#from here on they’ll definitely be much shorter

[mythos321]

Part 1 of my Wof x Persona au

“The world which has been shrouded in darkness, must now be reborn, righteousness which had once reigned has now been shrouded by the uncaring masses, leaving ruins which cannot be rebuilt

Many have come to stand forth against this fate, of many shapes and sizes and even species. These beings are known as tricksters, and they have come to be needed once more

Your time to rise forth against this distortion is nigh”

Chapter One:Start of The New World

That night still echoed in Clays brain, the night everything was taken from him, where he was forced to leave everything behind and be put in some strange program. He wanted to get angry, to feel bitter, and yet…all he felt was like he was a piece of trash, a bigwings who failed his sibs, no matter how much they tried to reassure him on his final goodbyes, he just couldn’t accept it, nor himself for what had happened, and hoped to the moons that they wouldn’t be burdened by his absence.

All he currently had on him was a(relative to his size) small bag, and a pair of glasses to try and blend himself into the crowd more, futile as he knew that may be.

As he walked and flew across the trail to his momentary place of residence, he heard talks of multiple different topics, one which particularly stood out to him being the “Detective Princess” Skywing he had heard about, who he also learned to be attending his new school, all Clay thought was he hoped to try and avoid interacting with them if they’re as prying as he assumed Detectives to be.

as Clay looked through his bag, he found a strange book inside it, with a cover that presented a red and black eye upon it, and almost seemed to be calling to him…Clay then threw it out, figuring it was some junk that got mixed with his things

finally, he had found the small town he would take residence in, located in the center of a small point which connected part of The Mud, Sky, and Rainforest kingdom, which featured a multitude of different Dragon tribes, similar to another city Clay had heard about on the other side of the continent, “probability” or something?

Clay hated to admit it, but he was slightly apprehensive of the other tribes, He luckily managed to find an aging Mudwing shopkeeper who pointed him in the direction of The Dragon he was looking for, The Skywing Kestrel

Clay saw the entrance to a small cavern and entered to find The Skywing preparing to close up shop for tonight, before hearing him enter

“We’re closed, get your food somewhere els- ah, you’re Clay, right?”

“Correct, Mrs. Kestrel”

“It’s Miss, actually, but just call me Kestrel, I’ll admit, I forgot you’re coming today” Kestrel stated, as she stretched her back

“Busy day I presume?”

“Nope, about as slow as a day like this can get, probably different for you though with your circumstances, eh ya little monster?”

“Correct, m- Kestrel, thank you so much for helping me” Clay politely said, but in all honesty, he couldn’t help but still feel uncomfortable towards her, even if she was doing something so nice for him, she seemed to have a small but noticeable burn upon her cheek, and her arms were covered in even larger burns, with a small stab wound also being noticeable upon the outer side of her right paw as opposed to the burns on the inner parts. Not to mention, though Clay knew she couldn’t help it, her face screamed “I’d beat a kid for fun! yippee!”

however, in contrast, Clay could tell she had a calm, if slightly cold tone to her voice, and he truly didn’t feel any malice from her outside of the appearance, so he decided to go with his gut and still trust her…though his gut had failed him before, even still, he wouldn’t let that guide him.

“Come on now, no need to be so formal, I ain’t some priestess, all I’m doing is doing your aunt a favor.” Kestrel stated, and Clay almost smiled thinking about his aunt Asha, the closest to a mother he ever had…He could tell he was gonna miss her almost as much as he missed his sibs

“Come along this way now, I have a place for you to stay” Kestrel then walked down the cavern, where Clay was greeted with a dusty old room that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years and almost like it was just used for Storage beforehand

“I prepared your resting area, but you’re gonna have to handle the rest, alright?” Kestrel stated as she laid out a small area that could barely fit a dragon Clays size, with no resting support to be seen

“Heard what ya did to the lady, I’d have never taken ya to be the type to maul someone with how you act!” Kestrel laughed, but Clay looked horrified at her thinking he’d do such a thing, and she quickly caught it, “Huh, guess that parts just a rumor then? well, not like it matters either way, I won’t pry too much on it though, just don’t pull me into it either.” Kestrel stated towards him, now looking almost disappointed, and Clay wondered if she somehow knew the person involved and held some grudge towards them.

“All I know is you got in trouble for attacking a diplomat, and your queen banished you from your home for it while putting you in that new program thingamajig. That’s all I know, and that’s all I need to know, and that’s all the people that need to know here, alright? don’t want any customers knowing a criminal lives here, got it?” Clay wanted to comment on how she worded his Queen saving his scales but knew this had already dragged on too much for either of their likings

“Got it.”

“Good, just endure this place for the next 12 months, and you’ll be off probation and your banishment ends, but that also means you can’t go getting yourself into trouble. I’ll make sure to help you get a route to your school tomorrow, you can get yourself introduced to your teachers. Don’t expect them to be friendly though, people don’t regard your type with much grace y’know”

“…I expected that” Clay somberly said, keeping a somber yet sharp face as he looked her in the eye, expecting her to finally reveal a snarl to her, but instead got a small sigh, and a pat on his back before preparing to leave for the night

“Don’t go messing with the tavern while I’m gone okay? don’t do anything stupid while you’re here alone, okay? or I might just toss ya to the mountains.” Kestrel said, and Clay couldn’t tell if she was trying to tell a joke or not.

Clay made sure to clean up his space, dusting the area, taking out trash, and even watering a small plant, before finally heading to rest. He couldn’t help but note how cold the floor felt to himself, how stiff it was…how lonely it made him

before he could rest, however, Clay saw a slight glow in his bag and looked inside it and found the strange book from before

“Huh, I could’ve sworn I threw this out” Clay thought out loud, as he opened the book to look inside, before suddenly falling to sleep on his resting space with little time to react

**

Clay quickly awoke, but he found himself not in the cave like before, and instead in a cell-like structure, with a strange fog seeming to surround his cell and that which stood outside of it, however, throughout the fog and darkness he saw a single light at its center, and at the far end of that line laid a strange looking Nightwing, whose eyes seemed darker than the shadows which surrounded him, with scales that were ebony black for all but his right arm, which appeared to Clay to be made of…stone? They didn’t quite look right to him that was for sure

What stood out most to Clay however, was the dragons piercing gaze, almost as though the moons themselves gazed upon him, making Clay feel an immense presence immediately.

“Welcome, young Mudwing, to my Velvet Room. My name is The Stonemover, and I serve as this places all-powerful master.” The Dragons voice rumbled, and Clay felt his entire back shiver as he heard it echo across his prison.

“My my, to think your room would manifest in such a way. Your heart truly has been shackled as a prisoner of fate, Mudwing.”

“What’s going on! where am I-“ Clay tried to move toward the front of his cage, but a baton suddenly clashed against it, and he saw two small scavenger-like creatures below, and was shocked when one of them spoke to him

“Show some respect, inmate! back off!” Shouted one of the scavengers, who appeared to have a paralleling eyepatch with the other

“You are in the presence of our master.” stated the other, calmer scavenger

“All shall be explained to you in due time, Mudwing, but for now, you must return to your real world, but do know, our paths shall cross oncemore very soon” As The Stonemovers voice rumbled, Clay began to faint once more, before awakening once again in the true world, and prepared to go with Kestrel to his new academy.

when Clay first entered the office of The Schools Dean, he saw none other than The Queen of the Seawings, Coral, accompanied on her left by who Clay guessed to be The Disgraced Eldest daughter, Orca.

On her right, there was a seawing older than Orca but definitely younger than Coral, with a mixture of dark and green scales, with creepy blobby eyes that reminded Clay of some toads back where he used to live

“I hope you are aware that you are not here because you are wanted! Only because Moorhen insisted on you being a part of my program. Understand if I so wish, I could send you right back to where you belong.” Coral viciously said, and Clay felt a special kind of venom in her words, one he hadn’t felt even from those strange wardens he saw in his dream, at least, he assumes it was a dream.

“Now now My Queen, it is important to be easy upon him, after all, he grew up in such a dirty place he probably doesn’t know much of anything! He could make great use in swimming however” The Man to her right said in a strange, oily voice, which made Clay feel gross just hearing, the backhanded remark didn’t help either

“Awww Whirlpool! always thinking of the best for everyone! I’m lucky to have someone like you under me!” Coral complimented, as Orca rolled her eyes, and walked toward Clay

“I’ll be your homeroom teacher from now on,” Orca stated, which surprised Clay, no matter how important the school he was surprised a princess would work such, even if she was disgraced like Orca. “Take your Id, and report to your Faculty office in the morning, I’ll take you to your class then”

“Thank you, your highness” Clay simply said as he took his card

“Don’t go around letting him run free you hear me? I don’t want a beast like him free in the streets.” Coral sharply said to Kestrel, shooting her a glare as well

“Alright, alright. No need to get any tails twisted.” Kestrel stated as she and Clay walked out to go back to Cavern Tavern

as they flew down the trail, Kestrel saw the aftermath below of a Skywing that seemed to crash straight down, destroying another dragons home in the process, with it now being covered up to be put out of sight for the sake of the dragons below

“Sheesh, again? I can’t believe so many of those are happening recently” Kestrel muttered, as she looked once again at Clay, who seemed to only be looking forward, before asking her a question

“…what is it, that made you take me in?”

“Huh, you wanna know why? well, your aunt asked, and I didn’t have a good enough reason to say no, so I went along with it…plus, I’m getting paid, if that helps. Look, just, keep your head up and blend in, can’t beat it, join it, I guess, don’t repeat mistakes, you get that right?”

“correct,” Clay answered, before flying down towards the Tavern, with Kestrel just behind him

“I’ll make us some curry alright? I hear Mudwings particularly need a lot of food due to their builds, so you’re fine with that right?”

“I’m fine, thank you” Clay didn’t feel hungry, he hadn’t for the past few weeks, he almost felt like he didn’t deserve to eat anyway after screwing up so badly, and simply hoped his Sibs were doing fine without him…

**

Clay prepared to leave for the school early, but before he could, a plate of beef curry was suddenly put on the taverns counter, seeming to be freshly made

“Don’t think I’m letting you starve yourself, alright? I want you to eat this and go to your school on a full stomach, got it?” Kestrel ordered

“Curry for breakfast?”

“Don’t question the inner machinations of my mind boy” Kestrel glared, and Clay got to eating his meal, shocking himself at how he was able to scarf it down

“Alright, NOW you’re allowed to go” Kestrel answered just as Clay finished his meal

“Thank you so much for the meal…it was delicious” Clay thanked Kestrel

“Heh, you really are a breath of air with your good manners. Now then, hurry up to school, use the route we used yesterday, and don’t get distracted, okay?…oh, and flip the sign over the cave to “open” for me if ya can.” Clay nodded towards her, and walked out, making sure to flip the sign as he left. “…OH, AND DONT FORGET AN UMBRELLA-…hm, already out of earshot, well, I hear Mudwings like the Rain anyway…I think?”

Luckily for Kestrel, she was indeed correct on her assumptions, with Clay happily flying through the rain on his way to school, to the point where he didn’t initially notice how much time he had left at first due to it being far less crowded because of dragons avoiding the rain, stopping just a bit away from the school to try and take in the scenery.

as he looked inside his bag, he once again noticed the book inside, despite having for sure put it away before last night, and he was now starting to be legitimately concerned about its constant appearances.

“Hey Mudwing, do you need some help getting to school? You haven’t forgotten already have you?” Clay suddenly heard the same oily voice from the day before and saw Whirlpool walking past him, having a strange toothy smile upon his face, not to mention the same condescending remarks as before

“I’m fine, thanks, just lounging with my freetime before I head over”

“Alright then!” Whirlpool then swam away, likely to go to his classes, and Clay prepared to start walking when he suddenly heard someone running behind him in the rain, before seeing a Seawing girl about his age appear in front of him, seeming to have started chasing Whirlpool when she first saw him

“Damn it! Screw that squid-brained sycophant!” The Vulgar Seawing shouted

“Sicko font?” Clay questioned, as the Seawing then looked at him, not seeming to have realized he was there, and the book inside Clays bag slowly began to open without either of their notice

“What do you want, Mudwing? You planning to rat me out to Whirlpool?” The Vulgar Seawing began to get in Clays face, to the point where he was able to note she had translucent green eyes, along with that she had a scale color similar to Queen Corals, but wore something similar to a coat on her, with what looked like smashed up jewelry on it…honestly Clay found it kinda stylish.

“Why would I do that?” Clay questioned, legitimately wondering why he’d do that

“Huh? Do you not know who he is? Are you For Real? He’s one of the teachers here and Queen Corals S ranked ass kisser! Bastard does whatever the hell he wants. Who does he think he is anyway-The king of a castle? I mean you could probably feel it too, right?”

“….which castle?”

“no- I meant- Wait, oh I get it, you’re from that Destiny Program bull…seems you’re a second year too eh? same as me, guess I should’ve pieced together you were part of that earlier though…whatever, let’s get to school, this rains crappy enough as it is.” as The Vulgar Seawing and Clay began to walk however, they both suddenly felt a sharp rush in their head.

“Ah great, just what I needed today…damn it” The Vulgar Seawing kept walking, as the world felt stranger and stranger until they finally made it toward front of…a castle?

“What the- did we make a wrong turn?”

“This should be it…the hells going on here? guess we’ll go in and ask about it.” The Vulgar Seawing stated, as she began to walk into the castle, with Clay just behind her, for a moment, Clay almost thought he saw the school shift back to normal before returning to its distorted form

“That’s weird…where’s the school?”

“Maybe we really did make a wrong turn”

“Nonono, this IS it, I’ve walked that way a thousand times it’s gotta be it…right? The sign was for the school right”

“Right”

“Yeah! you saw it too!” The Vulgar Seawing shouted again, as she suddenly heard something approaching behind her, a dragon in full armor, with strange strings seeming to come from above them

“Jeez, you freaked me out! what’s up with the costume? Mom make another crappy novel and make it everyone elses problem? I mean, the costumes impressive though, is the armor real? and what’s with the strings?…you gonna say anything???” The Vulgar Seawing kept pestering the knight, until suddenly, multiple others started showing up

“Is this some weird school hazing?!” Clay questioned

“I DONT KNOW DUDE!” The Seawing shouted, as they began to be enclosed by the knights more and more “Shit…this is real isn’t it?” The Seawing tried to look for a way for them to escape, but couldn’t find any “Alright, let’s just all calm down, none of us want any trouble right? we just gotta-“ The Seawing then grabbed one of the castles candlesticks and bashed it into a knight “COME ON LETS RUN” The Vulgar Seawing shouted as she and Clay made a run for the exit, but were stormed by more and more guards, with them both being knocked on the heads by shields. “Shit! the hell do you guys think you’re doing…” The Seawing and Clay then both fell into unconsciousness

“TAKE THEM AWAY”

**

“Hey. Wake up! Come on!”

Clay began to wake up, his head feeling remarkably better from before, as he found himself in a strange type of dungeon alongside The Seawing

“You alright man?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Meh, I’ve been better…haven’t been in weird dungeons before for one” The Seawing then began to walk up to the cells door, and bash her hands against it “Oy! Let us out of here! Or I’ll turn this place into a construction site! Ugh, damn it where even are we?! some elaborate theater set?!” as she said that, her and Clay suddenly heard screams outside, almost as though a person was being tortured beyond it. “Whoa…whoawhoawhoawhoa man…we got to find a way out of here…shit, we’re too late” footsteps began to approach them, as the guards from before revealed themselves once again, with a man in a long blue royal robe behind them

“To think you of all people would try to go about as they please inside MY castle!” The man in the robe revealed none other than The Seawing Whirlpool, who also sported a tacky gold crown and despite his wear felt even LESS imposing to Clay than before

“Wait…Whirlpool? The hell kind of get up are you in???”

“Are you trying to go against me yet again, Tsunami? Seems mommy didn’t teach you your lesson well enough last time…and you even brought a stupid Mudwing as backup, to think you’d get soooo desperate!”

“This ain’t funny you ugly asshole!” Tsunami bashed against the bars yet again

“Is that how you speak to a king?! Not only have you broke into MY castle, but now you’ve spoken against me- THE KING, your punishment shall be death! Time for a quick execution!” Whirlpool(?) Then had his guards rush into the cell, and Tsunami quickly knocked one down with her tail

“Come on! Let’s get out of here!” Tsunami tried to grab Clay to make a run for it but was quickly struck in her side, knocking her against the wall, and Clay got between The Guards and her as they began to approach her

“Just get outta here! These guys are serious trouble! I’ll find a way!” Tsunami shouted, but Clay wasn’t buying it

“Oh? running away? to think you’d be such a heartless friend!” Whirlpool(?) callously mocked Clay, who still stood against the guards

“He ain’t a friend…COME ON, SAVE YOUR OWN SCALES ALREADY”

“Too scared to run? whatever, I’ll focus on the former princess instead!” Whirlpool(?) then had his guards quickly grab Clay and toss him aside, as he began to kick down the already hurt Tsunami while laughing “I waited so long to deal with a useless pest like you! Now I finally have you ready to be dealt with once and for all! hehehehehe, come on, where’s that energy from before?” Whirlpool(?) mocked. “Whatever, I’ll just kill you right now!”

“STOP IT!” Clay shouted, still trying to fight back, which momentarily caught King Whirlpools attention

“Hm? Are you trying to stand against me? how annoying, guards, hold him there, after this disgrace, he’s up next to die!” Guards then swarmed Clay to keep him down, as another prepared to execute Tsunami, who though she said nothing, was clearly terrified of what possibly awaited…

This is truly an unjust game…your chances of survival appear to be almost none, however, if my voice can reach you, then that truly means your will to survive just may triumph…

What are you doing? do you truly plan to simply watch? are you forsaking her for yourself? Death awaits hers if you do nothing! was your previous decision to protect your Sib a mistake then?

“NEVER” Clay shouted immediately, without any doubt in his mind of such, as he fought against the guards strength to try and save Tsunami

Very well then, I have taken note of your true resolve!

Clay suddenly felt a massive spike within his mind, as though it was exploding from in and out

Vow to me. I am Thou, Thou art I…Thou who is willing to stand against all which is absolute, and bring forth Thine own justice! Call upon my name, AND RELEASE YOUR RAGE

Clay shouted once again, distracting the guards for a moment, as his contract continued to be forged

Show the strength of thy will to discover all on thine own, even if one be damned by The Heavens and chained by The Hells themself!

“Hurry up and execute her!” King Whirlpool shouted

“That’s enough”

“…what was that?”

“I said,

That’s

ENOUGH”

a sudden burst of energy emitted from Clay, as he felt a strange white mask emerge upon his face, and with all his will, and in spite of all the pain, he ripped off with all his might, letting out a roar of pain and anger, as his blood soaked eyes revealed a new resolve, and a smile formed upon him that would make even the most dangerous of dragons quiver, as a burst of flames suddenly engulfed Clay from below, as the face of a true monster suddenly emerged from the flames, with a serpentine-like lower half, and wings of pure black, with a long Copper Coat that had black edges which seemed to be that of a snakes head, with fire that emitted from its eyes, and roars that almost seemed echo ever forth without stop in proud ungovernable fury

Instantly the guards surrounding Clay were destroyed by the mere emergence of this beast, and King Whirlpool ran away in fright without haste, leaving only Tsunami to see the new beast that befell the world

“Wha…what the…?”

all Clay could do now was smile in tandem with his new freedom, at the start of his new self, at the start of his new world.

I am the Dark Son of the Earth, Obsidian!

[evilslushy]

PenPal Girlfriend ♡

Hamzah x f!reader

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

wc: 20.2k (oops)

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

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

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

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

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

And desperation strikes again.

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

This is totally a transactional situationship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keeping daddy company?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meeting someone new and maybe feeling less lonely…!

