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noobsoconfusing · 3 months ago

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‘twin fantasy’_hamzahthefantastic

summary: just when hamzah thought he finally had a solid situation with you, the overwhelming feelings of being loved for the first time catch you, drown you.

angst, internet situationship au, hamzah being himself, kinda codependency, awkward, avoidant attachment issues.

>_<

if hamzah could describe the feeling of loneliness mixed with whatever the fuck being in love meant in only one word, it would reduce simply to: you.

it was the way your eyes glitched when you blinked in front of your low quality web cam, or maybe how you typed when you were in a hurry, always reminding yourself to maybe, just maybe, type something nicer so he didn’t feel like he was the problem.

so, as he stares directly at his phone screen, his eyes itchy and irritated from waiting to see you online, he decides to quickly type something to catch your attention.

hamzahthefantastic: the other night i cried while thinking of having sex with you

and so he waits. and waits, and waits.

the green dot next to your contact name appears and he cringes at himself for letting out an audible shriek of excitement.

y/n: hamzah!!!!

y/n: fr?

he smiles, shaking his head because yeah, it was for real, but also because he had gotten what he wanted. your attention.

hamzahthefantastic: lol. maybe. yeah. i dunno

hamzahthefantastic: wanna facetime?

y/n: hold on i’ll call you :)

>_<

silence. comforting moments between hazy stares and timid laughter. hamzah enjoyed this.

“your room is messy again, y/n” he mentions, peeking as much as he can from the position your webcam is in.

“yeah, i haven’t really got time to clean up… but yours is messy too!” you point, the camera glitches at your sudden loud voice.

“living alone kinda sucks, you know? at least i had my room clean when i lived with my parents, a warm plate of food too, and even allowance money!” he rolled his eyes, and you nodded.

hamzah and you had been friends ever since he lived with his parents, so you got to see the whole process of him moving to a different city, and you were there for him when he got his first place, and then his first job, and his first pets, and so on..

your heart wrenched when you realised you had lived a whole damn life by his side, however, behind a screen.

“wish i could live with you, hamzah..” you quietly say, hoping he doesn’t catch on, but he does, used to your quiet demeanour.

“me too, y/n.” a glitchy smile appears from his side of the screen, and you copy it.

and god, you love his smile. it’s so weird, so odd how the smile and physical happiness of someone that lives yet so far away from you can infect you with such joy. disgusting feelings arise from your stomach.

stupid fucking love and stupid fucking damned distance!

“for real? like, for ‘for real?” your voice shakes.

he nods with seriousness invading his face. “hell yeah, for real. i’d love to live with you, in fact, i do feel like i live with you even now, you know? we talk ever day, i see your face every- well, not every day, but enough to keep me going for the week!” he smiled, referring to those times you didn’t feel good enough to facetime, so he settled for texting, which made him equally happy.

“oh man…” you mutter. feelings enough, so damn enough. you don’t know what to do with your mind, and you don’t know why it’s racing so fast, imagining billions of scenarios.

he notices your manners. hamzah suddenly becomes self aware. scared he has said something wrong.

“are you-?”

“i love you.” you quickly cut him off, its not your intention though, just the lag delaying your confession.

confession that has already been confessed plenty of times.

“hey! i love you too!” as his soul finds its way back into his body, hamzah admits. joy suddenly running through his body like gasoline and fire consuming a wreck.

silence. you look up to stare at his pixelated frame. and he’s so beautiful. and you think this is all a damn dream.

“but do you like me?” the undertone of your sore voice makes its way throughout your sentence, betraying you.

he tilts his head like a confused puppy. you bite back a tiny smile.

“what do you mean? why are you asking that? do you not think i like you?” hey asks, confused and aching for a quick response.

you think a bit, not even knowing what you meant by that stupid question.

“nevermind, hah! it’s nonsense, really…” you try to sound convincing.

for your misfortune, hamzah knows you way better than you think.

“not nonsense, something is bugging you and i can tell.” he adjusts his headphones as he says that, trying to get a better listen at your reply.

“you.”

hamzah furrows his eyebrows at your quick answer.

“huh?”

“it bugs me that i am always thinking of you, that’s my issue, yeah?” you say, a bit more loose, “i always think about how amazing and how wonderful it wouldve been being your neighbour or your friend from school, but no, i am stuck here a thousand and a million more miles away from you and i can’t do anything to cut the distance short.” you sigh.

hamzah bites his lower lip, and he thinks, oh, how a thought you must have been saving for a long time also affects him in severe ways. he thinks the same.

“you know, y/n? i don’t think it was, you know, the amazing casualties of life that made us end up talking to each other until four in the fucking morning. you know what i think? that you were actually made for me.” he shrugs his shoulders and tries to put on a smile for you, even though he wishes he could just cry…or something.

“right.” you sigh. “hamzah, i just… i feel like my whole life revolves around you, is that weird? like, i wake up and see if you texted me while i was asleep. then i go about my day and still think about you, and then when you text me i just.. drop everything else to spend time with you.” you try to avoid the camera, or his gaze. “do you think that’s weird? am i weird?”

your face drops as he bursts out laughing.

“no! not weird at all, y/n! you see, i- okay, i do the same… you’re so pretty, inside and outside and you’re so thoughtful and so kind and beautiful and just… yourself, that i find myself thinking about you and your antics for hours, if not the whole day!” he lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction, shaking his head with a smile because letting all of his emotions out felt so fucking great.

“you’re so weird, so dumb…” you smile, even if you feel like your eyes are about to shed waterfalls of tears.

“we can be weird.” he adds. “it’s only cool if we’re both weird.” his voice is soft and low just like always. so genuine.

“right, yeah.” you smile too.

hamzah can’t help but secretly take a picture of your face, the dim lighting of your room accentuates your features perfectly and he finds himself more and more invested in you.

“yeah, right..”

>_<

hamzah’s voice fills your ears in a soothing manner.

while you carefully listen, you can’t help but dissociate from reality. your mind occupied in something you can’t really comprehend.

“…a video, like in a youtube channel, do you think that’s a good idea?” his voice slowly becomes more present, and you snap your head to his direction. “are you there…?”

“yeah, sorry, just mind fog, hah!” you reply forcing a smile.

“alright, are you okay? have you eaten today? do you wanna end the call so you can sleep?” hamzah asks and you feel a little bit dizzy from all the questions that come out of his mouth.

“yeah- no! i am fine, what were you saying about a video on youtube?” you quickly try to bring the focus to him again.

hamzah frowns so quickly that you think it’s a glitch. but he smiles right away.

“i was saying, i was thinking about posting something on youtube.” he repeats. “you think that’s a good idea?” you come to realise how hamzah always asks for your opinion, always seeking your approval.

you nod. “yeah, i think it’d be really cool, maybe you’ll get famous one day!”

his laugh fills your heart, and makes you flash a smile too.

“nah, i don’t think so, it’ll be just for fun, just to kill time, i kinda need a distraction from thinking ‘bout you all day, right?” he says.

and what he said, keeps playing in your mind for a while.

distraction. from you.

“yeah, cool!”

and you try your best to keep track of the conversation, but you’ve been so tired.

so tired.

not sleepy, somehow. just so, so fucking tired.

>_<

your surprised face comes up to the screen as this time he is wearing a grey hoodie, different from the black one he always uses.

“cute. you look like… well, something cute!” he says making the screen bigger so he can see you better.

“why?” you laugh, “something?”

“yeah, something. you know, you’re so unique i can’t even describe you or compare you to anything. i love you a lot, y/n…”

stop. please. stop.

you think. the feeling of need inside your chest hurts and burns after every word he says. after every sentence. everything reminds you that he’s so far away, that you are probably never going to touch him. never feel him.

and the screen is so cold and so hard and so lifeless, and you wonder, how can something inanimate hold your biggest desire inside? how can hamzah live inside your device? how can it hold so much meaning inside its metallic shell?

“i love you.” you bluntly say. “i love you so much it hurts and i wish you could make it stop hurting so fucking bad.” a desperate laugh erupts from your throat, one that screams for help.

“oh, baby, i wish i could hold you so close. never gonna let you go once i have you here with me, alright? im gonna glue your body to mine and we will just have to live like that…” an exaggerated version of his deep fantasy came out, but still, he was very much serious.

“sounds good.” you reply.

“fuck yeah it does” he sighs, but not defeated, just full of hope. one of you had to be hopeful, right?

“fuck yeah…” you repeated, mind fog attacking you once again.

>_<

his grey hoodie on again, and you start to think he hasn’t washed it in the full week that has passed.

it’s alright though, you love him that way.

“i keep having these… dreams about you” he says. “odd dreams, not nightmares though, just weird dreams”

“me too.” you say. the guilt of the neediness inside your tummy makes its way to your brain. eating you up.

“what about?” hamzah asks, more invested now that he knows you dream about him too.

“you first.” you deadpan.

“fantasies. really fucking good fantasies, though.”

“about?” you ask again.

“sex and… whatnot.” oh. he’s so serious and so direct and so honest.

you can’t hide your surprise, nor the blush that creeps up to your cheeks.

“oh, i guess… me too.” and your voice shakes because it’s so odd to say this out loud.

“i don’t know. im so used to you, i just imagine whats like to… well, be with you. and touch you and just feel your body against mine.”

“sometimes i feel like i crave a touch i’ve never felt before. how can i yearn for something i have never tasted?” you ask, and he opens his eyes, already wide.

“yeah, i feel the same.”

“need you, though. very badly.” a deep feeling of emptiness swallows you up. how can your bed be so empty yet you’re laying on it? how can hamzah be your twin fantasy yet he’s so far away?

“i wanna be inside you, just feel you and melt over your body and maybe then, i’ll feel complete.” hamzah has a hard time expressing his emotions with coherent thoughts, but this time you understand him completely.

>_<

it’s been minutes. and you are about to freaking win the contest. again. like the last four times.

hamzah’s eyes are red even over the bad quality camera he’s using. “y/n! please just let me win this time!” he begs, his eyes squinting. he struggles to keep them open.

and you’re perfectly fine, nonchalant even. but as you see his struggle, you give in.

“fine!”

you blink. tears fall down your cheeks from how dry your poor eyes were. you laugh.

“finally!” he celebrates. “oh god, thought i was going blind…”

“well, we’ve been on call for like five hours, the screen is gonna make us blind sooner than later” you laugh, and he does too.

“i just like talking to you.” he admits and you swear you can see a slight red tint adorning his face. he’s so adorable.

stupidly adorable. your heart aches.

