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pipsyy · 20 days ago

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🫵 roommate hamzah 👅

hamzah x reader smut...nsfw warning

hi everyone!

below is my first ever smut so please be nice!

it ends on a pretty big cliffhanger so let me know if yall want a part 2. and i hate coming up with my own ideas so pleaseeeee send me prompts i will love you forever.

summary: you and hamzah are roommates and best friends. but when hamzah comes home pissed one day, y'all hash it out and things get heated.

warnings: nsfw under cut. if you are under the age of 18, do NOT read please.

word count: 3076

You and Hamzah had been roommates and best friends for around four months now. It all started when you moved to Toronto and needed a place to stay. You had collabed with Slushy Noobz multiple times before, being a vlogger/gaming youtuber yourself, so when you arrived in Toronto, practically homeless, Hamzah offered for you to stay with him in his small apartment while you get yourself back on your feet.

Tonight was a crisp fall evening, and the two of you had just come back from carving pumpkins for Mandy’s vlog. Hamzah had driven the two of you home in silence, which was unusual, as normally the two of you were blasting music and laughing while in the car. When he pulled into the small driveway, he killed the engine and exited the car without a word. Normally, being the silly gentleman he was, he would come around to your side and open the door, but instead, he opted to leave you alone in the car, speechless. You scoffed, and exited the car, running to catch up with the taller man.

“Hamzah!” you call out, entering the house. The dark-haired man was in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for what you assumed to be his late-night snack-fest. “Hamzah,” you deadpanned, coming up right behind him. He continued to purposefully ignore you. You grab one of his broad shoulders and, with all the strength within you, whip him around so that he’s facing you. His big eyes widened at the sudden strength that had taken over your demeanor.

He looked down at you. “What?” he asked harshly, not a single trace of empathy present in his rough voice.

Anger seized your mind. “What?” you mocked in a high-pitched voice. “What the fuck do you mean by ‘What’? What is up with you, dude? You’ve had, like, the strangest attitude since we left Martin and Mandy’s.”

Hamzah’s brows furrowed. “Just go upstairs, y/n,” he said. “I’m too tired to deal with this right now.”

You laughed harshly. “You’re ‘too tired’?” you asked in mock disbelief, air-quoting his own words. “That’s not an excuse. You’re never this rude to me.”

Hamzah made a noise low in his throat, almost an animalistic growl. “Go the fuck upstairs, y/n.”

His adamance and unwillingness to explain himself was starting to really piss you off, the small ember of anger burning inside you expanding until you were engulfed in hot rage. You shoved him backwards and he stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the sink. He looked at you with an emotion in his eyes that you were unable to discern. Before you were able to really process what the hell had just happened, Hamzah was upright and closed the inches between you two in seconds. He grabbed you by the front of your hoodie, before roughly backing you into the counter. Your hip slammed into the corner of the wood and you winced. Tears welled up in your eyes, but Hamzah didn’t seem to notice. He was breathing heavily, hunched over your smaller frame, face inches from yours.

“I want you to go upstairs, y/n,” he said, voice uncharacteristically low.

“Ugh!” you say loudly, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You shoved the taller man backwards. “That fucking hurt, you asshole!” Before you know what happened, your hand connected with his face, a loud slap that resonated throughout the whole apartment. Hamzah’s head whipped to the side and his eyes widened, his hand instantly reaching to the wounded area. You gasped and covered your mouth.

“H-hamzah,” you whispered, stuttering over your words. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear, i-i-it just came out of me.” Hamzah looked at you with that same look from before: pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, plush lips that his tongue flicked out and wetted. His chest was heaving up and down. He made a move as if to come towards you, but before he could, you fled upstairs to your room.

You slammed the door shut behind you before sliding down to crouch on the floor. You curled your knees into your chest and breathed heavily. What the absolute fuck just happened? Your back was sweating, and there was a pounding knot in your stomach that you didn’t even want to think about. The way Hamzah had looked at you…fuck. It was almost primal, like he was about to throw you around and fuck you until you couldn’t breath. It was embarrassing to admit it to yourself, but you wanted him to; you wanted it so badly that right now you couldn’t think of anything else, and that pounding in your stomach just got louder and louder.