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fortnite.’

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

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

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

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

Hamzah looked at the message on his screen:

FeetAsianFisher: Age?

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

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

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

FeetAsianFisher: 62

FeetAsianFisher: do u like older men?

FeetAsianFisher: i like pretty boys, are you one?

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

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

Another ding. His attention back to the screen.

FortniteFeetGamer: Age?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FishingFortniteJournalist: hello?

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

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

Hamzah could only sigh when his eyes registered the message.

FishingFortniteJournalist: I hate you so much.

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

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

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

Curiosity killed the cat.

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

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

GamingJournalingReader: Hello???

…normal?

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

GamingJournalingReader: LMFAO

GamingJournalingReader: NORMAL

ForniteFishingJournalist: u have no clue what i just went through

GamingJournalingReader: I think I have an idea… LOL

GamingJournalingReader: WTF YOU PLAY FORTNITE?!

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

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

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

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

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

ForniteFishingJournalist: 22

GamingJournalingReader: Taylor Swift age :0

ForniteFishingJournalist: idk abt u but im feelin 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To. FishingFortniteJournalist”

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

How? How did they get his address?!

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

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

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

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

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

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

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

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

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader"

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

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

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

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

“Hey GamingJournalingReader,

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

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

Take care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

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

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

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god! That was last year?”

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

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

Suddenly, you remembered something.

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

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

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

“Location?” Mandy tilted her head.

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

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You’re insane.” Mandy sighed.

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

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

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

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

“To fool you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“GamingJournalingReader,

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

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

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

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

Bye.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

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

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

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

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

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

With love and kisses

GamingJournalingReader”

—

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

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

“Girl. It’s like twelve people max.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

It was totally bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is so awkward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mandy would do that?”

“Only a year ago.”

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

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

—

“GamingJournalingReader

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

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

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

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

Mr.GamingJournalingReader,

Teach me your way of stickering.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t.

“This is stupid.”

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

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

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

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

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

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

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

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

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

“But…listen, girl.”

“Sorry girly pop,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That word was: ignore.

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

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

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

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

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

He hadn’t expected her. At all.

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

That’s it. Back to square one.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s this friend?” Martin asked.

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

“The shy one?”

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

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

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

Hamzah nodded. “For a bit, yeah.”

“Yeah. Her,” Mandy confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Now he sees why you guys are friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay!” you called back.

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

—

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

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

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

“Fishing?”

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

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

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?” you clarified.

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

“Um… gaming,” you answered simply.

“Like Roblox?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

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

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

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

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

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

The coincidence was too perfect.

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

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

His eyes glazed over each word.

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

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

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

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

“Party crush.”

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

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

It was her.

It had to be her.

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

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

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

This just keeps getting worse.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

Joking. Not really. Maybe.

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

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

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

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

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

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

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

Hamzah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

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

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

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

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

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

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

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

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

“I like him.”

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

Chase: What are you doing?

You: mail

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

You: u ok?

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

Chase: Yes…?

Chase: Are you okay?

You: no

Chase: ???

Chase: What the fuck happened?

You: idk

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

Chase: Are you nervous about the party?

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

You: yea

You: could you stay with me the whole time?

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

Chase: Okay

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

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

You: u wowwy about me :3?

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

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

—

“Thought you were gonna bail.”

“Almost did,” Hamzah admitted.

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

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

GamingJournalingReader has not sent him a single letter.

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

He missed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chase smiled knowingly, nodding. “All yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hamzah’s brow furrowed. “Apologize?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fishing Fortnite journalist.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Mandy knows?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“Dork.”

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

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 8

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

A/N: Slightly shorter chap, but I promise the next one makes it worth it hehehe

The sun is bright in the cloudless sky above, the occasional seagull soaring and squawking by. With sunglasses covering her eyes, Isla gets away with gazing absently at the sky, the sounds of her friends around her bleeding into the background as she basks in the warmth of the sunlight, letting out a breath. Except Isla can’t bring herself to enjoy much of anything, at the moment, because her mind has been preoccupied with her conversation with Rafe back at the country club. It settles in her stomach like a rock, unmoving and sending a bad taste to her mouth, and she knows the only way to make it better is to talk to Rafe and apologize to him.

As expected, when she and JJ showed up to the Chateau, their friends had been indignant at the sight of his black eye, demanding to know what happened. To Isla’s secret relief, JJ had told them the truth about his dad, but she did note the hint of shame that weighed his tone when he spoke. She hates that he feels as though he needs to be ashamed of the abuse he suffers from because of Luke, and more than anything, Isla hates Luke for laying a finger on JJ. Anytime he gets hurt at the hands of his dad, JJ just laughs or brushes it off, never wanting his friends to worry. But they’re family, more than they are friends, and of course Isla and the others are pissed on his behalf. There’s a reason JJ has his own room in the Chateau. JJ is a lot of things, but he will never be abandoned by his friends.

And Isla is certain if she ever lays eyes on Luke Maybank again, she’s going to call the cops on the spot.

Sighing, Isla props herself up on her elbow, grabbing the can of beer sitting on the floor of the boat and taking a long sip of the cool drink. Pope sits at the front of the boat, reading, while the others are in the water, swimming around the boat.

She lays back down, the surface warm under her back, loosening another breath as she lets her eyes fall shut. Except Pope suddenly says, “That’s the third time you’ve sighed in two minutes.”

Isla raises herself up on her elbows again, arching an eyebrow at him. “Why are you keeping track of my sighs?” she counters.

“Why is your vibe so melancholy?” Pope shoots back without hesitation, pulling a glare from Isla. He puts his book down on his lap, the brim of his cap shielding his eyes from the sun. “Seriously. You’ve been a little off since you got here. Everything good?”

Isla’s chest tightens because she knows Pope means well, but she also knows she definitely can’t tell him about why she’s been so in her head. Her lips part, trying to think of something. “I—”

“Is it because of Luke?” Pope carries on, not hearing her, but it’s the perfect excuse for Isla to latch onto—especially because it’s partially true, anyway.

“Yeah,” she nods, clearing her throat lightly as she sits up, back to the water as she leans down to grab her beer. 

Pope shakes his head, his gaze drifting towards the water. She follows his gaze to watch JJ, Kie, John B, and Sarah playing chicken in the water as Cleo both referees and records it on Sarah’s small pink digital camera. “Is it too much to ask for him to disappear out of JJ’s life for good?” Pope mutters as they watch the grin spread on JJ’s face, his hands gripping Kie’s thighs as she sits on his shoulders.

“Probably,” Isla mumbles into her next sip of beer, her gaze dropping to her phone sitting next to her.

Her fingers itch to reach for it, to send a message to Rafe. But what could she even say? I’m sorry for assuming you punched one of my best friends? She is sorry, but from the way Rafe had looked at her—with disappointment, hurt, and maybe even a little resignation—Isla has a feeling that simply words weren’t going to work. With the way her and Rafe’s relationship was rapidly changing—hell, from going to being nonexistent to whatever it is now—it never should’ve even been a thought to cross her mind. But it was, and she feels guilty about it and makes a mess of her already befuddled feelings.

One thing is for sure: Isla doesn’t want this budding change between her and Rafe to be ended before it even has the chance to begin.

“Hey—don’t stress out about it,” Pope says, cutting into her thoughts. His words have her blinking rapidly behind her sunglasses, bewildered, before quickly realizing he is, of course, talking about JJ and his dad. Because that’s what Pope thinks is bothering her. Pope shoots her a smile. “JJ’ll be alright. He’s got us, right?”

Isla smiles, somehow both forced yet not. “Right,” she agrees, and it might be the only purely honest thing she’s said in this conversation that doesn’t have a braid of lies hidden underneath.

Because, of course, her situation with Rafe isn’t one she can talk about with any of her friends. This is one problem she’s going to have to solve on her own. 

Finishing the rest of her beer, Isla gets up and walks to the other end of the boat, opposite of Pope, and steps up on the ledge. The water glitters under the afternoon sun and a second later, Isla dives in, the water blissfully cool against her skin as she is submerged.

When Isla breaks through the surface with a gasp, she wipes the water away from her face, slicking her wet hair back as she stays afloat under the warm sun. Unfortunately, the cooling dip did nothing to wash away the thoughts of Rafe and how she no doubt upset him, and Isla sighs as she floats on her back, arms treading water as she slips her eyes shut. 

All she sees is the hurt in Rafe’s eyes, and Isla knows she needs to figure out how to make things better sooner rather than later. 

*****

Isla fiddles with the thin chain of the gold bracelet around her wrist as her mom’s SUV pulls into the parking lot of the country club, tall lamps illuminating the area under the night sky. The blast of the air condition raises goosebumps on her arms, the skin exposed due to the gown she has on. It’s satin, like Kie’s, except while Kie’s is a pale lavender with spaghetti straps, Isla’s is a dusty pink with a sweetheart neckline and is off the shoulders, the thick straps hanging around her biceps, and a slit going up her right leg. And while Kie’s hair is done up and a flower crown adorns her head, Isla’s hair is styled down in waves, locks of hair threaded together in a braid to pull them back behind her head with tiny white daisies woven into them.

It had taken her and Kie a few hours to get ready for Midsummers, but while Kie had bemoaned looking like a bourgeoisie pig, Isla had quite liked what she saw when she looked in the mirror. For the first time in a few days, she actually felt good and her sister’s hatred of Midsummers wasn’t going to dampen her mood. 

Because for the past couple of days, Isla hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to Rafe, and that had fucked with her mood more than she had expected it to. Her messages to him remained unread, and she hasn’t seen him around that much, either, over the course of the last few days. The whole situation is strange because, God, only a little while ago if she had insulted Rafe, she wouldn’t necessarily care; she definitely wouldn’t lose sleep over it. But embarrassment and guilt constantly have her up in knots, unsure of what to say to Rafe other than apologize to him. Which she has, multiple times, in their messages, but he hasn’t responded. 

Isla hopes that he’s going to be at Midsummers tonight and somehow, someway, with Kie and Sarah and Pope all there, she can find a way to get Rafe alone and talk to him. Face to face, so he can’t ignore her.

The back garden area of the club is decorated beautifully for Midsummers, with string lights illuminating the place, waiters wandering around holding trays of flutes of champagne, and a live band set up on the side playing music that doesn’t overwhelm the atmosphere. The first half an hour or so is spent mingling with the other guests while Isla’s eyes keep darting around in search of Rafe yet never catching sight of him, disappointingly enough.

Even when they meet with the Camerons, it’s only Sarah, her dad, and step-mom that Isla sees, and she tries not to frown too obviously at the fact that Rafe is still missing. Holy hell, why is it so difficult to track him down when she needs to? They’ve been constantly running into each other, and the one time she needs to talk to him, he’s nowhere to be seen. Frustration mounts, but Isla pastes a smile onto her face, even when Kie grabs hers and Sarah’s arms and pulls them along to go to Pope.

The grass is soft beneath Isla’s heels as she lets her sister pull her, though that doesn’t keep her gaze from wandering, searching. “Don’t you three look snazzy,” Pope comments once they get to where he’s standing, grinning at them.

Kie’s face scrunches. “We look like sacrificial pigs,” she drolls with a roll of her eyes.

Trying to focus on the conversation, Isla bumps Kie’s hip with her own and says, “We do look snazzy, shush.”

“And it’s the one time we can drink without our parents giving us shit for it,” Sarah adds with a twinkle in her eye, grinning.

“Speaking of which. . .” Pope says, smiling as he looks over their shoulders.

Isla and the girls turn, watching JJ approach them in a classy waiter uniform that he no doubt refers to as a penguin suit, carrying a round tray of champagne flutes. Despite his own Kook related irritation, JJ grins, his bruises fading, and holds the tray out. “Drinks for the ladies?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Isla mutters, taking one of the glasses and immediately taking a long sip, only becoming aware of her friends’ surprised and amused expressions when she pulls the glass away from her lips. “What?” she asks, slightly defensive.

Pope arches an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Isla says with a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as forced as it feels. “Just here to enjoy the night.”

“This feels so pretentious,” Kie remarks, eyeing the glass she holds in her hand.

Isla rolls her eyes. “Just enjoy the free alcohol, Kie,” she says, her patience wearing thin as she takes another sip.

Fortunately, her sister merely shrugs and drinks as prompted. The group of them stand and chat for a few minutes, before JJ has to get back to work and Pope’s dad returns and they need to work on the oysters. Isla sticks with Kie and Sarah for the most part, more often than not tuning out of their conversation as she searches for Rafe. She can’t help it, and it’s driving her crazy. Part of her wonders if Rafe is pointedly ignoring her, which she wouldn’t blame him for. But then the other part tells herself she’s likely giving herself too much significance in Rafe’s life. Maybe the reason he hasn’t talked to her is because he doesn’t want to; maybe he already grew bored of whatever the hell had been brewing between them and moved on.

Admittedly, the thought of that makes a knot form in the middle of Isla’s chest, her grip on her emptying champagne glass tightening in response. A pit of dread even forms in the bottom of her stomach, like she is on the verge of losing something that’s slipping through her fingers too quickly. There’s a nagging voice in the back of Isla’s mind telling her to let it go, that cutting off whatever had been happening between her and Rafe at the legs, before it even had a chance to begin, is the right call. Less complicated when it comes to her friends. 

And yet, the idea of it leaves a bitter taste in Isla’s mouth.

As she finishes off her champagne, her gaze catches on some people walking out onto the porch across the dancefloor, and the breath hitches in Isla’s throat when she finally spots Rafe. He’s dressed in a summery, beige suit with a white button down underneath, a no doubt expensive watch on his wrist as he chats with Topper and Kelce. Rafe leans one elbow against the porch railing, holding a glass, and it’s as though in that moment, he can feel Isla’s gaze on him, because his head turns just so until their eyes lock across the way.

Isla’s heart launches itself to her throat as she watches him watch her and even from where she stands, she sees that mask of his break. The indifference cracks for a split second, but her sharp eyes catch it, the way his gaze softens and lips part before he forces himself to school his features. But Isla caught it. Even from where she stands, with all of these people in between them, she caught it, because it’s impossible to look away from him. And she has been thinking about him too much, these last few days, to not take note of every single detail about him.

She watches as he opens his mouth, free hand reaching up to massage his jaw as he cuts his gaze away from her, but Isla can see the sudden rigidness of his shoulders. Seeing her is having some kind of effect on him, possibly the same effect seeing him is having on her, and she knows that without a doubt, she is going to find some way to get them alone so she can talk to him.

Because there is a truth that dances on the tip of her tongue, and the first person Isla wants to admit it to is Rafe, not even herself. He is, after all, the first one who should hear it.

Isla knows it’s not going to be easy to try and find a moment alone with him—not with her friends, and his, around. She’ll need to find the right opportunity, and hope that he isn’t intent on avoiding her.

[seeingivy]

it's time to go

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

an: im sweating.

songs/media mentioned: happiness by taylor swift and it's time to go by taylor swift (not mentioned but name of the chapter!!)

previous part linked here

--

You take a deep breath in as you stand at the shining bright doors of the building, the reflective mirrors at the front showing you your small frame in comparison. You brush down the ends of your dress, ridding your palms of the sweat accumulating as you push through the doors. 

There’s a receptionist sitting at the front, with short black hair who is diligently typing away on the computer. You can see the issue of Vogue, the one the Attack on Titan cast did for season two, placed in a placard at the top of the desk. And when you look around, you see that every Vogue cover you’ve done - the one of you and Sukuna, for your albums - is displayed everywhere. 

Then again. This is a big deal. Surely it’ll be their biggest feature of the year. 

“Alright. Your interview should be up the stairs, in room eleven. They’ll start set-up at twenty and then the interview will start at half-past.” she states, handing you a shiny key-card. 

“Would you happen to know if my request regarding the piano was approved?” 

“I believe so. It should be in the room.” she responds, smiling. 

“Thank you!” you respond. 

You walk up the stairs and find the room, a few workers shuffling around the set. They all give you polite smiles as you walk straight onto the stage, an expensive brown couch on the left and the grand piano you requested on the right. 

You take your backpack off and pull out the box, filled with polaroids all tagged to perfection for your interview, as they all start adjusting the microphones and cameras into place. A shorter, older woman walks up to you, shaking the microphone pack in her hand as she gestures for you to stand up. 

“Hi! Thank you so much for helping me out today. I’m Y/N.” you respond, clipping the pack to the back of your dress. 

“No problem. I’m Leila.” 

You pause. 

“I know you. We-we’ve met before, right?” 

Her face widens in shock as she nods, a bright smile spreading across her face. 

“Yes, that’s right.” she murmurs, voice quiet. 

“It was…god. That was years ago, back when we were doing press for season two. We filmed a video for your daughter, she was asleep and she was a really big fan, right? How is she doing?” 

“She’s doing good. She’s still a big fan of your music.” she says, smiling as she loops the wires through your ears, shuffling your hair behind your ear as she readjusts. 

“That’s sweet. I’m so glad she enjoys it, that-that’s very special to me that she does.” you respond, cheeks warm and something stirring in your chest. 

You take her in full, trying hard to wrack your brain for how she used to look. She’s definitely years older now - five to be exact - but you can’t pinpoint any. No wrinkles, no tiredness - still the same woman you knew. 

But you’re miles away from who you used to be, having aged what feels like eons. You think back to the interview, the compliments you and Eren gave to each other stinging in your mind. 

Eren. I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you. Not only because you took a chance on me after our first screen test, but every other hiccup along the way was only something I could swallow because of you. You-your steadfast determination and belief in me is something so inspiring, so warm unlike anything else. You’ve always been a safe place for me, somewhere I can always run to when I need someone. I’m so glad we can always be fish together. 

Y/N. You’ve always been able to sense my feelings - my happiness, my frustrations, my pain - without me having to tell you. And you always, always know how to say the right thing to bring me back down to Earth from it all. You make me a better person and I love you for it.

You’re sure you're crying as you look back at Leila, her eyes wide as she reaches forward to wipe the tears. The deep feeling, the sadness sitting so deep in your chest that you’ve been trying to ignore, is suddenly too overwhelming, too loud for you to swallow. 

“I’m so sorry. Was it something I said?” she asks, her look frantic. 

You take her hand in yours, squeezing three times. 

“No. It’s me. I just remembered that interview. What Eren and I had said to each other and it made me a little sad, that’s all.” you respond, wiping your tears against the back of your hand. 

Her face deflates. 

“I’m very sorry for what happened. To the both of you.” 

You sigh. 

“Thank you. I-I appreciate that.” 

“This industry is not kind. To anyone. And having seen how you two were as kids, how genuine,  it’s sad to see what they’ve said to you both. You know that most of it, if any, isn’t your fault. People- they’re cruel. You’re a very brave girl for still coming here.” 

You swallow hard. And hope she still thinks you’re brave at the end of your interview. 

You sit down on the couch, anxiously tucking the ends of your hair towards the back of your ears, as the interviewer walks in, a bright smile on her face. Leila leaves, giving you a thumbs up as she walks away.

“Y/N. Congratulations. I’m Layla. Thank you for finally coming down for your interview.” she states, taking her seat on the couch next to you as they adjust the microphone in front of her. She has a blue box in her hands, which she tucks behind the couch. 

You don’t miss the snub she makes at you for postponing for months on end. You became a triple threat months ago. And your interview - about your career, about your work - was supposed to happen ages ago. 

“Thank you for waiting until I was ready. I can promise you-you won’t be disappointed with what I have for you. What’s that?” 

“It’s for you. We’re saving it for the end of the interview.” she states, giving you a smile. 

You nod, as you brace your knuckles against your own box, the director coming over to give you both directions and stage you properly against the cameras. 