“i like it too.”

you loved it, actually.

did you?

>_<

that damned grey hoodie again. and you think, it’s the third consecutive time that week.

you, however, just despised the way he looked absolutely fucking stunning in it. as if he knew it did things to you.

“what are we?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence that surrounded you both.

you tended to do assignments together on call, sometimes he knew things you didn’t and he helped you, and viceversa.

“i am hamzah, you’re y/n and you’re my everything.” he replied, still focusing on his excel sheet.

“but what are we?” a situationship. that was it. hamzah would constantly call you pet names and tell you how much he loves you, and then drop the most horny messages about you.

“we are everything, i just said”

“that’s not an answer, hamzah, what are we? like, are we best friends, friends, lovers, or just people who talk to each other about their deepest secrets and feelings?” you closed your powerpoint and stared at the webcam.

“you’re everything to me, right? all of the above, every option, you are.” he said, still focusing on his work but at the same time on you.

silence again.

you nodded. a smile forming on your face.

“everything, then.”

>_<

your cheeks flushed at his words, you were a second away from turning your camera off from how embarrassed you were.

“you want- hamzah! you wanna what!?” you put a hand over your mouth in a surprised expression.

he laughs.

“i said i wanna fuck you, i just said!” he repeated himself, a smirk plastered on his face.

“why would you say that?” you laughed.

“because you were sad and i wanted to cheer you up!” he held his hands up in defence, his screen lagged at the sudden movement. “i’d rather have you happy than sad!”

“now im sad and flustered…” your hands went up to your cheeks, just to feel the warmth that spread across.

“hey, that’s better than sad alone.”

“you’re so dumb!”

>_<

handling your emotions was something you never knew about. and hamzah seemed to be so down to earth about what he wanted, about what he felt, that you couldn’t help but feel left behind in the emotional management area.

“gonna call it a night, im really tired, hamzah.” you said, a yawn escaping your mouth.

“oww, but- but it’s only been three hours..” his big puppy eyes stare at you, and you beat yourself up when you look at his sad face.

stop. stop!

“sorry…” you apologise. “we’ve been talking all week and i’ve been staying up till late the whole week too, we can chat during the day, though.”

he frowns but nods at the same time.

“fair, love you, have a good night!” he waves, waiting for you to say you love him back.

“good night, hamzah!” you smile, ready to end the call, but before you do so, he quickly yells;

“i said i love you…” his hopeful eyes dance across the screen, darting from your own to the smaller square with his face in it.

you pause for a moment. swallow and blink.

“oh, yeah, me too!” and there it was. your stupid feelings ruining everything.

his face drops, but somehow manages to keep a small smile. “alright, love you more, see you tomorrow?”

“yeah.”

and as if it was a race, you rush to press the ‘end call’ button.

your head spinning had you dizzy, so you throw the phone away and lay on your bed. hamzah is all you can think about.

it was like a self defence thing that was, at the same time, self destructive. you had to run away from him, you had to stop your heart from being broken. though, you didn’t think hamzah could hurt you. it was all so confusing! so dumb!

>_<

early hours of the morning, and you are not even fully awake when your phone starts buzzing from the other side of the room.

you rub your sore eyes and groan. every time you woke up it felt like an accomplishment. it was such a struggle, you just wanted your bed to swallow you.

hamzahthefantastic: good morning :D

hamzahthefantastic: kinda went to sleep with a tiny little concern last night…..

hamzahthefantastic: are you mad at me?

the last thing you wanted was to make him upset, however, there was a certain part of his whole attention and sort of devotion –to you– that made you upset.

y/n: gm!

y/n: im not mad at you

hamzahthefantastic: for real?

hamzahthefantastic: you seemed upset last night, kinda zoned out idk

y/n: just tired ngl

hamzahthefantastic: alr it’s fine dw

hamzahthefantastic: i love you a lot y/n

hamzahthefantastic: have a good day today yeah? get some rest, make sure to eat PROPER food, and also don’t forget that i love you :)

you stared at his texts for a little too long, then locked your phone. then unlocked it again. stared some more and then bit your lip, thinking of a reply.

hamzah. yeah. you loved him! how could you not? you had been fixated on him since you two met. why, then, the feelings of overwhelming love now creeped into your brain like flesh eating amoeba?

y/n: ily too!

you frowned. the text was so dry.

y/n: <3

better.

and the reason?, simple. hamzah’s love felt like it was tearing you apart. suffocating you. nobody had ever loved you, or showed remote interest in you like hamzah did.

was he too much? no. you shook your head, thinking then, maybe, you were not enough.

your phone buzzed, and you knew it was him. but you couldn’t get to check.

>_<

per usual, at the end of the day, your routine of facetiming had to be completed. hamzah took his phone and typed a message for you.

hamzahthefantastic: hey! wanna facetime?

hamzahthefantastic: could use to hear your voice :) been thinking ‘bout u all day

11 minutes passed. no response from you.

hamzahthefantastic: helloooooooo

hamzahthefantastic: :( are you there?

hamzahthefantastic: is it ok if i call you?

hamzahthefantastic: miss you y/n

hamzahthefantastic: did i do anything wrong? please call when u see this alr?

hamzah waited. and waited. and waited some more. almost how he waited for you to reply after sending a weird message. this time though, something inside his gut felt different.

it felt like he had fucked something up. ruined whatever the fuck he had going on with you. a something that meant so much, only so much to him.

he was confused.

>_<

waiting felt like skinning himself alive.

like trying to dissect his own heart while it was still beating. beating hard. beating for you.

he opened his chat with you, the only chat he had pinned. hamzah scrolled through all the unread messages he had sent to you, and they seemed uncountable.

no reply. it’s been days.

he sighed. twin fantasy feeling like a fantasy he was only living by himself all along. were you even real?

hamzah couldn’t get himself to doubt you.

>_<

hamzah’s heart clenched. he stared at his messy room, at how the plates piled up on his night table, at how he had your chat open on his laptop to see if you got online any time soon.

he felt like a loser.

>_<

days became weeks. and weeks became a month. and a month was something so long in hamzah-time.

and he still held on.

however, he decided to type out something for you again. just as he did daily.

hamzahthefantastic: hey y/n, hi. how’s everything going? you know, i miss you a lot. more than i can take. and i miss your voice and your face. and most importantly i miss your company. it’s okay, though. i am hoping one day we can reunite, i secretly know this is one of your plans to make me want you even more -_- …but baby, please just come back, yeah? i feel so weird and out of place if you’re not here. i wonder if you’re lonely and i wish i could touch you so i just touch my screen. does that make me a loser? i love you so much, i hope you know that. hurts when you don’t reply, and hurts more realising you probably never will again. please be okay. i love you a lot. and i am sort of tearing up right now, does that make me a loser too? ily

ps. thank you for being my best friend and my best everything (you’re literally my life though) i’ll wait as long as you need!

ps2. i’ll try tomorrow, maybe you’ll be online by then

ps3. i still fantasise about you!

silly, he thought. a loser, a hopeless romantic living so far away from his muse. just a twin flame dancing on his own, by now.

a twin fantasy lived through the eyes of one, only.

>_<

sorry i took so long and sorry this is proper shit. i wanted an excuse to write something other than fluff or smut. i hope you ppl like dis one! (my shitty take at angst) raise ur hand if this ever happened to u totally not based on a true story

#slushy noobz #slushynoobz #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah fluff #hamzah x y/n #hamzah fic #hamzah x reader #hamzah imagines #hamzahsmut #hamzah angst #slushy virus #hamzah fanfic #thatmartinkid #light angst #angst no comfort #avoidant attachment #yeah so i am a csh fan so what

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piratefishmama · 4 months ago

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Just ONE chance | Part 2

“Are you gonna message him?” It was later in the evening, Rosie was in the living room watching some gameshow while Stevie sat at the kitchen island, having just finished cleaning up after dinner, Robin facing her through her phone, stuffing her face with what looked like French fries.

“Dusty thinks I should but… should I? It doesn’t feel too… I dunno, desperate? Cause I’m not desperate, I could not care less about dating rockstars, in fact before all this the idea of dating a rockstar would have never crossed my m—“

“Stevie” Robin cut her off “if anyone seems desperate right now, it’s him. It ain’t you, nobody in their right mind could think it was you. You were just doing your own damn thing and he cringe-failed so hard he broke the internet. Listen… you don’t have to do shit, EVEN IF Dustin is telling you to. Dustin doesn’t know everything.” Stevie bit her bottom lip in pensive thought, Robin on the other end of the video call stuffed another French fry into her mouth before asking, “do you want to though? That’s the important thing, do you want to?”

“I don’t KNOW, that’s the problem. It’s nice… I guess… to be wanted, but it’s not just about me anymore.” It was about Rosie. Stevie’s life wouldn’t be the only life impacted if she took that chance. Maybe if she were younger, maybe if she didn’t have Rosie things would be different, maybe she’d have been wild and jumped at it, but she had Rosie, and Rosie mattered way more to her than anything a stranger on the internet could give her.

“It’s a little bit about you, Stevie, and it’s okay to let it be about you. You’ve spent literal years putting yourself on the back burner, even Mike got hitched before you, like who called that?” Nobody. Nobody called that, even though he and Will had been dancing around each other since kindergarten, nobody would have called that. “We both know Billy wouldn’t have wanted you to be on your own like this either.”

“What if he’s weird about Rosie?”

“Then he hits the road, simple. I heard he’s good with kids though.” Stevie offered a look, a simple unimpressed raised brow “Whaaatt, okay fine I looked him up when I saw it all blowing up, call it me doing my sisterly duty. He’s weird, but in a harmless opossum kind a way, y’know? Like he probably scampers or something.”

“What about like… drugs… alcohol… shit I don’t want around Rosie?”

“According to his Wiki page, the whole band an issue with addiction in the early days, toxic music label, it was a huge legal mess, they all went to rehab, cut their old label an they’ve all been clean and sober since. Knowing you, like I do… I really do think you’d like him, and Rosie would love him too, He’s very… I dunno…”

Vickie, Robin’s fiancée, chose that exact moment to shove her face into view of the camera to announce, “He’s like a mix between Billy and Dustin, a suuuper-hot, but a huge nerd, you’d like him, definitely.”

A weird mix of Billy and Dustin. What a wild mental image.

“So you’re both on Dustin’s side then. I should message him?”

