#Seriously the distortion is WEIRD

[remstorations]

Update 1

Hey everyone! Been making some good progress on the Genghis, figured I'd post some updates!

Firstly: Got the visor replaced, patched a lot of the armor breakages, still waiting on some joint coverings - the specific material that went into them is apparently proprietary armory stuff, so I need to find a source elsewhere.

Secondly: Been doing limited tests of its electrical systems. Things seem more or less intact! It can raise and lower its arms, though I don't dare try to walk it. Also got the burnt-out reactor removed, plan on putting in some battery assembly, this thing is for a museum, not a battlefield.

Thirdly: The computers are totally busted. I got them to run and almost all of the operating system was corrupted - it looks like there was some kind of error in the cooling protocols that spread to the rest of the mech? I dunno, I'm not a computers guy. Most of its five hundred years old, of course, so anyone with more experience in that category than I am are welcome to pitch in.

Fourthly: Still haven't fixed the camera yet, sorry!

[File Attachment /// The genghis in noticeably better shape. Its chest is still opened to expose a gaping hole where a coldcore would be, the armor is more or less repaired, albeit with noticeable discoloring where the older plate meets the new plate. The visor is patched as well. The mech still seems...off, the distortion effect from earlier is still sticking around.]

[ascendingconures]

MSPaint Michael dump

[liquidchocolatecake]

currently captive audience to a knock down drag out fight in my brain between desire to respect the wishes of the creator and not look for anyone redistributing the comic and god i fucking miss wonderlab i miss wonderlab so much you have no idea i want wonderlab back so bad

[moraxine]

Fragments of Us [Ekko]

pairing: ekko x reader

words: 2k

summary: ekko wakes up in an alternate universe where you’re alive and everything feels right—but it’s not his world. torn between love and duty, he must leave to save his reality.

ARCANE SPOILERS!

i.

“Powder. Ugh, she’s so annoying sometimes. I told her that the graffiti on Sevika’s stupid bar wasn’t even that good—like, come on, who even uses pink for a skull?—and she just flipped out ! Called me a ‘wannabe artist.’ Like, okay?”

Ekko’s chest burns as he violently jolts awake, aware , coughing as if he’s been drowning moments before. His head is pounding, all memories flooding his mind and spinning round and round. It takes a few moments for his vision to stabilise and start clearing up.

What the hell happened?

“Hey, are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, familiar yet a voice he never thought his ears would detect ever again, he freezes. His eyes snap open, adjusting to the dim glow of the neon streetlamp. After a while of simply blinking, right hand on his forehead, he dares to turn your way, only to face you in utter shock.

There you are, right beside him, nervously fiddling with a small gadget in your hand while waiting for his answer.

Ekko’s breath gets caught in his throat.

His gaze desperately darts around, taking in the distorted version of Zaun. The buildings look eerily familiar but cleaner, more polished. And then there is you —alive, bright-eyed, rambling as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. All good in there?” You ask, leaning closer as you gently tap his head.

No, no, no.

This must be some kind of twisted joke, a dream soon to turn into a nightmare, like the ones he experienced after your passing.

A strong wave of dizziness takes over and he loses balance. You’re not fast enough to catch him and he collapses on the floor, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Shit, Ekko, I told you I’m fine walking home by myself! You need to focus on fixing that sleep schedule of yours. You work too much….”

You kneel down to check on him but as soon as you reach for his arm, he manages to pull himself up, wincing as his muscles protest. “I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Just… where am I?”

Your brow furrows. “Zaun, duh. Did you hit your head?”

Zaun. But not his Zaun. This is different. Cleaner. Sharper. Brighter. Wrong.

You wave a hand in front of his face when he’s up on his feet again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Seriously, you’re acting super weird.”

He shakes his head, trying to gather himself. “I’m… just tired.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say, leaning back on your heels. “Well, you can sleep at my place if you want. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s better than the middle of the street.”

“Why…Why are you helping me?”

I didn’t protect you. I let you die-

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You have to be kidding me, really.”

He stares at you, his chest tightening. You are so casual, so warm, so alive. This isn’t his world—it is someone else’s. Someone’s whom was able to keep you safe and happy.

You wave a hand in front of his face. “Helloooo? You good, or do I need to drag you there myself?”

He blinks, shaking himself out of his trance. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Finally,” you say grabbing his arm. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend, y’know.”

As you lead him down the street, continuing your pointless rambling about Powder and some argument over graffiti, Ekko follows silently, his mind racing. He doesn’t belong here, but for the first time in years, being near you feels like he is home.

ii.

Ekko is standing in the corner of your cluttered workshop, his fingers trembling slightly as he tightens the final screws on a device he barely understands anymore. Weeks have been spent scavenging parts, tearing apart old tech, and sketching blueprints on scraps of paper. The machine is almost ready—his way out of this world is almost ready.

You, of course, don’t know. In fact, you seem to know nothing about Ekko lately. Ever since that incident outside the bar, he’s been acting strange in a way you can’t pinpoint.

“Hey, genius,” you call from across the room, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’re perched on a high stool, playing with a broken clock. “You’ve been staring at that thing for hours. What is it, anyway?”

He stiffens at your question, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Just… something to help me get around. It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Since when do you get all secretive about your projects? You used to brag about your tech every chance you got.”

“Since now,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

It’s been this way for quite some time now—Ekko growing quieter, more distant, all while you try to bridge the gap with your usual chatter. You’ve noticed the way he avoids your eyes, the way he flinches whenever you stand too close. It’s not like him.

And it hurts.

“You’re acting weird, Ekko,” you admit, setting the clock down and leaning back on your hands. “Like, even weirder than usual. Did I do something?”

“No,” he says quickly, but his voice sounds strained, and the single word only makes you more assured that there is indeed something going on.

“Then what?” you press, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. Is this about Powder? Because if so, she’s the one being difficult, not me.”

Ekko clenches his jaw, his hands tightening around the tool in his grip. He can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand—not fully. How could he possibly explain that you’re not even supposed to be here? That this version of you isn’t his you? That in his world, you’re just a memory he carries like a scar?

“It’s nothing,” he says finally, his voice low. “Just… drop it, okay?”

You flinch at the coldness in his tone, but you force a laugh, trying to mask the sting. “Fine. Be mysterious, then. See if I care.”

Turning away, you pretend to focus on the clock again, but your heart isn’t in it. You want to push him, demand answers, but something in his expression stops you. There’s a pain in his eyes that you can’t quite place, and for the first time, you wonder if this is bigger than any conflict he might have had with people in the past.

Ekko exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging. He hates doing this—pushing you away. But if he lets you in, it’ll only make leaving harder.

Because he is leaving. As much as he wants to stay, to pretend this is his life, he knows it isn’t real. He doesn’t belong here. And the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to say goodbye. Especially to you.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence. “For what it’s worth, you’re still my favorite nerd. Even if you’re being a jerk.”

He looks up at you, startled by the softness in your voice. For a moment, he wants to tell you everything—to explain why he can’t let himself get too close. To tell you he loves you. But that would be partially true as you’re not his. Instead, he just nods. “Thank you.”

You offer him a small yet warm smile and his resolve falters for a moment. But then his gaze falls on the machine again—his way out—and he reminds himself why he has to do this.

It’s almost done. Just a little longer.

iii.

Ekko stands in the middle of the workshop, his hand resting on the activation lever of the machine. The room hums faintly with power, the cobbled-together contraption sparking faintly as it waits for his final command. It’s ready. After days of work, this is it—it’s time to go back to the people who need him.

But his chest feels tight, and it’s not just from the lingering ache of exhaustion. It’s because of you.

The door creaks open, and his heart sinks. You’re standing there, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and anger. “What the hell is this?” you ask, stepping inside. “Ekko, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. “It’s… nothing.”

“Nothing?” you snap, gesturing at the machine. “You’ve been shutting me out for God knows how long, and now I find you messing with… whatever this is you’ve made? Don’t lie to me, Ekko.”

He finally meets your eyes, and the raw emotion there almost makes him crumble. But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I can’t explain it.”

You take a step closer, your frustration giving way to hurt. “Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this.”

Ekko clenches his fists, his mind racing. He could tell you the truth—about the alternate universe, about the fact that you don’t even exist anymore in his world. But what good would it do?

“It’s better this way,” he replies quietly.

Your hands drop to your sides, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks him. “Better for who? For me? Or for you?”

“Y/n…” His voice cracks, but he quickly swallows it down. “I don’t belong here. I need to leave. That’s all I can say.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “You’re lying. You’ve been here all this fucking time, and now you’re just… leaving? Without a word?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” you shout, stepping closer until you’re right in front of him. “Whatever this is, whoever you think you are—you’re my… friend, Ekko. You don’t just get to disappear without telling me why.”

His hands tremble as he reaches up to touch your shoulder, his gaze locked on yours. “You are—” His voice breaks, and he has to force himself to keep going. “You’re amazing. You’re… everything good about this place. You’re the reason I’m still alive. But I can’t stay.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. His words feel final, and the weight of them crushes you completely. You fail to understand. Nothing makes sense, absolutely nothing. “Why?” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Why can’t you stay? Is it something I did?”

“No!” he says, more forcefully than he means to. He takes your hands, holding them tightly. “It’s not you. It’s… me. It’s my world. I need to go back to where I came from.”

You can’t comprehend what he’s saying, but the desperation in his voice silences your questions. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Fine,” you say, even though it’s anything but fine. “If you have to go… go.”

His hands linger on yours for a moment longer before he lets go. “I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me,” he says softly. “But I can’t. Not here.”

Tears spill over as you watch him turn back to the machine. “Will I ever see you again?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He hesitates, his hand hovering over the lever. “I don’t know.”

That’s all he can give you.

With one last look at you, his expression filled with regret and longing, he pulls the lever. The machine sparks to life, and the air around him ripples with energy. You take a step back, shielding your eyes as the light grows blinding.

When the light fades, he’s there, his tired body slumped down on the ground. You immediately run to his side, kneeling down and pulling him to your lap. The room falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the now blown up machine. You gently caress his cheek, tears running down your hot cheeks.

After a while, he wakes up.

And it doesn’t take you very long to realise.

You glance at the remains one last time.

And you hope that wherever he is, he’s doing what he set out to do—saving his people, his world, even if it meant leaving this one behind.

[wakeup01]

Playing It Straight

“Roomieee. I need your help with something.” I hear the telltale high pitched cry from my twinky roommate Yuan’s bedroom. The last thing I need right now is his whiny ass distracting me.

“What it is? I have a date with this hot chick in half an hour. You better have clothes on this time dude.” My hand pushes the door to his room ajar and I see him laying down on the bed facing away from me. There was some upbeat trashy pop song playing on his sound system. Yuan begins to gyrate to the beat. “Don’t dance. No dancing.” I order bluntly, turning off his music.

There was being gay and then there was Yuan, who seemed to make it his whole identity. It was bad enough his room was colour coded in pastel purples to match his dusty lavender hair. But he had now painted the whole door too.

“It’s my big butt, I think there’s something wrong with it.” He announces with fake concern, rolling his hips on the bed sheet - revealing more of his smooth slim body than I ever dared wish to see. I make a internal note to ‘mace own eyes later’.

Yuan was not as innocent as he liked to make out and had on numerous occasions attempted to trick me into indulging in his fantasies. Gifting me a bright crop top and calling it a ‘fashionable tank top’ - it certainly turned heads at the gym the one day I wore it, or inviting me to a progressive club with the promise of scoring ‘lots of ass’. And the less said about ‘locktober’ the better, that was NOT a halloween costume. Only last week he had convinced me to listen to some gay as fuck audio tapes while I slept; obviously that crap didn’t work on a man like me. His justification always being ‘you’ll like it, I swear’. This one was a bit on the nose, even for him.

“Dude we talked about this, I’m flattered, really. I get it, I’m a gay bottoms wet dream. I can’t blame you for eying my superior meat.” I puff out my well built chest, barely contained in my tank top. “But fuck, it ain’t gonna happen.” I attempt to not make eye contact with him as he looks over his shoulder at me.

“No, like seriously. Something feels wrong, can you pleeease juth take a looksee. Pretty please.” He pulls down his shorts and moons me as I shield my eyes. It’s like the sun, you’re safe if you don’t look directly at it, right? Internal note: ‘buy more mace’.

“Serious like when you said we were in a ‘mandatory hand holding zone?” I hear muffled giggling coming from his pillow. “Bro it’s probably from all the things you shove up it.” I shudder, trying not to picture THAT in my head. “I’ll look but only if you promise me that you’ll drop that ‘I know you’re secretly gay bullshit.’ My friends at the gym heard that crap last time.”

“Hehe. Ooo thuch a manly jock. Geez, I pwromise. Meathead.” Yuan winks at me and I hated him for it. Hated the weird way it made me feel in my chest.

I sigh loudly for effect and bend down until the cleft of his…cheek is at eye level. I felt so self conscious, how on earth did he talk me into this? I look at my chiseled body just to remind myself, yes I am a man. A masculine man. God, here we go. My eyes briefly glance across his—ew—his raised butt before I quickly look away.

“Bruh I don’t see a thing. It’s a mans butt. Congratulations.” What the hell am I even looking for? I’m sat on the floor checking out a dude’s…posterior. And for what?

“Come on, look clother.” Yuan insists with a slight lisp, curving his back and pushing his rear higher.” Again, I look at my thick biceps, yes, still a man.

His hands pull at his buttocks and slowly part them, revealing his tight hole to me. Woah. One glimpse was all it took. I should have recoiled but instead I was fascinated. I’d never seen a man’s hole before, it was different…

I hear him say something to me but whatever it was, it didn’t seem too important. I couldn’t stop staring, it was like looking into a black hole, and the more I looked the more enraptured I became. It was distorting my worldview, it made me feel like I had been missing out on something all these years.

“Helloooo! See anything?”

“Uuhhh. Maybe.” I mumble, my head getting closer to his rear.

I pull away his hands and replace them with my own, laying my fingers across his round cheeks and spreading them wider. Wow, it was…dare I say, enticing? The rest of the room faded from my mind as my eyes fall deeper into his needy, winking hole. I lean in and my nose makes contact with his crack. I can’t help myself, I inhale and suck up his scent, it acts like an immediate aphrodisiac. My cock wakes up, poking against the edge of the bed.

“You have been lithening to your programming for me then. Good Meathead. Remember when you were the stuck-up clever one, going to college? That was thuch a bore.”

“Say what bro?” College? Did I…? Nah. That smart shit wasn’t for me bro, my head was like beef central. I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about but I was happy to be a good fucking meathead. Something in my mind told me I was supposed to be. It made me even more pumped about the gym session tomorrow, I gotta bulk up my pecs.

“Make sure to take lots of selfies tomorrow ‘bro’, I need to see your gains.” I continue to breathe in the sweet aroma emanating from his behind. What was I doing again? “So, anything there dummy? How about now?” giggle “Isn’t it likth so big.”

He wiggles his hips and pushes back into my face, my lips making contact with his boy pussy. My eyes go wide. Fuck, this was soo gay. I should be revolted, why am I still down here? I could get up and walk away whenever…whenever I wanted to. Suddenly my mouth felt parched, like I had spent a week in the desert. It became clear where this was going. I’m not sure if I could even stop myself at this point, one tiny thing could tip me over the edge and disintegrate my own self image. It was as If I was having an out of body experience, seeing myself pressed against him. I wouldn’t, I was stronger than this. I was straight. Straight as an arrow… straight as a…

“Eat up jock.”

F—fuck. My lips open and my tongue presses up against his rear, dragging up and down between his cheeks and then swirling around his inviting hole. It was like a dam breaking, once I started I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. He tasted too good. Ready for the main course, my tongue dives deep into him and begins to eat him out in earnest, my mouth sucking at his entrance like I’m slurping on a ice cream filling.

While giving him a very manly rimjob I think of a solution to our problem. I finish up indulging in his sweet cake and pull my face out, slapping his jiggly butt cheeks.

“So what’s the issue?” He asks impatiently.

“It’s empty for one. Huhuhu. But I can fix that bro.” I say confidently, rushing to remove my underwear so I can finally nut inside him.

I push his skinny back down against the bed and line up my monster cock with his lubricated hole. Yuan moans into his pillow like he should. I slide into him with ease and flex my arms, feeling proud at ‘conquering’ my roommates hole.

“Good Meathead.” He praises between loud panting. “Mmm. But I thought you were straight.”

“I am. Unff. Just helping a bro out. No homo. Though I do need to see if there’s anything wrong with your throat after I plant my seed in your hole.”

______________________________

The next day.

“Man that was a fucking lit workout.” I exclaim, marvelling at my bulging muscles. I tense my arms and see my veins pop, sweat dripping to the floor. “Though you losers sure focused a lot on your glutes today. Hey—aren’t you ‘queens’ gonna shower?” I turn as my gym bros stop behind me in the locker room.

“Well… we spoke to your roommate about your progress yesterday.” Xavier states, removing his damp muscle tee - his dark shiny skin reflecting the harsh lights from overhead.

Yesterday…for some reason my memories from the day before were a blur. For the life of me I can’t remember what happened. There was some strange taste lingering in my mouth that had been making my dick hard all day. My roommate was certainly in a suspiciously good mood this morning too and made some strange comments about me ‘being hungry for more’.

“About what bro? That Yuan can kiss my ass. Huhuh. Come on, stop checking out each others dicks and let’s go!”

“Uh see, he thinks you’re now ready to be our…” I’d never seen him so unsure of himself before, I roll my eyes at him and slam my locker closed.

“Y’all acting like a bunch of girls.” I swear if Yuan is back to spewing his gay bullshit again…

“Go on. Say it.” One of the others insists, nudging Xavier’s shoulder.

Xavier hesitates and then looks away from me, his cheeks flushing red. “There’s uh, there’s something wrong with my…butt…so could you?” The others fail to stifle a laugh.

I do a double take as Xavier turns and points his toned ass at me, his jockstrap framing it like a wrapped gift. “What the fuck? Bruh what are you doing? Put that shit away.”

“Be a good Meathead.”

I see a flash of my roommates butt cross my minds eye. Uhhh. My cock throbs at the image. Before I know it my legs are kneeling behind my friend, what am I doing? My body certainly seems to be one step ahead, my hands grab at his muscled legs for support. “What the actual fuck. Guys…” I’ve never felt so embarrassed, how am I ever gonna live this down?

A hand pulls on the strap hugging Xaviers left buttock and lets go, letting it snap back into place, a slight jiggle vibrates over his firm rear. Was it my hand? I couldn’t even tell.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe those tapes actually worked. He’s come a long way since he was that scrawny nerd, thinking he was above everyone. Now he’s dumber than all of us. We just need Yuan to join us next. Damn someone make sure to record this” It was hard to take in what they were saying, my mind was fixated…elsewhere. One of them leans down to my side and points their phone camera at my zoned out face. “Dude, we stink…I’m next after you.” Someone pats my back as another hand holds my shoulder in place. “Nothing more manly than licking the salty sweat off a bro’s butt.”

No….

Xavier bends forward, his pert dark cheeks pulling apart - sweat glistening on their surface. And then I see it. What my body craved. His hole. Everything falls into place, my mouth watering at the sight, my eyes entranced. I could no longer deny what I wanted, deny the inevitability of what I was about to do. The depravity would be immortalised on camera too, my dumb face shoved in a mans ass. Oh fuck.

The perfect black void nestled between his tight buttocks seems to suck away my shame as I lick my lips. “So manly.” I repeat to the crowd that had gathered around me. Mmm. Rimming a man’s ass was almost as good as fucking it. I wanted a taste of all the guys, their shiny sweaty bodies, their musk. It was my place in the group, I was their meathead after all. My cock was already throbbing at the thought. Maybe Yuan was onto something with this whole ‘gay’ thing. Yeah, let’s try going full homo. Huhuhuh. Anything for the bros, bro.