You shook your head and stood up, legs trembling with desire. What the hell am I thinking about right now? You thought. This is Hamzah, my roommate, the guy who was kind enough to let me live with him for four fucking months, and I’m over here fantasizing about him railing me. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You went over to your closet and changed out of your sweaty clothes. You put on a cute pair of floral boxer shorts and one of Hamzah’s t-shirts. You liked wearing them for two reasons: first, they were way too big on you and usually fell to just above your knees, and second, they smelled just like him, even after washing. You wandered over to the mirror, gazing at yourself in the reflection. You pulled on his shirt, lifting it up to your nose and inhaling his musk. Your own dilated eyes reflected back at you, almost the exact same look that Hamzah had given you earlier.

Fuck it.

You exited your room and beelined it for Hamzah’s. Your mind was blank except for an unquenchable lust that infiltrated your brain, conjuring inappropriate thoughts that fueled the incessant pounding in your cunt. You reached his door and pressed your ear to the wood. Hearing the tell-tale clack of his keyboard, you knew that he was working at his desk. You knocked on the door, once, twice, nobody answered. Knowing him, he probably had his big ass headphones on and couldn’t hear shit even if he wanted to. You opened the door a crack and, just like you predicted, Hamzah was sitting at his desk in the dark with his big headphones on, the only source of light coming from the monitor. You crept up to him. His big eyes were glued to the screen; he didn’t even hear you come in. You leaned down until you were right next to his ear.

“Hamzah,” you whispered. The curly-haired man almost jumped out of his seat, letting out a girlish scream. When he saw it was you, he clutched his heart, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” you said, once he took his headphones fully off.

“Jesus Christ, y/n, you scared the fuck outta me,” he said.

You giggled. “Yeah, my bad. I didn’t know how else to get your attention,” you said sheepishly. Hamzah was looking directly into your eyes, and you swallowed thickly. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier, slapping you and shit, I don’t know what came over me.”

Hamzah laughed. “Nah, I totally deserved it. I was being a dick. I was just pissed off about something and I took it out on you.” He licked his lips. “I didn’t mean to get aggressive with you is all.”

“What were you so pissed off about?”

Hamzah chuckled awkwardly. “It was nothing really.”

“Didn’t seem like nothing,” you responded, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “Come on, man, we tell each other everything.”

“Well, it was just about this conversation I had earlier with Martin,” he confessed.

“Oh, yeah? What happened?”

“Um, well, I-” he stuttered over his words, alternating between holding eye contact with you and the floor. “I kinda like this girl, I guess, and I keep giving her these hints but she just doesn’t seem to understand.”

Your face flushed. You felt embarrassed walking into Hamzah’s room in a horny state when he had a crush on someone else. “I see,” you said in response to his confession.

“I was talking it over with Martin, you know, and I just couldn’t figure out how to confess it to her. We’re friends and I love that we’re friends and it would be stupid to fuck up our friendship by confessing my feelings.”

“How do you know she doesn’t feel the same?” you asked.

“I mean I don’t, not really, but I’m 99% sure that she doesn’t.”

“Well, you’re never gonna be 100% sure unless you tell her,” you said. “Besides, whoever this girl is is hella lucky. She’s going to be dating the most beautiful, funniest guy I know.” Hamzah grinned at you, teeth and everything, as his cheeks flushed slightly.

“Really?”

“100%” you responded.

“Can I have a hug?” he asked. You grinned at him, jumping up from the bed. Hamzah lept up from his chair and ran to you. He leaned down and you wrapped your hands around his neck. His big arms gripped your waist and lifted you up, spinning you around. You giggled into his shoulder. He put you down and the two of you stood there for a second, arms wrapped around each other. Hamzah’s head nuzzled deeper into your shoulder, and you felt his hot breath tickling your back.

A wide grin broke your face. “Dude, are you smelling me?”

Hamzah broke away from the hug, grinning sheepishly. “Maybe…you just always smell really good.” His eyes looked you up and down, grazing your bare legs to the t-shirt you were wearing. “Is that my shirt?” he asked, brows furrowed.