“Hello everyone! My name is Layla Ray and I’m here with Y/N L/N. After a great deal of anticipation, Y/N is finally here, seated with Vogue, for the infamous triple threat interview. We’re going to go through the highs and lows of her career and ultimately discuss what comes with such a great title. Y/N, how are you feeling?” she asks, giving you a bright smile. 

You swallow hard. 

“Thank you, Layla. I’m doing okay. How are you?” 

“I’m great, thank you for asking. This interview has been a long time coming. Six months to be exact. Any particular reason why?” she states, adjusting her tone to be quieter, matching your tone. You can tell she’s a skilled interviewer - the excitement from before dying down as she brings the energy lower. 

“I-I wanted to be sure of what I wanted to say here. I want to be honest when we talk about my career and that requires self-reflection. I needed the time to do that. And I-I brought things here to share so I had to put those together too.” you state. 

“We’ll go back to the start then. What drew you to the industry - acting, singing, dancing?” she asks. 

You pull out your first picture, the one you ripped off of your wall. The paint is still stuck to the tape on the back, the picture of you, Falco, and Colt at your popstar themed birthday party. Colt and Falco have excited smiles on their faces, a sparkly pink crown on top of your head and your hands are clenched around the microphone, at the bottom. You can hear Eren’s words ringing in your mind. 

Everyone else holds the microphone at the top, their fingers nearly wrapped around the wire. You’re like the only person I know who holds it at the bottom - like you’re doing in the picture. 

“This is me at my fourth birthday party. It was a popstar themed birthday party my parents threw for me. I performed a little show for them and my brothers, did karaoke, the whole thing. I-I saw Hange’s speech a few years later when they became a triple threat and it-it basically cemented this as my dream.” you respond, holding up the picture before handing it to Layla. 

She’s smiling, running her fingers over the picture. 

“This must be a surreal moment. A dream come true.” 

You wish. 

“Let’s talk about Attack on Titan. How did you find out about it, what was it like being cast, and on a set for the first time?” 

“I found out about it through a flier at my coffee shop. I kind of showed up on a whim and did a chemistry read with my co-star. I got the role later that week and was flown out to be with them all. I-I was overwhelmed when I got there at first. I didn’t know much about the set, the terms that you’re supposed to use, they-they had to teach it all to me, like I was a five year old. A fish out of water moment.” 

You nervously walk to the other side of the set, where Eren’s sitting in the makeup chair. The team is brushing through the ends of his brown locks, his eyes fixed on his script in front of him, as he murmurs his lines under his breath. You reach forward and snatch the paper out of his hands and tuck it under your arm. 

“Good morning to you too, Y/N.” he responds, eyes wide as he smiles at you. 

“Sorry. Good morning, Eren.” 

He smiles. 

“I was joking. Did you need something?” 

“I have an embarrassing question. Can you come here?” you murmur, cheeks burning pink. 

He quickly hops off the chair, giving a sympathetic nod to the makeup team, as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, his face close to yours as you talk in hushed tones. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“What’s a hot brick?” you ask. 

“Huh?” 

“Hange. They-they asked me to bring them a hot brick. And when I said what, they were like…You do know what a hot brick is, right? And I got so embarrassed I kind of ran away and now I don’t know what to do.” 

Eren pauses as he registers, which is immediately followed by him smiling and leading you towards the back of the room. He picks up one of the charged batteries of the walkie talkies and places it flat in your palm. 

“A hot brick is a fully charged battery.” 

“Oh. Right. Th-thanks, Eren.” 

He puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s only like your sixth day on a set. I didn’t even know this stuff until the end of my first movie. You-you aren’t behind, I promise.” 

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.” 

“I’ll help you. Before the rest of the cast gets here. Teach you all the terms and the secrets and stuff. You’ll be a natural.” 

“Really?” 

Eren gives you a nod, the smile on his face drawing your eyes to his dimples. 

“Thank you, Eren. Really.” 

“It’s no biggie. I’ll help you with anything you want. Just ask, okay?” 

“One of our most overwhelming questions that we received was what was it like filming with your cast? Your show - along with Jujutsu Kaisen - were really the first of their types to have such a big child actor presence on them.” 

You smile, pulling out your next three pictures. The first - it's a picture of you and Bertholdt, holding a World’s Greatest Dad mug in front of Levi, who has the most annoyed expression on his face. The second is of you and Historia - tying Reiner’s hair into two tiny ponytails. And the third - you and Marco, hugging each other so hard that your cheeks are pressed together. 

“It was the time of my life, really. I-I went to sleep every night with a smile on my face. They were genuinely such good friends of mine and this experience, these memories - they’ll always be special to me.”

“Do you have a favorite memory?” she asks. 

“Hm. I-we were all kind of immature at that age. I still am. Anything related to dirty jokes, especially when Erwin or Hange were involved is a surefire favorite. Sometimes I’ll remember them and still burst out laughing.” 

The teacher stands at the front of the makeshift classroom, the lazy energy enveloping the room. The warm haze of the summer has the ends of your hair sticking to your neck, the cold desk soothing your burning skin - preventing you from listening to whatever the physics teacher is saying about the solar system. 

You look to your right to find the same sentiment shared by everyone else too. Eren’s eyes are closed, his chin resting against his desk as the sweat rolls down the side of his face. Connie and Sasha are sharing a cold drink between them and Jean’s nearly turning pink as he fans Mikasa - the only one who looks relatively comfortable right now. 

You kick Eren’s leg.

“Hm? What’dya want, sweetheart?” he murmurs. 

“Jean is fanning Mika. You could do the same.” you groan. 

You feel a light breeze on your neck as you turn your head to see Eren, leaning against his arm as he fans you with the book. You take it from his hand, giving a head shake as you turn to your side, the two of you facing each other on the aisles. You instinctively place your feet on top of his, the two of you looking at each other. 

“I was kidding.” 

“I know. I don’t mind though. You’re looking a little hot.” 

You smile. 

“Just a little?” 

“Shut up. You know exactly what I think about how you look.” he says, rolling his eyes. 

You bite back your smile. 

“And that’s why the answer is Uranus.” the teacher says, metal pointer smacking against the board. 

You look up at Eren, the two of you so incredulous - from the heat, from being stuck in here for three hours, from how stupid of a word it is - that you both burst out laughing. And then get in trouble together. 

“What the hell was so funny that your teacher had to take you out of class?” Levi asks, arms crossed against his chest as he stares the two of you down, hours later. Hange and Erwin are trying to mimic his intimidated stance, but all you and Eren can do is laugh. 

“Um. You don’t want to know, Levi.” you respond. 

“It’s stupid. We’re sorry.” Eren states. 

“No. No, I want to know what was so funny that you laughed so hard you pissed one of your nicest teachers off.” 

You and Eren give each other a look. 

“It-it’s inappropriate. We’re really sorry, okay? We’ll go and apologize right away.” 

You and Eren stand up, linking arms together as you move to walk away. Except Levi’s moved in front of you two, an entirely different look on his face. 

“Do I need to have a talk with you two?” 

“What?” you ask. 

“A talk. About sex.” 

You and Eren turn your heads to each other, eyes wide. And you immediately start back tracking. 

“Levi. Ew- oh my god. What’s wrong with you? You’re so disgusting. And-and-and a pervert.” 

“Y/N. Do we have to have a talk? Are you being safe? Why are you guys making dirty jokes in class that you can’t tell me?” he repeats, eyes burning into yours. 

“No! Oh my god Levi! It’s not like that.” 

Levi looks back at Hange as you look over at Eren, who's pouting at you. 

“What, Eren?” 

“You don’t have to act like you’re soooo repulsed by it. That’s not what you sounded like-” 

You smack your hand over his mouth, cheeks burning. 

“Eren. Shut up. This is not the time or the place to be bringing THAT up.” 

He smirks, clearly delighted by how embarrassed you are, before pressing a kiss to your palm where you’re covering his mouth. He turns back to Levi, Hange, and Erwin. 

“Levi. We’re sorry. The teacher said Uranus and we thought it was funny.” 

“Uranus? What the fuck is so funny about Uranus?” Levi asks. 

You bite down on your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing in Levi’s face - his very angry face. Luckily enough for you, you're not the first one to break. And neither is Eren. 

It’s Hange. They’re smacking the back of Levi’s back as they ask him to say it again, the four of you - Erwin having joined you - as you all goad Levi on to say it again. And you laugh so hard that by the end of it, you’re on the floor - screaming for them to stop as Eren rubs circles into your back. 

Your chest twinges, as she hands the pictures back, and you tuck them back into the box. 

“The success after season one of Attack on Titan was pretty tremendous. You guys essentially became house names overnight. How did that feel, especially given your background? Nepotism runs deep and heavy in what we do and you seem to be one of our only outliers, here.” 

“It was horrible.” 

A shocked look spreads across her face. 

“I’m grateful for it all. Don’t get me wrong. But my life changed overnight. I-I went to school and I wasn’t treated as the same person anymore, by people I grew up with. There were people hanging around my school, waiting to take pictures of me, and-and anyone who had a chance of understanding me, they were all miles away. Filming.” 

“Did you feel that often? Comparing yourself to your co-stars?” 

“Originally, no. I-I was just happy to be there. But people, I mean. They talk. It-it kind of cemented that idea in my mind. I didn’t think it was weird that I was the only one who wasn’t filming until someone pointed it out. And-and someone always pointed these things out.” you respond. 

Colt snatches the phone from your hands, an irritated look on his face as he slides it into his pocket. After a six hour phone call with your new publicist and producers - Danny and Sareen - all you could do was aimlessly scroll through social media, their words swimming through your mind as you considered your options. 

“Quit reading that shit.” he says, making an effort to storm out of your room. He hangs by the door when he reaches it, his hands pressed against the frame. 

You shuffle under the blanket, pulling the soft fabric over your head. And a few seconds later, Colt’s pulling it off, expression a bit softer than before. 

“I-I just don’t get why you read it. What’s the point?” 

“I dunno.” 

He slides onto your bed, putting his cold legs next to yours under the blanket as you complain. 

“In my meeting with Danny and Sareen. They-they’re the new producer and the manager that reached out to me. They were saying all this stuff about how I can’t drop the ball anymore. How if I have people paying attention to me now, I-I have to keep it going.” 

Colt frowns. 

“I-I don’t know how this stuff works. What does that have to do with you reading a bunch of people saying rude stuff about you online?” 

“I told them I had time to decide, figure out what I want to do next. They said I should look online and reconsider. That if I want to be a triple threat, I-I should trust them.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yeah. They-they’re right. And they seem like the type to push me in the right direction, like Levi and Hange. I know they’ll do whatever to help me be the best. They want what I want.” 

Colt shrugs. And you know he doesn’t understand. 

“Let’s talk about season two. You made history this season - by being nominated for Best Actress in a Lead role among many others, becoming the most nominated actress in Institute history in one night. How did that feel? To-to do that so young?” 

“That-that was a win. It came after something really, really intense for me actually. I-I had all these feelings about what it was like to be famous. Building for months. And-and I got them put into words for me right before that happened. It was kind of like going from a really low low to the highest of highs. I-Intense is the word I’d use for it.” 

“Could you elaborate? On that?” 

You swallow hard. 

“Being famous is like living in a fishbowl. There’s-there’s glass in between you, the viewers, and me the person. And it may seem like you can see me, that you and I are the same but the glass is always between us. You enjoy on the other side, smack against the glass, sometimes even put your rods out to wring us out. We-we’re stuck there, that’s all. I realized that and found out I got nominated minutes after. But that’s this job for you. You’re at the bottom one minute and the top the next.” 

Her eyes flutter down to your tattoo but she doesn’t make a point to mention it. 

“Let’s discuss music now. Following winning Best Actress in a Drama Series, your impressive albums and tours started. You released your debut album, followed by lover girl, and then ribbons. This-this was an insane feat on your part - most artists take four to five years to produce albums at this pace. What motivated you during this time?” 

“My manager and my producer are pushing me at every step.” 

She smiles. 

“That’s some support system.” 

“That’s not the word I would use for it.” you respond, voice cutting.

She nods. 

“That’s right. Following your last performance, rumors were flying around that you had fired Danny and Sareen, your beloved manager and producer. Is this true?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why, if I may ask?” 

“I just told you. They were pushing me at every step.” 

You sigh, looking down at your hands, knotting your fingers together. One of the first things, you could come under fire for, is talking about them, so bluntly the way you are. 

“I looked up to them. My previous example from my mentors - Hange and Levi - was perfect. Almost too perfect. Because of them, because of how willing they were to support me, to defend me, I thought everyone was like that. I thought every person who was willing to be on my team was taking into account that I didn’t know much about the industry and pushing me in the right direction.”

“And that wasn’t true for them?” 

You take a deep breath. 

“I think they used that to their advantage. That I had a blind faith in them. That I wanted to please them, to please other people. I didn’t know that it wasn’t normal to put out three records, to do world tours that fast. I didn’t know that it was insane that I forgot to eat some days, I didn’t know that it was crazy that they were waking me up after two hours of sleep to put me to work. I-I thought that it was all part of the hustle.” 

“How do you feel about it now? Having fired them?” 

“I-I don’t regret what they’ve done for me. I-I am thankful to them. If anything, I’m more embarrassed of what they did make me do. Why I didn’t think twice on things they asked me to do, songs they convinced me to write.” 

She looks intrigued. She knows she’s getting into the good stuff. 

“Songs like?” 

“London Boy.” you respond. 

“That brings us to Ricky James. Are you saying that you didn’t write London Boy?” 

“No. No, I wrote it. But I was asked to write it the way I did. Write a love song about him.” 

“Because?” 

“Press. It’ll get people to talk. People get bored of the same thing over and over again after years.” you respond, repeating Danny and Sareen’s words, about Eren. 

You sigh. 

“It’s embarrassing to admit that I did that. Pretend just to get people to listen to my music. I-I am ashamed of it.” 

“It’s okay. We-we understand.” 

“I don’t think you do.” you whisper. 

You can feel the tears pricking your eyes. 

“I-I regret it. It’s a horrible thing to do. Especially when, when you have real love and you give it up to pretend. And it’s humiliating to pretend, to see people coo over you and a guy you barely even know. But when you’re famous, when people are telling you this is what you have to do, when this is what everyone does, it doesn’t seem like much to give up. I-I could feel the shame crawling in my skin when I look back at it now.” 

You swallow down the regret, thick in your throat. 

“How so?” 

“The night my album premiered, Ribbons. In the past, all my best friends, they-they’d come to listen with me. Throw me a party, press kisses to my cheeks. I turned them all down that year. It’s one thing to pretend to everyone you know. It’s another thing to do it to people who know better. Who know what you’re doing. I didn’t want to pretend in front of their faces. ” 

“Speaking of that night. Could you speak on this?”

She sides the picture, the one the paparazzi took of you on the curb before Lana got to you, towards you. You pick it up and look at it - at your eyes pinched shut and your drenched hair. 

“It’s simple. Ricky James started liking me. Asked me out. I said no. And then he locked me out in the rain.” 

You see the discomfort spread across her face as she slides the picture back. 

“I’m very sorry that happened to you. But you came out of it at the top, with your hit featuring Lana Price. Was she part of your support system during that time?” 

You smile. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can’t sleep?” 

You look up from the shelves you were currently pawing through to find Lana, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes, as she walks over to where you’re standing. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted water but I couldn't find the glasses.” 

She smiles as she wraps her hand around your wrist and leads you to the other side of the kitchen, taking a glass out of the correct cabinet and filling it up for you. You both lean against the counter, illuminated by the fridge of the kitchen light in the dark kitchen. 

And suddenly you’re crying again, wet, warm tears falling down the length of your face. At the thought of where you were four nights ago - running in the rain until she picked you up. You aggressively wipe the tears off of your cheeks as she catches on. And Lana, despite this being the second time having met you, is quick to pull you into her arms, the sweet strawberry smell of hers filling your nose. 

“You smell like candy.” 

“Don’t go biting me now.” 

You laugh, pressing against her arms harder as your tears fall onto her shoulder, trying to muffle your sobs by clamping your mouth shut. 

“Eren told me. About Colt.” 

She pulls back, wiping the tears off your cheek as she talks, softly. 

“You’ll get better at doing this. Protecting them. I can almost guarantee it.” she says, giving you a smile. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I did it. Which means you can too.” she responds, placing her glass of water in your hands. 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“Yes, it is. I’ll help you. Eren will help you.” she responds. 

“You’re already doing enough for me. Both of you. I’m intruding on your house right now.” 

You feel two hands, warm, around your neck, accompanied with a light squeeze. And then Eren, his voice still raspy from sleep, whispering in your ear. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Say that again and I’ll kill you. What’s mine is yours.” he responds, sliding his hands off of you as he pushes the fridge door closed and opens the light. 

Lana groans. 

“God. Would it kill you to put a shirt on, ugly?” 

“Would it kill you to brush your hair, you hag? Or maybe not wake me up in the middle of the night?” 

“That wasn’t even me. Y/N woke up first!” 

“It was your croaking that woke me up, Lana. You sound like a toad.” he mutters. 

You laugh, which breaks the two of them out of their argument, and has soft smiles spreading across both of their faces. 

“You guys are like siblings.” 

Lana comes over, hands cupping your face. 

“My sweet, sweet Y/N. Please don’t insult me.” 

And then Eren’s behind you, arms slithering around your waist, his voice warm in your ear again. 

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, princess.” 

“Quit flirting, Eren. You’re such a manwhore.” Lana says. 

“Princess was her nickname on set, dumbass. Because she’s a pop princess. I’m not flirting.” Eren responds, 

“Wow. So you’re too good to flirt with Y/N. You think you’re better than her?” 

“What?” Eren asks, leaning off of you. 

Catching on to what Lana’s trying to do, you turn around and look at Eren, trying to hide your coy expression. 

“Do you really think that, Eren?” 

His eyes go wide, hands on your shoulders. 

“No! No, oh my god! I don’t think I’m better than you. If anything, you-you’re better than me. I’ll flirt with you all you want. I swear!” 

You and Lana stare him down for a few seconds before you burst out laughing, a pink spreading across Eren’s cheek as he grumbles, an irritated look on his face as he shoves past Lana. 

“You guys are annoying. I’m going back to bed.” 

“Aw, Eren! Come back! Flirt with her!” Lana says, teasing him on. 

“Don’t stay down here too, Y/N. You’re going to lose brain cells.” he murmurs, shuffling away. 

You turn back to Lana, who's filling your glass with water again. She has a soft smile on her face, eyes warm as she hands you the water. 

“This type of stuff…it really helps.” she says. 

“This type of stuff?” 

“Good people. Who want to take care of you. Make you laugh after you cry, all that cheesy stuff.” 

You hum, leaning against the counter again. 

“Lean on Eren. Don’t get so jumbled up on what it means and how he’s feeling because he just wants to be there for you.” she says. 

“I’m trying to. I guess I just feel bad.” 

“I would have benefited a lot from someone like Eren, if I knew him when I was younger. When I was-” 

You quirk your head to the side, beckoning for her to elaborate. 

“For the longest time, I thought that this is just how guys were. Assholes. Dicks. That it was a matter of finding one who was relatively nice, good enough. That real guys, they’re never like this.” 

You frown. 

“My dad was an asshole. Ricky was horrible. My brother was the only person who was nice to me but we just- we lived so far and with the jobs and stuff we grew apart. And when I had to deal with things on my own, things I was too young to even understand, I-” 

She pauses. Swallowing hard. 

“I would have benefitted from knowing Eren earlier. Guys like Eren, like your friends Jean and Marco. Eren’s helped with a lot of my shame and made me better. I-I owe a lot to him really. I know we said what we said earlier, but he is like my brother. He’s always protected me. Overwhelmed me with kindness under insults.” 

You smile. 