Looking down at me confidently, Xavier grips the back of my head.

“Clean my hole bruh.”

_____________________________

A few days later I check in on Yuan to see his progress after a few nights obliviously listening to his ‘jocking’ tapes. Dude, I’m going to enjoy watching him slowly bulk up and dumb down. He’s sat up in bed casually tugging at his cock, mouth agape. The heavy thumping bass of trap music is blaring from his speakers. His room is a complete mess.

“How’s it hanging lil bro?”

“Just…mm—wanking.”

“Can see, Meathead. Hung and dumb, nice. I think you’re about ready to join us at the gym.”

“Hmm. Roomie, I—I need your help with something. It’s my big dick…”

“Huhuhu, there’s something wrong with it, let me be a bro and give you a hand with that stick.” I climb over him and wrap my lips around his cock.

“Thuck…ahem. Fuck yeah brooo!”

[lgbtlunaverse]

I've been wrestling with two beliefs I hold simultaneously but that I previously (incorrectly) thought were contradictory: that sexuality is inherently harmless, but also that specific kinds of sexual desire have been used to enact and justify grievous harm. The notion that men's sexuality is more important than women's consent, that white men's sexual access to white women must be protected from the "threat" of men of color, the idea that this specific kind of desire is so inherent to a proper society that if you have the wrong kind of sexuality you deserve to be shunned and harmed.

How can sexuality both be inherently harmless and measurably harmful?

Anyway, the answer is very easy, and part of why I feel like we should stop treating sex as something completely unlike other things and horniness as unlike all other emotions. Because I realized that, oh, right, this happens to other feelings too.

You know another feeling that is not inherently dangerous but is frequently used to enact and justify violence? Fear.

Fear is not inherently evil. Not even if it's irrational and your level of fear does not correspond to the level of danger you're actually in. In fact, irrational fears are such a common phenomenon we literally have a word for them: phobias. Which you are not evil for having. (Am I calling phobias the fear equivalnet of kinks? Kind of... I guess)

But fear and discomfort are used all the time to harm people. Let's say some random white woman is walking home late at night, and she notices a man is following her. This man might just be walking in the same direction by coincidence, but there's a small chance he's following her on purpose. It is quite natural for the mind to wander, and we frequently fear what we do not know. Discomfort or fear, in this situation, is neither inherently harmful nor unusual. However, if this white woman has been inundated her whole life with 'stranger danger' narratives and stories of women being brutally kidnapped, assaulted, and murdered by strangers. (Even though the vast majority of female victims are killed by someone they know, most often a romantic partner or family member) and she then, by the flash of a streetlight, spots that the man following her is black, and she has also been fed a narrative that black men are inherently violent and dangerous, that feeling of discomfort is enhanced and distorted until she believes she is in genuine danger and calls the police.

Statistically speaking, that guy really was just walking in the same direction, and is unlikely to be a threat. However she has now seriously endangered him, and justified it by the fact that she was scared.

A man justifying sexual assault because he couldn't help it, he was just so attracted to her. (And she led him on! She was barely dressed!) Is weaponizing his horniness in exactly the same way as people who call the authoroties on a disabled homeless person because they were "acting weird" are weaponizing their fear.

And all emotions can be weaponized this way. Anger is used to justify domestic violence ("you shouldn't have provoked me") Happiness and fun is used to jeoparidize safety (the last 30 years of olympic games have had a death toll among construction workers of over 116. The 2022 world cup alone has an officially admitted death count of 40, but the real cost is likely in the hundreds) disgust is used so often it's hard to restrict it to a single example (queerphobia, ableism, fatphobia, racism, misogyny, it's everywhere)

Sexual desire is just one way among many where the comfort of the powerful is valued above the safety of the opressed. It's not unique, but instead painfully common. And it's useful to keep this in mind not to devalue it or deny it's happening, but because we can borrow tactics and learn from similar situations rather than getting stuck on endless debates on whether porn is intrinsically evil or not, which will get us nowhere.

[evilslushy]

PenPal Girlfriend ♡

Hamzah x f!reader

(A/N): (lowkey not proofread lol), reader is shorter than Hamzah. Mentions of depression and loneliness (nothing too detailed), mentions of weird people on weird websites, no usage of y/n, reader is definitely 19+

wc: 20.2k (oops)

Lonesomeness can creep in slowly, but over time, it can become a suffocating force, leaving someone feeling invisible and abandoned. As days stretch into weeks, and weeks into months, the absence of connection amplifies an inner ache, stirring a deep, almost desperate need to be noticed, to matter. This void can cloud judgment, pushing a person to seek out any kind of interaction, even if it’s fleeting or harmful.

It’s a hunger that gnaws at the soul, distorting the desire for genuine connection into a frantic search for anything to fill the emptiness, no matter the cost.

After moving into his new apartment, Hamzah found himself overwhelmed by a deep and gnawing loneliness that settled in like a shadow. The walls, still bare and unfamiliar, seemed to echo with the absence of voices and laughter. At first, it was a quiet discomfort, a subtle sense of isolation that he could brush off with distractions. But as days turned into weeks, the silence grew louder, and the emptiness became harder to ignore.

Yes, he was near Martin and Mandy’s house. He pretty much lives there at times. Still, there was this void. Hamzah began to feel a desperate hunger for companionship, and the more he sought it, the more he found himself grasping at anything that might ease the ache, even if it meant settling for shallow exchanges that left him feeling emptier than before.

Once he shared this concern of his with Martin and Mandy, they both looked at him with empathy. Mandy shared that she had a similar experience once and that her pets helped her through it. Martin agreed, suggesting the idea of getting pets.

And desperation strikes again.

Blue and Red were shortly adopted after. Hamzah's lonesomeness had seemed to fade. Their excited greetings after he goes out with Chase and Claire apparent. He felt appreciated, loved, and cared for. Until they started only playing with him after he feeds them.

This is totally a transactional situationship.

So then here he lies. Bottom lip between his teeth, recording a Fortnite video with Martin for their channel when he suddenly shared his agony. “Martin, I’m feeling lonely again.” It must’ve came out as a bit for the video because all Martin said back was: “dang it.”

“No, I’m being serious.” Hamzah reiterated, Martin clicking his tongue, “guys, Hamzah seriously needs a Fortnite girlfriend. So I think the plan of for this video is to find him a Fortnite girlfriend!” Hamzah can almost hear the sound effects of children cheering in the background, his problems going unnoticed by his friend yet again.

After recording, Hamzah hung up from their discord call. Promising Martin to show up tonight for movie night with Chase.

He stared at his monitor for what almost felt like five minutes, his screen on a movie pirating website to download the movie they’ll be watching tonight. God, this feeling sucks. Like really sucks. He’s literally planning on spending time with his friends right now and still feels lonely.

“Am I depressed?” He questioned out loud. He wasn’t sure if he was finally coming to terms with what he’s currently feeling, or if he’s Tiktok self diagnosing and really needs a girlfriend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

Blue jumped up his lap, purring at the feeling of his touch. Pulling Hamzah out of his state of constant thinking. Hamzah looked down at Blue, who meowed at the eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” He run’s his hand across Blue’s back, sliding his hand back up and across to cup Blue’s belly, carrying him up to set on his shoulder. The cat stood on his shoulder proudly, slightly shaking to find it’s balance.

“Keeping daddy company?”

Blue had to have felt a sense of disgust at what Hamzah just called himself. Jumping off of his shoulder to ground a second later. Hamzah snarking at the action: “damn, I wasn’t being serious…”

Red must’ve sensed the awkward sadness Hamzah wasn’t ready to address from the rejection of his own cat. The similarly named cat jumping on the table, and standing up right to meet Hamzah’s gaze.

Hamzah smiled, his hand petting red’s head and scratching the bridge of it’s nose. “Are you both hungry?” He asked, more to himself since the cats can’t understand him. His eyes moved to the edge of the screen, reading the time. “You just ate thirty minutes ago…” his eyesbrows furrowed. Uncertain if his cat’s suddenly started considering their situationship with him or not.

When his eyes turned back to Red. The cat’s tail was slithering in a calm manner, it wasn’t hungry, it just wanted some love…? Hamzah’s hands involuntarily gave the cat what it wanted. Showering it with love, petting its head and kissing its face.

“Aren’t YOU acting out of place…?” He mumbled, kissing the cat’s nose one last time before turning his gaze back onto his computer. Only then realizing how much the cat covered his screen. “Okay, wrap it up. I need to finish this,” he pushed the cat towards him, sliding it from the table to his lap.

Red meowed, an annoyed meow. Hamzah looked back down at the cat. “Sorry.”

Red’s tail curled up, Hamzah’s eyes shifting to the tail at the sudden movement—looking at it from base to tip—he noticed something from the corner of his eyes. An ad, Red’s tail weirdly pointing at it. Just then, the cat jumped up from Hamzah’s lap, its face moving closer to the same side Hamzah’s currently looking at and sniffing it.

“Your Next Penpal Is Just a Message Away!” The ad read.

“From click to paper…” Hamzah’s voice barely above a whisper as he read the rest of the ad: “Words create bonds, letters build friendships.”

His face lit up for a millisecond before dropping with a frown. “Who am I kidding… this is totally an affinity scheme.” He thought, rolling as eyes at the fact that such things excited him. A weird feeling of embarrassment rushing over him.

He quickly clicked the ad away. He never really did that before because he never really cared for pop up. But something about this ad (the embarrassment of how excited he got) made his skin crawl; not wanting to see a glimpse of it.

A sigh escaped him. Rapidly clicking on the download button and closing the tabs it would open each time. With a few low annoyed groans and agonizing two minutes; Hamzah pulled off the flash from his PC, grabbing his computer and rushing to put on the nearest shoes he could find to run to Martin and Mandy’s house (since he spend ten respectable minutes doing nothing but petting his cats and mumbling nonsense about a pop up ad he saw on a pirating website.)

“Fuck. Chase.” He squeezed his eyes shut almost like his problems would disappear if he did.

Sending the following message (via Siri) to Martin shortly after: “Just left home. I’ll pick up Chase in a bit. Running late.”

—

The aroma of sweet vanilla filled the room. Mandy and Claire working on their attempt on crumbl cookie’s pink frosted sugar cookies. The came out fairly decent for their first attempt, Hamzah standing beside Martin by the kitchen island both the girls were decorating on.

“It looks like the real deal.” Hamzah commented, Claire sending him a haunting glare at his poor attempt on complimenting their baking skills. “It is the real deal. Probably even better.” Mandy added, Martin nodding his head as he grabbed a freshly frosted cookie and bit into it. Hamzah looked at his face to read his expression.

Martin seemed pleased, which only made Hamzah grab a one of his own.

“You guys are so…” Claire seemed annoyed at their presence with them, like that feeling you get when someone else is in the kitchen with you when you’re making your late night snack. “Everyone just be quiet. I wanna focus.” Mandy said, making Clarie sigh in defeat. If Mandy isn’t on anyone’s side, its pretty much over for everyone.

Martin turned to ask Hamzah, “did you download the movie?” Flicking his head to the side to move his bangs out of his eyesight. Hamzah nodded, eating the last bite of his cookie. “Can you set it up? By the time the finish up we can just start it.”

“I got it. Hand me the flash.” Chase spoke up from the couch, closing his phone, setting it on the couch. Hamzah turned to him, shoving his hands in his pocket and threw the flash towards Chase. Just when Chase caught it, Mandy added: “do you guys want popcorn?”

Hamzah remained quiet, letting everyone answer for him. He must’ve zoned out because he doesn’t really know what they decided on. Only one thing primarily hung over his mind right now. That one weird penpal ad.

“I saw this weird ad today on the pirating website I was on.” Maybe the thought was so heavy it had to slip past his mouth. Martin chuckled, thinking it was going to be a ‘Hannah, thirty miles away’ type of joke—but when he saw Hamzah’s face—his quiet laughter died down.

The rest continued to look at Hamzah with curiosity. The man blinked awkwardly as they waited for him to continue.

“It was like… from click to paper or something like that. A website for meeting penpals—”

“Affinity scheme vibes.” Both him and Martin say at the same time. Dropping the original topic at hand to look at each other with the mouths wide open, giggling like idiots.

“Wait. So it’s like-” Mandy started. “Is it like… tinder but the penpal version?”

“Maybe you’ll find a girlfriend there.” She teased, pulling the cookies away from the parchment paper. Hamzah turned to look at Mandy, “my struggles shouldn’t be a laughing stock.” He responded, a hand on his hip.

Claire smiled at the two, recalling a friend of hers mentioning something similar to her. “I remember a friend of mine mentioned something like that. She said it was pretty nice and like, fully anonymous. Kinda cool.”

“That ad was most likely the bootleg version of the real thing.” Chase added from across the room.

Martin sighed, resting his hip on the counter to hold the balance of his body. “Pretty much knocking two birds with one stone. Meeting someone new and journaling.”

Was it the sugar rush talking or is the idea of this website appealing to him? As Martin said: “Two birds with one stone.”

Meeting someone new and maybe feeling less lonely…!

—

What the fuck is he doing…? Hamzah himself wondered that as he clicked on the website, the forefront of the site was something out of the two thousands.

It must be an old website then. A message from his browser on the top left corner asked him if he allows the website to use his location, he didn’t fully read or comprehend what it said—clicking allow (thinking it was asking if he could allow the website to give him notifications.)

Hamzah clicked on the sign up button. Typing in his spam email and the same password he usually uses on burner accounts, lastly clicking on ‘male’ when it asked for his gender.

His eyebrows raised curiously when it asked him what gender he preferred to speak to. Is this actually like penpal tinder? But he innocently clicked on ‘male’ again. His thought process was that he wanted to make more male friends, he felt like he only had Martin and Chase as of right now, all his other male friends always seem too busy to hang out.

Plus it’ll be cool to say you met your homie on a penpal website.

As soon as he clicked on the done button; it loaded him into a new page, this one asking him to highlight or enter some of his interests. Hamzah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, thinking about what he should type.

Nothing. Nothing really came into mind except for one thing.

Hamzah started typing it, a circle forming around the word and finally getting highlighted as he pressed enter—validating his interest as one of the many hobbies in the database of this website.

‘Fortnite.’

He smiled at the screen. Happy with what he wrote. That happiness rudely interrupted by a pop up message reading: ‘MUST ENTER AT LEAST THREE ENTRIES!’

Hamzah continued his journey to remember hobbies he has, recalling fishing being one of them seconds later, then journaling lastly. He might be lying a little bit on the last one since he doesn’t feel consistent enough, but it was something he enjoyed doing!

As he pressed the enter button again, it sent him to another page, it took a while to load, though he was shocked to see that it immediately took him to an open chatroom.

It had the same outline as Omegle, but slightly more vibrant and with a feel of mySpace. A loud ding made him slightly jump back; realizing that the sound was a notification for a message being sent. He blinked, looking at the other buttons available on his screen, a skip button beside the send button, a block button beside the username of whoever was on the other side.

Hamzah looked at the message on his screen:

FeetAsianFisher: Age?

He giggled at the name, mumbling: “what the fuck?” Under his breath. “Did he put asian as his interest or asian-fishing?” Hamzah thought, his giggles turning into laughter from his own joke.

FishingFortniteJournalist: 22, what the fuck is that username? LOL

Hamzah noticed his username, realizing the website never asked him for one. And also noticing that his username was a mashup of all his entered interests. The horror washed over him as he re-read the other guy's username.

FeetAsianFisher: 62

FeetAsianFisher: do u like older men?

FeetAsianFisher: i like pretty boys, are you one?

Hamzah almost couldn’t see from the face he was making, his eyes squinted, his mouth forming a frown. Hands frozen over the keyboard. Did he just enter a website where old people get their freak on? His right hand held his mouse, moving the cursor to the skip button faster than ever.

“Ew.” He commented under his breath, turning to Red to see if it also just witnessed what he did. Red only meowed to it’s owner, turning to run to Blue and continue wrestling.

Another ding. His attention back to the screen.

FortniteFeetGamer: Age?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

FishingFortniteJournalist: WHAT IS UP WITH YOU GUYS AND FEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He didn’t waste time, skipping this guy as well. Absolutely not giving him a chance to respond back.

Hamzah realized that he’ll probably continue on this loophole if he doesn’t change his settings, there must be a filtering system for interests or something. If there is, he's definitely filtering out ‘feet’ first.

He clicked through the settings as quickly as he could, furiously trying to make adjustments to his profile before more creepy messages came flooding in. The website felt more like a maze designed to keep him lost than a genuine way to connect with people. If mySpace was this complicated, how did people like it?

After a few more clicks, he found the “Preferences” section. His face lit up, this must be it! He could change his settings, modify some interests, and maybe—just maybe—dodge the barrage of strange messages and people.

His eyes scanned the options, nothing. Just two buttons: ‘change gender preference’ and ‘change interests.’

Then it hit him. His preferred gender was probably the reason why he kept getting weird messages. He could change it. Maybe, just maybe, if he set his preferences to women, it might filter out some of the weirdos.Without really thinking about it, he clicked.

The forefront reloading again, taking him to a new page. Then loading up a new chatroom. A pop up message on the top read: ‘PREFERRED GENDER CHANGED SUCCESSFULLY.’

The chatroom was quiet. The opposite party didn’t send a message which made Hamzah feel obliged to start the conversation.

FishingFortniteJournalist: hello?

He waited patiently for an answer, a ding alerting him of the other person’s answer.

FishingGirlFeet: ＭＹ ＰＵＳＳＹ ＩＮ 🄵🄸🅂🄷🄸🄽🄶🄶🄸🅁🄻🄵🄴🄴🅃.🄲🄾🄼

Hamzah could only sigh when his eyes registered the message.

FishingFortniteJournalist: I hate you so much.

He skipped the bot as soon as he pressed enter, going into the settings again to avoid being put in another godforsaken freaky chatroom. His eyes darted at the available options, deciding to click on the profile settings.

It didn’t say much other than his username, email, and gender. The username was unavailable to edit, same for the email (though it had a message written underneath that said: “this email will not be shared publicly.”) The only thing that was available for change was gender.

Hamzah hesitated for a moment, wondering if he changed his gender to woman, and had his preference to women, would things be any different? Or is he still going to get bombarded with weird messages?

Curiosity killed the cat.

A few clicks and he was (according to the website) a lady.

Reloading him back to a chatroom as soon as he exited the settings, his eyes falling back to the center of the screen awaiting an answer from both the person and for his theory.

GamingJournalingReader: Hello???

…normal?

ForniteFishingJournalist: are u a normal person or do u like feet?

GamingJournalingReader: LMFAO

GamingJournalingReader: NORMAL

ForniteFishingJournalist: u have no clue what i just went through

GamingJournalingReader: I think I have an idea… LOL

GamingJournalingReader: WTF YOU PLAY FORTNITE?!

ForniteFishingJournalist: not a lot nowadays but i play it with my friend most of the time

GamingJournalingReader: Cool! I guess the reason why we got paired up was the journaling part.

GamingJournalingReader: How long have you been journaling? I only started a few months ago, honestly it’s been super fun!

ForniteFishingJournalist: around a year ago? but i started taking it seriously a few months ago too

GamingJournalingReader: That’s awesome!! How old are you by the way?

ForniteFishingJournalist: 22

GamingJournalingReader: Taylor Swift age :0

ForniteFishingJournalist: idk abt u but im feelin 22

Just before Hamzah could ask the person for their age, a big pop up message showed up on his screen:

“Did you enjoy your chat with GamingJournalingReader? Take your conversation offline—turn your typed words into handwritten letters! Just write your message, send it to the P.O. Box provided, and we'll make sure it reaches your new friend—anonymously. Your location stays private, but the connection stays real!”

