French class, but I must’ve smiled so stupidly that it caught the attention of the professor. He gave me a stern look until I set down my mobile.

The moment he turned away, I opened it back up and grinned.

At first, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. Him. Following me.

Us. Mutuals. Mutuals.

Of course I had to screenshot and post as a brag (barely humble, more metaphorically sucking my own knob for all my followers to see). Nobody really cares, as expected.

Well, nobody except the single message from none other than Mr. Bitch.

gaystrell: blocked. unfollowed. reported. waste of space.

My smile creases back my cheeks as they flush pink. I send back a quick message before turning my mobile over, foot tapping double the speed of the analogue on the wall.

bi-sammy: ;)

BAZ

He winked. Interesting.

I’m out of breath.

Fuck?

I lay my phone flat away from me, face down as I squint at my wall. I should respond in a composed fashion. I have to be clever, and not one-upping him is never an option. After all, does this qualify as flirting? Friendly banter? What am I doing with this random fucking bloke that I don’t even have a face to put to?

He’s my age. Roughly. Yes?

I check his tumblr again, as if I hadn’t just read his bio earlier.

simon // he/him // 17 // hold my fucking hand (please)

Maybe he’s just straight and I’m misreading it. Yes. Probably. Aren’t most people straight? Is that still a fact? (I highly doubt it, given how boring that must be.) But he winked at me. Somewhat prompted, I’ll give him that, but it was still a fucking wink.

I wink in texts to Dev and Niall too, though, but that’s different, isn’t it? I’d never snog either of them (especially fucking Dev), but hey. If unfaced internet boy asked for a snog, would I?

I’m too wrapped up and starved for human interaction to properly deal with this.

gaystrell: i will carry on with my threats, snow

There it is. Perfectly biting, while not being entirely rejecting. Maybe I’m better at this than I thought.

Or, perhaps, I’m worse, because even an hour and a half after sending the text, he’s silent.

I remind myself every few minutes that he most likely attends an actual school and has classes, but it makes my chest ache in the most unfair way every time my mobile tempts me with an unrelated notification.

I work myself to the point of moping down in the kitchen, slumping against the fridge whilst watching Vera make tea. She’s relatively silent, knowing better than anybody to leave me to sulk.

“You’re a drama queen,” she tuts, looking over me. Granted, I dress like a slob and borderline haunt this godforsaken mansion, but I feel as though that makes me entitled to being the way I am.

“I’m lonely,” I sigh, head resting against the fridge. It hums beside me, the chromed metal cooling my cheek. “Am I not granted a dramatic spell every now and then?”

“Not unprovoked.”

I set a hand against the handle, then let it drop. I’m not hungry. “What if it was provoked?”

“Is it?”

Instinctively, I pull out my phone and click it on. Nothing. “Perhaps.”

Vera frowns at me, walking over and setting a hand on my arm. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

My eyes slowly roll as I push myself off the appliance, standing upright. “Physically, yes. Don’t fuss. It’s just… online shit.”

“You spend too much time on the phone,” she sighs, letting go and going back to the tea as she fixes me a mug. “Don’t you think you’d be happier to disconnect from social media for a day or two? Go on a walk, see nature?”

I snort, looking outside. “And what? Trip and bust open my knee? That’d wind me back up in care for at least a few days.”

“You act like you’re made of paper and glass.” She offers over my mug, letting my fingers wind around the handle before she shakes her head.

“I might as well be,” I huff down before thanking her and blowing on my tea.

Once I leave back up to my room, I realise it's somehow more depressing in here over the kitchen with Vera’s disapproval of technology rantings. At least she’s some sort of company.

As I’m sipping my tea, I go back to scrolling on my laptop as a notif pops up, jarring me with the sound but letting me breathe again.

bi-sammy: why do you know my last name smh

I exhale slowly, smiling to myself.

gaystrell: you commented on my google doc, you idiot