“He’s a good guy. Always has been.” you whisper, heart warm at Eren being Eren, still. 

“So let him. Overwhelm you with kindness. Be there for you. You have no reason to be ashamed. And every reason to be scared. Quit feeling bad and just let him. He’s the person you’re comfortable with here.” 

You smile, leaning your head against your shoulder. 

“Dunno. You’re pretty cool too.” 

She laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“You know what would be cool. If you guys went to bed.” Eren says, shuffling into the room again. 

Lana groans. 

“All men have is the audacity. You just ruined a really sweet moment.” 

You smile at Eren, which he returns. 

“Can Lana sleep with us?” 

He stops smiling. 

“Huh?” 

“You sleep on the left and she can sleep on my right!” you respond. 

“Y/N.” he whines. 

“Please? It’ll be like a sleepover. I can’t have bad things on my mind before I go to bed if you’re both there.”

“No thanks, sweet girl.” Lana says. 

“I’m trying to lean on you guys! Give in.” you respond. 

They both groan as they agree, the three of you shuffling towards Eren’s room. You settle straight into the middle of Eren’s bed, as they both shuffle around - loudly talking in Eren’s bathroom. 

“Ew, Eren. Why did you just kiss my cheek? I’m not Y/N, idiot.” 

“That was for you, Lana Bear!”  

“What pervert spirit possessed you at this time of night? And you know how I feel about that nickname after what Hyla said to me at dinner, so shut up.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Lana. And I just wanted you to know I love you too. You’re like a sister to me.” 

You hear Lana smack Eren. 

“Were you eavesdropping? Asshole. I was lying. None of it was true.” 

“Okay, Lana. Sure thing.” 

“I’m serious!” 

You shake the memory from your head, as you pull out the picture for her to see, one of you and Lana that Eren took. You’re both on his couch, your hands tangled in the bowl of popcorn - glaring at the camera. Eren was blocking your rewatch of High School Musical. 

“Speaking of support systems, one of your most talked about relationships is that with your co-star, Historia Reiss. After seemingly dropping songs about each other and making up and breaking up, there’s a lot of speculation on what happened. Anything to share?” 

You smile. 

“Historia and I are friends. And friendship is complicated. You just got to witness ours first hand, that’s all. Everything between us - it’s water under the bridge, if there ever even was one. We’re just really similar and we butt heads. We still love each other at the end of the day.” you say. 

“Well that’s lovely to hear. How about Ryomen Sukuna? The two of you are all anyone talks about these days, especially after how cozy you two were on the red carpet.” 

You snort. And pull out the polaroid - of you and Sukuna, of him kissing your cheek at the awards show. And in the background, Nobara and Maki are pretending to gag. 

“We’re not dating. And we won’t ever. We’re just really good friends.” 

“Friends kiss each other on red carpets?” 

“These ones do!” you respond, smiling. 

She laughs, nodding as you tuck the picture back into the box. She swallows hard, rubbing her hands against her palms as she asks her next question. The one you know she’s been itching to ask. 

“Look. We’ve talked about your career at great length - all but caught up to the night that you became a triple threat. But there’s one person that we haven’t discussed yet, maybe brought up in passing but haven’t broached. Who I think is relevant.” 

You smile. 

“Eren.” 

“Eren.” she repeats, nodding. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“I mean, everything. How did it feel to know that you finally got him back for what he did to you, the way he dragged your career through the mud. I mean you basically had him hanging his head between his knees by the end of the night, after you ended him. Throwing his relationship with his brother in his face, the songs you wrote, I mean- that. That has to be liberating. To do all that and come out as a triple threat at the end.” 

You can feel the tears spilling down your cheeks as you take your last picture out, one of you and Eren at Levi and Hange’s vow renewal. You’re leaning your head on your palm, looking up at him as he smiles down at you. And you swallow the hiccups as you respond. 

“In what world did that night seem liberating to you? Making a joke out of the love I shared with someone? I sobbed my way through the entire last song. Didn’t even make a speech. In what world was that liberating?” 

You see the shock spread across her face. 

“I just thought-” 

You smile. 

“Since we were fifteen, all people have done is speculate about me and Eren. Are we dating? Are we in love? Are we real? Are we faking? And therein lies the issue, because I think the people, the fame - it came between something really real.” 

She stops, nodding. 

“Something real? Are you telling us that Eren Jaeger lied in his interview?” 

“I don’t know his truth. Maybe it was fake for him. But I was there too.....And it was real for me.” 

You look down at the picture, fiddling with it in your hands. 

“I-I’d like to sing my song, if I could. I-I think it’ll help explain how I feel.” you say. 

She nods, gesturing to the piano. You sit at the seat, sneaking out the vinyl sleeve from the inside of the bench and pull it out. The album cover is a picture of the cast from season one of Attack on Titan. You and Eren are front and center, smiling at each other instead of the camera, everyone’s heads going in different directions. Jean and Mikasa are looking at something to the left and pointing, Ymir is smiling at Historia who is disgusted at Connie and Sasha plugging their fingers in each other's nose. 

“This is my fourth and final studio album, called The Lucky One. And this is my first song on the record, called happiness.” 

You brace your hands against the keys, playing the tune into the air as you sing. The feeling sits deep in your chest. Your realization was simple. That Historia’s statement - that your Eren wasn’t the Eren that existed anymore - is true. You just chose to focus on the wrong part of it.

You loved Eren and he made you happy. He burned you down, hurt you in the way that only he knew how, but loved you, made you whole in only the way he could too. There's a deep hurt. 

But there was great happiness. It’s why you forgive him. Why you choose to move forward, and hold whatever love you did have close. 

Past the blood and bruise Past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall Haunted by the look in my eyes That would've loved you for a lifetime Leave it all behind And there is happiness

There is happiness In our history Across our great divide There is a glorious sunrise Dappled with the flickers of light From the dress I wore at midnight Leave it all behind Oh, leave it all behind Leave it all behind And there is happiness 

You wipe the tears off of your face as you turn back towards the camera. 

“Eren Jaeger is the love of my life. He’s everything you want in the person you want to spend the rest of your life with and more. He’s kind, he’s sensitive, he’s all too willing to understand you. Too willing to meet you where you are, as you are, and look past all the bad parts of you.” 

You stifle your sob, the tears pouring out of your eyes. You glance back at the picture of you and Eren at the piano. And the memory sticks out in your head. 

“I love you.” 

You look over at Eren, his green eyes gentle and heartfelt as he takes your hand and squeezes three times. 

“Eren, you-” 

“I love you. The three squeezes - that’s what they’ve always meant.” he whispers, his hand warm in yours as me mimics the motion you’ve done a hundred times. 

You swallow hard. 

“Eren Jaeger is the love in the room. He gives people a chance, even when he shouldn’t. He’s supportive, so incessantly adamant about his belief in you, that you believe in yourself too. He loves hard, he loves soft, and everything in between.” 

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met. Until he wasn’t anymore. And I-I don’t know what they did to him. If they pumped him full of drugs, if they told him something about this industry that I’m unaware of, if-if it was something about me. But this Eren Jaeger, so full of love that it was almost spilling out of him, doesn’t exist anymore. He was real. But he’s not like this anymore.” 

You swallow hard. 

“This career, the way we live in our fishbowl. It-it’s so cruel. You all enjoyed watching me ruin him. You all enjoyed watching him ruin me. You liked that we spent our entire lives loving each other and maybe loved it even more when it came crashing down. It was interesting to speculate on, to talk about. You saw the softest love in us. In him. And then gutted it out of him like he was a fish.” 

You take a deep breath. 

“And with that, I quit.” 

The interviewer sits up, hand on your shoulder at the piano bench as the shock spreads across her face. 

“You’re quitting music?” 

“I’m quitting all of it. I don’t want anything to do with this. You already got to have him. You don’t get to have me too.” 

You give her a smile as you turn to the camera, before walking straight off of the set and into the waiting room outside. 

--

You sit on the bench outside, swinging your legs as you watch the people around you move. They’re all rushing to air the tape, which you expected. And making flash copies of the vinyl you gifted them, getting ready to post them online as the interview goes out. 

Figures. 

The only person who comes to your side is Leila. 

“HI.” you say, cheeks burning from the tears and your eyes swollen. 

She hands you the blue box, the one they hid behind the couch at the start, and shakes her head. 

You give her a strange look as you open up the box, filled with a large stack of letters. You reach for the one at the top, opening the pages to find Eren’s messy handwriting scribbled on the pages. 

Dear The Institute (I don’t know if you’re a person or like someone specific I’m just writing a letter to the address Levi gave me),  My name is Eren Jaeger. I’m fifteen, the son of Carla and Grisha Jaeger. I’m going to be in a new show called Attack on TItan. But that’s not why I’m writing to you. I want to tell you about my friend, my best friend.  Her name is Y/N L/N. She’s going to be my co-star in the show. You haven’t heard of her yet but I promise you won’t forget her. And I’ll make sure you won’t. Because I’m telling you now, she’s the next big thing. And you’re going to make her a triple threat.  I’ll spend this entire time convincing you until you do. But she’s amazing. It won’t take much.  You will hear from me again, Eren Jaeger

You pull another page out, opening up the crinkled pages, the block sitting in your throat. 

Hi (Can you tell me your name? It feels weird to call you The Institute. Like that’s almost dystopian.)  It’s Eren, again. Y/N is going to perform her song, New Year’s Day at the award show tomorrow. It’s her first one and it’s perfect. Like genuinely, who the fuck makes a hit song on the first try?  And even after making something great, she’s trying to be better. She doesn’t like to play the piano, but she tries anyway. Every time I try to teach her, she’s hanging on the ends of my words, trying over and over again until she’s satisfied.  She works very hard. I’m asking you to not overlook that.  See you soon (and when’s your birthday? We’re basically becoming friends at this point.)  Eren Jaeger 

You flip the pages, again. 

Good morning/good afternoon/good evening (covering all my bases, I don’t know where you live),  Now, don’t start discrediting what I’m saying as biased because of the rumors.  Granted, they are true. I adore Y/N with my entire heart. I love her with every fiber of my being. But that doesn’t discredit any of her work or how I’m vouching for it. Because she truly is amazing.  Her new movie is coming out on Saturday and her album on Sunday. Quit being assholes and give her this award already.  She deserves it. Really.  My deepest apologies (for calling you assholes and for bothering you all these years),  Eren Jaeger 

And again. 

Hi,  We broke up. And we don’t really talk much anymore. But the fact that I’m still writing this to you should be proof enough for you to at least CONSIDER her as a triple threat.  Like seriously. We aren’t even dating and I’m still raving about her work (because it’s that good).  Her new movie comes out soon.  She is all things great. The sun, the moon, the stars and everything in between. The light in the dark, every cheesy thing you can think of.  Art is a reflection of who you are. And her art has always been the best.  For the love of god, give in already,  Eren Jaeger. 

And the last one, despite being the shortest one, is what hurts the most. Dated for the day after the awards show, what you assume is barely hours after Eren was sobbing during your performance. 

Dear The Institute,  Thank you for listening. And for making her dream come true.  Best,  Eren Jaeger 

You hold the letters close to your chest as you cry into the box, nearly twenty or thirty pages you still haven’t read. Of Eren, his messy handwriting, and his endless love for you. 

His words ring in your mind. They don’t make any sense and none of it does. You didn’t have any faith in me like I did you. Your parents weren’t famous and you had no ins. I have to do something to offset that if you’re my co-star.  I’m not lying to you when I’m trying to make you feel better or tell you that you’re great. Maybe Hange and Levi are, but I’m not. I’ve always thought you were great.

You sit up from the bench and walk out the door with the box in your hand. You find Falco and Colt standing on the curb against the car, soft smiles on their faces as they push you into the car. And take you where no one gets to touch you, suck you dry, push you too hard, take what you love most away from you ever again. 

Your most haunted memory sticks out to you as you drive away. As you feel the physical weight of this life be left behind on that piano and let him go. 

The waves continue to crash, Eren’s hand raking through your fingers as you both look up at the moon, shining above you. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, Eren?” 

“Have you ever been skinny dipping?” 

You curl your nose in disgust. 

“When would I have time to go skinny dipping, Eren? And if I did, you would have known.” 

Eren turns on his side, a bright smile on his face. 

“Let’s do it.” 

“What?” 

“Skinny dipping.” 

“Eren. Quit being ridiculous.” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“I just turned twenty-two. Like fifteen minutes ago. I am the pinnacle of seriousness.” he states, putting on his best Erwin-like tone. 

“Eren.” 

“Come on. It’s like a quintessential experience. We don’t get those - prom, memorizing your crush’s classes and waiting outside them, going on a date in the city. Let’s do this one.” 

You nod as you both trudge to the shore, hands locked together as you quickly lose your clothes and run into the water, biting cold against your skin. The Seattle cold does nothing to help, the two of you shivering in each other's arms as you hold each other in the water. 

“Ttt-this was a sss-stuppid idea, Er-rren.” you shiver, glaring at him. 

“It-it’s ff-un.” he responds. 

You groan as he pulls you into his arms, your face flat against his neck as you guys hug in the water. You can feel his heart beating under your ear and you pull back to find him smiling at you, his hair matted against his forehead. You reach forward and push it out of his eyes. 

“Thanks.” he whispers. 

You nod, giving him a smile. He’s all but grinning at you, the smile on his face so big that it’s throwing you off. 

“Eren. What?” 

“Nothing. You.” 

“Me?” 

He nods, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Just trying to remember this moment. You and me - being real people.” 

“You sound like a crazy person.” 

“You’re not a pop star. I’m not an actor. You’re Y/N and I’m Eren. We’re skinny dipping. And I love you.” 

You turn your head to the side, confused by his sentiment all together. 

It makes sense to you now. 

--

Almost a year and a half later and you’re nervously running your sweaty hands against the pleats of your black dress. You half debate walking in, even though you flew all this way. If there’s still a place for you in this townhouse, even though you all but grew up here. 

You can hear a loud chatter on the inside, voices talking over each other as you think hard, every regret of yours running through your mind. You wonder if they replaced you already, if your doppelganger is walking around in there.

As always, this is what brings you back to them. All of them. And you hate it. Because as always, they are the only ones who understand. They are the only ones who feel it too. 

You’re fish. On the same side of the glass, separated from everyone else. 

You supposed that’s what it does to people. That being fish, to some extent, was something everyone related to - not just you and Eren, Mikasa and Jean, everyone else who was famous.

This tears down things that were a resolute fact - bringing you to places you never thought you’d return, to people you didn’t think you would ever need anymore. A fishbowl - separating you from everyone else on one side of the glass, with everyone else - normal and whole - on the outside.

Fame can do that to people. But grief can too.

The news clip rings in your head. 

. 

. 

. 

Marco Bodt, best known for his time as a recurring character in the drama series Attack on Titan, died on Friday, five days short of his twenty-fourth birthday. 

You brace yourself and knock on the door of the townhouse. Eren’s the one who answers.

--

next part linked here

an: lol. so does "passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long" still apply if he's dead....thoughts? also the lucky one tracklist

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[solargeist]

The Watchers in my AU are meant to be complicated and confusing. It’s part of why Grian stays for so long, why he’s so conflicted and why it bothers him to the point of venting to Mumbo.

They can be very kind, they do love him, they compliment him on everything. He gets gifts and everything given to him.

But on the other hand, bc they love him, they can be critical, telling him why that and why this, not that not this, they have pretty high standards for Beings that have seen everything already, not easy to genuinely impress.

They give him food, as parental figures should, anything he asks, but that’s sorta the problem, he always has to ask, there’s no way around this, no independence. He can ask for ingredients to cook by himself, but they’ll watch him.

He’s given clothes to wear, always within Watcher standard, dark and loose garments, open for his wings. He’d honestly prefer brighter colours, but that’s not rly a choice.

They tell him he’s special, he was chosen, better than the rest, a champion, a hero, and while it pets his ego, he feels pressure, they went out on a limp for him and he still can’t do enough. There is so much guilt.

Being here in the end messes with his psyche a bit, he’s much shorter than everyone, he has to rely on everyone, they all treat him like a kid, petting his hair or moving him via his shoulders instead of asking. He accidentally leans into this sometimes as a subconscious coping mechanism, he cries easier than he thinks he should. Tantrums where he has to press his face into his hands, or grumble and stomp off. He always has to apologize.

Despite being treated like a child, he is a Watcher child, so he studies a lot, he trains a lot. If he throws up from training, that’s no excuse (well by Flora’s standards)

He does feel a sort of comfort or safety around Aether, She’s lenient with him, but they’re definitely still not equals. She still hides things from him She thinks is too serious, She’s still overtly positive. He thinks abt Her sometimes, in hindsight he knows it was a family dynamic, and he feels guilt abt this too.

The Watchers love him, but they are ultimately overbearing, overwhelming, and frankly quite scary if you don’t play by their rules. Grian has reason to be cautious, the silent threats that hang over his head, never directly said to him, but traitors are cast out, if you’re not worthy you don’t deserve these gifts of wings or eyes. I think he’s convinced if they ever find him they’ll rip his eyes out with talons.

He won’t admit that he likes the attention sometimes, when his efforts are acknowledged and/or praised, when his hair is brushed. He wants their approval.

However, this is the only ‘human’ contact he gets. He doesn’t have anyone else, so it’s taken with a grain of salt how genuine his feelings are abt the attention.

[sillystarwrites]

Hi there!

Can you pretty please with a cherry on top do tadc cast x reader that looks like gingerbrave from the cookie run game series? Also just make reader a little shorter then pomni, thanks!

A/N: this is actually hella interesting?? Might be shorter (like about 5 per character) since there’s a lotta characters to write for here, but yipeeee

Type: tadc cast x gn!reader that looks like gingerbrave HCs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🎩Caine🎩

☆ you’re the first person to enter that looks more food-like, so hes a tad intrigued

☆ still, he treats you like any other member! Full tour and everything

☆ he also used gingerbread a lot more in adventures. For some reason. It did freak you out a bit, to be honest, but you didn’t say much 

☆ I also like the idea that being a gingerbread fella you broke easily, so he’d often fix you up after adventures 

☆ he also gave you an oven in your room, to cook new limbs in case he wasn’t there to repair you

♟️Kinger♟️

☆ he’s a bit bonkers in the light, so you accidentally scare him a lot

☆ he’s sorta like a parent figure to you tbh

☆ like during episode 3 if you get tossed with him and Pomni, he protects you two

☆ also pretty helpful with finding your limbs if they snap off at all

☆ I have like no ideas for him I’m so sorry 😭 

💜Jax💜

☆ he’s purposely break off your limbs, because he would

☆ he probably also broke your arm off just to eat it, so see what it tasted like

☆ it tasted like polygons, much like other food in the circus

☆ he also probably tried to shove you in the oven in your room

☆ considering you occasionally need to bake yourself new limbs, you probably have some sort of frosting to re-attach them with

☆ which he totally stole and managed to glue you to your ceiling 

☆ and you still had to go on the adventure after that 

🧸Ragatha🧸

☆ as she is with everybody, she’s super welcoming to you

☆ also protects you from Jax when he tried to break you

☆ in the instance he does, she IMMEDIATELY helps, she’s such a people pleaser oml

☆ like genuinely it’ll be the smallest thing and she insists on helping, it’s a bit overbearing

☆ you know she’s trying to be nice but god damn

☆ you let her help anyway

☆ she’s pretty nice other than that

☆ checks on you pretty regularly and stuff

☆ during episode 4’s adventure she does spill that she basically pities you.

☆ so it’s like damn okay then

☆ that definitely affects your relationship, but you try not to let it get to you

☆ key word try.