Below that, a P.O box address was given. Hamzah raising a brow, “huh? How would they know my location?”

“Whatever.” He sighed, moving his cursor to the delete button, the tab disappearing as he clicked on delete. The thought of whoever he was talking to being a bot flowed into his mind. A pout forming on his lips, he felt like a loser. Was he that desperate? An online website to meet strangers? Who was he kidding, this was all a stupid idea.

He pushed his chair away from the desk with a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the night pressing in on him. Red and Blue, sensing his movement, immediately sprang from their spots and bounded toward him. Hamzah glanced at the cats, then at the clock on his desk—it was already 11 PM, well past their usual feeding time.

"Sorry, guys," he muttered under his breath, heading toward the kitchen. The cats trailed behind him, meowing insistently, their hunger unmistakable. "I shouldn't have let this distract me." he added, though he knew they wouldn’t understand.

As soon as he placed their bowls on the floor, the cats pounced on their food, eating eagerly. Hamzah sat beside them, gently ran his hand over Blue’s head as it ate, the soft purrs filling the quiet space.

Hamzah watched them eat for a moment longer, the quiet rhythm of their hunger oddly comforting. When he was sure they were settled, he stood up, stretching his arms.

"Alright," he said softly, glancing down at Red and Blue, who were still focused on their food. "Night." His voice was quiet, but the cats didn't seem to care, too wrapped up in their meal.

With a final glance at the pair, Hamzah turned off the kitchen light and made his way to his bedroom.

—

It had been a long, grueling week for Hamzah—filming, endless hours of talking with Martin. Why? Martin was heading off to visit his family for the next few weeks. They had to prepare. Filming, editing, discussing, then filming some more. Hamzah was relieved that he wouldn’t have to talk at all for a while. The idea of spending a whole month in silence, without the pressure of constant conversation, sounded like paradise.

He kicked off his shoes the moment he entered his apartment, sighing as the weight of the day lifted slightly. Red and Blue immediately began circling his feet, meowing excitedly. “Hello,” Hamzah cooed, his backpack slung over one shoulder. With his other hand, he held a small stack of bill-mail.

“Are you cuties hungry?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at them. Both cats meowed in response, louder this time, their tails flicking in anticipation. Hamzah smiled and nodded. “Coming right up.”

He dropped his backpack by the door, then turned to make his way into the kitchen. Blue reached out and clawing at Hamzah’s sock.

“Ouch! Stop,” Hamzah groaned, wiggling his foot to shake the cat off. Blue quickly jumped back and scampered over to Red, starting a little wrestling match. Hamzah watched them for a second, his lips curling into a smile.

He set the mail on the kitchen counter, then opened the cabinet where he kept the cat food. Pulling out the pre-packaged sleeves of wet food, he quickly split the contents into two separate bowls.

Before he could bend fully to put the bowls on the ground, Blue was climbing up his leg in a desperate attempt to get to the food first. Hamzah laughed and stood back up, carefully setting the bowls out of reach as the cats scrambled over to him.

“Easy!” he said, half-amused, half-annoyed. He nudged them both back a little, enough to give him space to set the food down, but not without a couple of claws grazing his leg.

As soon as the bowls were on the floor, the cats pounced, their meows filling the room as they dug into their meal. Hamzah leaned against the counter, letting out a small sigh as he watched them. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft sound of their eating. For a moment, it was just him, his cats, and the peace that he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

Hamzah turned his attention back to mail on the kitchen counter, resting his elbows on that same counter to peel them open. He went through seventy five percent of them, the usual billing receipts and ads for local stores opening nearby—that is until, of course—a letter with a sticky note captivated his vision. He pushed the other mail envelope that laid over it, the brown textured envelope standing out not only with its color but with the odd yellow sticky notes attached to it.

His eyes first read the address, a P.O box that seemed familiar but he quickly dismissed it since it didn’t pop up in his mind immediately. Moving his gaze to the sticky note.

“To. FishingFortniteJournalist”

Hamzah let out a breath chuckle at first, the words in front of him not fully forming in his mind. Until it did. Hamzah's heart skipped a beat as he realized the note was addressed to his username. The username that had been automatically generated from his interests. He hadn’t even thought that something like this would actually happen.

How? How did they get his address?!

But then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. His thoughts rushed back to the moment he'd clicked Allow. He’d been in such a rush to sign up for that weird penpal site, too eager to bypass the pop-ups, the terms and conditions, just to see if it could actually be real! Something that would make him meet someone new. The website had asked if he allowed it to use his location. He'd assumed it was for notifications or maybe some setting for the chatroom. But now, with an annoyed realization creeping in, it dawned on him that by agreeing to share his location, he'd essentially handed over a piece of his privacy.

Hamzah cursed under his breath. "Of course, of course… fuck! What do I do?”

The website must’ve used that location data, linked it to the profile he’d made—FishingFortniteJournalist, his fishing, Fortnite-loving, journal-obsessed persona. And used a user matching database to know when someone sends in a letter—with a username attached to it—where they have to send that letter to.

And at the end of this all. ‘GamingJournalingReader’ wasn’t some bot chatting with him to keep him engaged with the website. No, no no no. This is a real person. In fact, it’s a person who wrote this letter, addressed to his username, and sent it to the website’s mailing P.O box TO SHIP TO HIM.

‘This is bad. This is really bad.’ Hamzah couldn’t help but think. And even with all these nerves kicking within him. Curiosity won yet again. He peeled open the envelope, careful not to rip the contents inside. Pulling everything out slowly. The letter unfolded, a faint scent of vanilla wafted up, a strange but oddly comforting smell. The letter was written in neat handwriting, the ink smooth and deliberate.

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite the strange way we met. I thought it was amusing that we connected over Fortnite and journaling—two things I never expected to overlap. I’m glad we were able to chat for a bit, even if our first conversation was cut short. It’s rare to find someone with similar interests, and it was refreshing to find a connection like that!

Something about you being traumatized and trying to have a conversation about Fortnite is still funny to me. But, on the note of our interests. Since you said you just recently started journaling again I included some gifts for you in the envelope! Nothing too crazy, just some washi-tape and stickers I got from a friend of mine a while back.

Anyway, I don’t want to keep my letter too long. I look forward to hearing from you again—if you’re interested, of course.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader"

Hamzah blinked, rereading the letter twice to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. He sat down on the couch, the letter feeling heavier in his hands than it probably should. He quickly reached into the envelope and pulled out a tag, pink washi-tape wrapped around it, and some Hello Kitty stickers.

“What the hell is going on…?” Hamzah whispered to himself, still trying to process everything. He had forgotten about the whole website experience from all the stress, but now... now there was this letter. An actual letter. Sent by someone who seemed to have taken the connection seriously.

One thing was clear: this wasn’t something he could just brush off. Especially not when the person seemed too genuine to ignore.

Without wasting another moment, he tore a sheet from an old notebook and grabbed a blank envelope from a pile of mail, double-checking it didn’t have his address. He began writing:

“Hey GamingJournalingReader,

I have to admit, this is pretty wild. At first, I didn’t even think you were real, and now I feel a little guilty for not mailing you a letter first. I’m not sure how this works, even though I feel like I should. It’s intriguing, to say the least.

Thanks for the sticker and the tape, I’ll make good use of them. I wish I had something to send back, but I don’t.

Take care.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the letter with a pang of doubt. He definitely wasn’t good at this. The words felt stiff and distant, as if they came from someone else entirely. It felt similar to when he first messaged them; in the chatroom. Normally, he’d be the one making jokes, have this calm yet energetic spark and humor everyone. But with this person, everything seemed to slow down, his usual spark dimmed to something more subdued and thoughtful.

Maybe it was just the timing—talking to them that night after a long, exhausting day (movie night), when all he wanted was quiet and rest. Or maybe it was something about them, this GamingJournalingReader, that pulled him into a calmer, more introspective version of himself. He wasn’t sure which was more unsettling.

He folded the letter, shoving it inside the envelope he grabbed and copied the same P.O box address the person had on their letter. Writing their username boldly in the middle. GamingJournalingReader. The soft rustle of paper and writing filled the room, punctuating the silence. This whole situation felt strange. However, tomorrow morning, this is the first thing he has on his to-do list.

He traced the edge of the envelope with his thumb, the paper rough against his skin. For the time being, with a tired exhale, he sat back and stared at the ceiling, the shadows from his dim lamp shifting in a slow dance. It was late, the kind of late where everything felt heavy and honest. He rested his arms to each side of his body, the envelope slipping past the grasp of his hand and rested beside him on the couch.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, feeling different around this person. Maybe it meant there was something more to this, something worth unraveling, even if it made him uncomfortable.

But as his eyelids drooped and sleep began to claim him, one thought lingered: was it better to stay guarded, or to let himself lean into the quiet curiosity that GamingJournalingReader seemed to draw out of him? Whatever the answer was, it made him feel less lonely since he’s going to sleep with someone in the shadows of his mind.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

God! I feel like a creep now that I was the first one to send a letter. I’m glad you liked the sticker though, matter of fact I’m glad you got the letter safely. Anyway, thank you for going through with this. It’s crazy that you were the first person I talked to!

Enough of the website, I don’t think you want to talk about it… I was thinking of fun things we can include in our letters to get to know each other. We can do playlists!! Obviously written playlists. Now that I’m writing this I think what I meant is song recommendations but regardless! I’d love to hear what you listen to! I attached a note to my letter that has some recommendations of mine.

I hope you had a good week! My week has been super hectic but I was happy to see that you got and responded to my letter. I don’t want to make this too long and bore you. See you next letter.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

The soft glow of your computer screen illuminated your small bedroom, casting a pale light over your tired eyes. It was one of those rare, tranquil evenings in Canada when the snowstorm outside created an almost cinematic backdrop. Flakes danced and swirled under the streetlamp’s light, covering the neighborhood in a pristine blanket of white. With a warm mug of peppermint tea nestled between your palms, you clicked on the familiar green icon on your laptop, waiting for the call to connect.

A moment later, the screen burst to life, and there was Mandy’s face, vibrant as ever. Her tanned skin glowed against the muted blues and oranges of what seemed like a hotel balcony. The sound of distant ocean waves crashing against the shore filtered through your speakers.

“Hey, there you are!” Mandy’s voice bubbled, her smile so wide that her eyes crinkled at the corners. She pushed a lock of sun-bleached hair behind her ear, revealing a pair of dangling shell earrings.

You couldn’t help but grin back. “Mandy! Wow, look at you! So… beachy.”

Mandy laughed, the sound warm and contagious. “I know, right? I’m starting to think I’m never going back to winter coats and boots. It’s paradise here, honestly.” She shifted the phone a little, giving you a view of the blue expanse behind her. “Look at this, just look at it!”

Your eyes widened at the sight of the brilliant turquoise sea and the golden glow of the setting sun. “It’s so nice. Where are you now?”

“Somewhere near Tulum. Martin found this tiny resort off the beaten path. He said he wanted to have a week for ourselves before coming back. No tourists, just an endless beach and some hammocks strung between the palms. We spent the whole day exploring the cenotes and eating the best tacos I’ve ever had.” Mandy’s eyes sparkled with the kind of joy that only came from adventure and sun.

“Ugh, lucky.” you pouted, taking a sip of your tea. The rich, comforting tea filled your senses, a stark contrast to Mandy’s tropical paradise.

Mandy’s expression softened a little as she leaned closer to the screen. Clicking her tongue before mirroring your pout. “I know. I feel guilty sometimes, being out here while you’re back in Canada. How’s it going? Heard there’s a snowstorm out of nowhere.”

You set your mug down and pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Sudden snowstorm is correct. Streets are buried under layers of snow, and I had to shovel the driveway twice today.”

Mandy winced in sympathy. “I don’t miss that at all actually.” Then a memory took over her vision, a giggling leaving her lips before reminding: “Remember last year when we got stuck in that coffee shop when we were trying to have this cute study date?”

“Oh my god! That was last year?”

“Yeah! It was fun, though,” Mandy said, a nostalgic smile curving her lips. “I miss those random little adventures with you.”

“Me too,” you admitted, glancing at the snow swirling just outside the window. A pang of longing settled in your chest, a mixture of missing Mandy and the familiarity of your carefree times together.

Suddenly, you remembered something.

“Oh my god. I forgot to tell you!” You started, setting your tea cup aside to adjust your laptop as you spoke to Mandy. You caught her attention immediately, fixing her posture to move closer to the computer. “I finally got a penpal.” You exclaimed.

Mandy made tiny claps with her hands, leaning even closer to the camera to celebrate. “No way! How?” She asked, continuing to add something before you answered: “That's funny because, a week ago, Martin's and my friends were over for movie night. And one of them mentioned seeing an ad for… uh… like online penpals? Like sending emails?”

You jumped at how similar it is to the idea of the website you used, “oh! It’s similar to the one I used but mine is like, you meet, you chat for like three minutes, then they give you this P.O box address that you can send your penpal letter to. That way it can be fully anonymous.”

“Location?” Mandy tilted her head.

“You allow them to have your location as soon as you click on the website.” You informed. Mandy looked at you like you had cat ears for ears; “and you allowed a random website to have your location?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You’re insane.” Mandy sighed.

“Anyway,” you continue. “I met a girl as soon as I was matched to chat, we had journaling in common. She seems nice so far!”

Mandy raised her right eyebrow, crossing her arms, “and what makes you think she isn’t a twenty something year old creepy man that plays video games with his friends all day and can't ever interact with women outside of Fortnite skins?”

“I feel like you described me but with the implications of a man.”

“Point stands.” Mandy warned. You roll your eyes. “Mandy, why would a man put journaling as one of his interests?”

“To fool you.”

“Oh my god. Stop.” You started giggling at Mandy’s resistance against your ideologies. “So what? He doesn’t have my actual address if that’s true!”

“Plus, Fortnite Fishing Journalist? Sounds like a woman.”

“I think hypothermia is kicking in.” Mandy rubs her temple, looking to the beach as the waves crash down into a soft shuffling sound. “Careful.”

“Don’t worry. Probably won’t get murdered.” You reassured. Though, Mandy’s face didn’t seem reassured at all. “You enjoy your time! This is some silly penpal stuff! Tell me what you’ve been up to.” You noted, wanting to derail the conversation away from you since Mandy seemed so tense.

She gave you a half smile. Starting to go on about how she loves the beach waters here, how stray cats are friendly, and how her shopping sprees are becoming bigger and bigger as the days go by.

After an hour of talking about how Martin needs to stop wearing graphic t-shirts when they’re out together at a fancy restaurant or about how much Mandy misses fish; the call ended with a goodnight wish to you. Waving hands and kisses goodbye making a smile linger on your face even after she hangs up.

As you think back about your conversations, remembering what Mandy said about your new friend. Snarking at the imaginary tail of your friend. Yeah, right. A twenty something year old man pretending to be a woman to have a penpal that sends him Hello Kitty stickers, pink washi-tape samples, and song recommendations.

—

“GamingJournalingReader,

It’s me. Hi. How are you? I hope you are good. I’m okay. Song recommendations? I listened to some of yours and so far, I like it. I’ll also add some songs on the bottom of this ripped page. Excuse me, I don’t have sticky notes.

How’s the weather where you live? It’s snowing for me. No fun. I can’t go out to grab sticky notes for our letters. Dislike emoji. Sorry, I’m not used to writing on paper. I kind of wish I had emoji stickers to add.

This is kind of breaking my habit of using Siri for everything. I have a serious problem with that. My friends make fun of me for it. It kind of feels weird to not let Siri write this down for me. (I’m not being serious.)

I don’t know if this is oversharing, I’m just not used to this.

Bye.”

—

Hamzah titled his head as he looked at the neatly folded and decorated letter sent by GamingJournalingReader. The way this person wrote was so detailed and intricate, the signature vanilla lingered in the air for a while after he opened the letter. Groaning when he turned his vision to his monstrosity of a letter. He was reusing old envelopes as his new envelopes, his paper being from an old notebook he bought when he first moved into the apartment to journal (which failed.)

His writing improved, a little less dry and more comfortable. But still, it missed that hidden element.

Whatever! It doesn’t matter. Why does he need to impress this random person on the internet? It’s not the end of the world if his letters aren’t the most presentable, all that mattered was that it was perfectly readable and both parties seem to be fine with it (for the most part on his behalf.)

Hamzah went over to the kitchen to feed Red and Blue before he leaves to meet up with Martin to film another eating in a cultural restaurant vlog.

His lips curled into a smile as he recalled something: “I was happy to see that you got and responded to my letter.” Something about that line—it felt real. Maybe it was the novelty of it, or the way it was phrased with such casual care. The kind of care you get when someone, even on the other side of a screen or a thousand miles away, takes the time to reach out. It’s only been a month or so since they met. He already somewhat felt the companionship he was longing for. The person who was asking him about himself, wondering how he is even if it wasn’t fully genuine. It felt nice to have someone willingly wonder how he is.

Red squawked from his cage in the corner, snapping Hamzah out of his thoughts. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, calm down," he muttered, moving over to the kitchen counter. He filled their food bowls, watching as Blue immediately dug in, while Red took a more dignified approach, nibbling delicately.

As he prepared their water and cleaned their area quickly, he caught his reflection in the microwave door. His hair was a mess, and his shirt—he hadn’t even bothered to iron it. He wasn’t in the mood

Hamzah grabbed his jacket from the couch in his living room, walking past his coffee table where his letter sat. He took a final glance at it, wondering whether he should be embarrassed by his own letter. ‘It’s fine’, he thought. After all, the words would speak for themselves, wouldn’t they? And wasn’t that all that mattered?

Besides, he seemed to get like this every time he wrote his letters. Every single Thursday, he’d sit and stare at his letter—beating it down and comparing it to his penpal’s letter. Or when he twists his lips around while he looks at it, thinking it’s bland and that it needs more decorations like how GamingJournalingReader’s letters would be. “Whatever.” He whispered.

With one last deep breath, he grabbed his keys beside the letter and headed for the front door.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I get the whole Siri dependency. But isn’t that why they made Siri anyway? You’re just getting your money’s worth. Writing by hand is like an old-school challenge but kind of nice, right? And YES! Emoji stickers would make this 10 times better.

It’s kind of funny because when I got your letter, it was snowing for me too! I couldn’t get to my mail box until two days later, which kind of explains why this letter will also be sent late to you. Sorry, Mrs.FortniteFishingJournalist!

On a good note… I FOUND SOME SILLY SMILEY FACE STICKERS!! I’ll send some to you in my envelope, if you want to make it sad; just draw a pout on its face and it’ll all be good.

My question for this letter is: do you have any pets? You don’t have to share names! Just a yes or no. Or you can ignore my question. It’s okay as well.

I had a pet pigeon for a while, not actually but it would jump on the rails of my apartment’s balcony and pick at an empty ashtray for two hours every morning. Named it: trashy. Because, I’d leave it be then it’ll start trashing my balcony for no reason!

Anyway, how was your week? Mine was still snowy. I hope yours was warmer than before.

With love and kisses

GamingJournalingReader”

—

“Martin’s and my friends are coming over next week.” Mandy announced over the phone, “do you wanna come? It’s a bigger party this time, some of Claire’s friends are coming over.”

You sighed on the other side of the phone, your agony made Mandy frown. “Oh no. Why?” She immediately asked, using her shoulder to hold her phone close to her ear while she fed Fish and Carl. “I don’t know… I haven’t gone to a party in a while.” You message the bridge of your nose, thinking about being in a crowded place where you don’t know ninety percent of the people there.