“It’s not our place to tell you what to do” Robin shrugged, she couldn’t tell her what to do, but she could offer a helpful suggestion of “maybe ask Rosie, she’s the only reason you’re hesitating and she’s old enough now to at least have an opinion, right?” Stevie looked toward the living room, where the glow of the TV bounced off the walls, Rosie’s laughter echoing from the other room.

“She already knows somethings up, Stevie, kids talk in school” Vickie reminded them “and Eddie’s… pretty famous, Corroded Coffin aren’t exactly unknown, an you’re not exactly unknown online either, someone’s bound to have mentioned it to her by now.” If the kids hadn’t, Dustin probably would eventually just to get her on his side before Stevie could get her on hers.

“Fine. But if this all blows up in my face, i’m revoking both your lunch privileges, for life.”

“What?! N—” Stevie cut their unison attempt to argue off with a well-timed click of the end call button, put her phone face down on the island top so she could ignore the incessant buzzing of them attempting to dial back, and made her way to the living room, where someone just face planted into a lovely pool of mud on the TV. Good ol gameshow night.

“Rosie…?” No time like the present. “Can we talk?”

It wasn’t often that Stevie interrupted gameshow night, usually they’d be watching it together, but Stevie had had other things on her mind, other much more pressing things that people didn’t seem to want to let die.

She was prepared to let them die, let this be a weird story of her ‘youth’ that she’d remember some day in a nursing home, a story nobody would believe but she’d swear blind happened!

A rockstar thought she was hot enough to send the internet into a meltdown one time. It happened, she swore it!

It wouldn’t die though. Not until she either told everyone to drop it, or entertained it.

“Sure, but uhm… if this is about the Eddie Munson thing—” she turned away from the TV to look at her mom “Uncle Dusty warned me about it way in advance, got me just before school started this morning.” Probably saved her from being ambushed about it by the kids at school. “It’s cool! He’s really cool, I mean, he’s super weird, huge nerd but… he seems nice”

Meddling little shit. Stevie took a breath, accepted this information, decided to deal with it later, and just powered through. “And you don’t think it’s unrealistic for everyone to think this is real?”

“It’s definitely real, mom. Uncle Dusty found his private account on your followers list, he’s been following you for aaaaaages,”

“Most people call that stalking.” How did Dustin even find it among the mass of others? Had Eddie been that obvious? Or was Dustin just that good?

“In the old days maybe! It’s almost romantic nowadays. You should message him, before Uncle Dusty does, cause he will. We both know he will.” Dustin had been uncomfortably absent all day since bursting in without warning. Stevie hadn’t even thought of it as a red flag until Rosie mentioned it ought to be. “It’s time, mom. It’s okay.”

“You’re really okay with it? It’s not crazy?”

“Oh, it’s SUPER crazy, but it’s a cool crazy, my mom’s gonna date thee Eddie Munson cause he begged you to, it’s the best kind of nuts, I wonder if he’d teach me how to play guitar…”

Had Eddie Munson actually asked anyone before he opened those DM’s, anyone at all, because he didn’t really consult the band as to what he was going to DO on the band's accounts, they’d have probably told him not to do that.

And they’d have been correct!

Because everyone and their mother, and even some fathers, decided to shoot a shot they never had!

He didn’t just get one DM, no, he got… many. Many. People messaged asking for autographs, merch, people asked for tickets, some offered themselves if Stevie didn’t message, some offered to DRESS UP as Stevie for him, a few went with Eddie’s own plan simply messaging with a plea for just ONE chance for themselves.

For hours. Hours. He scrolled through those messages.

Sure, he could have gotten someone to do it for him, but he’d done everything else on the account by himself, so he’d tackle the DMs too. He’d delete them, one by one, everything that wasn’t relevant to his quest, making sure to view each one, even if they did surprise him in their creativity, because what if she had a private account like he did? What if she actually recognised her popularity and created a tiny incognito safe haven from it all like he did?

She didn’t though.

She didn’t have one.

She didn’t need one.

At least that was what he gathered at the end of the long list of DMs, she didn’t have a private, she just had her main one, and she hadn’t sent him anything from it.

He knew it was a long shot, he could have had all the fame and fortune in the world, it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t interested in it all and she clearly didn’t seem to be if what Chrissy had said was true. She didn’t do sponsored posts; she wasn’t aiming for fame and fortune. She lived a comfortable life with her kid, and just happened to be popular on the internet.

She didn’t owe him anything, he didn’t deserve an answer, he—

Bzzt-bzzt

He snatched his phone right back up lightning fast, swiped down the notifications bar, and with wide eyes read the first line of the message he’d been sent,

“PLEASE HEAR ME OUT I’M STEVIE’S BROTHER, DUSTIN.”

Eddie wasn’t about to claim Stevie didn’t have a brother. He didn’t know if Stevie had a brother, just that Stevie had a sister because the sister, Robin, had turned up in a video once, bursting in on a live in the early days to accidentally announce to the world that ‘Vickie’ was now single.

It could be a trick, it could be a way in, it could be literally anything, what Eddie knew for sure though, was that it was the closest he’d gotten to potentially speaking to Stevie.

So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He replied, “prove it.”

The reply came through quickly, almost like this mysterious brother was waiting by the phone in hopes Eddie would be there to receive his message. It was a photo of a polaroid. Grainy as it was, it was clearly a younger, frankly stunning Stevie with a barely-there baby bump, reaching back to a guy who was leaning over her with a ridiculously stacked sandwich, she looked happy, she looked lovestruck, she glowed, and for a moment, jealousy struck him as if he were some childish teenager.

This was likely her child’s father, the one who was no longer in the picture for some unknown reason. She’d never disclosed why. He looked happy too though so… there were more questions than answers at that point.

Plus, the Polaroid had a scrawled “Stevie domesticated Satan” on the white part with a little devil face so, many questions, very few answers.

With the image, however, came the caption “I took this when she was pregnant with Rosie, it’s the last photo we have of Billy, Rosie’s dad.”

Rosie… Stevie had a little girl.

Another photo followed, this one of Stevie and a younger boy with curly hair, the kid all dressed up in a brown suit, hair done up to the nines, probably for some kind of party. No pregnancy in sight, they were both beaming at the camera, the kid with an awful lot of metal in his mouth but, adorable. The Polaroid had “Snowball!!!” scribbled on the white part, followed by a message reading “my mom took tons of photos of us for the Snowball dance back when I was in middle school, Stevie helped me do my hair” so the kid was supposed to be this ‘brother’ of hers.

A final photo was sent, this one clearer, obviously taken on a phone of what looked like a grade graduation ceremony, a more recent image of Stevie, with her daughter, and an older version of the kid from the snowball picture. Captioned with the message “only family could get so many family pictures!”

The next message came through without a photo “we’re not related by birth, she was my babysitter for years before circumstances got her adopted by my mom. I’m oversharing a lot and she’s probably gonna kick my ass for it BUT I think she’d like you if she gave you a chance so I’m building a bridge of communication!”

Oh yeah, this guy had meddling little brother energy for days.

Eddie quickly typed back, “thanks for your vote of confidence, man but she isn’t giving me a chance here, you are, it’s not up to anyone but her.”

Typing—typing—tyyyyyping “she just doesn’t know you, an she’s hesitating cause of Rosie, I could probably get you a meet up though!”

“What like, ambushing her in the wild?”

“It’d work!”

“Sounds like it’d get me slapped by both her, and a restraining order an neither are good for my public image, or my feelings.” He then quickly added, before ‘Dustin’ could argue “Listen dude as much as I appreciate this, an I do, I’m real touched by your approval, it means the world to me, at the end of the day, it’s up to her. You can’t make this decision for her, alright?”

The typing stopped, then started again, and then stopped. Then finally “fine, but can you leave your DMs open for a little longer? She’s got Rosie to consider so she may just need to think about it a bit longer.”

“Deal.” He’d leave them open for one more day, after that he’d just have to accept the loss, accept that she didn’t want him, cause she sure as shit didn’t need him, and move on with his life.

Dustin sent him one last emoji, a little salute, and that was that for the rest of the night. There were a few more pings, opportunists, but nothing from the person who mattered most. He deleted them, switched his phone to silent, and took his disappointed little self to bed.

It wasn’t that late but, he was done for the day.

He was tired.

#Piratewrites #justonechancefictlet #Part 3 of 4 #OKAY THERE'S FOUR PARTS NOW #SHHH

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skettibun · 5 months ago

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I see a lot of people also draw fanart for this amazing movie, so I thought I'd join! :) I remember bawling my eyes out like a literal baby at the end of the movie, so now my eyes burn when I think of it and Madeline's theme is on my saved list for sure-

somehow I related so so much to a computer who became sentient from spilled champagne-

Also also is it just me or, like, when I see the "AI who just wants to love" trope I get so happy??? I dunno, I love it sm! very relatable to feel the want to connect despite differences preventing so! even though they can easily just like,,, take ONE glance at an internet forum and see they have people lining up to kiss their flat face they do NOT need to be acting up like they get no game????

#fanart #art #electric dreams #electric dreams movie #electric dreams edgar #electric dreams 1984 #edgar electric dreams #sentient ai #I love him so much im not kidding when I said I was bawling at the end #I still think he deserved better [IK THEY'RE HAPPY BUT STILL DAMN HE WAS MISTREATED]#digital art #digital drawing

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l-in-the-light · 12 days ago

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About his "trigger warnings"

I mentioned here on tumblr that I used to have a number one favourite book writer. I guess not anymore. After all the SA allegations and other stories that got leaked by people around him (his collegues, co-workers etc.), I realized he's an abusive asshole and I owe you all to say that openly here. And some of the assaults date back decades now, which means he didn't just wake up one day and changed into an asshole, he most likely was always one.

I read the foreword to his book Trigger Warning again. I feel like I took a peek beyond his fake persona there. He writes about trigger warnings like it's some exotic curious little trend that kids on the internet came up with, finds it a bit peculiar like a daddy trying to understand their kid's hobbies, then proceeds to use them like a funny teasers for his short stories ("can you find the big tentacle hidden among the pages somewhere?"), only to finish it all up with a punch straight to your face: real life doesn't have trigger warnings, so always watch out for yourself. On the surface level? This all sounds like a slightly misguided, maybe even witty intro. Nothing is said with malice, right? And yet, the message underneath it all was always to discredit trigger warnings as a concept. That's why that delivery line is at the very end of that intro. You're supposed to be lulled into agreeing how silly it all is. I dunno if he did it on purpose or did it without thinking much about it, by habit, but that intention is there and it's disguised with concern and attempts to sound kind. A peek beyond the nice guy mask. No wonder I could never finish that anthology of short stories. The cognitive dissonance caused by the foreword sticked with me like a bad aftertaste. My intuition told me this was all wrong, I just couldn't find the words to express it.