🔶Zooble🔶

☆ they get the bullying from Jax, so they try to help

☆ sometimes it results in their limbs being yoinked, but hey, at least you’re okay

☆ they also help you with your gingerbread limbs

☆ you’re like a lot shorter than them, which they DO think is kinda maybe funny

☆ like they’ll never mock you for it but compared to everyone else you’re almost comically short

🎡Pomni🎡

☆ surprised to have someone a bit shorter than her at first to be honest

☆ she’s pretty nice to you though!!

☆ she might worry about accidentally breaking you so she might avoid you sometimes, but she means well

☆ if someone (Jax) breaks your limbs she’s willing to help if Ragatha doesn’t beat her to it

☆ sometimes wonders if you’re edible, but then she realizes that’s weird asf so she never asks

☆ other than that she seems to like you

🎭Gangle🎭

☆ she seems to like you, you’re nice to her

☆ idk if you two would be that good of friends, but defo talk to each other every now and then

☆ you might distract Jax from bothering her, so she’s a bit grateful for that

☆ you both get along well, for sure

☆ if you two do become friends you help each other out every now and then with whatever

🫧Bubble🫧

☆ tries to eat you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: let me cook please fhshdhdhshdh I had no clue what I was doing.

[oldhalloweentape]

🪨Venture (OW II) x (gn) reader ⛏️

(ALT/Goth, Mostly Goth Leaning Edition!)

(Picture’s not mine!)

(Another request by @goohts , such a great supporter throughout all of this! On top of that, I have something to announce at the end of this post!)

- Right off the bat, such a great dynamic, when they first saw you they immediately went to introduce themselves— Compliment after compliment spilling from their lips.

- Asks you sooo many questions on how you decided on going for that style, means well of course, just wants to know the importance of it you as a person.

- If you’re a goth in particular? They definitely refer a whole lot to the extinct culture of the Goths, you know— The Germanic ones that wrecked the Western Roman Empire with extreme brutality and were the cause of medieval Europe emerging.

- Starts learning about the culture and history of your group so they can talk about something you like and is a part of your life.

- Dance moves? Learnt some of them so they can look “cool” at the Goth club with you, like that one video of that nerdy guy with the quarter that moves up and down like he’s on one of those kiddy revolving horses, (here) it’s a bit silly but it’s heartwarming nonetheless.

- Anyways, if you’re taller, shorter, or the same height, they can and will borrow some of your accessories/clothing. Cheeky about it too, as they show off what they borrowed as proof of them dating you, especially to Mauga.

- Can and will buy you things as a thank you for letting them borrow your stuff, likes buying stuff like that at a thrift store— That kind of stuff has personality to them.

- Piercings? They have one as well so I think they’d be giddy to show off the various extra piercings they have in this ornate jewelry box their Abuela gave Sloane specifically for them.

- Tattoos? I think we already know the answer to this one, so proud of their own and will admire yours, asking more questions as they ask whether or not yours has meaning behind them as they touch the inked skin.

- If you ask, they’d be up for getting some more alongside you, maybe even buy some extra piercings for you, goes in tandem with their love language of quality time and gift giving.

- All the while chattering about the history about both, they’re just so giddy and supportive.

- Will help and encourage you to indulge in dark facts about history if you’re into that, feed into it as they take you to a morbid museum of some sort as a date, only if you let them go to a dinosaur one afterwards.

- If you do makeup, they will be astonished by it and practically beg for you to do theirs.

- Can’t handle standing still for too long (firm ADHD Venture believer) but will accept kisses in between as a consolation prize for doing so. On top of watching an analysis video on rock formations, if it’s good they’ll be almost as transfixed as they are when they look at you.

- Once it’s done, there is a high chance of them coming back, makeup smeared or dirty and begging for you to do it again, will use the puppy eyes and the pouting lip tactic.

- Loves when you have your makeup on, thinks so cool and interesting on you, but they also love messing it up, if you catch my drift.

- I can just imagine after a particularly long time of Venture being away cause of their job, with a mix of smeared makeup on your faces after a making out, a smug grin on their face as they say something like, “Aw did you really miss me that much?”

- Boastful as all hell when it comes to the fact that, them a goofy ass archeologist was able to bag someone like you.

- Brags about you a lot whenever you come up in conversation and jumps at the chance of taking you to their job so they show you off.

- Introducing you to other people usually goes like this, “Yeah this is Reader, my partner— Looks absolutely amazing don’t they?” All the while holding the side of your waist with one arm with a self satisfied look on their face.

(Alright!!! So, after a bit of consideration I’m going to start writing for a character from Overwatch that I’ve really liked for years now, Junkrat! I like them dirty Ig lol.)

[pimosworld]

The story of us- Final Chapter

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

Chapter summary-The boys find a way to make your birthday very special.

CW-18+, Angst,Fluff,lots of fluff, tears but happy tears.

WK-5k

A/N- This is my first completed series so I’m very proud of myself for that accomplishment. I’m not saying goodbye to this group so please be on the lookout for future stories involving them as their relationship progresses. Thanks for sticking around 🤍 all of you.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Final chapter-It’s my party

“Come in officers.” You don’t skip a beat as you move aside to let the two men enter your home. Your training won’t allow you to let on that your heart is beating a mile a minute.

  You gesture them over to your dining room table to have a seat. Of course the couch feels more personal and you don’t want them to be comfortable. The more comfortable they are, the longer they’ll stay. You want to be able to sit with your nervous legs concealed under a table versus on display for them to judge your movements. 

  They likely know as much as they can about you. Your military background and a basic knowledge of your schooling and home life. What they likely don’t know is you are no basic militant soldier and you’ve had them clocked since they stepped through the threshold of your home. 

  Any form of torture or interrogation you’ve been through will make this look like child’s play. 

  You have a seat at the head of the table facing the door. Not offering them something to drink was another tactic in making sure they were uncomfortable enough to make this quick. 

  “We just want to ask you a few questions regarding your boyfriend Michael’s disappearance.”

  “Ex.” The officer who couldn’t keep his eyes away from the low cut neckline of your tank top looks up at you finally. “Sorry to interrupt but we broke up weeks ago.” 

  “Well that would explain why one of his coworkers reported him missing and not you.” Officer Williams seems to be offering up information you don’t necessarily need but could definitely be used to your benefit. “She seemed to be under the impression you two were still together.” 

  “We got into a pretty big argument and I asked him to leave. He hadn’t been acting himself lately and he didn’t really react well to my questioning his odd behavior.” You hold his eye contact as he waits for you to continue. “I have a box of his things that he never came to get if you want to take a look.” 

  He perks up at that and you stand to head out of the kitchen towards your bedroom. You don’t miss the way the other officer watches you walk clearly not having any sense of decorum about him. 

  You linger in the hallway a moment listening to their hushed voices. “She doesn’t know anything, let's just go.” 

  “I know but I need to go through the routine.” He says through gritted teeth. 

  Your leaving gave you a moment to breathe and come up with some idea of what you were going to say when they inevitably brought up the boys. 

  You set the box down in front of the shorter officer and he goes for it like a kid being handed a toy to keep himself busy. Leaving you with the one who had some semblance of professionalism. 

  He tilts his head towards the ornate bouquets on your countertop. “Those all for you? You must be a lucky woman.” 

  “Oh my friends spoil me, they dropped those off earlier.” Not entirely a lie.

  “What’s the occasion if you don’t mind me asking?” I do mind actually.

  “It’s my birthday in a few days.” The mention of your birthday makes you wonder if you would even be able to see them or know what’s going on. 

  The other officer seems bored of looking through the box of his random assortment of clothes and paperwork that he left as he slides it forward. 

  “I don’t really see anything in here but I’d like to take it off your hands if you don’t mind?” You throw your hands up and he tucks the box under his arm as he stands seemingly ready to go. 

  “Well officer Williams and I should be getting out of your hair.” He offers a tight lipped smile at his partner who doesn’t manage to disguise his eye roll from you. 

  You’re torn between acting like you don’t care about his disappearance and not wanting to come off like you care too much about your ex boyfriend. It would be a little suspicious even without evidence that you’re involved that you could care less about someone you spent over six months with. Truthfully you’re relieved. 

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you any more information.” They wave you off in your attempt to sound concerned. 

  “It’s probably for the best since he was involved in some pretty shady business dealings.” The more competent of the two turns around to hand you his card. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling yourself, but if anyone comes around here giving you trouble or asking questions about him you give me a call.” His wink suggests something else and now you’ve all but written off these two idiots, who are no doubt on a wild good chase. 

  “Those your delta buddies?” The other officer gestures to their photo on the wall with you strategically placed in the middle. 

  Annoyed at pointing out the obvious but forced to bite back a smart retort. “Yes, that was taken shortly after I joined.” 

  “Well I’m sure you could call on one of them if you run into any trouble.” They chuckled to themselves as they stepped out into your front porch. 

  You have no idea 

  ****

  Will closes the laptop just after you close your front door. He runs his hands through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s done

  Santiago’s idea to purposely leave you in the dark offered you the chance to have a genuine interaction should the cops show up. Which they assumed they would since you were his most recent relationship. 

  Ben’s already left from the table, no doubt to start packing his bags because he knew once the cops left they were going to head home. Ben may have worn his heart on his sleeve but they were all holding on by a thread not being able to talk to you or see you in person. 

  The little glimpses of you they got through the camera only served as a means of torture. Watching you do the most menial task in the kitchen while dancing or kicking your feet on the couch when the book your reading gets interesting. They want to be there for those things everyday. 

  Someday

  The next mission, which they had days to plan out being holed up in the safe house was orchestrating your birthday. You always told them not to make a big deal about it. Just being with you boys is allI want. 

  They skated on that for too long. You deserved more for your birthday than the normal hang out at the bar in your usual spot. You are a big deal so they should make you feel like one. Especially if they were going to show you how committed they are. 

  Everyone had their specific tasks tailored to their skill level and you’d be a fool to think each of them weren’t going to treat this like the most important thing they’ve ever done. 

  All doubts about their relationship or what people would think were out the window before they even stepped foot into the safe house. 

  If they were willing to travel to another country and steal a drug lord's money, they could just as easily tell society to fuck off when it comes to you.

  ****

  You haven’t slept that well in a long time. Some may find it odd after being questioned by the police, but Mike being gone puts you at ease. Knowing whatever happened to him was not by accident and whatever they did, it was for you. 

  You were completely ruined for any other man when you stepped foot into their lives. It’s a shame it’s taken you this long to notice because you’ve wasted so much time. 

  Your relationships with each of them over the years have developed into something you can’t live without. You couldn’t put your finger on why your brain wouldn’t allow you to look at any one of them as just a friend. It made things difficult when your lives were on the line so you shoved it down deep somewhere to hide away and never resurface. Until Tom passed away and all those feelings came flooding back and instead of embracing it, you ran head first in the wrong direction. 

  It’s a little sick and twisted but you really have your ex to thank for pushing them back into your life and making all of you open your eyes up to see the most perfect thing was already happening right in front of you. 

  You're thankful you have work to keep you busy today. You know it’s highly likely they’ll be coming home from wherever they are and you don’t want to sit by your phone all day waiting for a call or text. 

  You hop in your shower letting the hot water (scalding) as Frankie would put it cascade over you. Washing the last few weeks away, the steam is opening up your lungs and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in a long time. You nearly choke on it as you hear your phone ping from the counter. Almost breaking your neck and towel rack in the process of jumping out to read your text. 

  Benjamin: I'll be seeing you this week honey

                                          When

Benjamin:😘

  You stand their half naked soaking the mat beneath you as you wait for a response. You look up and see your blurry reflection in the mirror and get a sneaky idea. Your hands brush quickly over the mirror streaking the glass but revealing you just enough. You pull the towel up slightly before you bite your lip and snap a photo. 

  Image 

               Benjamin: Sweetheart you’re killing me. 

                    Benjamin: I’ll see you on Wednesday 

 

  ****

  Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough. Thankfully you weren’t assigned to the ER today so you had time to rush home and shower, unsure of when Ben would be showing up or if he was planning on staying.

  You put on your  favorite leggings that hugged your curves perfectly and your old army tee shirt. After giving yourself a once over in front of the floor length mirror you dabbed on some new perfume that you treated yourself to for your birthday. 

  The doorbell rings and you try not to sprint to the door as you shuffle through your hallway, taking a slow deep breath before opening it.

  Your legs nearly buckle at the sight of Ben on your porch, looking the most nervous you’ve ever seen him. He’s shakily holding a piece of canvas paper in his hands as he sways back and forth. He has a blue polo on to match his eyes and a pair of tan slacks. His hair is combed back out of his face and he looks so handsome you could cry. 

  “I missed you.” He breathes out like it’s the first time his lungs have had air in weeks. 

  You can’t help yourself when you launch into his arms and he clings to you like his life depends on it. 

It feels like an eternity as you stand on your front porch just holding him, breathing in his scent. A new cologne you don’t recognize that washes over you. 

  “Oh shit the paper.” He reluctantly lets you go to smooth out the paper he dropped on the ground as you try to glance at it and he holds it back from you with a wink. 

  “What’s that?” You gesture towards it as he skims it over again like he’s reciting lines. 

  “It’s an itinerary.” He smiles at you then and your heart can’t take how much you’ve truly missed him. 

  You step aside awkwardly to let him in but he doesn’t move from his spot on the porch. “Are you coming in?” 

  “I’m not supposed to.” He sounds a little defeated as he says it which causes even more confusion for you. “Read the itinerary and leave…”

  “Oh so you’re here on strict orders?” You’re hoping the teasing will ease some of this tension. “So read it to me.” You step further into the house far enough away that he would have to follow. 

  “You think you’re slick?” You nod your head as you sit down on the couch with your legs tucked under you. 

  He mumbles something under his breath about getting in trouble as he sits next to you. “There will be a special delivery here, when you get off work tomorrow.” 

  “What..”

  “Obviously I can’t tell you what it is or that would ruin the surprise. Just be here to sign for it at 7.” He shifts a little on the couch so he’s facing you. 

  “Friday Maria is taking you to do some kind of spa day.” His emphasis on spa has you laughing. 

  Santiago’s sister Maria was always your number one fan. She was the woman you could confide in when you were constantly surrounded by men who just didn’t understand. You know she always secretly hoped you’d end up with Santi but you’re sure she has no idea what’s actually going on. She just recently moved closer to Santi after her divorce and you feel a little guilty for not having reached out sooner. You didn’t want to burden her with your own issues when she was just getting her life back together.

  “Saturday at seven a limo will arrive to pick you up and take you to a separate location for dinner.” He sets the paper face down on the coffee table and smooths his hands along his slacks. 

  “Ben, the first rule of kidnapping is never let them take you to a second location.” 

  “Don’t worry sweetheart, you can trust the driver.” He winks at you again and if he doesn’t stop you're going to have to glue his eye shut. 

  “So…I guess you have to go now right?” 

  “Ya…I should go.” Ben doesn’t move as he watches you fidget with a run on the couch thread. 

  His hand reaches out to still your movements and you finally look at him. It’s been so long since he took you on that date and by the way you’re looking at him it would be so easy to just walk you down your hallway. To the bedroom he’s been in so many times to simply sleep. He could cave like Santiago and you would let him. 

  He leans in, pressing you back against the headrest of the couch. His face is just inches from yours as you close your eyes. His fingers trace the outline of your bottom lip and then trail down your neck as he cups the back of your head and finally presses his lips to yours. It’s soft and slow, like you're just breathing each other in. He tastes like mint with a hint of your cherry lip balm that you left in his car ages ago. 

  He pulls away reluctantly and rests his forehead against yours. “I promise after Saturday, we won’t have to keep stopping this short.” 

  You groaned under your breath. “I don’t know what that means.” 

  He kisses your forehead and stands from the couch, pulling you with him. Without your shoes on it feels like he towers over you. You wrap your arms around him one last time, burying your face in his chest. 

  “You’ll know what it means soon enough hon’.”

  ****

  Texting the boys to find out what your special delivery was of course yielded no results. You resigned yourself to guessing throughout your work day as to what it might be. 

  Your house couldn’t possibly hold any more flower arrangements and you don’t think they would get you a pet. Or would they? You don’t think they would do something that rash for your birthday, but then again Mike was nowhere to be found and that wasn’t of his own doing. 

  You make it home just in time to make yourself a quick dinner, grilled cheese and tomato soup one of your favorites. You’re hardly paying attention to the show you put on when the doorbell rings. You bolt up from the couch and open the door hoping to see one of the boys. 

  A beautiful woman in a crisp black suit is standing next to a rack with black garment bags lined along it. 

  You look down briefly at your shorts and oversized shirt. You’re two for two opening the door to some very well dressed individuals, while in your lounge clothes. 

  I have a delivery, I’ll need you to sign off as she says your name. She hands you a small pad to sign and you politely step aside as she wheels it into your home. 

  “Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to place this?” 

  “There is fine, thank you.” You haven’t torn your eyes from the rack as you try to decipher what’s inside.

  She offers you a courteous smile as she exits through the front door. You stand there briefly as you watch her walk to a sleek black delivery van and drive away. 

  You slam the door and push the rack to your bedroom so fast you almost knock it over. It’s safe to assume it’s clothing so you strip down to your panties and fish your nice bra out of your top dresser drawer. 

  The sound of the zipper and rustling fabric is all you can hear over the sound of your rapid breaths. Your hands are shaking with excitement as you open the first bag to reveal a navy blue satin dress. You take it off the hanger and notice the intricate straps on the back, opting to forgo those and just step into it. 

  You pull the thin straps over your shoulder as you look at yourself in the large mirror in your bedroom. It’s been a while since you got really dressed up, and despite your unkempt hair and no makeup you feel so beautiful in it. 

  You smooth your hands down the silky fabric and straighten up a little. 

  You look good

  Your excitement starts to build as you quickly realize you have several more items to try on. You delicately extract yourself from this dress so as to not damage it. There’s one way you get to keep all of these so you need to treat them very carefully until you decide what you’re wearing. 

  The next dress is a burnt orange color with a velvety smooth fabric. You brush your thumb across it reveling in the way it feels, knowing how good it will feel in your skin. 

  It is decidedly less difficult than the first and stretchy enough that you can pull it over your head. It has thicker straps and a slit going up your left thigh. The first dress was beautiful but this is leading so far. 

  You set his dress on the hanger and put it in your closet before moving on to the next. 

  The next is a bright yellow strapless dress. The fabric is chiffon and it’s so far the most revealing thing you could possibly own. It’s stunning when you pull it out but you’re also wondering how exactly you're going to zip this. It’s sort of origami on the top and has a train which you love. 

  You zip it as far as you can by yourself and even with it slightly agape in the back the boning in the bodice is cinching you in. You round your shoulders back with your hands on your hips as you marvel at the image before you. Part of you wanted to take a picture of each one and send it but now you’re certain they want this to be a surprise. 

  If picking the best of four was going to be your future you were going to have to get really good at making diplomatic decisions. 

  The final garment bag has a note attached to the top. 

  We know you’ll look beautiful in any of these but please pick your favorite to wear on your birthday. Don’t be worried about the weather or being in front of a crowd when making your decision. 

  As if they could read your mind. They know you might think twice about wearing a few of them in public and the humidity at times could be unbearable even with nothing on.

  They are all yours to keep. Happy Birthday Honey. 

  You feverishly wipe your eyes and set the note down on your bed. 

  The final garment bag reveals a sparkling red dress. You walk backwards as you pull it out and the layers of fabric trail behind it. You hold it up to your chest in the mirror and try your best to compose yourself. It’s all so overwhelming and exhilarating all at once. 

  You're careful with the straps as you step into the dress. They might as well be non-existent with how thin they are. The sweetheart neckline is doing wonders for your chest and the silhouette billows out into an A line skirt. You do a twirl in the mirror as the fabric rustles the ground. You feel like a princess in this dress and you find yourself staring for far longer than you want to. 