“Girl. It’s like twelve people max.”

“And only two of which I know!” You argued back, closing the book that sat neatly on your lap. You uncrossed your legs, standing up to walk around the room while you talked to your friend.

Mandy remained silent for a second, seemingly unaware that you would agree if she would just promise that she won’t leave you alone with some strangers. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Just knock it out, it’s in my apartment, you won’t lose me.” And the key answer was declared, allowing you to mumble an “okay.” With a not so convinced tone.

Your friend let out a dramatic sigh on the other end of the phone. “I promise I’ll be your social bodyguard.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Mandy as your personal bodyguard in a sea of people you barely knew. Still, the idea of pushing through your discomfort for a night in the company of friends—letting go of the fact that most of them were friends of friends—was oddly reassuring. “Fine, but if I end up hiding in the bathroom, you’ll know it’s because I’m at my social breaking point.”

“You can lock yourself in there as long as you want, I’ll bring you snacks through the door if I have to,” Mandy teased, clearly delighted that you were coming around. “It’ll be fun! You’ve been cooped up in that apartment for weeks now.” Mandy's voice softened, genuine now. “You know I would never drag you into anything you don’t want to do. Just come for a bit. If you need an out, I’ll get you out.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and for the first time in the conversation, you felt a tiny shift in your anxiety. It probably wouldn’t be so bad. Right?

—

It was totally bad.

You blinked. The living room was dimly lit, with warm golden lights strung up around the walls, the low thrum of music in the background. It was cozy, but too crowded. Mandy’s apartment wasn’t massive, which made this feel a whole lot more uncomfortable. Mandy’s cat, Fish, darted between your legs and Carl was curled up beside you on the couch, blissfully ignoring the humans around him.

Okay, maybe you are totally being dramatic. It wasn’t all that bad but you did feel like the odd man out. Everyone was a little awkward with you, unsure of how you’ll take their humor, trying their best to have the best first impression. All of it ends in them having conversations together about things you won’t get—excluding you without noticing.

Mandy went out to grab more drinks for everyone, NOT keeping her promise about being your PSB (Personal Social Bodyguard.)

That’s an unfair way of thinking. Wasn’t it? She should have fun without you holding her down. You pet Carl to calm your thoughts. The sound of folks mingling around you soon becomes background noise as you smile down at Carl.

Suddenly, the couch dipped beside you, and your head subconsciously turned toward the shift in weight, half-expecting it to be Mandy. Instead, you were met with a guy you hadn’t noticed before, his posture relaxed, with a quiet awkwardness that immediately made him seem more like someone who was trying to fit in. Just like you.

You blinked, a little surprised. He had messy, dark, curly hair and an effortlessly laid-back vibe—like he’d just thrown on whatever was comfortable, and somehow it suited him perfectly. His eyes scanned your face for a moment, his eyebrows raising as if processing your unfamiliar presence.

Oh! You know him! That’s Martin’s friend. “Hamzah?” you asked, the name slipping out before you even realized it. For a split second, the guy’s expression froze, a flash of surprise crossing his face. It was less of a ‘That’s not my name’ look, more of a ‘How do you know my name?’ look. His brows furrowed as he glanced at you, clearly puzzled.

This is so awkward.

“…that’s me,” he said slowly. His voice was low and steady, but there was a slight hesitation in it, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the sudden attention. “How do you...?”

You quickly cleared your throat, hoping to clear up the confusion. “Sorry, I’m Mandy’s friend,” you explained. “That’s how I know you. You’re Martin's friend? I’ve heard her mention you a couple of times.”

He nodded, still looking at you with a quiet curiosity. His lips twitched into a small, almost sheepish smile, but he didn���t seem entirely at ease. "Oh. Yeah," he said, his voice a little softer now, like he was processing the new piece of information. “She doesn’t talk shit about you.” You reassured, although now that you said it; it makes Mandy look guilty with what you accused.

Hamzah let out a short breathy laugh, “Good to know.” His tone was humorous, almost like he sensed your slight embarrassment and tried to let you know that he won’t take it negatively. “I didn’t realize Mandy had a... friend here. I mean, I didn’t know she invited a friend.”

Both of you are doing horrible in wording your statements, everything could be taken backhanded but you both ignored your troubled sentences and continued your awkward conversation.

You shifted your position, trying to make the space between you feel less awkward. “Yeah, I’m kind of the ‘out-of-place’ one tonight,” you said with a half-laugh. “I don’t know anyone here except Mandy and I met Martin only a handful of times.”

Hamzah nodded, biting his lip nervously as he turned to look around for Martin. You noticed what he was doing, letting him know where the couple was: “Mandy and Martin left to grab some drink.” He turned to look at you as you answered, nodding his head again.

You both sat in a brief, awkward silence, both of you still trying to find your footing in the conversation. You could feel the tension in the air, but it was the kind of tension that felt more like a shared experience��neither of you seemed comfortable in the party setting, but at least you weren’t alone in it.

Trying to break the silence, you thought of something Mandy had mentioned earlier, something that seemed like an easy topic to latch onto. “Mandy was telling me you and Martin went camping recently,” you said, your tone a little hesitant as you watched his reaction. “She was saying it was... pretty intense? You know, like, the kind of camping where you actually rough it.”

Hamzah’s eyes flickered briefly, as though he was momentarily caught off guard, but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit as he processed what you said. There was a slight smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice sounding a little more grounded now. “It was... an adventure, for sure.” He leaned back slightly on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Martin insisted on doing the whole thing the real way—no hotels, no water bottles, just tents and a campfire. It was... an experience, to say the least.”

You couldn’t help but smile, imagining the chaos of two guys trying to make the best of a rough camping trip. “That sounds... brutal, honestly. Like, no luxuries? I’m sure it was fun in some way, but... wow.”

Hamzah chuckled softly, the sound deep and quiet, like he was remembering something particularly funny—or maybe just trying to make light of the situation. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever missed a good shower more in my life. And the food—The food was awful.”

He gave a small, genuine laugh, and for a moment, you both shared a look, a moment of connection over something completely unrelated to the current social chaos. His smile was genuine now, the tension from before slipping away just a little more.

“How long have you and Mandy been friends?” He asked, finding footing in the conversation. You hummed at the question, “around a year ago maybe?”

“I lost my phone in this beaten up, old amusement park when I was babysitting. I was lowkey freaking out and she must’ve seen me from afar. Held the kids with me and ran around looking for my phone.”

“Mandy would do that?”

“Only a year ago.”

Both of you giggle at your combined joke. Hamzah’s playfulness coming out, your heart weirdly fluttering at the sight; not weirdly actually… Hamzah was really cute. You knew that since Mandy showed you pictures of him and her boyfriend. But you don’t want to feed that crush too much, you knew you wouldn’t see him a lot—what could possibly tie you guys together anyway? It seems like you guys wouldn’t have anything in common.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled your attention away from Hamzah. When Mandy stepped inside, you instinctively stood up from the couch to walk toward her. As you glanced back at Hamzah, you caught the subtle flutter of his eyes in your direction, and your heartbeat quickened in response. “It was nice to meet you!” you said, offering a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you too,” he replied, his voice soft, and though the words were sincere, an awkward tension lingered between you two, faint but noticeable.

—

“GamingJournalingReader

My week was cold too but definitely better than last week… It's so funny how similar our weather matches up.

Pigeon? That’s unique. I have two cats, as I have mentioned before I’m pretty forgetful. I decided to name them very common names that won’t ever be forgotten. Red and Blue. Isn’t that so convenient? Never understood the hassle with names. I think our love is one sided, they only love me when it’s feeding time. I’m sure you understand, with your pigeon and all.

I get busy sometimes and can’t be there emotionally for them. That kind of makes me feel like shit, but I need someone emotionally too. You don’t see me complaining like they do. Kidding. Obviously.

The stickers are so fucking cool. You’re a lifesaver, honestly. How do you even have that many different options of stickers? Do you make these? Or do you collect them? So many questions, so little answers. You’re such a mystery…

Mr.GamingJournalingReader,

Teach me your way of stickering.”

—

Hamzah leaned against the counter, sipping from a cup of iced coffee he'd made. The cold, bitter liquid slid down his throat, a jolt of wakefulness that kept the remnants of sleep at bay. His gaze flicked over to the cats, Red and Blue, happily munching on their meals. Their rhythmic chewing was the only sound in the kitchen, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly still.

Then, his phone buzzed on the counter, its vibrations cutting through the silence. Hamzah glanced at the screen. It was a notification from Martin: “Did you confirm with the camera guy for the vlog next week?”

He set his cup down and breathed out slowly, trying to shake off the weight of the message. He glanced back down at the cats again, watching them finish up their breakfast. The silence of the moment was a balm, familiar and comforting, like an old friend who never demanded anything more than your company. It was his life of solitude, his sanctuary.

Hamzah groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of the question. The vlog was something that had been hanging over his head for a week—something he was technically responsible for (since it was his idea) but had zero desire to manage at the moment. The thought of reaching out to the camera guy, arranging schedules, figuring out who was doing what, made him want to crawl back into bed and pretend nothing exists. The last thing he wanted to do on this quiet morning was deal with anything.

But of course, his mind wasn’t content to stay in that peaceful place for long. His thoughts, as they often did, drifted back to something that had been on his mind more than he cared to admit: a night from last week.

It was last Friday. The day had started like any other—quiet, unremarkable. He'd been lounging around, enjoying the feeling of having no plans, no obligations, when his phone buzzed with a message from Claire.

“Hamzah, are you sure you don’t want to come by? Last minute change of plans, it’ll be chill, I swear. Just us, maybe a few others, but it’ll be super low-key.”

When he showed up, though, he quickly realized the party wasn’t exactly what he expected. The place was louder than he anticipated, a mix of chatter and music spilling out into the small apartment’s entryway. And Claire’s promise of “just a few others” had been a stretch of the truth. The living room was filled with unfamiliar faces. And he had to shake their hands with jorts and a minecraft shirt on. The only laundry he finished this week.

But one thing stood out to him from that whole night; her.

They were both somewhat in the same social hierarchy in that party, weirdly finding comfort within each other's unfamiliarity. He never thought he’d be ‘getting to know someone’ this smoothly before, although it was awkward. She was carrying the conversation pretty well. Remained him of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

And she’s pretty. Did he make a fool out of himself in front of a pretty girl…? He shut his eyes, breathing in to relax himself. “She asked me one question, I asked her. Fair conversation.” He reassured himself, like if he said it outloud he’d feel any better.

He didn’t.

“This is stupid.”

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

Mysterious? Me? No way. I think you only think that because you don’t know my name. I feel like I share a lot more than you think. You know about my pet pigeon, and not a lot of people know about that beautiful creature!

Anyway, CATS! I love your cats' names! I get you with the whole forgetting thing, I forget some important things too. Just a part of life, isn’t it?

Random but I really love talking to you. You’re starting to feel like a longtime friend I had since middle school. Can you believe we’ve been talking for two months? Maybe a little under that but LET ME PRETEND LIKE IT’S A BIG MILESTONE! Crazy, feels like yesterday. One tear crying emoji. (I don’t have that as a sticker. I have failed my sticker master skills.)

Oh! I have some TEA. Not really tea but… listen, girl. I went to a party the other day, and I met my friend’s boyfriend’s friend. I know it's confusing. Anyway, he was cute. Not like smash cute, but like… wife me up cute. That could be the same for you, they’re kinda different for me.

I don’t think I can ever date him though… our conversation was short and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. Unless some miracle happens. Knowing my luck there won’t be any.

Isn’t this such a long letter? Sorry girly pop, got too excited telling you about my party crush.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah blinked as he read the letter in front of him.

“Holy shit.” How could he forget? Such a small little perfect detail about this whole big ordeal of a pen-pal relationship they had.

“But…listen, girl.”

“Sorry girly pop,”

She thinks he’s a girl. That was the whole reason why they met, he changed his gender to female. Hamzah sat back in his chair, staring at the letter in his hands with wide eyes. The words echoed in his mind. "Sorry, girly pop." and "But... listen, girl" both said so casually, so warmly, and for the first time, it really hit him. ‘She thinks I'm a girl.’

Two months. He hadn’t expected to get this far, heck he didn’t even expect the first letter to begin with, he thought this whole thing was dead and gone as soon as he logged out of that website that night. A week later, when he got the letter, he somehow managed to forget the most crucial part of this whole dilemma. The only reason why she feels comfortable enough to talk to him in the first place is because she thinks he’s a woman. A woman around his age, who completely understands her girl talks and problems.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” Hamzah ran his hands through his flattened curls, his hand resting on the back of his neck when he reached it. “Shit.” The only words that managed to leave his lips were no good to his current situation. He can’t do anything. There is nothing he could do to fix this. It’s been two months—as she said—two months built on a lie.

Hamzah exhaled a breath, his eyes skimming over the words as if he could somehow read them differently, like they would magically change if he focused hard enough. But they didn't. The same sentences, the same affectionate tone. Just when he felt like he had something, something that filled the void he noticed within himself, the void he’s been complaining about to all his friends. Everything crumbles on him, over something so silly and stupid. His lips twisted as a splash of guilt pulled on his heart. She thought he was someone he wasn’t, someone he couldn’t be, and there was no way he could fix that. And it was all because of one click, and a forgetful mind.

He glanced at the desk in front of him, cluttered with papers and billing mail—distractions. His mind was buzzing, a loud cacophony of thoughts and what-ifs.

He had to admit the truth: he’d lied to her from the very beginning. The whole thing—it was a lie. Sure, he never outright said he was a girl. But, the tag of female under his name was enough to hold his fate. Fate he wasn’t ready to face. Not yet. He never expected it to go this far. He hadn’t planned on actually forming any sort of real connection, hadn’t planned on actually caring about her feelings. Especially since this whole website was—as he thought—bait for scammers and weirdos. But now, after two months of letters, of laughing at stickers she’d give him and sharing minor intimate details about one another, he couldn’t just pull out. This weird attachment he had didn’t allow him so.

His fingers drummed on the edge of the desk as his mind ran wild with ideas—what if he told her the truth? What if he just came clean and explained everything? But no. No, that would only make things worse. She’d be hurt, probably angry. Never speak to him again. She’ll think he’s some sort of creep, praying on her or something. And what would he be left with then? The same empty, hollow feeling he had now, only worse.

But why does he care? It’s just a random person he met that doesn’t actually know him.

Hamzah leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His thoughts circled around one word, one solution that was simple but painful, though probably less painful than finding out that the girl you’ve been talking to the past two months was a twenty two year old man that does YouTube for a living.

That word was: ignore.

He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to just disappear from her life without an explanation, but he could already feel the weight of the lie pressing on him. Ignoring her, pretending like everything was as it used to be and that nothing had happened, was the only way to avoid confrontation. The only way to let this fizzle out without dealing with the mess. It was easy, anonymous, and clean.

He would just stop responding. Stop mailing back. And eventually she’ll forget. Only two months, right? It shouldn’t get her hung up too much… right?

He crumpled the letter in his hand, tossing it into the trash. For the first time in two months, Hamzah felt nothing but disheartenment on a Thursday night. Both the stress and the weight of it all was something he couldn’t shake off.

All he could think about right now was how his friend must feel. It didn’t matter how hurt he was about not being able to contact her again. She seemed so excited, so eager about how deep their friendship was growing in such a short period of time.

He spun his chair around, staring at the darkened window. His reflection stared back, a guy who had somehow stumbled into something real by pretending to be someone else. It wasn’t even intentional—at least, not entirely. When he’d checked that little box on the website, it was supposed to be a joke. A way to bypass the site’s foot obsessed weirdos and see who he’ll meet.

He hadn’t expected her. At all.

Red circling around him snapped him out of his thoughts, turning to the purring cat to carry it. “Let’s feed you, come on.” He got up and walked to the kitchen where Blue also ran to his comfort.

That’s it. Back to square one.

—

Martin huffed, hands rushing to massage his temple. “You can’t be serious.” His tone filled with irritation. Hamzah looked at him with indifference, almost an ‘I told you so’ attitude burned in his eyes.

Mandy overheard her boyfriend's anger grow, peeking from their kitchen. “What’s wrong?” She asked, a frown forming between her eyebrows as her concern (and slight annoyance) grew.

Martin groaned, letting his hands fall dramatically to his sides. “The guy canceled. After a whole week of silence, he texts saying he’s not coming.” Hamzah leaned back against the armrest of the couch, his expression still unreadable. “Told you hiring someone off Craigslist wasn’t it,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Should’ve gone with someone we know.”

Mandy walked further into the room, her brow still furrowed. “Wait, what? The cameraman? For the exploring video?” She looked between the two men, her voice rising in disbelief.

“Yes, the cameraman,” Martin snapped, pacing the small living room. “He ghosted us for a week and then decided, at the last minute, that he’s not available. Who does that?!” He waved his phone around in frustration.

Hamzah shrugged. “Probably saw a better gig pop up. It happens.”

“Did you pay him?” Mandy said, her gaze fell on her boyfriend. “No, but we agreed with him on an amount and told him what we’re doing.” Hamzah responded before Martin could, “maybe that’s why he said no…” Martin muttered. “Maybe he felt like we’re under paying him.” He continued.

Mandy glared at her boyfriend in disbelief, “I highly doubt that.”

Mandy crosses her arms as she rests the weight of her body on her left leg. “What if you guys… I don’t know, do it yourselves?”

“Do it ourselves?” Martin echoed, looking at her like she’d suggested they film with a potato. “That’ll be too much work, plus we don’t have a tripod or anything.”

“Why didn’t y'all have back up?” Mandy shot back, her tone defensive. “Don’t you think about what could go wrong when it comes to this?”

Hamzah let out a breath, the sound making both Martin and Mandy turn his way, “look, there’s no point in arguing about anything right now. We should think about another video idea to do.”

Mandy uncrossed her arms, her lips opening to say something but she hesitated. Martin looked at her, tilting his head as he waited for what she wanted to say. “I might… have a friend that’ll be willing to help you. Except, I'm not so sure about her skills.”

Martin was at his wit’s end. “We need to finish this video as soon as possible. I don’t care, we just need a third person to film the both of us.” He turned to Hamzah, seeking his approval. Hamzah still gave him an indifferent look, shrugging.

“Who’s this friend?” Martin asked.

“My friend that showed up to the last movie night we had.”

“The shy one?”

“She’s not shy,” Mandy corrected. “She just didn’t know anyone.”

Hamzah’s interest was piqued at the discussion of such a friend. “Is she the one you told about me and Martin going camping?”

Mandy seemed surprised that Hamzah knew about that. “She talked to you?”

Hamzah nodded. “For a bit, yeah.”

“Yeah. Her,” Mandy confirmed.

Martin spoke, breaking them out of their question and answer session: “Alright. Call her. See if she’s available. The worst she can say is no.” Gesturing to Mandy to go on and call.

Mandy nodded, already reaching for her phone. “She’s usually pretty chill. If she’s free, I’m sure she won’t mind helping out.”

The room fell silent as they watched Mandy’s phone, the tension building as if the entire project depended on this one text.

Finally, Mandy’s phone chimed. She read the message, her expression brightening. “She’s in.” Martin sighed in relief at the news. Weirdly enough, Hamzah felt like he was growing nervous at the thought of meeting her again.

“That’s awesome, tell her to come over later tonight.” Martin pressed, moving to the coffee table to grab his phone. Mandy nodded once again, her thumbs typing out his message.

Hamzah shuffled in his spot. Why the hell does he feel nervous? He talked to this girl once and they don’t have to talk much now, she’s there to film and that’s that. That’s… that. It’s not that deep.