Bashful, you felt your face growing flushed. “Yeah, it is. I can take it off if you want though.” You turned towards the door to go change, but Hamzah reached down and grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “Looks good on you.”

You felt your face heat with an uncontrollable flush. “U-um thanks,” you said. Hamzah didn’t let go of your hand and you looked down at your intertwined fingers. Hamzah looked down too and audibly gulped.

“Y/n?” he said.

“Mmh?” you said, not taking your eyes off of your hands.

“Look at me, y/n,” Hamzah said, his voice rougher than usual. You lifted your eyes to Hamzah’s face and almost gasped at the expression that painted his countenance. It was the same one from earlier: the dilated pupils, the flushed cheeks, the plump, red lips. Your lashes fluttered. Hamzah grabbed your other hand and, holding both of your hands in one of his big ones, reached up to tuck a piece of hair that had fallen from your bun behind your ear. “I need to tell you something,” he whispered. His big brown eyes bore holes into your own, and the intense eye contact made your hands sweaty and your core pound.

“I, um, I’m in love with you, y/n,” he confessed, at a decibel so low you were unsure you heard him right. He got louder. “And if you don’t feel the same about me—which you probably don’t—we can forget about this whole thing and just go back to how things were if that’s—” You cut off his rambling and leaned up, pressing your lips against his. You pulled back and smiled, gazing into his eyes, which were so dark they looked black. “Holy fuck,” he breathed out, smiling widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling in pure delight.

“Yeah,” you said. “Holy fuck.”

Hamzah looked down at your hands, which were still intertwined with his. “C-can I kiss you again?” he asked.

You giggled. “Yes, Hamzah,” you responded. If it was possible, he smiled wider still and leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. At first, the kiss was sweet and light, but slowly, the two of you began breathing heavier and heavier, and Hamzah’s hands began to roam your body. Desperation filled your body rapidly as Hamzah’s hands alternated between squeezing your waist, your hips, and your ass. His hands were so much bigger than you thought, they were almost able to completely engulf your entire waist. He pulled you closer to him still and you reached up to tug on his dark curls. As soon as your hand made contact with his hair, he groaned deep in his chest and the sound reverberated throughout your entire body, landing especially in your throbbing core. The hand in his hair seemed to spur him on further as he reached down to grab your ass, lifting you up effortlessly. He walked you over to the bed, throwing you onto the mattress and crawling up towards you. He pulled your hair out of your bun, letting the strands splay across the pillow.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he confessed, before diving down to kiss your neck. Sucking and biting and nipping at the delicate skin by your collarbones. Your hands delve into his curls, yanking at them, letting out a breathless moan when he begins to suck on a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. Hamzah’s hands snake underneath your shirt, playing with the underside of your boobs. You tug at Hamzah’s shirt and he stops kissing you to remove it. You spent a few seconds admiring him. He’d been going to the gym more recently and it had definitely paid off. His broad shoulders and biceps were lean and muscular, but he still had just the right amount of tummy to make your core tighten. You sit up too and begin to take your shirt off, but Hamzah stops you.

“Keep it on, baby,” he says, breathing heavily. “You look so good in my clothes.” He goes back to kissing your neck, reaching his hands underneath your shirt to squeeze your tits. “I’ve always thought that,” he says in between kisses. “Whenever I see you wearing my clothes, my shirts, my hoodies, it made me so fucking hard I can’t think straight.” You let out a breathless moan at his words. He abruptly stops kissing your neck and stands up.

You look up in confusion. “What are you doing?” Hamzah says nothing, reaching down to grab your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed, your knees dangling over the edge. He kneels between your thighs, leaning down to press soft open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs.

You suck in a sharp breath. “Hamzah,” you say breathlessly.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you from between your thighs, eyes wide and dilated. He looked like he was salivating, desperation written all over his face.

“Are you sure?”