And you know why it works so well as a disguise and why we tend to believe he didn't do it on purpose? Because hey, he just said the facts, the truth! Reality indeed doesn't have any trigger warnings, what's wrong with saying that! Yes, that statement is true. Using real statements in carefully woven context to sell a lie, is an example of an excellent manipulation. So allow me to untangle it or, in other words, to reveal the magic trick behind it.

Why do trigger warnings exist? Isn't Gaiman right, aren't they counterproductive, you might think, because by avoiding triggers you will never get better at dealing with them? Indeed, here's the catch, because the answer isn't a simple yes or no here. Yes, often to recover from trauma, you need to expose yourself to it in some way - like for example, through exposure therapy (or even just classic psychotherapy). But also No, because there's no rule that says you will officially recover only after you're fine reading fiction about sexual assault (for example)! Some triggers will dimnish, some will not, and the best you can do for the latter is to avoid them altogether. Triggers are extremely personal, but you can learn to manage them, in ways that respect your own boundaries, but never by giving up your right to selfcare. You see the difference?

Back to therapy bit for a moment. To recover, often you need to go through with it. But here's the thing - you do it in *controlled environment*, accompanied by a specialist that is there to help and calm you down afterwards. And you only start to do that once you feel *ready* to face it. Now compare it to a situation of reading a book (yes, a book, which usually never has any trigger warnings, because that's such a silly fanfiction thing). You come upon your trigger without any warning, preparation or support around you, you're left with the aftermath of possible panic attack or other symptoms completely on your own. It might take you weeks to recover from it, because perhaps you weren't yet in any therapy that could help you manage your triggers more effectively. But then you tell yourself it's fine, minimizing your own emotional reactions, because *it was just a book*. But, you realize, even years later you still remember it and you might finally accept the harsh truth that you're still not fine with it.

Now imagine same situation, but the book did have trigger warnings listed. For example, about sexual abuse. You would see that and leave the bookstore without the book, because you would know you're not *ready* for that. And it's fine not to be ready, be it yet or ever. This is about consent and selfcare, both are essential to process through trauma and recover. The books without trigger warnings rob selfcare, consent and a choice from us. They teach us we should always ignore our triggers and push through. It's sadly a reality that is widely accepted so Gaiman is right, nothing in reality will flash you a warning. But he's also wrong: it doesn't mean we can't make the life a tiny bit easier for those of us who are traumatized, instead of leaving them with all of that on their very own. This part, he doesn't want you to even consider. He doesn't want you to imagine the positive side of living in a world in which real books warn you about triggers, because then it would prove that it *can* become a reality in which real things (like books) warn you of triggers. They can't shield you from everything, but that's also not the point: it's just to make some things feel more safe, for everybody.

(As a side note, being triggered is not the same as stepping outside your comfort zone - those are two different matters! Though yes, stepping outside your comfort zone in an extreme way CAN become traumatic as the result as well).

I guess Neil Gaiman just thinks some people are too sensitive and should just get over themselves. You don't need those warnings, they won't protect you anyway. Have you tried not getting traumatized? How dare you think your selfcare is more important than reading my questionable fantasies? You're missing out if you skip my book (that has no proper trigger warnings) and you have only yourself to blame! I provide you a safe environment to explore your traumatic triggers, you should be grateful! And how is your book providing a safe environment exactly, author? Did you even try to put a safety net there for your reader? Do you even care? Of course you don't. But you will pretend like you do: by providing a very ingenuine effort that is mostly meant to be a pat on your own back for cleverly dismissing the very concept of trigger warnings, while pretending to play along with it and exposing their lack of power in the process. Disguised as a coincidence, lack of understanding or unskillful attempt written by a slightly ignorant daddy-like figure. What an irony that you do it by nearly surgically focusing on the blind spots of the concept, proving at the same time you do know the mechanism behind it pretty well. You knew what you were doing and how you were doing it.

Or at least, this is how I see it: I might be wrong on the details, but I'm sure I caught the gist of the manipulative behaviour there. An abuser always wants you to step out of your comfort zone, get surprised by a trigger, and to make sure you're outside your safety net. Because then you're an easier target, more likely to agree to harmful things (be it real actions or just harmful beliefs delivered to you by the author of a book, like in case of *trigger warnings being pointless*). They want to groom you into thinking that you're just being silly and see things that aren't there.

Trigger Warning's foreword is exactly that and I feel disgusted, now that I finally recognize my own feelings about it. I probably didn't find words for it before, because I wanted to believe Gaiman had good intentions behind it, they just didn't work out very well. Except that was never the case and that's why it never felt right. That good intention was never there, but it sure *looked* like it was. Also it took me way too long to realize people do things like that on purpose. You know what, Gaiman? Thanks to gaslighting efforts like yours it took me also way too many years to accept that selfcare IS OKAY.

So many people now think nothing was ever genuine about Neil Gaiman because his nice guy mask slipped. A mask he used to hide his autism behind and appear neurotypical/feel accepted thanks to it. Whenever a really advanced mask like that slips, the cognitive dissonance becomes a huge gap between a mask and actual self in perception of other people. Still, your autism is not an excuse for things you do and say, and definitely doesn't excuse assault as simple miscommunication - and yes, he did try to justify lack of consent this way. "I'm autistic, I read the body language wrong and wasn't even aware of it". Hey, you could have, like, asked. There's no shame in getting confirmation in words :P but it's just a poor excuse anyway, the truth is he didn't care if it was wanted or not, as long as he got adoration and powertripping thrill out of that, and that's the best case scenario here.

I believe the allegations. I won't be able to read Gaiman's books anymore, I honestly can't see them the same way I used to anymore. I loved Coraline and The Graveyard Book, and Smoke and Mirrors. I feel disgusted knowing that he openly claimed to be a feminist while at the same time assaulted so many people and used emotional manipulation so they won't #metoo him. He even went as far as to claim "always believe the victims", but once the allegations flew his way, what did he do? Blamed the victims, even called them mentally ill! I also feel now like his books are also just full of deception, meant to hide harmful beliefs under quirky words and imaginative tales. And I might never be able to stop feeling this way and I don't owe him a second chance anyway.

Good Omens stays in my heart though, because sir Terry Pratchett put a lot of work into it and it shows. I feel like I would show him disrespect if I discarded it. Let's say it becomes a Gaiman Who Might Have Been But Never Was, for me.

#neil gaiman #neil gaiman allegations #gaslighting #emotional manipulation #please use those trigger warnings #they really can help people #this post might be uneccessarily spiteful and very very angry #but my feelings need a safe venting space #and I owe people explanation why this guy is not my fav author anymore #everyone deserves to know the truth #especially because bots and algorithms push positive posts about Gaiman to hide the allegations from sight #the allegations been known for months but I only learned about it lately thanks to random vid on YOUTUBE ffs

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pickingupmymercedes · 10 months ago

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Ways to say "I love you" part 2 - Lewis Hamilton

I think we all deserve a little something after the horror we went through in today's race ❤️

warnings: mentions of blood, accidents and bit of angst

wordcount: +2k

important: again, each drabble was writen as a snippet into different moments with Lewis. Special thank you for my 💗 anon for helping with some of the ideas

As always, my asks are open for corrections, ideas and just to chat too!

Over a cup of tea

“We need to talk this through, before it blows in our faces, Lewis” Serious expression on your face as you handed him the cup of tea on the balcony of your apartment overlooking London.

“Mhmm, we do?” He questioned confused.

“Yes…what exactly are we?” You couldn’t look him in the eye as you questioned him, too embarrassed you weren’t sure if what you felt the night before was real, even if come the morning he was still there, as he had been for the past two months.

“Those words last night meant nothing to you?”

“They meant the world, actually”

“But you don’t feel the same?” The confusion now passed on to him, forehead scrunching as he questioned if he hadn’t read your relationship right, and your body responding before your head could think it through as you reached for the hand he willingly let you take.

“I… I need to feel safe to say it back.” You responded after a few awkward seconds of silence as he waited for your response.

“I want you, if you’ll have me. I really do love you. And you don’t need to say it back now, just let me know if this relationship is for real, because I want it to be.” He said looking into your eyes, anxiously waiting until you lifted your head to give you a smile.

“Thank you for understanding” You said buried into his neck as you took the tea away from his hands and brought him closer.

Over a bottle of wine

“Found board games!” You excitedly exclaimed as you walked back into the house. Tiny feet stomping away and reaching you in seconds.

“Is there Monopoly? Uncle Lew said we could be here for daayssss” Willow was the first one to start taking the boxes as you handled her and Kaiden the pile you had just borrowed from the nearest neighbor

“Are they still stuck in New York?” You asked Lewis just as he set his phone down.

“Earliest forecast is tomorrow night, possibly” a concerned look to him as his mom and sisters got stuck in a snow storm on their way from England to Colorado.

“Guess we have these two to ourselves then”

“Granny said it’d be good practice for you to take care of us” Kaiden chirped in but not fully aware of the shock in Lewis’ face at the remark.

“It’ll be fun when there’s two more girls to play with” This time Willow getting you to choke on the water you were drinking.

“Why two girls?” Lewis amusedly asked, aware you were still trying to hold the laughter in the kitchen

“Dunno” She simply shrugged as she helped her brother set up the game.

“Two girls, huh?! You know people say I’m a girl dad…” He brought back the subject as he picked up the mess left in the living room, a glass of wine open on the kitchen counter and two glasses already in your hands as you approached him after putting the kids to bed.

“I think I’d be happy with that” Your soft smile easing the tension you felt in him as he mentioned kids with you for the first time, handing him his glass and dragging him to sit down on the sofa for a bit.

“I think I’d prefer a boy then a girl, you know, so he could be there for her.” He said after a bit of silence, almost as if he was pondering what would be best order, and you could feel the yearning to have kids of his own in his voice.

“I agree with the internet people on that one, you’re too much of a girl dad, babe” You set your drink on the side table, cuddling closer to his chest as he pondered on his glass.

“Doesn’t really matter, honestly, just one would be more than enough. As long as I got you too”

As an apology

“What the hell was THAT for?” You threw your handbag and phone all the way across the kitchen island as you looked at Lewis standing at the door, an annoyed look to him.