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t know her much. (As if he knew the cameraman from Craigslist any better)

“Come on. We have to go grab some stuff.” Martin nudged Hamzah’s shoulder to grab his attention. Hamzah cleared his throat in response, nodding and following behind him.

—

“Okay! Three, two… one. I’m recording.”

Martin let out a light laugh. “You don’t need to count us down. Just make sure you’ve got a good angle,” he teased.

You clicked your tongue in irritation. “I know. It’s just a habit. Don’t laugh,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

It’s quite interesting that you had a longer conversation with Hamzah two weeks ago than with Martin in total since you met. That made sense with the way you seem to still get irritated at his jabs.

“Why are you staring at me? Just start already,” you pressed, trying to maintain focus on the screen. Hamzah, standing in the corner of the frame, covered his mouth to hide a grin. Watching you get frustrated with Martin was, apparently, very entertaining. The only person who has ever gotten angry like this over his jokes was Mandy.

Now he sees why you guys are friends.

But, it did seem out of character for you to get this riled up, not that he’d know you that much to know that you aren’t being yourself, but the energy around you and the words you spoke seemed off. There was something in your expression—tight, uneasy—that struck him as odd. You weren’t just frustrated. You were nervous. No… anxious.

But this wasn’t the shy or uncertain kind of anxious. It was something sharper, heavier. Fear.

Who could blame you? The house was unnerving. The kind of place that felt alive with all the wrong things—creaking wood, rustling leaves, and the distant snap of twigs that made you whip your head around. And then there was the eerie way the last traces of sunlight bled into the horizon, swallowing the shadows until everything was steeped in twilight. Even Hamzah could feel the chill creeping up his spine to his neck.

Still, despite that, Hamzah couldn’t fully shake the amusement bubbling inside him. A part of him—the part that usually found humor in tense situations—felt guilty for being entertained. But another part, quieter and harder to define, wasn’t amused because you were scared. It was something else entirely. He found it a little cute.

The way you tried to cover your fear, rushing Martin and him to get through the video intro as quickly as possible, only made it more obvious. Your voice was firm, but your eyes darted around, scanning the shadows as if they might come alive. It was endearing in a way; Hamzah wasn’t sure how to explain, even to himself.

So, he looked away, trying to focus on something else. Whatever it was he was feeling, this wasn’t the time to figure it out. Not here, not now.

“Hamzah, can you move to the left a little? You’re out of frame.” Your order ensured his eyes would fall back upon your face. You gave him a flat smile, gesturing for him to move. “Oh, yeah. Okay.” He returned the smile, moving a little closer to Martin.

—

Martin huffed as they approached his apartment, Hamzah beside him with his hands shoved into his pockets. You followed behind them, your fingers delicately wrapped around your old, beat-up camera, a splurge purchase from years ago. “Never thought you’d come in handy,” you mumbled to the device as if it could respond, scrolling through the footage to ensure there were no visual errors with the lens or other issues.

Filming with the two boys was chaotic. Seeing Martin fully in character made you squirm at first, but the chuckle that escaped Hamzah’s lips when you both glanced at each other afterward became the highlight of the experience. There was something about him. Every time you locked eyes, it felt like a reminder of… something. Something you both shared that night weeks ago.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head slightly in an attempt to steer your thoughts away from this dangerous train of thought. What were you doing? It’s not like that. He’s probably just nice but awkward. It doesn’t mean anything. Those stares don’t mean anything.

“Hello?” Martin’s long, exaggerated drawl of the letter L snapped you out of your daydream. Your head shot up—from the camera to his face—and he asked, “Are you going home?”

You blinked, almost as if you didn’t register his question. You had, of course, but you’d completely forgotten that you’d Ubered to his apartment for the sake of time. Now, it was 1 a.m., and catching an Uber at this hour felt like asking for trouble. You shut your eyes, groaning at your predicament. “Fuck.” Opening your eyes, you looked at the two men standing in front of you. “No. I have to get back home, but…”

You trailed off, not wanting to make it their problem. “Never mind.” You waved your hand dismissively. “I’ll see you guys around.”

Martin tilted his head. “No, no. What’s wrong?” he pressed.

You sighed. “I… it’s nothing serious.”

Hamzah stood there quietly, unsure of what to say since he didn’t know you well enough to bombard you with questions like Martin.

“Do you not have a ride?” Martin guessed.

You smirked at how quickly he pieced it together. “I Ubered here, but I think the metro’s been down all week because of the snowstorm…” Your worries tumbled out like word vomit. Once you started, you couldn’t stop.

Martin glanced over at Hamzah, who remained silent beside him. “Well, Hamzah came by car, so…” He looked at his friend. “Can you take her home?”

Hamzah had never wanted to punch Martin more than he did in that moment.

He couldn’t say no, not without looking and feeling like an asshole. The only option left was to press the big, red button labeled YES. He tried to remain calm, forcing his face into a neutral expression that didn’t betray the fact that he was internally freaking out about being alone in a car with a girl. A girl who was quickly becoming his friend-of-a-friend crush. A total hotshot he couldn’t stop staring at.

“Y-Yeah. Totally,” Hamzah stammered, finally turning his gaze to meet yours.

A smile spread across your face. “You don’t have to. Seriously, I can just call a friend.”

“It’s… too cold out. They might keep you waiting. I’ll drop you off,” Hamzah replied, surprised at how smoothly the words escaped his mouth. His tone was calm and collected—or at least, that’s how it sounded to him.

“Well, thank you.” You smiled, your eyes seeming to sparkle under the dim streetlights. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

“Great. Email me the footage by tomorrow, yeah?” Martin interrupted the moment, walking backward toward the apartment building’s entrance.

“Okay!” you called back.

“Thanks, cameraman. I owe you,” Martin added before turning on his heels and disappearing through the door.

—

The silence was heavy in the car, almost deafening. His cologne mixed faintly with the lingering scent of weed, a combination you hadn’t expected but found oddly comforting. You noticed the steady grip he kept on the steering wheel—calm and deliberate. Maybe he was being careful because of you. The thought made you smile faintly, but you quickly pressed your lips into a pout, not wanting to look like a weirdo smiling at nothing.

Still, the silence grew too loud to bear. You glanced at him, stealing a moment to take him in. ’Well, isn’t he a pretty sight?’ you thought, biting back another smile. Searching for something to say, you finally settled on, “So, what do you like to do in your free time?” The second the words left your mouth, you winced internally. Hobbies? Really? What are you, twelve?

Hamzah seemed a little surprised by the question. His hands flexed on the wheel as if debating whether to glance at you, but his eyes stayed on the road. “I, um…” He paused, as though the answer had caught in his throat. A fleeting memory of him typing his hobbies onto that embarrassing pen-pal site flitted through his mind. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I like fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“You asked—don’t judge,” he replied, his tone defensive but light.

You giggled softly. “I’m not judging. You just don’t strike me as the fishing type.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back against the seat. “Actually, I met someone recently who also likes fishing, so it’s not that strange.” You shrugged, still smiling.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?” you clarified.

“Yeah, obviously,” he added quickly, his awkwardness making your smile widen. There was something so endearing about the way he spoke to you, like he was trying hard not to trip over his words.

“Um… gaming,” you answered simply.

“Like Roblox?”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What?” His pitch rose in mock indignation, the tension in the car dissolving as his comfort grew.

“No, like Fortnite,” you said, deadpan.

Hamzah shot you a quick side-eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Fortnite? You? Fortnite…?”

You raised an eyebrow, curious where this was going. “You are not defeating the sexist allegations right now.”

Hamzah huffed a laugh, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea. “No, no, it’s not—,” he said, his grin still in place. “It’s just… you seem like you’ve got your life together, that’s all.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, laughing at the vague explanation.

“Teenagers, losers, and weird YouTubers—like Martin and me—play Fortnite,” Hamzah teased. “Wait, so you’re saying I fall under the loser category?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, forcing him to glance at you. He stammered, his grip tightening on the wheel as your eyes locked on him. “N-No. I don’t think you do.”

“Right. ’Cause I’m not wearing a Fortnite jacket when I leave my house,” you quipped, a grin tugging at your lips. Hamzah chuckled again, shaking his head. “That—and the fact that you’re too pretty. Pretty people aren’t losers, no matter what they like.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unintentional. You froze, the unexpected compliment catching you off guard. At the same time, Hamzah’s half-smile faltered as the weight of what he’d just said hit him. His eyes stayed glued to the road, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t dare look at you—didn’t want to see your reaction.

“Well,” you began after a beat, your tone light but steady, “you aren’t so bad yourself. So, I don’t know what your point is here.”

The casual way you said it made him glance at you, almost involuntarily. This time, you weren’t looking at him, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. But he caught the faintest hint of a shy smile playing on your lips, your cheeks slightly pink. You turned your head toward the window as if trying to hide it, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined it altogether.

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the GPS chimed in, breaking the moment. Hamzah slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the road near your apartment complex. You sighed softly, taking in the sight of your building. The conversation had been brief but charged, and the realization that your time together was over left a quiet sadness in its wake.

“Thanks for the ride.” You said, the shyness you once seemed to have changed into a casual expression, turning to face him with a grin. Hamzah fully met your gaze for what it had seemed the first time. “It’s cool.” He responded.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He nodded, the sound of the door clicking open prompted him to look away to get ready to drive off. “Sorry.” His sudden apology made you look back—half of your body already out of the vehicle.

Your confusion caused him to continue: “if I made you uncomfortable.” He paused, “it kinda just—”

“I wasn’t.” You cut him off. “Besides, I meant what I said too.”

Hamzah kept his eyes ahead, too shy to meet your burning eye contact; but he managed to respond quietly, “okay,” a soft smile tugging at his lips. His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, betraying his nervous energy.

You lingered for a moment, one foot still on the pavement, your hand resting on the door. The air between you felt charged, as if both of you were holding back from saying something more.

“Night, Hamzah,” you said finally, your voice softer than you intended.

“Goodnight,” he replied, daring to glance at you one last time. The way the streetlights caught the edges of your smile made his chest tighten. He wanted to say more—but the words never came.

You stepped back, gently shutting the door, and with a small wave, you turned and walked toward your building. Hamzah watched until you disappeared inside, the faintest trace of your perfume still lingering in the car.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

How are you? It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard from you! I hope everything’s okay on your end. Did I say something in my last letter that upset you? Honestly, I can’t even remember what I wrote, but if I did, I’m sorry.

I have news though. Big news. Remember wife me up boy? Well, he drove me home the other day, and we joked around a bit… but here’s the kicker: he called me pretty. Yeah. Out loud. Unintentionally. The context doesn’t even matter (and is way too long to explain here), but just know that I may or may not have flirted back a little.

He’s so cute, though. I could tell he didn’t mean to say it, and honestly, it made it even better. Like, who just accidentally blurts that out? Him, apparently.

But don’t get your hopes up for me—nothing will come of it. I don’t think we’ll see each other again unless fate decides to get dramatic. Plus, our mutual friend would probably hate me if I caught feelings for him, so it’s better to let this little moment stay in the past.

For now, this stays between us. You’re officially the keeper of my secret feelings. I hope you’re doing okay and sending all the good vibes your way. Write back soon—I miss hearing from you.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah blinked as his eyes followed each word. He promised himself he’ll ignore GamingJournalingReader’s mail from now on, even said he won’t pick it up from his mailbox. But there he is tracing the words back with his index finger, finding himself smiling at the mere mention of his penpal.

After reaching the halfway point, something felt off. Like he heard this story before, deja vu. He frowned, tapping the paper lightly against his palm as he tried to piece it together. The details were familiar in a way he couldn’t explain. The car ride, the accidental compliment, the blush hidden behind casual words. It all felt like a story he already knew… or one he’d lived.

His heart thudded once, hard, as the realization began to settle.

“No way,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He glanced back at the letter, the corners of his lips twitched into a disbelieving smile.

Hamzah sat back in his chair, the letter still in his hands, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He read the lines again, slower this time, dissecting every word as if they’d shift under his scrutiny. The way she described him—the car ride, the compliment, the awkwardness—it was all too specific. Too real.

His hand ran through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as if it would help untangle his thoughts. “No way,” he said to the empty room, but even as the words left his mouth, he didn’t believe them.

The coincidence was too perfect.

Hamzah folded the letter neatly and set it on the table, but his eyes lingered on it. A small laugh escaped him, dry and nervous. His hand reached for the bottom drawer of his work table, as soon as he pulled it open the sight of the crumbled letter of last week greeted him.

Hands running to meet contact with the crumbled paper, grabbing all the letters that layer underneath it. Throwing them on the table, his anxiety at an all time high. If this means what he thinks it means… The thought only made him shiver.

His eyes glazed over each word.

“Anyway, how was your week? Mine was still snowy.”

“I went to a party the other day, and I met my friend’s boyfriend’s friend.”

“Our conversation was short and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”

“Sorry girly pop, got too excited telling you about my party crush.”

“Party crush.”

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

His mind raced as each sentence clicked into place, tying together moments he’d lived but never thought twice about. The snowy week. The party. The friend’s boyfriend’s friend. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the latest letter again, scanning it for more clues he might’ve missed.

It was her.

It had to be her.

The sheer impossibility of it made him laugh under his breath, but the sound was strained, laced with disbelief. His penpal—the girl he’d poured a piece of himself into, letter by letter—was the same person who’d sat in his passenger seat just days ago, teasing him about fishing and Fortnite. The same person who’d made him nervous enough to blurt out she was pretty.

Hamzah leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he stared at the pile of letters. He buried his face in his hands, groaning softly. This wasn’t just some coincidence—it felt bigger than that, like some cosmic joke he wasn’t sure he was ready to laugh at.

Like the universe promised him a fate where he can’t ignore the vague mistake he made when he pressed that ‘female’ button.

This just keeps getting worse.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

Are you dead? I’m actually getting worried now lol. You’re probably busy, aren’t you? This is making me feel like the unemployed friend >:(

Joking. Not really. Maybe.

But you know what I’m not joking about? Seeing ‘wife me up’ guy. My friend is hosting this party for her boyfriend, it’s for a milestone he hit! I was invited. And his friend (cute guy) is most likely invited too. I think you’re putting two and two together. WE ARE SO BACK.

Get back to me when you can! I miss you.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Your lips puckered as you scrutinized your reflection in the mirror. Was this dress a little too much for a casual dinner? You’d had all of last week to plan your outfit, yet here you were, second-guessing yourself at the last minute.

Nothing in your closet seemed to meet your standards. Everything was either too plain, too formal, or too revealing for a winter night out. Frustration bubbled up as you sifted through your options.

You sighed heavily, your grip tightening on your phone as though willing it to stop you from texting Mandy and bailing. You sank onto the edge of your bed, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts.

Why were you overthinking this so much? It was just dinner with Mandy, Martin, and Hamzah—Mandy, your close friend; Martin, her boyfriend; and Hamzah…

Hamzah.

The guy you’d totally flirted with last time, assuming you wouldn’t see him again for months. Yet, here you were, almost two weeks later, preparing to sit across from him at a celebration dinner. A dinner Martin insisted on hosting to thank you for your work on their abandoned house video, which had apparently performed so well that he felt the need to show his gratitude. And the fact that you refused any payment from both boys made his gratitude only worsen. “Great,” you muttered to yourself. “You really can’t back out now.”

This was for you, after all. You couldn’t skip it. You groaned, dragging your hands down the fabric of your dress to smooth it out as you stood. One last glance in the mirror made you hesitate, but you shook it off.

“Fuck it,” you mumbled, resigning yourself to your chosen outfit. A knee’s length, wine-red velvet maxi dress, grabbing a large black leather jacket to cover your shoulders and warm you for the night.

The cold air nipped at your skin as you stepped out into the night, the soft velvet of your dress brushing against your hands as they moved with each step. You pulled your leather jacket tighter around your shoulders, boots crunching against the frosted ground.

The walk to the restaurant felt longer than it should have. Each step was weighed down by the thought of seeing Hamzah again. You kept reminding yourself it was just dinner to celebrate.

The restaurant came into view, its warm golden glow spilling out onto the street. You stopped short, peering through the glass. Mandy and Martin were already seated, laughing together as they huddled close. Across from them sat Hamzah, his hands folded in his lap, his shoulders stiff despite the casual setting. Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t looking at anyone, his gaze fixed somewhere over Martin’s shoulder.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your jacket, and pushed open the door. The chime above the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Mandy was the first to spot you, her face lighting up as she waved. “There she is!” she called, standing to pull you into a warm hug. “You look amazing!”

You nodded shyly, your grin easy. “Stop. Oh my god.”

Your eyes involuntarily peeked at the quiet figure still seated, Hamzah. He had turned toward you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but he just gave you a curt nod and muttered, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to read into his clipped tone.

You took the seat Mandy gestured to—right beside Hamzah, in front of Mandy.

The conversation started off easy, mostly led by Mandy and Martin. They gushed about the video’s success, recounting how unexpectedly popular it had become. Hamzah chimed in here and there, but stayed mostly quiet, his eyes focused on his glass of water or the corner of the table.

Every so often, you’d catch him sneaking a glance at you, but the second he felt your eyes on him, he’d look away, his jaw tightening as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It was awkward. Painfully so.

At one point, Martin cracked a joke about the abandoned house shoot, something about you jumping at a shadow, and Mandy let out a giggle. You couldn’t help but chuckle, too, but Hamzah barely reacted. His lips twitched into something like a smile before he took a long drink from his glass, his eyes focused mainly on Martin.

“You okay, Hamzah?” Mandy let out, leaning forward. He shrugged, forcing a casualness that didn’t quite land. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.” His fingers playing with the rim of his glass.

The rest of the dinner continued in a similar pattern—Mandy and Martin carrying the conversation while you tried not to notice how Hamzah barely addressed you directly. It was clear he was trying to act normal, but the stiffness in his posture and the way he avoided looking at you made it impossible to ignore.

Was it something about the car ride? God, maybe it is. Maybe he doesn’t know how to address the fact that you made him uncomfortable and brushed you off thinking he won’t see you again until months later—like you thought as well. You bit your lip as Mandy’s rant about Carl being clingy became background noise to your thoughts. Humming to what she was saying, responding strictly to the only few words that do end up registering into your brain.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation and laughter, though Hamzah’s quiet tension never fully dissipated. By the time the check arrived, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed that the dinner was over. As the group began gathering their things, Mandy turned to you with a playful grin. “‘You walking home?”

You nod, putting your leather jacket back on you. “‘Home’s nearby.”

Mandy frowned slightly, glancing out at the frosty street beyond the restaurant windows. “You sure? It’s freezing out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured her with a small smile. “It’s not a long walk.” Before Mandy could say more, Hamzah cleared his throat. “I can drive you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but still firm.

Huh…? you thought he was upset? Were you overthinking this again? I mean, if he was uncomfortable the first time he wouldn’t ask again, would he? Or is he trying to make amends with the tension between you? Whatever it is, it’s driving you crazy.

Your eyes darted to him, surprised. He wasn’t looking at you directly, his focus fixed on zipping up his coat, but his posture was tense, like he was bracing for your reaction. “Oh,” you started, unsure. “You don’t have to. It’s really not far.” Deja vu. You lived this moment before and you can pin-point exactly when, and how.

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. And your heart reacted to his insistences. He adjusted his puffy jacket, still avoiding your gaze. Yet your eyes lingered, drawn to the way his hands moved down his torso, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.

“Cool.” Was all you managed to let out, slowly turning back to Mandy who wasn’t paying attention to the crazy situation (according to you) that was happening. She fixed up Martin’s jacket as they talked about something that you definitely weren’t paying attention to.