  You glance around looking for your phone, remembering you left it in the living room. You traipse through the house in your dress and find it sitting on the arm of the couch. It’s been over an hour. A text from Santi not long ago is your only notification. 

  Santiago: What ya doing cariño 

  You type out a quick reply and wait until you see those three dots. 

                          Playing dress up

  Santiago: How is it going

                            Very well

  Santiago: Which one are you wearing now

                            You know I can’t tell you

  Santiago: It’s the red one

                            Goodnight Santiago

  Santiago: Goodnight cariño 

  ****

  You're nervously pacing your living room, waiting for Maria to arrive. You haven’t seen her since the wedding and that marriage fell apart faster than it was conceived. You’re embarrassed that you haven’t reached out to see how she’s doing but Colombia happened around the same time and you both took a step back. Days turned into weeks turned into months and neither of you knew where to pick up again. 

  Your doorbell rings ripping you from your thoughts as you take a deep breath for the third time this week and answer the door. 

  Her back is to you, admiring the flowers on your trellis when you open the door. She turns to you with that same blank expression that Santiago has all but perfected. The tears brimming her eyes give way to the demeanor she’s clinging to. 

  Much like Santiago it doesn’t take much for her to break as she steps forward and pulls you into her arms. You can hardly understand each other as you mumble apologies through tears and a little bit of her hair is in your mouth as you cling to her. It’s sloppy and messy and you love it. You missed her so much and the relief washes over you at the realization that she missed you just as much. 

  “I think we both need this today.” She leans back and frames your face with her hands, wiping your tears with her thumbs. “Are you ready to be pampered?” 

  You nod, still too overwhelmed to speak without choking back tears. 

  “Okay Honey let’s go.”

  ****

  You’re thankful they booked you a couples massage. The thought of being alone right now after spending such a great day with your friend was paralyzing. 

  She had a lot of questions for you about your life over the last few years. You didn’t have a lot of answers for her but you did your best to put her at ease. 

  You're lying side by side on separate tables as two strangers try to rub years of stress and worry out of your sore muscles. It’s comfortably quiet for some time as you take in the tranquil white noise and smell the lavender and eucalyptus in the room. 

  “I’m glad you guys finally figured it out.” Her voice is slightly muffled with her head down on the massage table. You don’t know if she’s referring to Santi or if she even knows half of what’s going on. “I just have one question for you.” 

  “Sure…ask me anything.” 

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” You think for a moment at the weight of her question. You turn your head on its side so she can hear you clearly before answering. 

  “Not a clue.” 

  She turns her head to you and smiles. “Good…people who know what they’re doing scare me.” 

  You both laugh and she reaches out to lock her finger with yours as they dangle between the two tables. 

  ****

  You stare at yourself for the second time this week in this beautiful dress. It was perfect for whatever tonight had in store. 

  It’s five till and you're anxiously awaiting your ride as you stand by the door placing the strappy heels on your feet. 

  For the first time all week, you hear a light knock instead of the doorbell. When you open it you’re met with Frankie dressed in a tight black button down and black slacks. His hair is on display which you assume has some kind of product or gel. His brown curls frame his face perfectly as he smiles down at you. 

  He leans in, placing a kiss on your cheek. “You look…beautiful.”

  “You don’t look too bad yourself Morales.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment even though you didn’t pick my dress.” He takes your hand as you  step out onto the front porch. You turn around but he’s already got his spare key in hand, locking up behind you. 

  “You’ll just have to take me somewhere I can wear it.” 

  “That can be arranged.” He helps you down the steps as a long black limousine comes into view in front of your driveway. He opens the door for you and helps you slide in before he starts to close it. 

  “What are you doing?” 

  “Someone has to drive hermosa.” He closes the door, shrouding you in darkness until the car starts up and the back seats are lined with soft yellow lights. 

  This is by far the most extravagant display of affection and attention they’ve ever paid to your birthday. Every year you’d spent together you told them you simply just wanted to enjoy their company. 

  It didn’t bother you that you always went a little too hard on their birthdays because that’s how you show love. You think this may be their way of making up for doing just the bare minimum and then some. 

  It’s hard to tell where you're going with the sun having set and the dark tint of the windows. It’s not until you pull up to the airfield where Frankie works that you recognize your surroundings. 

  Coming into view is an open hanger with the boys standing in front. It’s a beautiful sight seeing them all standing there…waiting for you. Santi and Ben are talking to each other as Will stares down at a small piece of paper. 

  Frankie heads over to them before opening your door. Santiago looks at him and grins as he makes his way over. He has the most adoration in his eyes as he opens the door for you. 

  “Fuck…you look beautiful.” 

  He holds his hand out for you as you try to swallow the lump in your throat. Ben lets out a low whistle as you exit the car. You’ve been in hostage situations less nerve wracking than this moment. 

  They lead you to the open hanger and you’re taken aback at the romantic set up. A singular plane in the background.White roses and candles line the table set up for five. 

  “So…how did we do?” Frankie’s deep baritone voice settles into your bones as his hand rests against your back. 

  How do you tell them it’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for you? How do you tell them you’ve been waiting for this moment longer than you’d care to admit? 

  You turn to him then as he sees the tears in your eyes. 

  “Please don’t cry.” 

  “Don’t worry they’re happy tears.” You laugh as he wipes your cheeks. 

  Frankie pulls up a chair behind you and you sit as he goes to stand by the other three. 

  Will digs into his pocket and pulls out the piece of paper he was reading when you arrived. He opens it and folds it back quickly. 

  “I was going to read some things we all wrote down, but it doesn’t sound right anymore.” He pauses briefly as the others stare in confusion. “I’m sick of listing out reasons why this works. I can’t explain in words how I feel…how we feel about you.”

  “You’re doing great.” The sarcasm dripping from Benny’s voice has you chuckle. 

  You’re glad Will seems just as nervous as you are. He was always the one who had a way with words and now here he is unable to form a coherent thought. 

  “All I’m saying is, we want you to give whatever this is between us a chance. Life feels so much better with you in it everyday.”

  You can hear yourself saying yes before he even finishes what he’s said.

  “Did you expect me to say anything other than yes.” 

  “I don’t know sweetheart, I’ve never done anything like this before.” Ben claps his brother on the shoulder as they all surround you. 

  “So…what do we do now?” 

  Santi leans in and kisses your cheek. 

  “We have our first date.” 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

The dresses

The birthday

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[kailoraurelius]

You guys have been so kind and enthusiastic in this word game we've been playing and so patient waiting for a new chapter. 🙏 Thank you so much for it all. And I'd like to give you a little gift!

I was looking through my WIPs to answer some of the word game prompts and I found my first draft from Beca and Chloe's first kiss in Stained Glass!! it was originally supposed to happen as part of Chapter 6—the scene where Chloe's just gotten out of the tub and she is in Beca's room, talking about if they're going to be okay with kissing each other. This was if they'd gone for it instead of Chloe deflecting and laughing it off. I ended up scrapping it and putting the kiss in later because it felt too early. But the actual moment of the kiss should read familiar because I kept that part for what I published! And the rest of this scene was piecemealed into the rest of the story or other stories over time. So thank you all again, I hope you enjoy this little behind-the-scenes!

But then Beca moves and all of that is gone too. Because Beca is kissing her. It’s soft, barely a brushing of lips, just a whisper of breath on her skin, and Beca rocks back on her heels, rolling her lips together. “Sorry,” she says. “I was gonna answer your question but then I just thought, sack up, dude, and—” Chloe doesn’t remember what her question even was. “It’s—it’s okay, Becs. Stop rambling.” She reaches out, catching Beca’s shoulders with her hooked wrists, possibly to keep her from running away. Because the ground feels a little unsteady right now and she knows Beca doesn’t do unsteady—she’s the most steady person Chloe knows. So she holds onto her and shoves down those butterflies in her chest, clearing her throat. “That was good. Sweet. Thank you?” She doesn’t mean for that last part to sound like a question, but it does and Beca snorts. “You’re welcome, I guess?” She closes one eye, tilting her head and baring her teeth. “Though I don’t think you should thank me after every kiss. Your family will definitely think it’s weird.” She’s joking and the knot in Chloe’s throat loosens. If she’s joking about it, she’s fine. It’s not weird. They can do this and still be best friends when it’s over. A few kisses here and there and they’ll be fine. “Okay, well. We should...try again. I mean—” She rocks Beca’s shoulders back and forth once. “It’s got to seem natural, comfortable, you know?” “Right. Was that not—” “Oh!” Chloe seizes Beca’s cheeks, feeling her earrings pressing against her pinkies. “No, no, that was great! That was very natural and I felt very comfortable. Thank you.” Beca’s fingers wrap around her wrists, tugging her hands down a bit so that they rest on either side of her neck. “Stop thanking me for kissing you. It’s weird, dude.” Chloe laughs. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop. But, um.” She winks dramatically. “Just in case, we should try again.” “Okay, Beale,” Beca says, eyes narrowing. “I think you might be taking advantage a bit. I mean, I know I’m hot but I ain’t easy, okay? I don’t just give out kisses.” “Oh, so I need to work for it?” And this is simple. Chloe knows how to playfully flirt with Beca. She’s been doing it practically since they met. And Beca’s quick to flirt right back when she’s in the mood to and it’s just their way of communicating sometimes. It’s not weird or different at all. One kiss hasn’t changed anything. Two shouldn’t either. Beca bites her lip, sucking in a breath. “I don’t know. Maybe if I was promised one of your amazing Beale breakfasts tomorrow I’d feel more giving.” And it’s so easy, too easy, to slide right into Beca’s space, looping her arms around the shorter girl’s shoulders. “I can promise that.” “Oh, well then—” Beca’s shoulders flex under her arms and Chloe can picture her fists clenching at her sides. And maybe it’s a little too easy, but Chloe doesn’t focus on that. Beca’s lips press against hers and stay there this time. They’re soft and slide along Chloe’s painfully slow as Beca tilts her head. It’s a weird thing to know about her best friend—that Beca kisses with slightly parted lips, that she breathes in through her nose as she changes the angle of the kiss, that the muscles in her shoulders jump a little when Chloe presses back. That she leaves a hint of her favorite little caramel candies on Chloe’s lips when she pulls away. It’s chaste, just a pressing of lips and Chloe’s arms around Beca’s neck. But she thinks—idly, as she leans back—that she’d rank it as one of her best first (second) kisses of all time. “Better?” It almost sounds like Beca’s voice wavers, but Chloe can’t be certain because she’s still not sure the room isn’t shifting a little. “Much,” she says, opening her eyes to find Beca smirking at her. She loves that stupid smirk, but she loves wiping it off her face so much more. So she slips out of Beca’s grasp and backs up to the door. “But next time, we should totally use tongue.” Beca’s ears go red all over again and Chloe laughs, pulling the door open and slipping out just as Beca snaps, “Chloe!”

And there it is! What could have been!

[west-brooke]

Can you expand more on what would’ve happened if Leo/Mikey/Raph had been the ones to end up being taken by the brother Kraang? I love your work and I’m sorry to hear about your writers block! Hope this helps! ❤️

For sure! Thank you for the ask! I’m not surprised those concepts caught on lol so I think I’ll probably go into some more details on 1) the ideas of what would happen and 2) why I’m writing new hardware with Donnie and not one of the other bros lmao

Putting some of this beneath a cut bc this one’s gonna be LONG.

The Tear AU

In an AU where Leo is taken instead of Donnie, the Krang would have to work fast. Donnie has a tracker on Leo, and even if the tracker is taken out of him at some point, it would at least give the others a much smaller area they have to search. However, Leo’s use of portals would be able to help in this, since the ability to get Krang matter wherever and whenever the Krang wants could give them a huge advantage. It would probably be a much shorter story, since the turtles have a very limited amount of time to stop The Tear and the Brother before things just get absolutely out of hand, but they’ll be able to actually get there to deal with the issues and start fighting relatively quickly. Leo probably isn’t super conscious while any of this is going on, since even though he’s good at strategizing, the Krang probably wouldn’t see much virtue in Leo keeping his capacity for thought and just use him as a portal generator.

The Guard AU

Sorry Raph ily but this would be the least fun for me to write I think lol. You definitely CAN make the “Raph gets krangified again” plot work, but it’s not something I personally wanna dedicate too much headspace too. The whole of the movie was basically this plot, and it would mostly be Raph and the Brother trying to free the other Krang, get the key, all of that stuff. There could definitely be some fun angst of maybe with him critically injuring a member of his family, but most of what can be done here has already been done. There also wouldn’t be much of Raph fighting back bc the Brother Krang (or at least my idea of him) would just kinda. Turn off his brain since it’s not really useful to him.

The Battery AU

In the case of Mikey being captured, it’s probably the most interesting out of the three for me. Most likely how the plot would play out is that Michelangelo is captured, and the Krang probes his memory to find out about the bad future and decides to try and use that power. He brings Mikey back to his den and then there, uses Mikey’s powers to tear open a doorway to the bad dimension and to try and bring the successful Krang and their army in through the portal. Mikey either breaks out or is rescued at that point, and the rest of the story is focused on the brothers fighting off the Krang from the alternate dimension. Mikey being injured in some sort of way from having to use that power is definitely a possibility and some good angst too.

The way New Hardware works and the trope it plays off for me is the idea of the “smart guy” (Donnie, in this case) and what would actually happen in a way if they were removed from a plot. Over and over again in rottmnt and in other media, things can only “get started” once the characters have information to go on, either by convenience or by getting it from somewhere. Characters like Donatello are catalysts in the literal definition, speeding up the process of the plot by getting characters the information they need to go start kicking butt or getting into the action and all that.

Think about the movie, and think about what would have happened if Donnie wasn’t there, if he hadn’t implanted the trackers in anyone. It’s brushed over and then played as a joke that those trackers are there, but the fact it’s brushed over is just an example of how important those characters are to a narrative. They didn’t have to look for Raph that much, they just knew where he was and could focus their attention of fighting the bad guys to get to him instead.

The point of New Hardware is 1) because Donnie is my favorite character and unfortunately for him that means I like giving him angst and 2) to show what would realistically happen in a worst case scenario when characters don’t have that convenient information to go off of anymore. Information is a type power as people say, and without Donnie on their side, they’re at a big disadvantage when it comes to intel.

[seldomscilence16]

The Dream au gift part 3!

So at some point in this part, a character will 'make a face', obviously whatever face you think is valid, but it was in fact an accident on my part and I decided it could stay cause I imagined the character making that face and thought 'yeah he would'. But such a face is not one I can describe easily, so feel free to send your best pictures/memes of faces you thought of! And check out the dream au tag!

.

John Dory drops from the vents in a roll, the empty room so much larger than himself somehow feels stifling all the same. He finds an empty perfume glass, though it doesn’t smell like perfume, rather he sees speckles of familiar stomach churning glittery red and a smell he can only describe as suffering. 

There's no sign of Floyd. 

A shadow falls over him, not unlike the nightmare that the tree was, he sees a hand- giant and quick- reaching towards him. He has seconds to react, to dodge and run and get back into the vent, blood rushing in his ears too loud to catch whatever the giant screeches. Huddled in the vents, hair surrounding him, he makes no sound as he waits the giants out. Always hide. They can catch you if they can see you.

“Find him! The rage dome is around the corner and we need his talent!” 

John doesn’t stick around to hear the rest. His brother wasn’t here. 

But maybe… maybe he was somewhere else, maybe they all were. 

.

It started as a mostly normal day. 

Sure there was that strange critter that definitely got eaten by another, but Clay was putting it behind him thank you very much. 

So as night crawled closer, and their little colony settled into their normal nighttime routine, he was ready to chalk up that uneasy feeling in his gut to a bad milkshake. Of course, that is always when the universe decides to mess with him. 

A scout issues the warning noise for approaching unknowns, and Viva issues the camo and ready defenses response call. The course is dark and silent, and Clay can make out what sounds like voices and wooden wheels on the overgrown path that might have once been a road. Rarely do they get anything more dangerous than a large critter, to hear an… argument? It has them all on edge. 

He ushers the younger Trolls further into their hidey hole, hears Viva’s scary clown voice begin, and waits for any sign they’ll need to activate the rest of their defenses. 

“-Trolls?” 

His ears flicker, the clown shuts down, he heads out of hiding cautiously. 

Viva is talking with two Trolls. One with hooved feet and red hair, a scruffy stressed face, and the other bright pink and more familiar features. Behind them is a shorter troll who looks akin to the taller, and three more behind him. Despite the oddness of three of them, his eyes are drawn to the one eyeing the course with a tense line to his shoulders. 

There's something about him, and the feeling of familiarity only grows the closer he gets. When their eyes meet, despite how different he looks from his memory, Clay knows. 

“Baby Branch?”  

But his little brother does not light up and smile that joyous smile, 

“Just Branch.” And gosh doesn't he sound so different too, what happened to that little boy he knew? 

“You okay Branch?” The other Troll, the Pink one, slips her paw into his, a worried look on her face. 

The softness that enters his eyes, that blue shine it had lacked just a moment ago, tells Clay all he needs to know about who this is to his brother. 

“Yeah Poppy.” He turns back to Clay, a guarded look about him, “We just found the wrong brother is all.” 

Her own eyes are intense as she turns to him, and he knows he’s seen that look somewhere before,

“Hi, I’m Poppy.” Despite her cheery tone, there's an underlying hardness to it, “We’re here looking for Floyd, his boyfriend hasn’t seen him in months and he’s been worried sick. Don’t suppose you’ve seen him?” 

It's a lot to take in, he finds himself blinking several times, 

“Floyd’s… missing?” 

“News to me too.” Branch confirms, “Since I thought you all were dead, or at least dead to me.” He shrugs, ignoring Poppy’s light smack in admonishment, though Clay thinks it was more for show than anything. 

“He’s… he’s not here. I haven’t seen him since… Does this mean you guys made it through the tunnels??” 

Branch’s brow furrows and a million emotions flash through his eyes, Poppy is the one that answers,

“Floyd wasn’t part of the Escape…” Hesitant as she gauges Branch’s mood. 

“But… He was with you and Grandma..”

“I haven’t seen any of you since that night.” Branch finally says, shoulders slumping, “We were following a flying critter of some kind, Dickory says it usually stays around giants, so we were hoping it would lead us to some.” 

“Giants?” Clays voice lowers, “Do you mean Bergens?” 

“Oh no, not at all! We’ve established peace with the Bergens now! I’m best friends with the future Queen.” Poppy’s bright tone is met with silence, several Putt Putts have already rolled away to hide, a child is crying he thinks. 

“So… he was taken by different giants…?” 

“It's a long story.” 

.

“This guy?” Clay jerks a thumb where Hickory is still talking with Viva, an incredulous curve to his brows.

Branch nods, his own face betraying his astonishment. 

Hickory wasn’t a bad dude, despite the whole… thing that happened a few months ago, but it was still weird to learn of his previously thought dead brothers love life before he even knew about his life life. And Poppy mentioned something about the whole, siblings teasing each other's relationships? But he’s not 100% sure about all that either. 

Mostly Branch was just trying to ignore the hole in his heart in favor of actually finding his brother, he could deal with everything else later. 

“So, what's our next lead?” Barb sidles up beside them awkwardly, Poppy joining the two yodelers and Putt Putt leader. 

“There's only so many Giants within the area of the Kingdoms.” Branch points out, to which the Queen nods her agreement, Clay giving a tight-lipped, lost look but motioning for him to continue anyway, “I doubt it was Bergens, Gristle has warned the other settlements and it's kinda hard to miss them. So we just find the next closest one?” Branch ends it on a question, he’s not well versed in ALL giants, honestly he's just well versed in fighting things bigger than himself, but he’s still learning about the other Troll Tribes, he hasn't gotten around to other races yet. 