“That guy shouldn’t have approached you” His mind still on the tall blue-eyed dude that tried to buy you a drink at the club.

“I can handle myself you know?! Never had the need for a knight in shining armor…” all your anger gone as you realized how absurd that sounded when said to your knighted boyfriend, a smile cracking the tough face you were fighting hard to keep.

“I love you, okay?! You may not need to be saved from a monster but you’re gonna have a knight by your side regardless.”

Taking the cue, he reached for you and brought you close by your waist, tucking one side of your hair behind your ear while using his other one to caress your check.

“Yes sir.” His sweet eyes turning into dark one as he heard you whisper the title and felt your hands rummage through his back.

As a hello

You smelt his cologne before he walked back into the room from the bathroom, woody and citric tones overcoming your senses as a light tug at your exposed breasts demanded your attention back.

“Hey darling, you done there? Sure you don’t anymore?” The little fingers of your month-old baby girl clutching your fingers as you softly redirected her small mouth back to the spot her eyes wildly looked for.

“Gosh, I love you two so much” His remark a common occurrence in your daily routine in the bubble of nappies, changes and feeds your lives had turned into those past weeks, in the dead of the cold but sunny winter in Monaco.

“Hello to you too, hot stuff” he smiled back as you checked his toned abs adorned by the towel in his waist, sitting by your side in the headboard of your bed, hands caressing your thighs.

“You sure you’re going to be okay here this weekend?” Concern written all over his features as he stroked your daughter’s tiny legs.

“Your mom’s here, my mom’s here, we’re gonna be just fine Lew.” His eyes searching for any doubts in your mind.

“I’m only a call away, okay?!” He whispered as he kissed your head, enjoying the last moments he would have with his little family for a few days before yet another season began.

With a shuddering gasp

It’s funny how time really is relative, you thought as you slowly watched four cars pile onto each other in a traffic jam that had just about three other cars in front already. You weren’t even paying attention to the road before, only really looking up from your phone when your car suddenly swerved right and hit the grass on the side of the road.

“Are you okay y/n?” His whole body hovering over yours, hands already unbuckling your seatbelt as Lewis tried to grab your attention.

“C’mom babe, we need to get you out of the car, now” He tried again but you couldn’t respond back, still in shock from the near miss, your hands a wobbly mess as he squeezed it.

“I’m carrying you outside, okay?!” He didn’t even wait for a reply before lifting you like you weighed nothing, examining you in the process to check for anything hurt while he carried you to the rest of people waiting by the road.

It took a while, more than a few minutes for your eyes to start focusing back on your surroundings. He was knelt right in front of you, worry all over as he asked again and again if you were hurt.

“You saved us” You gasped quietly as your eyes finally reached his, his hands cupping your face the second he heard you, your lips already on his as you felt his arms taking you into his body.

In a letter

You’d been, since the beginning, the one he wanted, comings and goings through the years hadn’t been able to diminish the electric pull he felt whenever he saw your smile light up the room, even from afar. But as if the universe liked having a laugh at their expenses, time and time again you’d both find your lives going in complete opposite directions. So, as he sat in his desk writing his vows, he could only be amazed that by some miracle he had found his way into your life and into your heart.

“ … So, I vow to be your lover, companion, partner and ally. Through what may I promise to always be there. I might not have the answers or tools but I’ll walk with you, through the darkest of valleys or at the summit of our dreams.

I love you for you, because you give me the chance to be my truest self, because when you’re around I know we’ll find our way through. I love you, and from the moment I learned that, I’ve been giving it my all to be worthy of you.”

When the broken glass litters the floor

“Fuck, why did I do that?” Your exclamation coming out a bit louder than expected as your eyes started to water from the sharp pain in your hand, blood already dripping from the gush on the palm as you looked to the pieces of the glass on the floor.

“Babe? What’s happened, what was that noise?” His voice coming from just outside the bathroom door, fidgeting with the lock to try and get in.

“Please, let it be a good timing” Was all you could whisper to yourself, the knot in your throat almost suffocating you, the reality of it all too much to comprehend or process, your feet automatically swerving the glass and blood on the floor to get to the door.

“I hope you don’t have anything important going on in the next months” you said just as his eyes tried to scan you and the bathroom. His features with confusion all over as you handled him the stick with the 2 lines on them.

“What’s… but the doctor said…really?” You watched as all types of emotion tumbled across his eyes, overwhelmed an understatement to what you both felt at that moment.

You nodded just slightly after a few moments of his eyes questioning yours, the start of a smile forming on his lips as his arms reached you and engulfed you in a hug, crashing your injured hand in the process.

“Ouch, hand” He froze as you winced, putting two and two together, looking to the blood and the remains of the glass and seeing the injure on your palm for the first time.

“I do hope this kid takes after you and isn’t as clumsy” You pointed as he sat you down at the tub to check the cut. His smile reaching all the way to his eyes as he chuckled and looked at you.

“Nah, I hope this kid is every bit just like you.”

With no space left between us

You could feel his movements as he opened the parachute and brought you two back down to safe land, but nothing managed to tear your eyes from the immensity of the sky. There was infinity as long as your eyes could see and you were nothing in comparison, your thoughts long lost to the smallness of human race.

“You were awfully quiet up there, you good?” His voice a bit dry from the wind, your bodies tightened together as the guys got you both out of the mess of ropes.

“I think I’m still processing how small we really are” You answered almost to yourself, still trying to comprehend what you had just experienced.

“Another go at tandem is due then?” You saw the smirk in his face as you turned to look at him, his arms still very much wrapped around you and his fingers circling in your forearm.

“Thank you for dragging me out here, but how did you know I’d like skydiving?!” You reached back to his arms while they strapped you out of the seat, holding him closer, still with the ghost feeling of the wind around.

“I love you… that’s how I knew you’d love it.” He said to your hair as he held you to him, smug face as he reveled in the feeling of you.

From very far away

The speakers blasted the victory song as each of the three drivers on the podium sprayed champagne around, everyone drenched and smiles thrown left and right, laughs being heard all the way around the Monza podium.

As Lewis stood by the edge of the platform, he lifted his trophy at the sea of Tifosi, as a way to show appreciation for the support so far on the season and at his new home race, dedicating his win to them.

Turning to the pitlane he also pointed his trophy to the Ferrari team, scanning the crowd he found you at, just by Fred and Anthony, tears flowing down and a gleaming smile that could light up his entire soul. You tried mouthing something to him but he couldn’t quite make it out in the overwhelming state you were all in.

“I love you” he said to you, from the top of the podium, knowing that whatever it was you were saying, and whatever it was that happened, could be answered and resolved with those three words.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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yourdakg · 8 months ago

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Donation Found 2!

It took a little while longer than expected, but we finally found an appropriate donor for Brick! Brick was in desperate need of a donation. As the owner of a high quality gym and something of a fitness influencer, he was catching a lot of shit for not showing any empathy to his clientele or, in general, people who weren't in peak condition.

Maybe that's what scared some donors off, the sheer ego of having to maintain a physique like Brick's. But, by God, he paid the $325,000 to get his new body. Did he read the contract? No. But he insisted the customer is always right and he demanded action from the team at Turnaround Technologies.

Not that he could help how he looked, he was always athletic as a kid. Football, wrestling, water polo, gymnastics. He hit the weights hard as soon as high school started. And now he's a fitness enthusiast's wet dream. Let's remind everyone where Brick is starting this journey:

But thankfully we were able to find someone who fit the bill for Brick. This is someone who has the ego, the drive, and... honestly, a lot of the same toxic masculinity that Brick has. Just in a different form. So honestly it's a perfect match. Which we were relieved to find. After all, Brick doesn't fully understand the permanence of this yet. So let's take a look at our donor plate:

Meet Lemmy Chungus. A man who is almost permanently online, a moderator for the r/gayincel subreddit, a prolific user of 4chan, and a man with a subscription to 12 OnlyFans pages and PornHub Premium. He has an interesting take on why this exchange should work.

Donor Statement: This world has winners and losers. I am naturally born to be a dominant male, and it's becoming clear to me that Brick doesn't understand the role he is supposed to have. It's not fair that some buff fuckboy was deprived of the body he needs to match his true, inner self. It's obvious he wants this, so let's seal the deal and make this exhange.

I have to admit, we hear at Turnaround hadn't thought about it like that, adjusting two men into their, perhaps, more honest selves. It really is a public service. Both subjects are being stripped down, injected with serum, and placed in their uniforms as our technicians prepare the chambers.

Just prior to taking Brick's final "before" photo, he was informed that the contract had been signed, this medicine injected, and that his fate was sealed. Of course, we expected him to fight us a bit when told it was one way, one trip per lifetime, and permanent. Instead we were shocked that the young man started to cry.

Patient Statement: What do you mean permanent? What do you mean *sniff* 'new lot in life'? I don't understand why you're taking my designer underwear. I'll never wear it again? Wh-why not? I'll be fit again! What do you mean role adjustment? Huh? I dunno what a gaycel is. I don't spend a lot of time on the Internet. Whadda ya mean that's gonna be most of what I do now? *Sniffsob* I'm still an alpha. I *sniff* wanna change my mind. I don't understand. This body isn't legally mine anymore? I'm *sniff* I'll be a good boy, please!

So docile! He's really sliding into his new role quite well, and we're all very pleased. Brick was injected again when he saw the donor body, and his eyes almost went cross from shock. There will be a stiff financial penalty for requiring several staff members dragging his muscular body to the chamber.

The process was a difficult one. As the waves started to swing back and forth, Brick was grabbing his dick and squeezing his own pectorals as if to hold onto them. The beams and serums and molecule destabilization took days. It's like his body didn't want to assume a new role. But we held out hope that eventually the assault of our technology and pharmacology would win out and he would be shoved, unalterably, into his new body. So I'm happy to report the following:

As you can see, both men are now secured in their new bodies, roles, and lifestyles.

Patient Report: Ohhh God. It's hard to move, it's hard to move. I heard some fat guys had power, but he's... got none. I have none. Oh fuck. I'll get back in the gym and... look at him. What a slut, strutting around in that thong with a muscled up ass. Like he's some hotshot. He's not! Why does it make me so angry???

Donor Report: Chances are there a lot of other losers out there who have hot, buff bodies. Cute faces. Huge dicks. Guys who look like they should be on top, but know they're a beta bitch at heart. Stop being selfish. Ask for a donation today and let the real alphas assume their natural position.