Her eyes turned to you as though she felt you staring. Smiling. “Hamzah will take you home?” She asked, wondering what you both finally decided on. Once again, feeling too annoyed with yourself for agreeing without a second thought, you just nodded. A half smile on your face.

The walk to his car felt heavier than it should have. You both stayed silent, the space between you filled with unspoken words. When he unlocked the doors, he hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to open the passenger side for you.

You stopped short, caught off guard by the gesture. He hasn’t spoken to you the entire night, where is all this coming from? His hand lingered on the edge of the door, his knuckles brushing the cold metal as he glanced at you. For the first time all evening, his eyes met yours.

It was brief, a fleeting connection, but it was enough to send a ripple through your chest. His expression was hard to read—his gaze uncertain, like he was searching for something in yours. You thought you saw a flicker of hesitation, or maybe it was determination, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Thanks,” you murmured, breaking the quiet, your breath curling in the chilly air between you.

He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was low, almost inaudible, as he stepped back slightly to give you room. His hand shifted from the top of the car door to the edge of the roof, hovering there protectively, as if anticipating the need to shield your head when you bent to get in.

You slid into the seat, the warmth of the car immediately wrapping around you, but the moment lingered—his presence, his silence, and the unspoken tension that seemed to hang between you like a thread stretched too tight.

Hamzah shut the door carefully and walked around to the driver’s side, climbing in without a word. He started the engine, the hum breaking the silence, and adjusted his seatbelt with deliberate focus.

“Which way?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

You gave him directions, and he nodded, pulling out onto the road. His eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead, his jaw tight.

It was familiar. The same hesitation, the same careful distance he seemed to put between you. It was like the beginning of the first car ride. And yet, beneath it, there was something else—something that felt like it was just waiting for permission to surface.

You stole a glance at him, your stomach flipping at the furrow of his brow and the slight downturn of his lips. “You okay?” you asked quietly. A part of you hoping he’ll tell you why he’s been acting so differently around you.

He didn’t answer immediately, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. Finally, he let out a breath. “Yeah. Just…tired. Long day.” And that part of you was crushed in that moment. ‘Yeah, right. Long day my ass.’ You thought to yourself, mentally rolling your eyes at how vague he was being. But, you would never want to pressure someone, you let it go. Resting your back against his passenger seat—averting your gaze to the window beside you.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I think he hates me. He drove me home that night, but he was so quiet and was avoiding me the whole night as well. Is he trying to say he’s not into me? I don’t get it, he called me pretty. Do people just say that to other people?

I’m reading my paragraph back; what am I saying? I sound ridiculous. People can compliment people. Maybe I read too much into it. Way too much. God, this is driving me crazy. ALSO! Christmas eve is coming up next month and Mandy will probably host a party the night of and invite me. I can’t say no! So, I’ll have to sit there and see him again.

That sounds negative. I don’t hate him. Obviously it’s the opposite. He’s cute. Like really cute. Super nice. Well-spoken. Funny. I like him. And I knew I did since I first met him that’s why I fucking flirted with him when I got the chance.

This is so stupid. Sorry, I usually don’t make boys my main topic for the month—deal with me this time, yeah? Tell me what you think when you can get back to me. Hopefully I wouldn’t have blown everything apart.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah was trying his best not to open them. He really was. But the itching urge to see your words was unbearable. His fingers hesitated before he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning each line, the handwriting blurring into something painfully familiar.

It was you. This wasn’t a “maybe” or a “perhaps.” This was you.

His heart sank. The way you described how you felt—it hit harder than he’d expected. He’d already been replaying that night in his head, berating himself for the silence that filled the car ride. The memory of you stepping out of his car with a quiet “Thanks, goodnight” played over and over like a broken record. Now, knowing how you felt about it made him feel even worse.

“I like him.”

The words burned in his mind, clearer than anything else on the page.

Hamzah had always wanted the ability to read people’s minds, to know exactly how they felt about him. But now that he had something close to that, it was too much. Not because he didn’t like you back—God, no. The opposite. He liked you too much. Too much that he hates how much his actions are affecting you.

His thumb brushed over the paper absentmindedly, a weak attempt at comforting himself. This killed every chance he might’ve had. This stupid pen-pal experiment he’d gotten involved in with you. He groaned, raking a hand through his hair.

“Fuck.”

He stood abruptly, needing air, and grabbed his lighter from the shelf beside the balcony door. Stepping outside, the cold air bit at his skin, turning his cheeks pink almost instantly. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick of his thumb before leaning against the railing.

The problem was spiraling out of control. He needed to do something. Ignoring you clearly wasn’t working. He briefly considered telling Martin he felt “uncomfortable” around you—but that wouldn’t hold up. Not when he’d deliberately offered to drive you home. Twice.

“What am I even doing?” he muttered under his breath, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. His chat with Chase was still open, their last messages flashing back at him.

Chase: What are you doing?

You: mail

He stared at the conversation for a moment before typing a response. Wondering what Chase wanted from him.

You: u ok?

The message sent with a soft chime, and Chase’s reply came almost instantly.

Chase: Yes…?

Chase: Are you okay?

You: no

Chase: ???

Chase: What the fuck happened?

You: idk

Hamzah rubbed his temple. Halfway through him trying to vent, he remembered that no one was supposed to know about this. About you. About how badly he’d messed up. This is annoying.

Chase: Are you nervous about the party?

The party. Of course. Chase was coming, too—an idea sparked. If he could just stick by Chase the whole time, he could avoid you without making it obvious.

You: yea

You: could you stay with me the whole time?

He waited, his leg bouncing as Chase’s typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

Chase: Okay

Chase: Don’t worry about it too much. It’s in two weeks.

Relief washed over him. A small grin tugged at his lips as he typed a teasing response.

You: u wowwy about me :3?

The ridiculousness of it made him chuckle, cigarette dangling from his lips as he hit send. He stubbed it out in the ashtray and headed back inside, his anxiety eased—if only slightly—as Chase fired back with a string of sarcastic messages.

For now, this would have to be enough. Enough to rest him easy.

—

“Thought you were gonna bail.”

“Almost did,” Hamzah admitted.

Chase raised an eyebrow but said nothing, instead handing him a cookie. Hamzah took it without much thought, his gaze drifting back to the living room. He knew he’d see you eventually, but the waiting was eating at him.

The past two weeks had been strange. Almost unbearably so. Not because the days had been particularly busy or stressful, but because something was missing.

GamingJournalingReader has not sent him a single letter.

At first, he chalked it up to timing—maybe you were busy, or maybe the holidays had gotten to you. But as days turned into weeks, the silence began to weigh on him. It wasn’t like before when your messages arrived sporadically. This was different. And it felt bitter. As weird as it was to admit—even to himself—he missed you.

He missed you.

Not just the you in front of him at parties, or the you he’d driven home twice. He missed the way you rambled about your favorite games in real life, then your little quirks in writing, the warmth that radiated from even your most mundane thoughts. How he felt a safe, steady presence, even if the reality of who you were had started to overlap in confusing ways.

“Hey,” Chase said, snapping his fingers in front of Hamzah’s face. Hamzah blinked, realizing he’d been staring blankly at the ground. “Sorry. Just… thinking.” Chase gave him a skeptical look but let it slide. “Alright, try to relax. You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor.”

Hamzah huffed a laugh, finally biting into the cookie Chase had handed him. But even as he tried to focus on the party, the absence of you lingered like a dull ache.

He spotted you a long time ago. You seemed to have been here since the afternoon with Mandy. All you did was greet him quietly then went back to mumbling something to Mandy when he first got here a few minutes ago.

Currently. You were standing by the Christmas tree, holding a mug of hot chocolate, your sweater dress catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, it was like the noise of the party faded away, leaving just the sight of you.

Hamzah’s chest tightened. This was the first time he took a good look at you since he got here—he understood why he couldn’t bring himself to in the first place; the way your eyes filled with stars when you’re talking to anyone, your tone sweeter than the marshmallow floating around your cup.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too caught up in a conversation with someone beside you. But when your eyes finally flicked over to his, there it was—that flicker of recognition.

And he knew. He wasn’t the only one feeling the weight of the past two weeks. A hint of something in your eyes he recognized; too fearful to name.

He looked away. Clearing his throat. Chase typing away on his phone; too caught up to notice his friend’s romantic demise. “Chase.” He called, and his friend only hummed in response.

“These cookies are good,” Hamzah muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Chase, still glued to his phone, gave a distracted nod. “Mandy made them.”

Hamzah nodded absently, his gaze flickering back toward you. He didn’t mean to look again, but he couldn’t stop himself. This time, you weren’t talking. You were standing still, holding your mug and watching him. His breath caught in his chest. Before he could decide to smile or look away, you set your mug down on the nearest counter and started walking toward him.

Hamzah stiffened, his grip tightening on the half-eaten cookie in his hand. Chase finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow at the shift in his friend’s demeanor. Not noticing the fact that you were walking over to them.

“Hey, mind if I sneak Hamzah with me for a little?” Your voice was soft, your tone polite, but your eyes darted nervously between him and Chase.

Chase smiled knowingly, nodding. “All yours.”

Hamzah shot Chase a glare, one that clearly said ‘why would you leave me?’, but didn’t resist as you motioned for him to follow. The faint murmur of conversation and laughter from the party seemed to fade as you led the way toward the balcony door.

Hamzah fell into step behind you, his heart thudding in his chest. His mind raced, wondering what this was about, whether you were going to confront him about something or if this was just a casual chat. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his fingers fidgeting with the lining as he tried to steady his breathing.

You paused and turned to him, your expression softer now, almost nervous. “Can we… actually go outside?” you asked, your voice quieter this time. Your finger pointing at the balcony that was behind you.

Hamzah’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, the request throwing him off guard. “Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice almost automatic.

You offered him a small, uncertain smile before reaching for the door to the balcony. He followed closely, the chill of the winter air biting at his face as soon as you stepped outside. The quiet outside was stark in contrast to the muffled noise of the party behind you, and for a moment, it was just the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the soft puff of your breath visible in the cold.

Hamzah stayed a step behind, watching as you stopped near the railing of the porch. You rested your hands on it, looking out into the yard. The strings of lights hanging from the roof cast a soft, warm glow over you, and he couldn’t help but notice how still you were, like you were trying to gather your thoughts.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms against the chill. “I just—” You paused, searching for the right words.

Hamzah watched you, his own hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He could see your breath in the cold, the faintest wisp of white against the dark sky.

“I just wanted to… talk,” you finally said, your eyes meeting his.

“Alright,” Hamzah said quickly, his throat dry.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It hung between you like a fragile thread, ready to snap at the wrong word. You exhaled deeply, your breath visible in the air. “I’ve been meaning to apologize. For the other night.”

Hamzah’s brow furrowed. “Apologize?”

“Yeah. I mean…” You glanced down at your boots, your voice faltering. “I feel like I made things awkward. I shouldn’t have flirted like that if I wasn’t sure you feel some type of way about it. And then—”

“Stop,” Hamzah cut in, his voice soft but firm.

Your eyes shot back up to his, wide with surprise.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his words coming out in a rush. “If anything, I should be apologizing. I—I’ve been acting weird, and I know it.”

Hamzah flinched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I-”

“I was ignoring you. But not because of anything you did.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “Then why?” Your tone growing a little louder.

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything—that he’d been overthinking, that he’d read your letters, that he felt like the biggest idiot for how he’d acted. But all he managed was:

“Because I didn’t know what to say. To you.”

Your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “You could’ve said anything, Hamzah. You didn’t have to avoid me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…” he ran his hand through his hair, shutting his eyes in irritation. What does he even say?

‘Hey, by the way! The girl you’ve been talking to for the past few months has actually been me and I know how you feel about me in every nanoscopic detail.’ He rolled his eyes at this own thought.

Hamzah inhaled sharply, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as if the motion could somehow ground him. He glanced at you, his jaw tightening. You were standing there, waiting, watching him with an openness that only made his hesitation feel heavier.

“Fuck. I don’t know…” Hamzah muttered, his voice strained, his hands running through his hair in frustration.

“Hamzah,” you said softly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you or anything—”

“I’m fishing Fortnite journalist.”

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them, raw and unpolished. He immediately froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched your expression shift from concern to confusion.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, turning his gaze to the other side. He can’t look at you. Not right now at least. This was embarrassing, for the both of you. The way you looked at him only confirmed his suspicions. It was you.

“I know. This looks really bad. But, I promise. I can explain.” He shoved his hands in his pockets again.

“Oh god.” You shut your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line as you remembered what you wrote the past few letters. “I can’t believe Mandy was right.” You rub your temple, Hamzah turning to you when the mention of his other friends was brought into the conversation.

“What? Mandy knows?”

“Obviously not that you are who you are! God, I didn’t even know that.”

Hamzah’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes flickering back to you, unsure whether he felt relief or a deeper sense of dread. “Then what did she say?”

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight nervously. “She said I was being naïve. That I was putting too much trust in someone that was probably a man in his twenties being a creep.” Hamzah winced at your description. The words of his friend sharp against his chest.

“Why did you…” you started. Even you didn’t know where to start or go with this.

“Just. Listen, okay? I… I kept getting messages from weird porn bots, then I was just testing the settings out—then I met you and I didn’t think it’ll actually go anywhere.” He paused, looking back onto the view over the balcony. “By the time you sent me that letter I completely forgot that I changed my gender to female and kept writing to you.”

“But when I realized that you thought I was a girl. The letter where you mentioned Claire’s party. I freaked out, I stopped replying.” Hearing himself re-explain everything made him realize how stupid he must look right now.

“Then when you kept sending them—and fuck,” he paused. “I don’t even know why I kept opening them—everything I read…it kept becoming more and more familiar. I realized it was you pretty early on. That’s when I started ignoring you.” He sighed, “I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

You stared at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The tension between you was palpable, each word sinking deeper into the weight of the moment. You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “So what, you just thought you’d keep it to yourself forever? Pretend none of it happened?”

Hamzah flinched, his jaw tightening. “No. I was trying to figure out how to fix it. But every time I tried, I just… made things worse. Like when I ignored you at dinner. That wasn’t because I didn’t want to talk to you—it was because I didn’t know how to.”

Your brows knit together, your expression softening slightly despite your frustration. “This is…”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said firmly, finally turning to meet your gaze. “That was all me. And I’m sorry. For everything.”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him. Finally, you exhaled, your arms dropping to your sides. “This is… a lot, Hamzah. I don’t even know how to feel right now.”

“I get it. You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He looked down for a second, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

The sincerity in his words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart was still racing, the weight of everything he said mixing with the uncertainty of what you were feeling. You stood there, unsure of whether to close the distance between you or step back. The space between you seemed to stretch, even though you were both standing so close.

He nodded, understanding, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he reached out, his hand almost trembling as it brushed against yours. “I didn’t mean to throw all this at you. I’ve just… I've been thinking about it nonstop. And I’m scared I’ve ruined everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the softness in his touch making your chest tighten. For a second, you wanted to pull away, to stay distant because it felt safer. But something in you wanted to believe him, to let the vulnerability between you both have a chance.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you murmured, your voice quiet but steady. “It’s just… it’s confusing, and I need time.”

“All the time you need,” Hamzah said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you.”

The silence between you only got heavier, you thought that once you both addressed everything it’ll all end. Though you stood still, his fingers faintly brushed over yours, the way he looked down at you—there was something there.

“You read my last letter.” It was more of a fact stated than a question.

Hamzah cleared his throat, remembering what you said in that letter. It made him spiral, but he tried to maintain his composure in front of you. “I… did.” He muttered.

You looked up at him. “None of that changes.”

Hamzah swallowed, his throat dry, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of your words had settled on his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he stepped just a fraction closer, the subtle movement sending a wave of warmth through you. He was waiting for you to guide this moment, but there was also a tenderness in his gaze that made your chest tighten.

You took a deep breath, your fingers still tingling from where they’d brushed against his. The space between you was shrinking, but there was still a part of you that hesitated—partly because you weren’t sure where this would lead and partly because of the vulnerability in his voice. He was laying himself bare, in a way, and you could feel it. You could tell he was embarrassed by this whole ordeal just as much as you.

His hand moved, almost instinctively, reaching for yours. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, the touch so light, yet enough to make your heart skip a beat. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him, your breath catching in your chest as his hand finally closed around yours.

“I really like you,” he let out, his words simple but full of meaning, like he’d been holding onto them for longer than he could admit. He leaned in, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “I just… didn’t know how to say it before. And I’m sorry for all the confusion I caused. But I mean it. I like you. A lot.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in them wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Without thinking, you leaned in slightly, your lips brushing against his. It was gentle, almost questioning, like you were both waiting for confirmation that this was okay—that you were both ready to let go of the doubts and fears that had kept you apart.

“I like you too,” you whispered, your thumb gently caressing his hand. “Obviously.”

Hamzah’s eyes met yours, and the warmth in them was undeniable, a mix of relief and something deeper, something more. Without another word, he leaned in, this time with more certainty, pulling you closer as your lips met once more, the kiss deepening, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time.

When you pulled away, it was quiet. Both your lips meeting the cold air again—your quivering at the temperature change. Your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him; “You’re an idiot.”

Hamzah snorted at your comment, resting his forehead on your shoulder to continue his giggles. “Stop.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension that had been building between you two finally dissipating. The warmth of his laughter, the feel of him so close to you, made everything that had come before seem insignificant.

“Seriously,” you said, your voice teasing but soft, “you really are an idiot.”

He pulled back slightly, still chuckling, and looked at you with that same familiar warmth in his eyes. “I know,” he said, his tone light but there was a trace of something deeper, something real. “But I think I’m okay with being an idiot if it means this.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “This?”

Hamzah nodded, the laughter fading as his expression grew more sincere. “Yeah. This. Us. Whatever this is. It’s worth being an idiot for.”

“Shut up.”

“Dork.”

(A/N): is the ending ass… be honest guys. ;( I felt like it seemed rushed ;-; anyway, hope you enjoy it :3 (I literally used AI to proofread—lazy city)

[dark-night-hero]

hi :'D man your writing of tragedy makes me want to cry and i love it

the first one i read from your works is zhongli losing y/n his mate because he wasnt there when a god wrecked havoc, so i got an idea.

neuvi's old old, and focalors invited him to be the iudex of fontaine right? during his early days in fontaine he struggled so much with interacting with humans. what if, he meets a human (y/n) who doesnt care that their new iudex had come from nowhere, and completely aids neuvi with communicating with humans and they form such a close bond that he doesnt understand, but right as he decides to go for it and ask yn he receives news of a new case ; yn's murder :D

i swear i did not mean for this ask to be long i am so sorry 😭

Humans can be cruel ang cunning creatures. If not then crimes and wars would have never happened. They are beings who are capable of hurting each other for the sake of their own gain. They would not hesitate to use each other and kill each other.

That is the human on Neuvillette, the new iudex of Fontaine. He does not even know why he accepted such invitation. In the first place, his hesrt was distant from the people. His imagine of them was quite... bad. Maybe that was just his discrimination, but the more he get to stand on trial, then more distorted his imagine of mortals become.

And then he met you. You who was a human, but different from the humans that the knew. You were just... different. You do not look at him with fear nor do you look at him with indifference. The way you act around him, you just act like yourself.

He met you in a rainy day, a rainy day after a trial. He was walking unbothered under the rain, when a figure with umbrella started walking towards him. "Ah- Ah! Mister-!" At first, he ignore it despite the softness of the voice whom was talking to him. "Wait-!" He was avoiding people as good as he can. He saw no good in interacting with them.