“I mean I guess that's fair…” Barb pulls a map from her bag, the updated ones the Funk Trolls had worked on, “I guess it would be this mountain thing over here.” 

Clay and Branch look over her shoulders, seeing the strange mountain labeled Rageous. It's not far considering, but far enough to remain unseen in their adventures. 

“Rageous sounds dangerous-” Clay pauses, a face made at his own semi rhyme, “But what would they want with a Troll?” 

.

First^^ Prev<< Next>>

[kokinu09]

can you write me a felix apocalypse fic 🤔

running ‘til the end

word count : 2083

A/N : Thanks keeps, new series unlocked 😂

trigger warnings : none yet

~~*~~

The bowstring is pulled taut beside his ear, aimed directly at the grazing doe a few yards away. Felix keeps his breathing steady, eyes sharp on his target.

He can’t let the potential meal get away this time. Hunger gnawing at his insides from just the thought of finally getting to eat something substantial.

The air is quiet around him. Only the sounds of nature filling the silence. The slight breeze rustling the leaves and overgrown grass, the occasional chirp of a passing bird, the snap of a nearby twig—

The doe’s head whips up before she darts away to disappear in the wild brush.

“Wha—! No!” He quietly curses, forced to lower his bow as he watches his prey completely vanish in the overgrowth. His teeth grit in anger, eyes sweeping the area to find the source of what started the deer instead.

Some rustling catches his attention at the edge of a tree line not far across from him, reflexively raising his bow in defense towards the presence. He half expected to see an undead monster stumbling into the clearing. But, to his surprise, he sees two boys looking to be around his age carelessly bickering as they come out into the open.

“How could you possibly think that was a good idea!” The shorter of the two huffs, cheeks puffing out like a rodent’s full of food as he stumbles trying to keep up.

“You’re just mad you weren’t the one to think of it,” The taller, more slender boy quips. His movements smooth and graceful as he easily maneuvered through the leaves and branches.

“Excuse me?! You think I wanted to nearly break my neck from that jump?!”

“Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t even that hi—”

Felix stands, making himself known with his bow drawn, deciding enough is enough. If these trespassers keep it up, they’ll scare every animal in the area so far away, he’d have to cross the border to catch them. Or attract the unwanted attention of a hoard of brainless monsters that would kill them all anyway.

The tall one spots him almost immediately, cutting himself off when his movement catches the corner of his eye. He freezes and his friend bumps unceremoniously into the back of him.

“H-hey! Why’d you stop—” When the other boy finally lifts his head to look around, his spine stiffens too, eyes blown wide with panic.

Felix tightens the bowstring a fraction more, prepared to pierce them through the heart if they even so much as move too quickly. “You should go back the way you came,” he tells them firmly.

Both boys have their hands raised in surrender. “Y-yeah! W-we definitely will do that!” The cheeky boy laughs nervously, elbowing his friend. “Hyunjin, let’s go,” he urges through gritted teeth.

“No, we can’t,” the tall boy hisses right back, not looking away from the arrow pointed straight at them.

“What do you mean?! We’ll find another way! But we can’t die here!”

“We’ll all die anyway if we turn back.”

Felix isn’t sure if they realize that he can hear their little quarrel, or maybe they don’t really care if he does. But his curiosity is peaked nonetheless.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks the two strangers and when he gets startled looks from both of them he clarifies. “‘We’ll all die anyway if we turn back.’ What did you mean by that?!” His voice rising from impatience.

“Alright! Ok! Relax, we’re not here for a fight.” The tall boy says, trying to reassure the tense boy in front of them. It does little to ease Felix’s nerves.

“There wouldn’t be a fight anyway,” Felix threatens, his deep voice rumbling with promise. He can see the color drain from the smaller boy’s face. “Now talk!”

“Our water supply was contaminated!” The tall boy shouts. It feels like the whole world goes silent in reaction to his heavy words. And it’s Felix’s turn to stand frozen. “If we don’t find another water source, then we die. Happy now?” The sarcasm and malice dripping from his tone is palpable.

A few moments of silence stretches on between them, feeling much longer than they should, until Felix very slowly lowers the bow. His eyes still watching them cautiously, however. The two boys follow suit lowering their hands as tense sighs leave their lungs.

“How many are in your group?” He asks more calmly now.

“Four! We split up to search more of the area!” The smaller boy blurts out, earning an elbow from his friend. “Ow what?!” He questions in annoyance.

“We don’t know if we can trust him! Don’t spill all our secrets,” the tall one replies through gritted teeth.

“Well he didn’t shoot us in the heads so I’d say we can trust him at least a little,” the other pouts.

“Again, you know I can hear you right?” Felix can’t help but chuckle at their banter now, sliding the arrow back into the pack slung over his shoulder.

“Right. Sorry,” the tall one apologizes with guarded eyes. “I’m sure you can understand my hesitation though.” Felix nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I understand better than anyone. I have people to protect too.” He admits as an olive branch for a truce. The wide eyed gasp he gets as a response to his honesty is a good sign. “I’m Felix.” He introduces before they can ask any more questions for information he might not be willing to tell.

“I’m Han!” He greets cheerfully, stepping around the taller boy to extend his hand out to Felix. “It’s nice to meet you!” The latter hesitantly shakes his hand but finds the wide smile that spreads across Han’s cheeky face contagious.

“Nice to meet you too, Han,” Felix says politely before turning to his companion expectantly. There is a tension as the two stare at each other.

Han looks back and forth between them, nervously wringing his hands together as the silence drags on. Until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hyun, be nice. Maybe he can help us,” he persuades in a quiet voice. The other boy looks at his friend skeptically then sighs.

“You’re right. I’m sorry…again.” His eyes drop, looking ashamed at how he’s acted. Felix knows, and he doesn’t blame him, so he offers a warm smile.

“I get it. To be honest, I’m still hesitant about you too,” Felix chuckles. This draws the other’s eyes up to meet his, sincerely grateful and curious at his good nature all of the sudden.

“Yeah,” he breathes a laugh along with him. “I’m Hyunjin, by the way.”

Felix’s smile widens. “It’s good to meet you, Hyunjin.”

Han makes a loud clap with his hands as a sign of finality, reasonably startling the other two half to death. “Now that that’s all settled and we’re all buddies now,” Han drawls out cheerfully, “do you know of a good water source around here?”

The lilt of hope in his question makes Felix feel a little guilty that he can’t just help them right away. Minho taught him better than that. These people may not be dangerous but they’re still strangers and he can’t trust them just yet.

“Um, maybe,” he answers honestly, quickly going on when he sees their faces drop in defeat. “I just have to talk to my people! I do want to help, but I…can’t put them at risk. I’m sure you can relate.” He offers and gets a nod of understanding from Hyunjin.

“Makes sense,” Han agrees too, but it doesn’t stop the sigh that escapes him.

Once again, Felix feels awful. So he quickly drops his backpack at his feet and digs through its contents until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here! For in the meantime,” Felix says, handing over his canteen that’s three-quarters full of fresh water.

Han’s eyes grow wide, sparkling as he looks from the canteen to its owner. “Wait, are you serious?!” He asks excitedly.

“Of course! Take it! You can use it more than me!” Felix laughed, handing it over. Han eagerly takes it from his hands and turns to Hyunjin with a huge smile.

The latter motions for him to go ahead, prompting the cheeky boy to twist the cap and take a big slug. He groans at the refreshing taste, then passes it to his friend who also takes a drink before replacing the cap. He goes to hand the container back to Felix but he shakes his head.

“No, no. You guys take it. Let the rest of your group have some, too.” Felix says encouragingly.

The canister gets handed back to Han, who holds it tightly to his chest. “Thank you Felix,” he says with the utmost gratitude and sincerity. Both boys offer him a deep bow but Felix waves his hands in denial.

“It’s no problem really!” He says with a laugh, helping both of them stand upright. “Listen, why don’t we meet back here tomorrow. I’ll talk to my people and see what they say. You bring the rest of your group and we can try to work something out. How’s that sound?”

Han’s mouth opens with his smile but Hyunjin raises a hand to cut him off from speaking too quickly. “How many people are with you?” The taller boy asks.

Felix hesitates. Debating himself with how important that information is and how much he can trust these new people he desperately wants to help. If they’re not lying, they’re equal in numbers. And he knows they can all take care of themselves.

“We have four, too,” he admits.

Hyunjin raises a brow at him. “What a coincidence.”

“I’m not lying. They’re my three best friends,” Felix says.

“Prove it.” Han says quickly. “Stop hesitating and tell us their names,” he challenges.

And Felix doesn’t hesitate this time. “Lee Know, Seungmin, and I.N.”

“‘Lee Know? I.N?’” Han parrots. “Are those aliases?”

“It’s what they go by,” Felix responds. It’s not a bullface lie after all. They do go by those names with strangers. If it makes them feel safer, why would he introduce them as anything else? Then his voice lowers in warning. “Got a problem with that?” The threat clear in his tone.

“Easy! I do the same thing!” He squeaks, hands raised in surrender and a nervous laugh bubbling out of him. Felix’s brows lift in surprise. “My first name is Jisung if you’d rather call me that,” he adds with a shrug.

Felix smiles as he shakes his head with a chuckle. “Wow, we’re not so different, are we,” he says more to himself than to them. But they hear and they agree.

“I know it’s stupid to say, in this messed up world we live in now,” Han says softly, a vulnerability can be heard in his words, “but I hope we can become friends. When everything is said and done, I mean.” Felix’s eyes widen at the admission.

“Sungie…” Hyunjin sighs, taking a step closer to him. Ready to comfort the smaller boy when his hopes are smashed by an uncaring stranger.

The little voice in the back of Felix’s mind excited and shouting at him that he wants that too. That there was something about these two that he relates to and can feel that it’s fate they met today. But a bigger more rational part of his brain reminding him that it’s just not plausible to trust new people.

“I…wish we could too, Jisung,” Felix decides to say mournfully. The other’s eyes drop to his feet, nodding in understanding.

“Come on, Sungie. Let’s go back,” Hyunjin suggests, sliding an arm around his slumped shoulders. Then he looks back at Felix. “Will we still be able to meet tomorrow? Even if we just get a supply until we can find—”

“I’ll be here,” Felix cuts in, shaking his head to say he doesn’t need to explain. “One way or another, I’ll help you guys out. I promise.”

Both boys give him a grateful smile. “Thank you Felix,” Hyunjin replies before guiding Jisung back the way they came.

Felix watches as they leave, never turning his back on them until they’re out of sight. Like Minho had taught him. He lets out a deep sigh as he throws his pack over his shoulders to head his own way back home.

How is he supposed to explain this one to the others? And how can he make sure he keeps his promise to these people his heart is bleeding to help?

~~*~~

[elliott-the-creature]

making a post with some info about my headmates/facets and our system in general! it’ll be good to have while we’re processing our syscovery, and it’ll definitely be updated when new things are discovered. (anything in blue text is new info added after the original upload)

we are a median specutien proxy system! we will use the term system, but we also use collective, dorm, and chat to refer to us. we don’t have an official system name for all of us, but that’ll be worked out soon. our origin/reasoning for being plural is not quite clear yet, but we’re fairly sure it’s not traumagenic. pretty much all of our members are alterhuman/nonhuman in some way, and we prefer to be referred to as nonhuman or something along those lines. we are firmly of the stance that all systems are valid (no matter the origin or presentation), and anti endos, anti tulpas, anti non-traumagenic systems, sysmeds, and exclusionists will NOT BE TOLERATED WHATSOEVER!!!

here is some info about each headmate/facet! it’ll include names, pronouns, roles (although it won’t always be clear what their roles are or they won’t even have a role), and general facts and information about each one.

Katie, aka K, is me! I’m the host and core of this collective, and the one that my family, friends, followers, and mutuals know about the most/solely. you know my pronouns and stuff about me, so there’s no real need to rehash all that (but if you don’t know, then just click here for my pronoun page).

Maple is probably the oldest headmate of ours, and is most likely a tulpa-born imaginary friend resulting from loneliness and a need for a more structured part of ourself during a rough part of our life. she uses she/he/they/it, but likes he and they the most. he seems to look like me, except with shorter, more masc-looking hair and a broader body. sometimes they’ll take the form of a bird that looks similar to a treepie or a cinnamon coloured fox. she’s very levelheaded and reasonable, and is the most realistic and down-to-earth of all of us. this often results in him being the one to remind us to eat, drink, go to bed, and stay on track.

Princess is a brown and white english bulldog puppy, and is our resident little. she uses she/he pronouns, and is a big ball of happy-go-lucky energy. she loves anything to do with age/pet regression/dreaming, and is just a very childishly naive and sweet puppy. he’s also quite sensitive to criticism and arguments, and just wants everyone to be happy and get along together. her favourite colours are red, pink, and cyan, and he often dawns a pink collar with a red bow.

Red is our anger holder and protector. she’s a red feathered dragon with a long tufted tail and large wings. ae likes any names associated with the colour red (such as scarlet, carnelian, ruby, mahogany, etc), but we just use the name red to refer to her most often. she uses she/ae pronouns, and gives off femme fatal vibes in a way. ae’s the one who gets frustrated and upset the easiest, and is in a constant state of either furiously pacing or slumped in a corner with her wings drawn in. she’s fiercely protective and loyal to both our collective and my family and friends. I most often see aer with Finley or Something (both other facets that I’ll talk about later).

Speaking of, we have Fin (short for Finley)! he’s our very anxious cautious jittery ball of fluff, and uses he/him pronouns (although he’ll sometimes use no pronouns or his name instead of pronouns). he looks like those long cat plushies (specifically a grey and white tabby), except if it was actually a real live cat. if you haven’t caught on, Fin likes using a lot of parentheses when speaking, because there’s always more information and intent that isn’t always known, and Fin just prefers to give out all of the information to avoid misunderstanding. he’s the one who is always running around wailing “what if this? what if that? do they really mean it? what if they’re actually lying or something?”, and needs a lot of reassurance about his fears and anxieties.

Ty (short for Tyler (we have NO IDEA why he chose that name btw; it isn’t my favourite name, but we roll with it)) is a robot who uses it/its, but also doesn’t mind any other pronoun (EXCEPT for she/her or any really fem sounding pronouns). we can’t really tell if it’s a protogen or some kind of robot with a tv/monitor for a face (it flip flops in my head when I imagine what it looks like), but it doesn’t mind being referred to or envisioned as either. he’s super into any kind of information, and is always seeking out new things to learn. this often results in him making me ask unintentionally intrusive or rude sounding questions in an attempt to learn more about someone or something, which gets us in some trouble or earns some weird looks (oops!).

Cinnabar is an odd part of ourself, as I (the host) am not quite sure on whether thon’s a fictive or just a kintype of myself. anyways, we’ll make an info page on thing just in case it ends up being the former. Cinnabar is our first and only (for now) fictive, and is a red bokoblin from the BOTW/TOTK era of TLoZ. Thing uses thon/thing pronouns, and is a very silly wild creature. Cinnabar may be a misanthrope, but thing may just not really like humans due to thon being constantly bullied by humans when thon was a human. thing was willingly transformed into a bokoblin (although thing mostly retained the mindset of a human) by the cursed statue residing near hateno village around 40~ years after the calamity that destroyed hyrule in BOTW. Cinnabar absolutely adores all types of animals, and is eager to learn all about the natural world (thing particularly loves horses, birds, and dogs the most). thon also loves getting into mischief, and is the one always wanting to hear gossip or fun stories from everyone.

Finally, we get to our last facet (as of the making of this post; there may be more in the future). This one is the most elusive and confusing one, so we don’t have a lot of useful information. this thing is Something, and it uses it/thon. yes, it’s name is Something (and it has to be capitalized, it just feels right and makes it satisfied), because that’s really the only thing that describes it. what is it? well, it’s Something. it takes the form of a vaguely humanoid shadowy void thing (sometimes we see it with one singular eye or a mouth (never both at the same time though, which is a little creepy)), but is also capable of shapeshifting into other forms (although they will always be shadowy and not always clear). Something is a very negative facet of ours, and is the one who is always muttering intrusive/invasive thoughts to me. when I imagine Something, it feels as if I’m sinking into a vat of tar; my breathing gets shallower, my brain sometimes gets fuzzy or preoccupied with solely thinking about Something, and I lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing or saying or even thinking (it’s really weird tbh).

well, now we’re finished with talking about our facets! I’ll add a list of emoji signoffs for each one, as we all really love signoffs and love expressing ourselves with fun symbols :)

Katie/K: 🩷/🐕

Maple: 🍁/🪶

Princess: 🐶/🎀

Red: 🐦‍🔥/🏔️

Fin/Finley:🧣/🐾

Ty/Tyler: 📺/📚

Cinnabar: 🐷/🌎

Something: 🌚/♠️

[generational-atrophy]

this is very random, but what about the hetalia main eight where their s/o has a dog/cat(ur choice). And the dog/cat is very friendly and loving towards the s/o but not them(it acts cold and sort of just doesnt like them), like how would they react to that?(u dont have to do this if u dont want to its really dumb lmao, either way have a good day)

(Hetalia Main 8 x Reader) S/O’s pet dislikes them.

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N this is a cute request. … .. . ouppy and kitty!!! Sorry this is shorter idk:

Trigger Warning: None, just fluff!

“What, don’t they like me? I didn’t do anything wrong…”

Alfred really cannot tell when animals like or dislike him. To be fair, he’s like that with humans too… but with animals, he just assumes they all love him.

But he’s also not great at being incredibly gentle with them. If you want him to stop riling up your animals you’ve got to just tell him outright.

After that, he’ll just try to bribe them with treats. If he can be bought with food, surely your pet can too. Actually, him and your pet are similar in a lot of ways…

You can literally see how hard it is for him to resist petting them (especially if it’s a dog… he loves dogs so much,) but he’ll wait until they come to him first.

“Alright well… these things can take time I suppose. They’ll like me eventually, right?”

Arthur doesn’t take it personally. He’s had a lot of animals of his own, and they’ve all hated him at the start as well. He’ll just be patient.

 But also all the pets he’s had before have been like… sheep or rats so he’s not sure how to handle your more average pets. Hopefully they don’t care if he doesn’t pet them a lot.

He says he doesn’t care that much, but you’ve also caught him sneaking your pet little pieces of dinner (he’s nearly as bad as Alfred!)

In general, he doesn’t care much for most animals, but he absolutely adores yours. The first time they act affectionately towards him, he immediately calls you excitedly.

“Aw, why are you running away? I will just catch you again!”

He’s definitely taking it a little personally. He hasn’t had a lot of pets that weren’t birds so he’s not used to normal animal affection. He definitely needs assurance from you that they’ll love him eventually…

But until then, he’s just gonna force your pet to be around him. Even if they hate it, he’s gonna be super affectionate. 

Hopefully they don’t get too pissed off about it. It breaks his heart just a little that they won’t reciprocate. They like you and not him?!

Once they finally do, he nearly bursts into tears. He takes about a million photos and immediately sends all of them to you.

“Aiyah! Fine, then I do not like you either. Even when you’re so cute…”

Yao has lots of pets himself. That love he has for you absolutely extends to your animals. When they don’t love him back, well, he has nothing but time!

A lot of the time, he’ll just sit next to them, trying to get them more comfortable. He would never force them to be affectionate with him, even though he just wants to grab them and squeeze them-

Once they start crawling in his lap on their own volition, he’s cuddling with them all the time! If your pets weren’t spoiled before, they will be now.

“Y/N, can’t you make them like me? It makes me feel bad…”

Ivan is used to rejection, but not rejection from something so adorable! He takes it very personally… he’ll act like he’s not upset but he really is. After all, your pets are important to you, so he’ll have to love them too

He doesn’t know how to make them warm up to him, so he just tries everything at once. This of course… does not work. Which probably only makes him more upset

But once you tell him to just leave them alone, he listens. Soon enough your pet will be crawling all over him, and he’ll be losing his mind about it. Animals have never liked him before, but just like you, your pet is finally an exception.