#body swap #male body swap #mind swap #fit to fat #fat to fit #donationbodyswap #muscle theft #permanent

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hunnysnoops · 6 months ago

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₊˚｡⋆❆ 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 ❆⋆｡˚₊

Chapter Three: Get Free

Kenny McCormick x Reader

Sometimes it feels like I've got a war in my mind. I wanna get off, but I keep riding the ride. I never really noticed that I had to decide to play someone's game or live my own life

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: A blizzard takes the town of South Park by surprise

Warnings: I dunno

MASTERLIST

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stand at the stainless steel counter, your fingers deftly slicing through a plump tomato. Your eyes are focused intently on the task at hand, a slight furrow of concentration etched between your brows. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow over the food studies classroom, bouncing off the polished surfaces and reflecting in the glass-fronted cabinets filled with an array of kitchen tools.

Around you, the din of your classmates' chatter fills the air. Your group- three obscenely loud boys- are at the counter's far end, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. They're supposed to be helping you prepare the day's assignment: a simple Caprese salad followed by a homemade pasta dish. Instead, they're tossing flour at each other, their white aprons now streaked with powdery handprints and taking videos of every second of it.

"Hey, how's it going over there?" one of them, Douglas, calls out between bouts of laughter. He's the ringleader, tall and athletic, his messy brunette hair falling into his eyes. He flashes you a grin, one that is equal parts charm and mischief.

Spencer had been the one to coerce you into the group though you didn't have much choice as everyone began to split into partners and you were left in the dust, watching everyone happily rush over to their friends. You were stuck in a group with your ex-boyfriend and his two best friends until the semester ended.

You glance up briefly, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. You give him a little thumbs up and quickly avert your gaze, your cheeks tinged with a faint heat. Interacting with them always leaves you feeling exposed, as if your quiet nature is something to be mocked or dismissed.

"Sweet," Douglas says, already turning back to his friends, who are now cackling while they filmed TikToks with the same repetitive audio.

You sigh inwardly, your grip tightening on the knife handle. It's not that you mind cooking—far from it. You love the precision and creativity it demands, the way ingredients can transform into something beautiful and delicious. But it bothers you how easily your group takes advantage of your introverted nature, assuming you will handle all the work while they waste time. Even though they assumed right.

Your movements are fluid and practiced as you arrange the tomato slices on a plate, layering them with basil leaves and mozzarella. You drizzle olive oil over the top, your eyes scanning the recipe card to ensure you haven't missed a step. The boys' laughter grows louder, a grating background noise that you try to block out.

Next is the pasta. You move to the stove, where a pot of water is already boiling. Carefully, you add a pinch of salt before dropping in the fresh pasta you had kneaded and rolled out earlier, alone, while the boys had debated over an internet phenomenon you didn't quite understand. The dough had been soft and pliant under your hands, a therapeutic contrast to the chaos around you.

There's unspoken tension that rests between you and Spencer, you hated it; the way he chatted mindlessly to his friends about the new girl he was talking to while sitting directly across from you. Though had he not invited you into his group, you wouldn't have one at all. You try not to think about the times you cooked together, laughing and working as a team. Now, he's just another distraction, his carefree laughter blending with the others as if nothing has changed.

As the pasta cooks, you prepare the sauce, your mind drifting to thoughts of how different this class could be if your group were more cooperative. You imagine them working together, each person contributing their strengths. Maybe Spencer could handle the chopping, his energy focused on something productive. The other two, Douglas and Daniel, could assist with the stirring and plating. You could share a sense of accomplishment at the end, sitting down to enjoy the meal you had all created. But most of all, you think of how different it would be if Spencer was still the person you could rely on.

But reality is far less idyllic. When the timer beeps, you drain the pasta and mix it with the creamy tomato sauce you just finished. The rich aroma wafts up, momentarily silencing the chatter behind you. You plate the dish with care, wiping the edges of the plates clean and adding a sprinkle of fresh parsley for presentation points.

You bring a plate and a grading sheet to the front for your teacher, quickly jotting down the names of everyone in your group and retreating back to your kitchen.

The boys amble over, still laughing and shoving each other, barely glancing at the beautifully prepared meal in front of them. "Looks good," Daniel says offhandedly, reaching for a fork. You watch as they dig in, their appreciation for your efforts surface-level at best.

As they eat, you clean up the kitchen area, washing the cutting board and wiping down the counters. The boys are already talking about their plans for the weekend, seemingly oblivious to the time and effort you put into the meal.

You stand at the sink, running a cloth through the soapy water and scrubbing until the debris is cleared from each dish.

Suddenly, a shriek pierces the air, breaking through the usual clamour. You look up to see Douglas staring at the floor with wide eyes. "Fuck!" he exclaims, clearly startled at the tiny creature making its way across the tile.

Spencer huffs a laugh, "Dude, you're such a pussy."

Daniel immediately looks under the table, moving his feet around to try and crush the skittering arachnid. You liked food studies for the class itself, not the people that came with it. Every day felt like you were babysitting three overgrown children and feeding them when they cried.

"Stop that," You move quickly, intercepting Daniel's sneaker as he's about to squash it "How would you like it if someone 3000 times your size tried to kill you?"

Carefully, you approach the spider, your movements slow and deliberate. The spider is small, its delicate legs moving hesitantly over the cold tile. You kneel down, feeling the cool, hard floor against your knees. Your hands, still warm from working through the dirty dishes, are cupped gently around the tiny creature. The spider pauses, sensing the change in temperature, and then crawls onto your palm. You can feel its tiny legs tickling your skin, but you remain steady, lifting it carefully.

You stand up, cradling the spider in your hands as if it were the most precious thing. Without a word, you head towards the door, feeling their eyes on your back. "One sec," you say over your shoulder, your voice calm and measured.

Pushing open the heavy classroom door with your shoulder, you step into the hallway. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz softly, casting a stark glow on the linoleum floors. Each step you take echoes through the empty corridor, the sound bouncing off the lockers that line the walls. You walk briskly but carefully, mindful of the fragile life cradled in your hands.

The school feels different in this moment- quieter, almost serene. You pass by classrooms where students are absorbed in their lessons, their voices a low murmur behind closed doors. The air is cool, a faint draft seeping in from the main entrance at the end of the hall.

Near the exit, Kenny stands by his locker, shuffling through it with furrowed eyebrows, seemingly trying to find something. He's wearing a white long sleeve with a dark T-shirt over top. Kenny casts a quick glance in your direction then realizes it's you and turns his head completely, a smile forming on his face "Hey, what's up?"

You press your lips together, straight-faced. Your apron was still on and held the remnants from the meal you prepared moments before. Whenever you passed him in the halls or at the rink, he never brought up that god-forsaken dinner with your step-dad and though you didn't thank him directly, you were grateful.

"Whatcha got there?" He asks "You smuggling drugs?"

You hold up your cupped hands, revealing the small spider inside. Kenny's eyes flicker to the spider, then back to you, his smile growing wider. Without breaking your stride, you push open the heavy doors, stepping into the crisp winter air, Kenny follows you in tow, abandoning his locker.

"Can I name it?" He asks to which you nod. "Is it a guy or a gal? I guess you can't really tell... how about Ainsley? Yeah? That seems gender neutral."

The world outside is blanketed in snow. The cold bites at your cheeks, making them sting. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, their delicate patterns glistening as they catch the light. You walk carefully, mindful of your steps, until you reach a spot where the snow is undisturbed. The ground crunches softly underfoot, the fresh snow giving way to your weight.

Your eyes land on a little alcove in the brick exterior where the snow seems less harsh. Standing in the little nook, Kenny close behind, you open your hands and watch the spider crawl out and wiggle its way up the wall "Bye, Ainsley."

Turning slightly, you see Kenny standing there, his breath forming small clouds in the frosty air. "So what are you doing later?"

"Skating."

"Cool," He mutters "I could've guessed that."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Even with your food studies group driving you up the wall, you could unwind at the rink though today you had the displeasure of not even putting on your skates thanks to off-ice training. The training center is bustling with activity, but you and Craig are in your own world, focused on the rigorous off-ice session Katya has planned. Sweat beads on your forehead as you complete another set of balance drills, your muscles burning from the effort. The cold air of the rink feels distant, replaced by the warmth generated from your exertion.

"Keep it up," Katya calls out, her voice steady and encouraging. "Remember, core tight, movements controlled."

You nod, concentrating on maintaining your balance on the wobbleboard. Across from you, Craig mirrors your efforts, his face set in determined focus.

Just as you're transitioning to the resistance band exercises, your phone buzzes in your bag. You ignore it at first, but it buzzes again, more insistently. Then again and again. Katya notices and gestures for you to check it. "Go ahead, be quick."

You nod, stepping off the balance board and grabbing your phone from your bag. The screen lights up with a call from your mom. A sense of unease washes over you—she usually doesn't call during practice.

"Hello?"

"Baby, are you okay?" your mom's voice is laced with concern. "You haven't been answering my messages, are you okay? Are you safe?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you guys still have power?"

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows as you look at Katya who seems equally confused.

"Baby, the blizzard, do you have heat? Are you stuck inside?"

Your heart skips a beat "Hang on," You move the phone away from your ear and quickly make your way to the main entrance, Craig and Katya following close behind. Your heart skips a beat. You glance towards the windows of the training center, noticing the thick curtain of snow outside that you hadn't fully registered before. As you approach the doors, a sense of dread fills you. You push against the heavy glass door, but it doesn't budge. The snow has piled up, effectively blocking the exit.

There's shuffling on the other end of the line and you hear Todd's loud voice boom through "WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T PANIC," The volume of his words was ironically not helping to soothe you.

Katya, ever calm and composed, takes charge. "Let's not panic. There should be emergency protocols for situations like this. I'll call the facility manager."

"YOU ARE GOING TO BE JUST FINE, KIDDO," Todd's trembling voice sounds out on the other end, it eventually breaks down into quiet sobs.

You nod, but the knot in your stomach tightens. "I can't get out," You mutter into your phone, voice distant.

"Oh, baby," Your mom says, her voice filled with fear. "Are you safe? Is there anyone with you?"

Both your mom and Todd began to talk over each other, you couldn't make out what they were saying, it was all too loud and incoherent for your ears. Every time you tried to get a word in, they would speak again and cut you off.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I gotta go. Love you," You said before abruptly hanging up and shoving your phone into your pocket, dragging your hands down your face. While you loved your mom, you weren't sure you could stand to listen to Todd in the background cry and babble about a situation you would definitely survive.