"Hey!" He was getting pissed to be honest, the rain was getting heavier and once in a while a thunder could be heard. He was ready to brush the person off when suddenly, the rain stopped. There was an umbrella over his head. "Are you crazy! At this rate you're going to get sick!" What? Neuvillette was stunned, letting himself get dragged by this mortal who does not seem to recognise him or did they? "Iudex or not, what are you thinking walking under the pouring rain? Here! Take this umbrella!" After going under some shade, he watch you left him out much thought, he was holding your umbrella as you only have your hands protecting you from the rain.

You are weird. Weird in a good way that does not make sense. Maybe it was a coincidence, but after thatm he kept bumping into you. In his walk in his way into the court and when he was coming back from the court. In the path he talk, you were always there talking to him even though he does not reply. Still, it was strange how with you, he felt comfort.

"It's raining again, and here you are walking under the rain. Seriously, what's with you?" ... "Rather than that, what's with you?" "Me? What's wrong with me?" "You're different from other." "What makes me different from them?" He did not answer after that, for he too does not know what to say. How weird.

You were pretty close to him. He does not know how, but many all those walk together with you was working. In the end, he found himself completely relax and comfortable around you. "Now that I think about it. I'm your only friend, no?" ... "gasp! For real?" "Humans... I found them rather hard to communicate with." After all those trials, he does not know what to think about humans anymore. That is why he found you weird. "Why? Why is that?!" You pout. "Well..." He stopped walking and ponder for a while. "Maybe it's because I have seen mostly the dark side of humans that I cannot seem to know what to think and say to them." He replied after a little while. "Hey! That's totally unfair! If you try hard enough to know more about us there is more than the dark side there is to see!" "Hmmm. I doubt..." "No! Seriously, you jut have to open up your heart to the people and you will see the goodness in their heart." You laugh. To be honest, he does know that. After all, there was no other ways he could describe you but a good person and perhaps, maybe even more than that. But to open his heart to the people other than you... "Right... I'll think about it."

Neuvillette always find it difficult to interact with people. Most of the time he had this instinct to stay away from them. Maybe it has something to do with their origins, he was a high being after all and humans. Humans are just... humans. Nevertheless from the moment he have met you, he knew he was doomed. Doomed to understand humans. From the moment he get to know more of you, the more he mindset starts to change. Maybe... maybe humans are not as bad a he thought them to be.

"Are you okay?" The cafe was not crowded. It was almost midnight when the two of you decided to go into one. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" You asked with a smile on your face. Nevertheless Neuvillette did not fail to notice the way your eyes quickly scan the surroundings, the way you seemed to be anxiously playing with your fingers. But then, you are looking at him dead in the eyes telling him you are fine. Maybe it was nothing. "It's getting dark, shall we go?"

That night, Neuvillette decided to give it a try. Maybe just as you said, humans are not bad as he thought they would be. Maybe just like you said, all he need to do is to open his heart to the people and see things in a different perspective. Thinking about it makes his lips curl up, thinking how joyful you would be if he were to tell you that in person. But.

Humans can be cruel ang cunning creatures. If not then crimes and wars would have never happened. They are beings who are capable of hurting each other for the sake of their own gain. They would not hesitate to use each other and kill each other.

"What is this?" His hands were shaking. "Earlier a citizen named (First name) (Lastname) was found mur-?! Monsieur?! Where-" He rush out the room. He run and run and run until he was under the heavy rain. Hands still clenching the piece of goddamn paper with such gruesome, unbelievable concent. No, he would not believe it. He could not believe it. You were just walking with him earlier this day, your smile as too real for it to be unreal. He had just seen you earlier so why? Why are you there sitting in your own pool of blood soaked under the rain?

He could not even approach you, he just watch there along with the other people watching the crime scene get cleaned up like it was nothing. People were looking at you with interest like yu were some kind of entertainment after all. It was the very first case of murder in Fontaine.

Neuvillette could hear nothing under the rain, he just stood there under the same spot even after tour body was taken away. Countless thoughts running in his head. Why? Why does it have to be you? Why do humans never change? Why does t has to be you? Why? Just fucking why you? You asked Neuvillette to give humans a chance. But how could he do that now that he knew humans were the very same being that took you away from him?

Neuvillette did not cry but he just stand there, eyes bloodshot as his lips leak blood from bitting so hard, hands curl into a fist. He was mad, so mad that he wanted to end things right now. He was starting to blame everyone, the world for taking away the only good thing that ever happened to him. In his eyes were those full of hatred and is ready to explode. He would never forgive-

Neuvillette felt a weak thug on his pants, for a moment, he looked down. The first thing he noticed was the blood stained water right in front of him before the child that was holding on into him. "Ha-hydro dragon. Do-don't cry." The child sniff, tears rolling down his cheeks upon saying so.

Neuvillette does not like humans. They are a cruel and cunning being who took away the love of his life before he could even realise it was love. At the same time, these humans were the being that his love one loves very much. "Don't worry." He slowly reach out and pat the little boy's head and magically, he was suddenly dried despite the pouring rain. "The hydro dragon doesn't cry." Just like that, the rain that seemed to be drowning in sadness stopped.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: I think I fucked up. Na bobo ata ako sa sunod sunod na quiz at exam kanina HAHAHA IT'S SO HOT IN THE PH HUHU

: No but seriously I think I fucked up making this asked. HAHAHAHHA did I do it right? Imma delete this na lang charot.

[callmerainman]

First Man on the Earth still couldn't hit this | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

pairing. sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

themes. enemies to lovers, Adam reincarnates as a sinner, Reader is a royal guard.

spoilers! for Hazbin Hotel S1 finale

tw! mentions of sex, suggestive themes in general, the feminism leaving my body as I write for Adam

When Adam came back as a sinner and asked to be redeemed at the Hotel, no one was having that shit lmao.

But, as always, Charlie believes in second chances and it didn't feel right to her to just not let him in.

At only one condition: he would always have to be supervised by you, Lucifer's royal guard.

You were skilfully trained to become a guard at the royal family's services, and Lucifer had just the right mission for you in mind.

You accepted gladly, finally a task that wasn't guarding his rubber ducks.

But then you meet Adam, and you start immediately regretting the ducks.

You both find each other totally INSUFFERABLE.

He hates the idea of someone watching over him, so he lashes at you multiple times a day, as you talk back to him.

"Can't you just not stick your fucking angelic spear in my cereals?"

Despite your hatred for him, you took the mission very seriously and watched over him to check all his moves, just in case he had bad intentions.

But if you could, oh you would have ran away from his repellent presence the second you saw him at the Hotel.

He despises you so much that he doesn't even dare to flirt with you. You heard right. ADAM.

It takes some next level skill to get on his nerves to the point where he doesn't even want to sleep with you. And he remarks it a lot.

You do the same honestly.

"An old hag like you can only DREAM of having a piece of the original dick!"

Your face distorts in disgust "I would rather swallow all of Lucifer's rubber ducks than even think about it!"

At least you agree on something.

So your dynamic mainly consists of fighting, shouting at each other, name calling, pointing at his throat with your spear, Charlie separating you two as soon as you start throwing hands.

Speaking of Charlie, she had some special classes to make you two get along but they made things worse if anything.

One of them lead to the biggest fight you and Adam ever had.

As soon as you both get up to go to your respective rooms, still shouting insults at each other, Angel Dust raises one of his hands.

"Is it me or I sense some unspoken sexual tension?"

Everybody groans in disapproval, but immediately starts placing bets. Angel Dust is the only one who bets that you two will end up fucking.

In your room, you try to cool down but Adam is just making your job impossible. You're in fact fuming just by thinking about him and his stupid pretty face and his way of talking back to you.

Exasperated, you knock at his door, face already hot in anger. You want to set things straight.

As soon as he opens the door and sees you, he's already annoyed.

"You're making my job fucking impossible, you know?! If you really want to redeem yourself maybe you can start collaborating instead of being the most fucking annoying being to ever land in Hell!" you scream, pointing a finger at him.

Adam gets close to your face, towering over you "I'm not the one who asked to have someone fucking glued to my ass, you know?!"

Neither of you noticed your proximity, not until your foreheads were touching and you were breathing heavily against each other's faces, both hot. From anger, or...you know.

And then, something happens.

You both just lean in and kiss.

Oh boy Angel Dust may be onto something.

The moment you and Adam start to make out is the one you realize that all that fighting was your way of denying something that is now obvious.

The magnetic, undeniable sexual tension that wasn't just some weird figment of imagination.

In a matter of seconds you're all over each other and Adam drags you inside his room. You shut the door, just in case.

After you're done you find something else to agree on! 1. Best sex ever 2. No one has to know 3. Never again

You end up having sex again that very same day. And everybody knows because they heard you downstairs. A very lucky day for Angel Dust's finances!

Neither of you knew that the others at the Hotel were aware so you two would try to sneak out to have sex discreetly.

"We'll go upstairs to...uh...FIGHT! You know? Because we always fight! And we're totally not going upstairs to have sex...'cause we would never have sex with each other!"

Except none of that is discreet, you two go absolutely wild at it.

Meanwhile, you and Adam start to open up to each other more, mainly during pillow talk. You find out that you have a common music taste, and humor. Conversations flow so naturally, something that you would have never guessed.

Something blossoms, and you and Adam realize that you are head over heels for each other.

In the end, Charlie brings up to you two that everybody at the Hotel knows that you have been hooking up. On one side, because she's genuinely happy that you two get along in one way or another. Second, Alastor threatened to obliterate you both if you don't stop exposing him to your obscenities.

So you and Adam decide to stop keeping it a secret, to both yourselves and the gang, and officially become a couple.

Let's say that you still are all over him but in a very different way.

The other guests at the Hotel start regretting the times when you two would just shout at each other incoherently.

Lots of PDA, that's the point.

Not in front of Alastor though, you don't want to risk anything.

But what's more redeeming than a really, really, really stupid love?

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged theory:

Sanemi has some form of anxiety

Let me explain:

We all know Sanemi is depressed but I think he has some kind of anxiety disorder too. The evidence is based on two categories:

Sleep Deprivation

Anxiety & Stress

Sleep Deprivation

For this point, I made the diagram below(yes, I have no personal life 😔).

The main symptom that supports the sleep deprivation theory is his bloodshot eyes. Sanemi's eyes are always bloodshot and he always has eyebags, even when he's in a relaxed state (you can tell because his 'eye dots' are larger) which could be an indication of lack of sleep.

His scraggly hair could also be a symptom because aside from Giyuu (who has depression) he's the only Hashira that doesn't seem to take care of his hair.

Another observation I made is that Sanemi is always leaning on something or hanging on something. He also puts his chin on his hand/palm, I do that when I'm tired too.

Or sometimes, he hangs on to his belt.

It seems like a stretch but he does these things often and he's the only character -that I know of- that does this. It could just be a character quirk though, due to his ghetto upbringing.

He's also the only one visibly tired after the training session between him, Obanai, and Muichiro.

I noticed in the first episode of the Hashira Training Arc right after the Infinity Fortress trial period expired and he ended up stabbing the floor, he immediately sat down. Why? Seems like a weird thing to do .

Then there's all the wobbling he does in the mansion while fighting the demons.

Anxiety & Stress

The evidence for this has to do more with his behavior and actions, especially his anger and impulsive decisions. Most people associate anxiety with fear which makes sense but anxiety can also manifest as anger too.

From the article linked below,

Anxiety causes anger for several reasons. At its peak, anxiety can cause overwhelming emotions and thoughts that make you lash out in an attempt to regain your sense of power in a stressful situation.

Anxiety as anger can be triggered by:

Flight-or-fight response - when he feels threatened

Emotional exhaustion - from his past trauma and loss

Perceived loss of control - encounters with Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤)

Cognitive distortions - his belief that he's a monster, that he has to shoulder things by himself etc.

The perceived loss of control I feel is a defining factor for the two drastic decisions he's known for:

Stabbing Nezuko – A Corps member has been harboring a demon. In his mind, the Corps has been infiltrated, and Tanjiro’s probably been feeding Nezuko people.

Trying to poke Genya’s eyes out – His brother has been eating demons. He probably fears that Genya will turn into a demon and then he will have to kill his only surviving family member. Or that Genya will die early if he continues eating demons and fighting.

When it comes to stress, he displays the following symptoms:

Irritability

Anger

Grumpiness

Always on edge

Restlessness

Impatience

His impatience with others and with himself, with him trying to get the mark as fast as possible also points to anxiousness. His white hair too! He hair probably turned prematurely grey due to environmental stress, taking care of his family, worrying about keeping them safe, his violent upbringing and probably lack of nutrients from food because he would most likely have his younger siblings eat all the food instead of him.

So everything is all tied together. His anxiety from past trauma contributes to his present anxiety which prevents him from getting proper sleep and increases his stress levels which leads to even more anxiety.

But how does he fight and stay so alert then?

I think his anxiety disorder is high functioning plus he takes a lot of matcha tea which has caffeine. His constant eating of ohagi probably also keeps him hyper too.

Another piece of evidence that solidifies my theory is the appearance of his eyes in the last chapters.

Probably had that sleep he hadn't gotten in years.

In Conclusion, our boy Sanemi has some form of Generalized Anxiety Disorder and is highly stressed due to lack of sleep which is why he acts and looks like a crackhead. He needs some sleep and possibly to get laid.

[theobsessedcookiefan]

..I just had an idea thanks to a Steven Universe audio lmao-

Short scenario of a what if!!

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

What if y/n instead of being a young witch was one of who created Blueberry Milk Cookie?

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

It had been a year since you became friends with one of your creations, the cookie holder of the virtue of knowledge, it was amusing to you how he would make space in to come to your castle, you didn't mind, it was nice to have the company of a little guy who was interested in everything you did, and you had time to admire your work, work that took years of practice and fail, the clothes took you more time than you expected and they turned out to be such a perfect match to his personality. It was perfect, everything was like you planned it to be, or so you thought.

- "I've been working on a new spell for a month now." - The blue cookie's voice interrupted your train of thought while you were writing notes to make sure the next cookie you baked would turn out perfectly, no accidents this time.

- "Really now?" - You asked, sounding like he just made a big revelation, you knew he liked magic yes but he usually just followed the instructions, you've never seen him make his own spells before. - "Yes! It would be an honor to show you what I've learnt from your books." - Blueberry Milk spoke with a hint of admiration on his voice as usual when talking to you. - "I want it to be a surprise for you as well, can I try it?" - You nodded your head and backed up a bit to give him space. He started to mumble some words and then a golden light started to surround his body, it was almost hypnotizing to see. Sadly nothing happened after that and he looked at himself, looking as confused (or maybe disappointed) as you.

- "I-It didn't work.. I'm still not a human.." - You couldn't help but laugh at his words, the confusion transforming into amusement once more as you tried to contain your giggles. - "What?! Pfft- You c-can't become a human, you're a cookie-" - It was as if Blueberry Milk's heart just broke hearing your words, but he shook his head to try and regain his composure. - "I know! That's the problem, I'm just a cookie!" - But before he could add something else you spoke with a smile, you didn't understand how someone who was made so perfectly would want to become a simple human. - "That's not a problem you silly! I love cookies, you're all so funny!" -

How could he look at you after you saying that, it made his face flush deep blue in embarrassment as he tried to make you understand his feelings, fidgeting with his fingers. - "Look- this past year has been great.." - You couldn't deny that so you nodded, letting him continue. - "But I'm getting worried about the future.." - Thinking that was his only worry you spoke cheerfully. - "Oh! You can always consult my crystal ball, it's the perfect solution for that!" -

Now it was getting hard for Blueberry Milk to speak clearly, you always talked like his worries were no big deal.. As if he wasn't a big deal; this time he spoke without thinking clearly. - "I'm starting to wonder if you.. Respect me?" - The tone of his question was almost pleading, begging for you to say yes, that you did respect him! But only another muffled laugh came out of you, covering your own mouth to try and keep quiet, how were you supposed to take that seriously? It was almost as if he was joking. - "Oh you're hilarious Blueberry Milk!" - You said as tears of laughter escaped the corner of your eyes, it didn't felt well for the small one though, who started to panic at your laughter. - "Y/N please!.." - He pleaded again, trying to get your attention once more. - "Can you just.. Talk to me for one second like a normal cookie?!" - He finally exploded, clenching his fists as he shouted at you, his voice sounding weird, distorted even, that made your laughter stop immediately. - "I'm not a cookie Blue. I thought-.. You knew that.. That's not how it works.." -

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

End of scenario.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

[t0rturedangel]

can i have some yandere!Vox using his mind control powers on the reader??

╭ . . . 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 ੭

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄-𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 ! 𝐕𝐎𝐗 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♰ ৎ﹕𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦

WOOO VOX STUFF, ngl vox is my favorite out of the three vees (idk much abt velvette and i fucking HATE valentino)

✧⠀⨾ the only way he'd ever hypnotize you was if you dared to leave him- i mean who would leave him HIM?? the cool, chill guy Vox, the guy who anyone can trust with their stuff? How could you, in the name of lucifer himself, dare to leave just like that?

✧⠀⨾ you used some lame excuses too, "oh you're scaring me!" "This isnt healthy or alright in the slightest" like seriously? that's not even that serious! all he wants is for you to stay with him. BY HIM. that's all he's asking, is it too much?

✧⠀⨾ fuckin must be, since now you're sobbing and grabbing bunches of clothes- throwing them into a small, very pathetic suitcase so you'd have something when you ran away.

✧⠀⨾ you see, now, now you've went too far- now vox has to step in, which will not be good for anyone.

Through tears in your eyes you grabbed even more clothes, stuffing them all into your [ favorite coloured ] suitcase, occasionally blinking tears away or rubbing them off of your face. Vox went mad, he was always weird to you during the later period of your relationship- always too touchy and manic, too close to you. Yes, the two of you were dating, and everyone thought it was fine- you and vox were happy together. That was true, at least at the start of this twisted relationship, Vox genuinely seemed to care, to love you and would never dare to hurt you, he said so himself.

Yet, recently he's been acting so off- so wrong. Before he was kind, gentle, never forced you to do anything you didn't want to, but now? Lucifer, what happened to him? What happened to that man that you cared and loved so much, what infected his mind? You ,it seemed, were the answer- he changed because of you of how much he "loves" you. he hates seeing other sinners get too close to you- his precious angel- one who should be untouched by the filth of imps and lower sinners, he even went as far as to ban you from seeing the other vees (who you grew decently close to, earning their respect), he seemed to adore the fact that he controlled every aspect of your life and that you failed to notice it at first, too blinded by your love for him, for everything he did for you before the relationship became official- it was so foreign to see him like that now that you knew, that you've opened your eyes and saw the true intent of his actions, now you're scared, horrified.

Through your hysterics, as Vox labeled them when you first began to cry over all of this, you failed to notice that very same 'boyfriend' (you cringed at calling him that, that thing was not your boyfriend- was it ever your boyfriend?) standing in the door frame, his screen glitching with annoyance and screeching out quiet static noises that seemed for familiar yet so eerie, and his eye wider than the other- a beautiful black swirl dancing around on a red background, such an entrancing sight ❝ babe. ❞ you heard his voice, so distorted and full of displeasure making you shrieked out of almost pure instinct and turned your body so fast you almost has whiplash- eyes wide at the sight of Vox, a horror engraved into your [eye colour] irises . Your body began to tremble it felt almost natural to fear Vox, of what he'd do- he want others to imagine him as this stupid cool guy, who has not a care in the world but you knew what he was truly like. you knew what he was, what he said, what he felt about the other desperate sinners.