“Come here little kit- Ouch! Why would you hurt me when I’m trying to love you?!”

Just like he is with you, Feliciano is not familiar with “taking it slow.” As soon as he can, he tries grabbing and playing with your pet. If they resist, he’ll be a little hurt.

He’s much better with cats than he is with dogs. If you have a cat, he’ll try playing with them and laying next to them whenever he can. If you have a dog, he’ll ask to take it on walks just the two of them.

Considering how lovable he is, surely your pet will warm up quickly. And when they do, he couldn’t be more ecstatic.

“Oh no, did I do something wrong? They don’t seem to like me very much…”

Considering how many dogs Ludwig has had, he’s really not used to this. Animals tend to love him on sight, so he’s not sure how to proceed from there.

So, he researches. Soon you’ll see him just hanging out around them, trying to get them more comfortable. Plus, he’ll buy lots of treats he’s sure they’ll like. Anything to get them loving him as quick as possible.

And once they do, that pet is as important to him as it is to you. Even if things were awkward at the start.

“Ah. That’s too bad. Maybe they will warm up to me later.”

Frankly, Kiku does not care that much. He won’t take it personally. He knows that most animals (... and many people) can find him hard to warm up to. But your pet will be seeing him a lot, so it will be fine in the long run.

If he buys your pet anything, it’s not to manipulate them into liking him or anything. He just thinks your pet is super cute and deserves it.

When they do finally come to him, he’s super excited. Even though he doesn’t seem like it. He’ll call you into the room and then just point at your pet like “!!!” After that, that animal is getting all the love and affection he can possibly give.

[flowerslut]

so...one fell swoop?

I have worked on absolutely none of one fell swoop in almost 2 years now because of roots/cotn. here's a big snippet of the draft as an apology (I have no idea when I'll work on it more tbh—cotn's rewrite is up next on the to-do list!)

enjoy 1.3k more words of chapter 3:

When he came to again, the sun was shining brightly into the room. He rolled over and glared at the fact the blinds were fully open. Even glancing toward the window made a dull ache burn behind his eyes. Then, the last several hours came back to him.

Shit, he’d gotten his ass kicked while withdrawing.

“Jasper?”

Oh fuck. Alice.

Sitting himself up he yawned. “Hey,” he rasped, running his hand through his hair. His fingers caught on some crusty patches. Pulling his hand back he smelled it. Yep, definitely vomit.

He looked over at her, nervous as to what he’d see. But she was sitting on her bed, a notebook in her lap, nibbling on the end of a pencil as she stared at him, an apprehensive look on her face. “Are you alright?” She asked cautiously, closing the book in her lap and shoving the pencil in the spiral loops of the notebook. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” He hated how raspy and sore his voice sounded. “Sorry if I uh,” he gestured to the bathroom, “disturbed you with all that.” He almost winced at his own wording. ‘Disturbed?’ Great one. “I guess I caught some bug.”

It wasn’t until she started moving toward him that he realized she had a new dress on. This one was just as long as the other one, but white in color, and with shorter sleeves. “You freaked me out a bit.” Pressing bare feet against the floor she finally stopped where she was, still staring at him curiously. Her eyes were as dark as her hair was but now that it wasn’t pressed to her head because of the rain she looked… different.

He grimaced at her words, hating how she really did sound freaked out with that admission. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I uh,” then she stood fully and moved across the room toward the fridge. “I ordered food from a place down the road.” As she spoke, Jasper’s eyes wandered to the open phone book on the nightstand separating their beds. “I didn’t know what to order so there’s uh, fries, and chicken, and some type of noodle thing. I don’t really know. I just figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

He absolutely wasn’t hungry, but he knew that he would need to eat eventually. He couldn’t even remember when he’d eaten last. Maybe yesterday, or the day before. He figured that in an hour or so he’d try to force some food down. The fries he’d probably be able to stomach without too much of a risk of throwing them back up. His nausea wasn’t entirely gone but it was drastically lessened.

He nodded, “Thanks.” He knew that she probably deserved more of a ‘thank you’ than that, but that’s all he had the energy to give.

He peered behind her then, toward the bathroom, and noticed what looked like a few dresses just lying on the floor. If she was doing laundry in the sink then she was definitely homeless. Not that he’d required any further confirmation, but this about solidified that.

He also could have just asked but for some reason it felt rude.

“Oh, I was just washing some things,” she said, following his gaze, “They’ll be dry soon, I promise.”

Jasper almost asked her why she didn’t just go to the laundromat across the street if she needed to do laundry that badly. Recalling her words from the day before removed that question from his mind.

“I don’t like being around people.”

It suddenly seemed a little more complicated than that.

He then glanced from the bathroom, then to Alice, and then out the window. There was something about what he was seeing that didn’t look right. Now that the blinds were pulled back he could see his car from where he were sitting on the bed. It wasn’t until he realized that the world outside looked oddly dry that he started looking around. The clock on the nightstand blinked a red ‘7:28’ at him, confirming his suspicion that it was early in the morning.

But something still felt off.

“What day is—” but then he remembered that he had hardly been able to recall what day it was when they’d gotten into this damn motel room. “I mean, how long have we been here?”

Alice was digging around in her bag. “I had to go back down to the office on Tuesday morning to pay for more nights.”

“Nights?” He did not like the way that word sounded so plural.

She glanced up at him. “Yeah? It’s Friday morning.”

Jasper just stared at her for a long moment, stunned. When he finally tore his eyes away from her he swung his legs over the edge of the bed before pulling his head in his hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, and then when he ran his hand through his hair again and it caught on the dried vomit patch once more, he swore angrily. Standing up he walked toward the bathroom, “I’m going to shower.”

Despite his sudden anger, he was careful not to step on the clothes Alice had spread out on the ground.

It wasn’t her fault he’d fucked up this badly. It was his own fault.

Stupid, ridiculous, fuckhead.

The blanket he’d left on the floor the last time he was coherent was neatly folded and off to the side. It was probably full of vomit, too. He’d have to make sure to leave���or, have Alice leave—a decent tip for the poor motel employee that had to get that washed.

He stripped off his clothes quickly and jumped straight in the shower as he turned the water on. The cold shocked him right into the state of mind he needed to be in. He needed to be awake, alert, and figure out what the hell he needed to do next.

Tuesday. He was supposed to have been dead on fucking Tuesday. And then his withdrawal symptoms had caught up to him, which he hadn’t thought about because he hadn’t planned on being alive for long enough to have to endure that.

It was a little bit of Alice’s fault, he thought as he tried to divert some of the rage he felt outward. If she hadn’t stopped him or got him caught up in this damn ‘drive me to town’ mess, he’d be dead and everyone would be better off now.

Well. Maybe not everyone.

Before he could even think to close the shower curtain—after all, he was getting the floor adequately drenched with water—he looked out toward the sink. Sitting on the counter was a little yellow bag. And poking out of it Jasper could see mouthwash and generic-brand ibuprofen.

Things that he definitely hadn’t bought when they’d gone to the visitor’s center on Tuesday.

But that was the same style bag, and those were definitely items that only Alice could have purchased.

Yanking the shower curtain closed, Jasper leaned his head against the tile as the water slowly warmed. Pushing the conflicting feelings swimming in his chest to the side, he focused instead on his next steps.

Get dressed, eat something, drive Alice to Seattle, drive back to the coast, and then do what he came here to do.

But even as he planned his day out, a sense of apathy fell over him. Did he really have the energy to drive all the way back to this godforsaken town? The urge to just give up and drive home was creeping up on him, and he hated the sudden and heavy sense of failure that was encompassing him more than anything.

Reaching forward he cranked the water back to cold and reached for the shampoo sitting on the ledge of the shower.

He’d think about that later. Now, he had to clean puke out of his damn hair.

[eddies-artofsuffering]

September 1989

No, it’s great, he’s doing well. Not bad at all. Everything’s going just fine. College hasn’t been as bad as he’d imagined. Steve has everything he needs. He’s healthy. Employed. He has paid his rent on time, and he’ll get paid at the end of this week to pay for next month’s. There’s clothes on his back, food in his fridge and pantry. Most of all, it’s so liberating to be away from his practically nonexistent family, away from Hawkins and everything that was associated with the extensive mess. 

Okay. To be honest, being financially independent as a full-time student has been … difficult for Steve. But he’s making do. At least by working here at the school library via a work-study program, he could get flexible hours around his classes, and he could request a maximum of twenty hours a week. Shitty student wages aside, it’s a relatively cushy job, and it’s usually slow except during finals seasons, and there aren’t that many responsibilities. All Steve had to do was to learn the Dewey decimal system, learn how to shelf read, and be able to lift up to 50 pounds. Easy. That, and of course, deal with thousands of wide-eyed undergrads who come to the library with all sorts of purposes, agendas, and questions.

Meeting people at the circulation desk is a part of the job description. Steve’s pretty sure that he’s good at it. He’s had less than a year of work experience from both Scoops and Family Video combined, but customer service is customer service. If he’s gotta do it somewhere, there’s no debate; in his life full of terrible choices and mistakes, caving in to apply for college with Robin was definitely one of the best things he’s ever done. To his surprise - well, not about Robin, she’s brilliant - they’d both been accepted at the state school, far enough from Hawkins but not too far to visit if he really wanted to. Living with Robin in a tiny two bedroom apartment has been really, really fun, and Steve’s made some new friends, friends who don’t share his nightmares - and they are good, superficial friendships, exactly the way Steve wants. 

Things have definitely changed for Steve in the last few years. For starters, he hasn’t gotten into a fight or had a single bruise on his face ever since he left home. The nightmares, flinching, and flashbacks though - well. He doesn’t think they’ll go away completely, but it’s been so much better as of late, easier and faster for him to push through, and he sometimes even gets two full nights of sleep consecutively. That’s surely a win. 

Sometimes, Steve wonders if anyone from home could even recognize him. He’s lost a lot of muscles, his workout routine now only involving lifting stacks of books. His hair is much shorter now, the back of his neck completely bare these days, but the top of his head is still coiffed for his bangs to fall down effortlessly over his forehead; it still looks pretty good, as Robin always tells him, though it’s not as extravagant and full of ego as his former moniker suggested. This, of course, is by design; Steve does not want to stand out, or be particularly memorable. He’d even thrown out all of his polos from his high school days, opting rather for a simple T-shirt for most days, and his Members Only jacket is probably collecting dust inside Dustin’s closet at the moment (if that little shrimp still kept it for some reason). The only items from his old wardrobe that he’d brought with him were his jeans, because those were expensive, and now he’s got a budget as tight as his favorite pair of Levi’s. 

The biggest difference in Steve’s appearance, he thinks, is the addition of glasses for which he started to feel the need in the first semester of College. Having to wear glasses felt both like an end of an era and simultaneously a new beginning for his identity. Gone was King Steve, the Jockiest of Jocks; now, here in College, he’s just plain old Steve with hidden scars and unspeakable secrets, just like everyone else. Although - Steve doubts that there are too many others here who’d encountered interdimensional creatures and underground Russian spies.

Now in his final year of college - Steve’s not kidding himself anymore. Ever since he’s chosen to major in psychology, it’s become more and more obvious to him that all this change is his defense mechanism - a wall of sorts for him to hide behind - just like how his King Steve persona had been a compensation for his insecurities and loneliness. King Steve served his purpose for the time he was needed; now, in college, Plain Old Steve helps him avoid the attention, popularity, and all the bullshit that comes with reputation and money. Not that the money was ever actually Steve’s. He makes his own living now, his own boundaries, and enjoys his freedom and the quiet. And quiet is good. Working at the library has been perfect for this reason. 

The thing about the quiet life is, though, is that it’s just really quiet. It’s actually really fucking boring, if he’s honest. But still, it’s slow enough that he could do his assignments at the circulation desk, and he’s being paid for his time. Yea, he shouldn’t complain. It’s a great deal. It allows him to live a relatively normal life, being a college student and shit. If the cataloging and shelf-reading and all that desk job shit is a little repetitive, it kind of helps Steve forget about how bored and restless he is. It helps him feel productive, like he’s doing something useful without being challenged too much. God knows how many brain cells he’s lost from those last couple of years back in Hawkins. He needs glasses now to see things, for fuck’s sake.

But, the questions, goddamn it, the fucking questions these kids bring to the circ. This is his fourth year working at the library, and he’s just getting tired, so much that he almost wishes for something insane to happen. 

Steve doesn’t know what he was expecting for this brand-new, three-story library for math and sciences - colloquially known as the ‘science library’ - but since the inventory here is specifically for those fields, things are even slower here than at the main library, especially without Robin working right next to him. Steve wants to feel something again, something that gets his adrenaline going. Maybe less mind-boggling monster bullshit - but something a little bit more than “where can I find books about starting a fire” (excuse me, what?) or “can you please tell the couple downstairs to shut the fuck up?” (and Steve had to go down to tell a pair of horny teens to get a room elsewhere) or “uh, why can’t I find this book?” (because it was released a month ago and they didn’t get a fucking chance to stock it yet, it’s on their list, hold your goddamn horses).

For some reason, they only ask him the most mundane of questions when Steve’s actually busy at work. Once or twice, some girls (rare sighting in this particular library, Steve begins to notice) had come up to the circ to ask if he had the time, and Steve had misinterpreted it as a come-on, then sheepishly just pointed at the clock behind him when he realized that they weren’t asking him out. It was a big fucking clock, totally unmissable. The university has this ugly ass clock in every building in every single room. They must’ve placed a mass order of the same clock and distributed it everywhere. There’s some comfort in its ugliness, though; at least this clock is entirely monotone, and there’s no room for any interpretations other than just the time. The blue does not meet yellow in the west. Steve can live with that. 

-

So, on the last Friday of September when he hears a dude ask “hey, where did the clock go?” that breaks Steve’s razor-sharp focus on the catalogs - you know, it annoys him a little. He was on such a roll. Now he’s lost his rhythm. Damn it.

Steve subtly rolls his eyes and turns his revolving chair around to look at the clock. Or rather, where the clock should be. In its place, a lonely nail sticks out on the wall, markedly without the said clock. Hmm. Seriously, where the hell did it go? Question for the office later. Glancing at his wristwatch, Steve flatly announces, “I guess we have no clock. I’m your clock now. It’s… 12:03,” and turns around to look at the asker’s face, then immediately tears his eyes away. He seriously may burn to a crisp if he stares any longer, it’s like looking directly into the sun, because fuck, dude is pretty.

Steve’s never seen this guy before in the library, main or science, nor around the campus. Granted, there are literally thousands of students enrolled at this school, and it’s only been a month at this specific desk, but still, this is unacceptable - and the dude knows that the clock is missing, so he’s been here before, familiar with the goddamn clock’s location and everything. So how come Steve has never seen him here before? Now that is the real question. 

He cautiously looks up at the dude again, slowly. Dude’s stupidly big dark-brown eyes stare back at him, and he’s tapping on the counters with his multi-ring-clad fingers. Dude has really nice hands.

“Oh! You’re my clock now, huh? This is great news. I much prefer you than the clock, fuck the clock. I’d believe you even if you told me it was 4 in the morning… Anyway, I can use your stapler and stuff, right?” Clock Dude smiles, holding a stack of papers. Dude has dimples in his cheeks - dimples - and Steve decides that maybe he does want to stare directly into the sun, and fuck the consequences.

“Uh, yes, everything there’s for everyone, so,” Steve says in monotone, feeling his face getting warm. He carefully brushes his bangs to the right and watches Clock Dude slide down the counter with a “thanks, babe,” and fuss around with the papers. Dude’s arms are sprinkled with tattoos and, hold on, he totally has a wristwatch himself. Then why - ? 

No. Steve is not going to question him, not going to call him out at all. Dude called him babe. Steve’s earlier endeavors at cataloging are completely forgotten. Now all that matters in the world is observing the way that Dude grabs the stapler and sliding the pages in between, his eyes locking with Steve’s again as he clamps down with a smile. 

“Uh - hang on,” Clock dude says, straining hard as he puts his weight on the stapler again, again, and again. His curly hair, tied up in a messy ponytail, bounces every time he clamps down on it. The stapler shouldn’t need that much force, although being over the top could just be Clock Dude’s default manner. But the upper left hand corner of his paper comes away without staples each time. 

Ugh, of course. Steve knows exactly what’s going on. The office supplies in the library aren’t in a great shape in general—the stapler in particular. It either doesn’t have enough staples, or it has to be yanked opened and adjusted to function properly. Steve’s just replenished the staples that morning, so it has to be the latter issue.

Dude has given up and now is giving Steve help me eyes with a pout. It makes Steve a little giddy, but. Steve didn’t get his reputation for being entirely transparent. Steve Harrington is supposed to be a smooth fucking charmer, even with these nerdy ass glasses, even without the Hair. All he has to do is pretend like he doesn’t care and give a practiced sigh, which he executes beautifully, feeling a little smug about it as he fixes the goddamn stapler. 

“There.” He hands back Dude’s perfectly stapled paper, though the corner of the pages is indented with Dude’s earlier attempts.

“Whoa! Thanks. Are you now my clock and a stapler?” Clock Dude’s grin widens as he shrugs off his backpack, and - okay, maybe it was a mistake to move too close to the edge of the counters, because now Steve can see Dude’s entire outfit, and his jaw drops. Dude’s black band T-shirt - which reads Metallica Tour 88-89 with a bunch of city names and dates - is cropped. Several inches of Dude’s bare midriff are visible, just like that, out in the open. Dude’s torso is lean and toned, and there’s an edge of a tattoo poking out from the end of the shirt, and if Steve’s sight isn’t fucking with him, another one around the V of his pelvic bone, just above his black jeans. Holy shit. If he felt a little warmer in his face earlier, he is now 200% certain that he’s blushing. 

Dude follows Steve’s gaze to the bottom half of his stomach - where the rest of the shirt should’ve been - and smirks. Fuck.

“Hello? Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he snaps his fingers in front of Steve.

“Uh-what?” Steve says, a bit dazed, reeling from the cropped top and Dude’s pet names for him. Not that Steve’s been counting. It’s infuriating how hot this guy is, and he almost forgets what Dude said earlier - oh, right - “Sorry. Uh. Yea. Stapler, clock, I can be whatever you need me to be, if you, uh. If you need anything else,” Steve manages, trying to keep his voice steady and cool. He’s not going to focus on how it sounded the opposite of steady and cool, no siree.

Dude pauses a second at this comment. “No, but good to know,” he says, tapping the pages on the counter to straighten them (why on Earth would he do this? The paper is already stapled, you can’t straighten them anymore), and put them in his backpack.

“Are you - are you checking out anything?” Steve asks, cringing inwards as he detects desperation in his tone - but he’s secretly hoping to scan Clock Dude’s ID in the system. This is a very, very inappropriate idea, he knows. But when he scans someone’s ID to check out an item, the screen would show their general information, like their full name, address, phone number, and their status as a student, their major, what they’ve already checked out, and whether they’ve got any overdue items. Stuff like that. It’s just like Family Video’s user account records.

Or - Steve could also just ask his name casually without scanning. That’s a normal thing to do, right? It’s just being friendly. You know. Would you like to go on a curiosity voyage with me? I’ll be your guide and paddles, I’m Steve Harrington - ugh, no. That’s totally what Dustin would say, and Steve immediately shuts down that idea. 

“Huh. Well, I guess I am. Not any books though, not today. Just—the clock,” Dude says with a cheeky grin. Then he leaves the library without another word.

Steve sits back in his chair, blinking hard. 

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