As you stand by the door, trying to process the reality of being snowed in, the muffled sounds of the hockey team filter through the hallway. Their practice must have just ended, and within moments, they burst into the corridor, their voices loud and energetic, a stark contrast to your stifled nature.

The team is a whirlwind of motion and noise, their camaraderie evident in their playful shoves and shared laughter. They notice the snow blocking the door and, for a moment, pause to take in the scene. One of the players, Mark, lets out a low whistle. "Well, would you look at that?"

"Are we snowed in?" Stan asks, eyebrows furrowing as he takes off his helmet.

Another player, Liam, chuckles and shakes his head. "Guess we're having a sleepover at the rink tonight, boys!"

There's a ripple of laughter and a few mock groans, but overall, the team seems to take the situation in stride. Some of them reached for their bags to call their parents or text their friends about the situation, but the majority seemed comfortable with the situation aside from the few who had made plans.

To you, this was hell on earth.

This almost felt like some kind of ethereal punishment for a deadly sin you weren't aware you committed. Amidst the light-hearted jokes, you notice Craig's boyfriend, Tweek, reacting differently. His expression is tense, eyes wide with concern. He pushes through the group, his anxiety palpable. "We need to get out of here!" he exclaims, his voice rising above the din.

"Tweek, it's okay," Craig tries to reassure him, stepping forward. "We'll figure it out. We're safe inside."

But Tweek is already at the door, pushing against it with all his might. "No, we can't just stay here! We have to get out!" His efforts are frantic, the panic in his movements echoing fear.

The other hockey players watch, a mix of amusement and concern on their faces. "Calm down, Tweek," one of them says with a laugh. "We're fine. It's just a little snow."

But Tweek isn't listening. He keeps shoving at the door, his panic growing with each failed attempt. You can see the strain in his muscles, the desperation in his eyes. Craig moves to his side, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "Tweek, stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

Tweek's panic only intensifies. He raises his helmet high above his head and smashes it against the door with a loud, resounding crash. The noise reverberates through the hallway, each impact like a hammer blow to your nerves. "We have to get out!" Tweek screams, his voice breaking with desperation.

His movements become more erratic, his thrashing more violent. He swings the helmet back, and for a heart-stopping moment, it looks like he's going to hit you. You instinctively duck, stumbling backward just in time to avoid the blow. The adrenaline surges through your body, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Tweek, stop it!" Craig yells, his voice strained as he tries to grab hold of him. Tweek's thrashing is wild, his kicks and swings dangerous to anyone close by. "You're going to hurt someone!"

Stan and Jason join in, trying to wrestle Tweek's helmet away from him. "Let me go! We have to get out!" Tweek's voice is raw with panic, his eyes wide and unfocused. His kicks are powerful, each one aimed at the door with the intent to break it down.

You manage to slip away, the fear and chaos driving you to find safety. As you back away, you see Craig finally manage to wrap his arms around Tweek, trying to hold him still. "Tweek, please! Calm down!"

Stan and Jason struggle to restrain Tweek's flailing limbs, their faces tense with the effort. It takes all three of them to subdue him, their combined strength barely enough to contain his panic.

The sight is both heartbreaking and terrifying. Tweek's screams are a raw expression of his fear, each one piercing through the air like a bullet to the skull. "We can't stay here! We have to get out!" His words are a desperate mantra, repeated over and over.

You slip away, your steps quick and unsteady as you make your way back to the training room. The hallway feels like it's closing in on you, the echoes of Tweek's screams still ringing in your ears. Your heart is still racing, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The training room is a welcome refuge from the chaos. You push the door open and step inside, closing it behind you with a shaky breath. The familiar sights and smells of the room offer a small measure of comfort, a stark contrast to the panic outside.

You sink onto the bench, trying to steady your trembling hands. The cold air from the rink seeps through the walls, but you hardly notice. The adrenaline is still coursing through your veins, your mind replaying the chaotic scene over and over.

Maybe this was hell.

Maybe you have hit your head while training and died, your eternal torture was to be trapped in a rink with the hockey team while they slowly developed cabin fever- well, some faster than others.

You couldn't make sense of how some of the boys on the team had been laughing at Tweak, the whole thing felt shell shocking to you and made you nothing short of uncomfortable. It didn't ease that your phone was still blowing up with notifications from your mom and Todd.

New Message- FIFA Man

FIFA Man: Hello 👏

FIFA Man: What's up 👆 buttercup 🌼

FIFA Man: Have you frozen already? 🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶

FIFA Man: It's oky 😭🙏😱😰😨😓😥

You: I know

FIFA Man: Pls stay calm 😌 and dunt panic 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

You: I'm not

FIFA Man: Awesome 😎sauce 🥫

FIFA Man: Text ur mom 🤰 pls 🙏

FIFA Man: She ❤️ you 🫵

New Message- Mom

Mom: Please be careful

You: Okay

Mom: Stick with Craig

Mom: He can keep an eye on you

You: I can take care of myself

Mom: I know but it's hard to be alone sometimes

You: Okay

Mom: Stay with Craig pls

You: Okay

Mom: Eat something and stay warm

Mom: I love you

You: Okay

You pull your headphones from your bag, the soft clink of the metal pieces a comforting sound. Your hands are still shaking slightly as you untangle the wires and plug them into your phone. The familiar weight of the headphones settles around your ears.

Scrolling through your playlist, you search for a song that will help drown out the echoes of Tweek's panic. Finally, you find it- a familiar piece that you often use for practice. The first notes are a balm to your frayed nerves, the melody wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You stand, taking a deep breath and letting the music guide you. The first few steps are tentative, your movements still shaky from the adrenaline. But as the music flows through you, your body begins to remember the amicable routines. The soft thump of your feet on the mat becomes a grounding rhythm.

It wasn't like you had anything better to do. Your only friend was trying to bring his boyfriend down from a panic attack, you didn't have anyone else to text or call, the best you could do was keep practicing.

Your arms rise gracefully, fingers tracing patterns in the air as you begin to dance. The music swells, and you lose yourself in the motion. You spin, the world blurring around you, but here, in this moment, you are in control.

The music's tempo picks up, and so do your movements. You leap, feeling the air rush past you, your muscles stretching and contracting in a familiar, comforting pattern. The focus required for each move pushes the fear and anxiety to the back of your mind. Here, in the dance, there is only the present moment.

Your routine takes you across the room, each movement fluid and precise. The tension in your shoulders begins to ease, your breathing becomes more even.

But as you come out of a turn, something catches your eye. You stop abruptly, your heart skipping a beat. There, just inside the doorway, stands Kenny. He's leaning against the frame, watching you with an expression of quiet admiration. His presence is unexpected, and it startles you out of your reverie.

You pull out your headphones, the sudden silence almost jarring after the music. Your breath comes in quick, shallow gasps, and you can feel your cheeks flushing with a mix of exertion and embarrassment.

"What are you doing?" You ask, eyebrows drawn.

He straightens up, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just... wow. You're a really good dancer."

His words catch you off guard, and you feel a rush of warmth at his compliment. You've always known Kenny to be overly warm and friendly, but this feels different, more personal. You look down, suddenly shy, the confidence of your movements evaporating under his gaze.

"I'll leave, you can go back to dancing-

"I'm fine," You snatch your bag from its spot beneath the bench and move past him, trying to keep the contents inside whilst moving and fumbling to zip it up. He turns and watches you walk away. You can feel his sharp blue eyes on the back of your head though you pretend you can't.

You find yourself needing space again, the earlier panic still a tight knot in your chest. Seeking solitude, you head to the far end of the hallway, where the cold seeps in through the cracks around the door. It's the furthest point from the bustling group of hockey players, offering a much-needed reprieve.

You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them for warmth. The chill sinks through your clothes and down into your bones, but the solitude is worth it. You slip your headphones back on.

From your vantage point, you can see the boys on the hockey team gathered together, their faces illuminated by the dim, flickering lights. They're laughing and joking around, their voices a stark contrast to the tension you feel. Their easy camaraderie is just about alien to you, it's a grand display of all of the social connections you can't navigate and don't particularly want to.

Andrew and Brendan are in the center, animatedly recounting some story, their hands gesturing wildly. The others are gathered around them, grinning and chuckling at the tale. Even Tweek, who had been so panicked earlier, seems to have found some measure of calm in the familiar company of his friends.

Despite your best efforts to remain unnoticed, you can't shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing up briefly, you see Kenny, looking over at you. His gaze is steady, curious, and imploring. You quickly look away, pulling your knees closer to your chest and adjusting your headphones, hoping he'll lose interest.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over you, the soft melody blending with the distant sounds of laughter. The cold against your back is a sharp contrast to the warmth you see in the group ahead, but for now, it's what you need.

In this quiet corner, you find a fragile balance between trying to disappear completely and actively making yourself as small as possible.

It was just you repeating 'I'm not here' in your head over and over again until you felt like you were back in your bedroom.

Kenny catches your eye again. His gaze is warm and concerned, but it's the intensity of his focus that starts to grate on you. You shift uncomfortably, squirming beneath your skin. Why does he keep looking at you like that? It's not fair that he can just stand there, laughing with his friends and casually putting you at such unease.

His concerned expression, his small smiles, they all feel like a spotlight on your vulnerability, and it irritates you. You're grateful for his kindness, but at this moment, it feels like an intrusion. You don't want to be watched, especially not now, when you're trying to hold yourself together.

Despite the music in your ears, the warmth of your anger pushes through. You bite your lip, trying to keep your frustration in check. Confrontation isn't your style, especially not in a situation like this. Instead, you lower your gaze, focusing on the floor in front of you, hoping he'll take the hint and stop watching.

Minutes pass, the cold pressing in on you, but the warmth of your irritation keeps you from shivering. You keep your eyes averted, trying to lose yourself in the music, but it's hard to shake the feeling of being under scrutiny.

You glance down at your phone, scrolling aimlessly through the same old messages and apps. No new notifications, no one to text or call. The sense of isolation tightens around you, a familiar but not unwelcome companion.

You move slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed, but Kenny spots you. He nudges one of his teammates and points in your direction. The others glance over, curiosity flickering in their eyes. You feel a pang of discomfort, wishing you could blend into the wall behind you.

The power cuts out suddenly, plunging the rink into complete darkness. The hum of lights and machinery is replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the initial startled exclamations of the boys. Panic sets in quickly among them, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear and confusion.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Where's the light switch?"

"I can't see anything!"