❝ go away vox- im not your 'babe' im leaving❞ it was barely above a whisper but sounded so loud in your head, so very loud. That one sentence could have leaft you deaf, you wish it did- wishing it left you deaf and blind so you didnt have to hear his voice, coated in an artificial love, dripping with his real poisonous intent, or see his face- that face you loved to see plastered around the pride ring, the face that now glared at you. ❝ Dont be like that [name]- you know you're my [girlfriend/boyfriend/lover] you cant leave me ❞ his voice, still laced with that distortion didn't register in your head, it's like you didn't even hear it- like you really went deaf.

you could hear his steps echo through the room and that confidences you held a meer second ago- drained from your stature immediately. A fear washed over you, overwhelming your body... Millions of questions raced through your tormented mind all desperate to be your sole focul. „ what will he do? ” „will he kill me? Torture me? Sell me off to some beggar?”

Those questions, such meaningless questions you thought, will never be answered. Though do not fear, Vox cherishes you too much to allow you to be in harm's way of anyone else- he just loves you so much, so much so that he'll forgive this silly little attitude of yours just this once: next time he won't be as forgiving. Though, in all his honesty there won't ever be a 'next time' and all he needed to prevent this was for you to look at his eyes, to just give him one glimpse, it's like deja vu for you ist it? What were you thinking? Those fears, those worries and silly little thoughts of leaving him should have never been thought in the first place, oh how could you be so horrible to think that your loving boyfriend Vox would EVER be so controlling and terrible? My dear, Vox only wants what's best for you, and whats best for you if to stay with him! That's all you need to do, he'll do all the hard work, he'll get his hands dirty, he'll protect you. No one else can do what he does, no other overlord, no other vee, no sinner, not even Lucifer himself can keep you safe like how he can.

after all, he just loves you too much to let you leave, and why would you? being with him had never been better. Though now Vox re-thinks letting you think for yourself again, after all last time he did you wanted to leave.

That cannot happen again. NEVER again.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Request for Pomni, Zooble and Ragatha (seperate) x Reader that's a vampire (You can cut some characters out if theres too many)

How would that work? There's no blood in the digital world, only code!

Pomni, Zooble and Ragatha x vampire Reader

Pomni

★ The only one out of the three who is actually weirded out by you. Actually that isn't quite right, she's more scared than weirded out. Especially if this is when she first joined the circus.

★ She, nor anyone else in the digital circus, bleeds. As seen when Cain stabbed her with multiple knives and the meat cleaver that was thrown at Ragatha's head. So no, she isn't scared about you draining her blood.

★ She just tried to keep her distance. Call it mild paranoia. Give her like, a week and she'd get over it. After that she actually enjoys being around you.

★ You know where all the good, quiet hiding places are. Which comes in handy when she feels like shes going crazy over being stuck in a digital hell. Everyone needs to be left alone sometimes.

Zooble

★ Could not give less of a @$&# about you being a vampire. Seriously, their standards for what "weird" is have been so distorted that they just don't care anymore.

★ They are a little jealous over the fact that you can shape shift. It just doesn't feel fair when there body is a mismatched amalgamation. You can be anything you want to, from smoke to animals.

★ The best part about being around you is that while they ignores everyone you join in and sometimes take a nap. Zooble still likes being left alone but sometimes it can be nice to have a friend with them.

Ragatha

★ She's interested in how you would get blood considering the current circumstances. But maybe you don't need to drink blood? The digital circus works in weird ways after all.

★ Easily the most welcoming to you, trying not to let the fact that you're a vampire bother her. She asks you a few questions, like the one about blood along with if you can go outside.

★ There's a fine line from being scared and trying to be rude. She gets upset when someone *cough cough Jax cough* tries to get a reaction out of you by being rude.

★ If someone is just scared of you *cough cough Pomni cough* she tries to show them that you aren't a bad person. Just a little different.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Michael Tomasky at The New Republic:

I’ve had a lot of conversations since Tuesday revolving around the question of why Donald Trump won. The economy and inflation. Kamala Harris didn’t do this or that. Sexism and racism. The border. That trans-inmate ad that ran a jillion times. And so on. These conversations have usually proceeded along lines where people ask incredulously how a majority of voters could have believed this or that. Weren’t they bothered that Trump is a convicted felon? An adjudicated rapist? Didn’t his invocation of violence against Liz Cheney, or 50 other examples of his disgusting imprecations, obviously disqualify him? And couldn’t they see that Harris, whatever her shortcomings, was a fundamentally smart, honest, well-meaning person who would show basic respect for the Constitution and wouldn’t do anything weird as president?

The answer is obviously no—not enough people were able to see any of those things. At which point people throw up their hands and say, “I give up.” But this line of analysis requires that we ask one more question. And it’s the crucial one: Why didn’t a majority of voters see these things? And understanding the answer to that question is how we start to dig out of this tragic mess.

The answer is the right-wing media. Today, the right-wing media—Fox News (and the entire News Corp.), Newsmax, One America News Network, the Sinclair network of radio and TV stations and newspapers, iHeart Media (formerly Clear Channel), the Bott Radio Network (Christian radio), Elon Musk’s X, the huge podcasts like Joe Rogan’s, and much more—sets the news agenda in this country. And they fed their audiences a diet of slanted and distorted information that made it possible for Trump to win. Let me say that again, in case it got lost: Today, the right-wing media sets the news agenda in this country. Not The New York Times. Not The Washington Post (which bent over backwards to exert no influence when Jeff Bezos pulled the paper’s Harris endorsement). Not CBS, NBC, and ABC. The agenda is set by all the outlets I listed in the above paragraph. Even the mighty New York Times follows in its wake, aping the tone they set disturbingly often. If you read me regularly, you know that I’ve written this before, but I’m going to keep writing it until people—specifically, rich liberals, who are the only people in the world who have the power to do something about this state of affairs—take some action.

[...]

This is the year in which it became obvious that the right-wing media has more power than the mainstream media. It’s not just that it’s bigger. It’s that it speaks with one voice, and that voice says Democrats and liberals are treasonous elitists who hate you, and Republicans and conservatives love God and country and are your last line of defense against your son coming home from school your daughter. And that is why Donald Trump won. Indeed, the right-wing media is why he exists in our political lives in the first place. Don’t believe me? Try this thought experiment. Imagine Trump coming down that escalator in 2015 with no right-wing media; no Fox News; an agenda still set, and mores still established, by staid old CBS News, the House of Murrow, and The New York Times.

That atmosphere would have denied an outrageous figure like Trump the oxygen he needed to survive and flourish. He just would not have been taken seriously at all. In that world, ruled by a traditional mainstream media, Trump would have been seen by Republicans as a liability, and they would have done what they failed to do in real life—banded together to marginalize him. But the existence of Fox changed everything. Fox hosted the early debates, which Trump won not with intelligence, but outrageousness. He tapped into the grievance culture Fox had nursed among conservatives for years. He had (most of the time) Rupert Murdoch’s personal blessing. In 2015-16, Fox made Trump possible. [...]

The fake story about Haitian residents of Springfield, Ohio eating cats and dogs, for example, started with a Facebook post citing second- and third-hand sources, Gertz told me; it then “circulated on X and was picked up by all the major right-wing influencers.” Only then did Vance, a very online dude, notice it and decide to run with it. And then Trump said it himself at the debate. But it started in the right-wing media. Likewise with the post-debate ABC “whistleblower” claims, which Gertz wrote about at the time. This was the story that ABC, which hosted the only presidential debate this election, fed Team Harris the questions in advance. This started, Gertz wrote, as a “wildly flimsy internet rumor launched by a random pro-Trump X poster.” Soon enough, the right-wing media was all over it.

Maybe that one didn’t make a huge difference (although who knows?), but this one, I believe, absolutely did: the idea that Harris and Joe Biden swiped emergency aid away from the victims of Hurricane Helene (in mostly Southern, red states) and gave it all to undocumented migrants. It did not start with Trump or his campaign or Vance or the Republican National Committee or Lindsey Graham. It started on Fox. Only then did the others pick it up. And it was key, since this was a moment when Harris’s momentum in the polling averages began to flag.

[...]

To much of America, by the way, this is not understood as one side’s view of things. It’s simply “the news.” This is what people—white people, chiefly—watch in about two-thirds of the country. I trust that you’ve seen in your travels, as I have in mine, that in red or even some purple parts of the country, when you walk into a hotel lobby or a hospital waiting room or even a bar, where the TVs ought to be offering us some peace and just showing ESPN, at least one television is tuned to Fox. That’s reach, and that’s power. And then people get in their cars to drive home and listen to an iHeart, right-wing talk radio station. And then they get home and watch their local news and it’s owned by Sinclair, and it, too, has a clear right-wing slant. And then they pick up their local paper, if it still exists, and the oped page features Cal Thomas and Ben Shapiro. Liberals, rich and otherwise, live in a bubble where they never see this stuff. I would beg them to see it. Watch some Fox. Listen to some Christian radio. Experience the news that millions of Americans are getting on a daily basis. You’ll pretty quickly come to understand what I’m saying here.

[...] The reason? The right-wing media. And it’s only growing and growing. And I haven’t even gotten to social media and Tik Tok and the other platforms from which far more people are getting their news these days. The right is way ahead on those fronts too. Liberals must wake up and understand this and do something about it before it’s too late, which it almost is.

Michael Tomasky of TNR explains it perfectly: Donald Trump won due to the right-wing media apparatus feeding lies to the voters.

[anonymous-dentist]

Day Six - Hybrids | Cuddling

-

Roier finds out that Cellbit is a cat hybrid literal seconds after finding out that Cellbit used to be a serial killer, because, apparently, those two things are the most important secrets in Cellbit's life.

Cellbit's cute little straw hat is off for the first time all day, and his hair sticks to his forehead- sweaty from a day of partying with everybody else at the Favela.

Roier's breath catches because right there in front of him for the very first time are two cat ears the same color as Cellbit's hair. They're ragged, torn in some places and nicked and with small chunks missing, and they twitch nervously- pressing themselves down towards Cellbit's skull- as Roier doesn't say anything.

Cellbit wrings his hat in his hands and pointedly looks anywhere but at Roier.

"It's just... hard, you know?" he quietly asks. "I'm not in prison anymore, but old habits die hard, I guess."

And, really, Roier should be more concerned about the fact that his fiancé is a literal serial killer. That is, objectively, really fucking concerning. Like, what if he relapses or something and starts murdering the shit out of everybody on the island starting with Roier himself? That's stuff he should be concerned about, right?

But, for whatever reason, all Roier can think of is the fact that, every time he and Cellbit have met up, Cellbit has had his goggles on.

"Hey," Roier softly says.

He reaches out for Cellbit's hands, freezes inches away, lets out a breath and properly takes them. The hat falls to the floor, settling on Roier's feet; the goggles attached to it bump against Roier's leg, ever-present.

Cellbit's breath catches, and his hands instinctively grip Roier's tightly. His ears perk up in surprise- absolutely adorable, what the fuck?

His voice is reverent: "Guapito..."

"Gatinho," Roier warmly replies. He smiles as Cellbit's eyes dart up to meet his; now that Roier knows to look, he notices the way Cellbit's pupils are less round than they should be and more, well... catlike. "Muy lindo..."

Cellbit flushes and tears his eyes away, ears flattening again.

"That's the problem," he says. "I'm not cute. I'm a killer."

"Sí." Roier nods seriously. "But you know what else?"

"What?"

"That's fine. You don't have to be cute. You can just be handsome. And sexy."

Cellbit cracks a small smile at that, face going even more red.

He's beautiful. Roier can't believe that he gets to marry him. His hands are rough, and he's covered in scars, and he has the sweetest smile, and he has cat ears that automatically swivel towards Roier every time he speaks.

With a quiet little 'mrrp'-ing noise, Cellbit lets his head fall forward onto Roier's shoulder. The tips of his ears graze Roier's cheek just momentarily, and they're so soft that Roier's mind goes blank outside of thoughts of Gatinho Gatinho Gatinho Gatinho.

Roier is brought back to reality by a weird little rumbling sound that he realizes is purring.

"Eu te amo," Cellbit murmurs, voice distorted by his purring.

He's just so easy with the verbal stuff, Roier doesn't know how he does it. Just thinking about telling Cellbit he loves him is enough to make Roier's heart stop and his blood boil and freeze and his face flush and his stomach fall out of his ass and his lungs explode. It shuts his brain down, but Cellbit? He's so good at it! (And he says he doesn't know how romance works, tsk tsk.)

Roier, unable to verbalize the billions and trillions of words flying around in his heart, just presses a hesitant kiss into the crown of Cellbit's head and hopes that it gets his affections across. It should, because Cellbit already knows Roier better than Roier might know himself, but-

A bashful kiss against the side of Roier's neck.

Roier swoons, just barely catching himself from melting into a gooey little puddle on the floor. He's gotta look goofy, he can feel how wide and ridiculous his smile is, but who the hell cares?

"Do you have a tail, too?" he hears himself asking, mind a million miles away. He can just picture himself and Cellbit kissing at the altar- their first ever real kiss ever- and just the thought of it makes his knees weak.

"Mhmm," Cellbit responds. He yawns against Roier's throat. "But you'll have to wait until our honeymoon for that."

Oh, God, the implications of that... Cellbit isn't into sex, and that's cool, but they'll be sharing a bed. A bed!!

The thought of finally getting to sleep with Cellbit (in the proper way, of course) makes Roier giddy enough to giggle into thin air.

"It's a date!" he happily says.

(A week later when they're finally in bed together for the first time, Roier spends a solid fifteen minutes properly admiring his husband(!!!)'s hybrid features for the first time, much to Cellbit's embarrassment.

"You're ridiculous," Cellbit whines, face hidden in his hands as Roier gently scratches him between the ears. He might sound annoyed, but he's purring, and his tail has already wrapped around both of Roier's legs, and he keeps dragging Roier's hand back every time he tries pulling away, so there.

"Maybe," Roier admits. He moves two of Cellbit's fingers away to kiss his forehead. "But you love me, anyway."

Cellbit doesn't argue, because he does.)

[sugar-plum-writer]

A Heian Era Affair

Paring: GojoSatrou!ModernEra x FemReader!HeianEra! Tags: Fem!Reader; Gojo!imagines; slight!mention of violence; 18+ as more chapters come; slow burn [I want to have a good build up~ just like my Sukuna series fic~]; An ancient Japan romance through time with reader Text: Gojo ends up in the Heian Era through unknown reason (will be reveled later on) and meets reader and hence journey begins both of adventure and romance~ [If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

CHAPTER - 1

The bamboo trees rustled as the cool wind blew, almost hauntingly as if carrying a message from another side of the world. Wiping your sweat with a ragged cloth, you stumbled and walked while carrying a bucket of water to your old wooden house.

It was hard to make a living, the minister of your area was evil, exploiting the people to death, and raising taxes beyond what people could pay. It was a nightmare- no worse at least you could wake up from nightmares but what about reality? can you wake up from it?

Sometimes you wanted to barge in and rip his head off. Too bad you could not, the guards were too strong, and with your strength you doubt you could ever survive.

Sighing, you returned to the river to fill your bucket again.

You had just bent over when a strong gust of wind started blowing out from nowhere, the trees shrieked as the water rippled- throwing you back 10 feet away with a slam- making you hit a tree. The sharp pain made your back go numb. As you tried to get up staggering- the wind kicked up a notch increasing it's speed and power like a cyclone. Your eyes widened in horror as you looked at what was happening- a big black hole appeared in the middle of the river; with water distorting around it and floating up defying gravity.

"What on-"

Before your brain could comprehend what just happened, a white-haired man flew out of the hole towards you, slamming into you-

Bang

Opening your eyes, you tried to get up, but- found the man on top of you, your legs intertwined together, he groaned as he tried to stand

"Ugh"

His voice was deep causing you to freeze a moment, but you came back to your senses and pushed him off

"Who are you!? You demon!" you screamed as you looked at him

"Me? Ah I am Gojo Satoru and no I am no demon, it's the first someone has called me a demon! sure I might be tall but it does not mean I am a demon haha~" he smiled as he looked at you helping you stand up

"What-!? but you j-"

"Do you know where this is? I am a bit in a hurry"

"This is Mizushima village…."

He paused

"What?…. since when did we have a Mizushima village in Japan? Isn't Mizushima an Island!? which prefecture even is this?"

"Prefecture? Our village is part of the Minamoto Clan on the West side"

He paused longer this time

"Minamoto Clan?…"

"Yeah"

"eh?" he froze as he cocked his head to the side

"For real?"

"Yeah"

"I….what-what era is this?" his voice trembled a bit

"This is the Heian Era…the year is 1185…" You looked at him as he stood grounded on the spot contemplating the meaning of his life

Now that you observed him, he was wearing weird clothing the fabric was also very different from what you had ever seen, it was so smooth and very different from cotton- almost otherworldly

"Is he a noble? from Heian-kyo?", you thought to yourself and backed away a bit

"I am…1000 years in the past oh shit"

"Shit? What does it mean? which part are you from? your Japanese is very weird" You looked at him even more confused, even his accent was weird and some words he used were different

"Ah…." he looked at you struggling to explain

"You see…I am from the future more than 1000 years from the future, I know it sounds absurd but..it is the truth" he looked at you seriously meaning every word he said

"Huh? What-what bullshit are you saying? Are you a psycho? possessed?" you looked at him bewildered

"What is bullshit?" he looked at you confused

"I-I am leaving; good day to you, to ask what bullshit means I- you should find a priest" Picking up your bucket you hurried away wondering why you always met weirdos

"Wait-!" he yelled but you turned deaf to his words and ran as fast as your feet allowed you to.

You ran as fast as you could but he appeared in front of you almost like magic

"Please listen to me! I am not lying!!" he grabbed you by the shoulders frantically

"I really am from the future!"

"You freak let go of me!! AHHHHH!" you punched him doing little to no damage and screaming

This continued for some time, you running and him teleporting wherever you were it went on for a few hours and soon both of you sat panting on the ground

"Man…you sure got some stamina.." he wiped the sweat off his forehead simultaneously removing the blindfold

You froze- his eyes- were breathtaking; looking into them your heart exploded like fireworks, so serene, it felt like you were looking at the sky itself. You had never seen such eyes ever

How can someone be this good-looking?

"What? too captive by my looks~ Ah I guess even in the Heian Era I am attractive~" he leaned in with a smirk causing you to look away blushing crimson

"Who would!? you demon! Get away!"

He pouted a bit disappointed

"H…How do I believe you are from the future? And your powers? What are you?"

"I am a sorcerer from the Gojo Clan and…as for how I am from the future…" he scratched his head

"Got it!"

He smirked and took out a weird looking box and opened it

"Here try some, I bet you have never eaten something like this! It is a cheesecake that too from a very famous shop"

With swift movement from his hands, he put the cake in your hands, its scent was sweet, it was jiggly- even a bit liquid-y making you wonder if it was poison

"You...you sure humans can eat this?" your hands trembled as you held the plate

"Yes, it is! here~" he took the fork in his hands and ate a small bite of the cake- grinning

"Ah it really is good~"

Seeing him eat it and look so elated you also wanted a bite- how bad could it be? with a gulp and sharp breath you took a bite- a bite so good it made your eyes light up-

The flavor was exploding in your mouth, it had a rich and creamy flavor with a slightly tangy and sweet taste. The texture was smooth and dense melting in your mouth it felt like heaven.

"It must be so expensive....even in death I doubt I could eat something like this.."

He paused for a moment but then a smile crept up his lips

"Eh it was nothing just enjoy~" he winked

"You should see your reaction~ now that's a nice expression! It makes me wonder what other reactions you can make if I gave you other things~" smirking he leaned in his breath inches away from yours

"So...Do you believe me now?"

"....Yeah" nodding you took another bite

"Yay! Thank you~ please look after me from now on~"

[Link to my master list~ enjoy!]