"Where's Ryan?"

"IT'S OVER FOR US!"

The boys' shouts echo off the cold, now pitch-black walls, amplifying their anxiety. You hear them stumbling around, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Amidst the chaos, the coach's voice rises, trying to regain control.

"Everyone, calm down! Stay where you are! We'll figure this out." Trevor emerges from his office, Katya close behind in a desperate attempt to calm the scrambling teenagers.

His attempts to soothe the team are met with limited success. The boys' fear has already taken hold, and their nerves are frayed by the unexpected blackout. Their shouts blend into an indistinct roar, making the air feel thick with their collective unease.

You remain where you are, calm and still, a stark contrast to the agitation around you. The darkness doesn't frighten you; it's a familiar companion. You hug your knees tighter, your breathing steady, focusing on the feel of the cold floor beneath you and the muted sounds of the storm outside.

The flash on the smartphones flicks on one by one, flooding the dark corridor with striking light that catches the contours of each and everyone's face. It really looked like you were in a horror movie. Like some creature would scuttle down from the vents overhead and start picking you off.

You hear the clatter of skates and equipment as the boys scramble in the darkness, their movements chaotic and uncoordinated. Someone bumps into the boards, eliciting a string of curses, while another trips over a stray hockey stick, the thud echoing loudly.

The coach's attempts are met with limited success. The boys' voices overlap, each one trying to be heard over the others. The cacophony is overwhelming, a tempest of fear, confusion, and partial anarchy.

But you remain an island of calm amidst the storm. Seated on the cold floor by the door, you pull out your phone, the faint glow of the screen a small comfort in the darkness. You scroll through your camera roll, it doesn't have much in it aside from pictures of your baking and your dog.

You swipe through pictures of your dog lounging on the couch, playing in the park, cuddling up to you in bed, and napping in a sunbeam. His velvet black fur and soulful eyes pull your mouth into a little smile.

Around you, the boys' panic continues unabated. Some of the boys had put their phones face down so the flash would flood the hall, the beam slicing through the dark, casting erratic shadows on the walls. The light only adds to the confusion, making the shadows dance wildly.

They seemed to care a whole lot more than you did. When the focus was torn from you, you were more than happy.

"That's my stick!"

"Stop pushing!"

"Get off my foot, asshole!"

"I fucked your mom."

"Coach, what do we do?"

Craig stood behind Tweek, arms wrapped around his waist to keep the flailing boy away from the doors while screamed and thrashed even more as everyone was soaked in darkness.

Stan's voice cuts through the chaos, steady and authoritative. "Guys, seriously, just listen to Coach. We'll be fine."

"Fuck off, Stan!" Another one of the boys yells, throwing his glove at Stan who looks around, more confused than anything else.

Just as the chaos seems to be subsiding, a new commotion erupts. Two of the boys, still on edge from the blackout, start arguing. Their voices rise sharply above the murmur of the group, quickly drawing everyone's attention.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" one of them shouts.

"Back off, man! It was an accident!" the other retorts.

Before anyone can react, the argument escalates. In the dim light of the scattered phone flashlights, you see them shove each other, their silhouettes clashing. The noise level spikes again as the boys around them try to intervene, shouting and pushing to break up the fight.

"Guys, stop it!"

"Cut it out, both of you!"

"World star!"

The coach's voice booms out, authoritative and commanding. "Enough! Break it up! Now!"

Despite the coach's orders, the fight continues to escalate. You can hear the thud of fists meeting flesh, the grunts of exertion, and the scuffling of skates on the concrete floor. The atmosphere is charged with aggression and adrenaline.

You remain seated on the floor, your back against the door, your phone still in hand. The pictures of your dog are a stark contrast to the violence unfolding nearby, but you refuse to let it pull you in. You swipe to another photo, this one of Toothless lying on his back, belly exposed, inviting a rub. The memory makes you smile faintly, a small bubble of calm in the midst of the storm.

Katya, who has been watching the scene unfold, finally steps in. "Hey! Knock it off!" She pushes through the crowd, grabbing one of the boys by the arm and pulling him away with ease despite her small frame. "This isn't helping anyone. No one is going anywhere until the storm is over!"

The coach joins in, pulling the other boy back. "That's enough! Both of you, sit down and cool off. Now!"

Gradually, the fight is broken up. The boys are separated, still glaring at each other, but the physical confrontation has ended. The others backed away, giving the combatants space while muttering amongst themselves.

In the aftermath, the rink feels even colder, the tension palpable. The coach continues to bark orders, trying to restore a sense of order and calm. The boys settle into an uneasy silence, the adrenaline slowly fading.

Kenny approaches cautiously, his figure a shadow against the faint glow of your phone. He sits down beside you, maintaining a respectful distance but close enough that you can feel his presence.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asks, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You glance at him briefly, then return your gaze to your phone. "You already are."

Kenny sits next to you in silence, the air around you thick with the weight of unsaid words. The rink remains dark and cold, the boys' voices now a distant hum, but the tension between you and Kenny feels palpable. He inches, as if he wants to speak, but holds back, unsure of how to break the silence.

You continue to scroll through your phone, your attention seemingly absorbed by the photos of Toothless. The light from your screen casts a soft glow on your face, highlighting your calm demeanor. To Kenny, you seem perfectly content in your own world, a stark contrast to his thoughts running rampant.

He sneaks glances at you, hoping to catch a hint of interest or an opening for conversation. His mind races with things he wants to say, compliments about your taste in music, questions about your life, anything to bridge the gap between you. But each time he opens his mouth, the words die in his throat.

Kenny sighs quietly, trying to steady his nerves. He likes you-your quiet demeanour, your calm in the chaos, the way you find solace in the small things. Yet, sitting here beside you, he feels an invisible wall between you two, one he doesn't know how to breach.

You don't seem to notice his internal struggle. Your focus remains on your phone, fingers swiping through photos with an absent-minded grace. Kenny watches you, trying to discern your thoughts, but your expression gives nothing away.

In the dim light, he shifts again, his hand brushing lightly against yours. He pulls back quickly, an apology ready on his lips, but you don't react. The fleeting touch, barely there, feels like a missed opportunity, another moment lost to the silence.

He wants to tell you how much he admires your calmness, and how he finds your presence soothing despite the chaos of the night. He wants to share more about himself and find common ground beyond brownies and shared stillness. But the more he looks at you, the more he feels that you're perfectly content without his words.

He swallows hard, the silence stretching on. The darkness around you seems to amplify the distance between you, making every unspoken word feel heavier. Kenny leans back, resigning himself to the quiet.

The silence between you and Kenny stretches on, but it's not uncomfortable. In fact, you begin to appreciate that he doesn't try to fill the quiet with conversation. His presence is steady and unobtrusive, a rare quality that makes you feel a sense of ease you hadn't anticipated.

As you sit there, tapping through photos of Toothless, a thought occurs to you. You glance at Kenny out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way he seems content to simply be there, sharing the space with you without any expectations. It's a subtle but meaningful gesture, one that sparks a sense of gratitude.

You reach into your bag, rummaging around until your fingers find a small tin. You open it, revealing a collection of homemade caramels, each one carefully wrapped in wax paper. The sweet, buttery scent wafts up, a comforting aroma that reminds you of the calm moments spent in your kitchen.

Wordlessly, you hold out the tin to Kenny. He looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes before he smiles. The genuine warmth in his expression makes your heart lighten.

He looks at you, surprised, but then his expression softens into a warm smile. He takes a piece, unwrapping it carefully and popping it into his mouth.

"Thanks," his voice gentle and appreciative. "I can't believe you make this stuff yourself," he mutters so quietly that you barely catch it.

You nod. The caramel's sweet aroma mingles with the cold air, creating a moment of shared solace. Kenny's presence feels less like an intrusion now and more like a comforting anchor in the uncertainty of the blackout.

The two of you sit there, enjoying the quiet and the caramel, finding a sense of peace and connection in the midst of the chaos. His willingness to simply be with you, to understand your world without needing to change it or rush to fill the gaps of silence that you sought.

As you both sit there, the shared silence grows deeper and more comfortable. Kenny shifts slightly beside you, then turns his head to look at you. "What are you listening to?" he asks, his voice soft and genuinely curious.

You open your eyes and look at him, your heart pounding a little faster. For a moment, you're unsure. Letting someone into your world, even in this small way, feels daunting. But Kenny has been trying so hard to be there for you, to understand you. His persistence may have been chipping away at you.

You hesitate, staring at him, weighing the risk. Kenny's expression remains open and patient, his eyes encouraging but not pressuring. Taking a deep breath, you make a decision.

Maybe, just this once you would take the chance.

"Do you want to listen?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kenny's face lights up with a genuine smile. "Hell yeah."

With a small nod, you reach up and gently remove one of your headphones, offering it to him. He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment.

Kenny puts the headphones in his ear, and you press play on your phone, restarting the song. The soft, calming melody fills the space between you, creating an intimate bubble of sound. You glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. His eyes close for a moment as he listens, softly nodding along to the rhythm. "Who is this?"

"Daughter."

"Daughter," he mutters out loud to be sure he remembers "Sweet."

You nod, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction. Sharing this small piece of your world, there was a little sense of pride that came with the fact he liked your music.

The soft music envelops you, each note weaving a sense of calm that contrasts starkly with the chaos around you. The hockey team, still restless, starts to settle in for the night. Their earlier laughter and jokes have quieted down, replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. Some of them are sprawled out on the floor, using their jackets as makeshift pillows, while others lean against the walls, whispering in low tones.

"Always wondered what you were listening to," He says absentmindedly "Can you send me this playlist?"

"You don't have my number."

"I think there's a pretty easy solution to this." He was terrified to mess this up.

His words hang in the hair for a moment and you meet Kenny's eyes, seeing the hopeful yet anxious expression on his face, and your heart softens just the slightest.

You reach into your bag and pull out a pen, holding it in your hand as you hesitate. You press the marker to his skin, pausing for a moment as you feel the weight of the moment. Then, with careful strokes, you begin to write your number on the back of his hand where it rests on his knee.

As you finish, you glance up at Kenny, though he's too busy staring at your handwriting to meet your gaze. "Awesome," He mumbles, staring down at it in awe.

A/N: this chapter felt too slow for me so expect some tweaks in the next one

#south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x y/n #kenny mcormick headcanons #kenny mccormick headcanons #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny sp #kenny mcormick x reader #sp kenny #stan marsh #craig tucker #tweek tweak

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