He lifted one of your thighs onto your shoulder. “Ever since we first met, when I saw you for the first time, your big eyes, your little waist, I knew that I wanted to taste you. Half of the time I’m around you, I can’t think of anything else other than fucking you with my tongue, your hands gripping my hair until you cum on my mouth.”

“Holy fuck,” you breathed out, your core throbbing almost painfully. Hamzah just grinned at you. He lifted your t-shirt up slightly and slid his fingers into the waistband of your boxers before pulling them down and throwing them somewhere in the room. Coming face-to-face with you soaking pussy, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding in.

“Shit,” he said. “You’re so fucking wet.” He leaned into your pussy, shoving his big nose into your folds and inhaling your scent. You let out a hiss at the sudden contact. He lapped at your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with his deft tongue. “You taste better than I dreamed, baby,” he confessed. Your head was flung back in ecstasy and your hands reached down to grip onto his curls. When he hit a particularly good spot, you tugged on his hair tightly and he let out a moan that vibrated through your core. You looked down at Hamzah whose doe eyes were holding intense eye contact with you, watching your reaction for what felt good and what didn’t. You noticed that his hips were undulating, thrusting into sheets at the end of the bed. For some reason, it made the situation even hotter that Hamzah was turned on just by eating you out. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to release as your legs began shaking aggressively.

“H-Hamzah,” you whine. “Ugh, I’m close.”

Hamzah inserted one, then two fingers into your wet, overstimulated hole, rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Come on, baby,” he said roughly. “C-cum for me.” Your legs shaking and nose scrunched, you cried out and came all over Hamzah’s face. The second he felt you cum he let out a long whine that vibrated throughout your overstimulated pussy, and you noticed his hips slow to a stutter at the end of the bed.

“Holy shit, Hamzah,” you said, as you came down from your high. You looked down at the dark-haired man. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were glossy. A mixture of spit and your own juices covered his mouth and you felt another throb go through your core.

“Hamzah?” you repeated.

He looked up at you with those glossy eyes as if just remembering where he was. “Shit, y/n,” he responded.

“Hamzahhhhh,” you whined, crawling towards him near the end of the bed. “Will you let me return the favor?”

“I- um, I-I mean,” he stuttered, face flushing a deep shade of pink. You reached the end of the bed and noticed the dark, wet splotch spreading in his pants. Holy shit. You thought. He came from eating me out. That’s…that’s really fucking hot. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, standing up to clean himself off. You shoot to your feet, grabbing the hand that was about to enter his pants.

You look up at him with lust-filled eyes. “Let me,” you said. He looks at you with dilated pupils before nodding his head with frenzied agreement. You pull his sweatpants and boxers down. His softened cock was covered in cum, but as you gripped it in your hand, barely able to close your hand around it fully, it twitched to life again. Hamzah lets out a shaky sigh at the contact and you smirk up at the flustered man.

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzah x reader smut #hamzahimagines #hamzahsmut #hamzahfic #slushynoobz #hamzahiskindameaninthisonebuthemakesupforit #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x you #hamzahthefantastic x you #youtube #youtuber #youtuber x reader #slushyvirus

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neechees · 10 months ago

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Raisedeyebrowemojii Scamming information post

So as some of you know, it's been revealed that @raisedeyebrowemojii was a scammer, and for those of you that don't know, I'm sorry you had to find out this way. This is going to be an information post on raisedeyebrowemojii's scamming, lies, the evidence, and where they stole from, and the debunking of all their claims as comprehensively as possible to help the people they scammed and manipulated get some closure, and hopefully to provide insight on how you might spot them again.

I carried out an investigation on the now confirmed scammer, and now deactivated user @blktransdyke, who deleted within hours of my callout post. On that post I connected blktransdyke as being the same person behind raisedeyebrowemojii due to the information both of them had posted for alleged fundraisers, which you can see in the post here. For a short recap, both blktransdyke and raisedeyebrowemojii "Jay" both had the exact same story of allegedly being trans/homeless/disabled and posted photos of the exact same brown tabby cat named "Trouble", both claiming that it was their "best friend's cat" and raisedeyebrowemojii created a patreon for Trouble the cat, only for me to find that Trouble the cat is a hyperpopular cat vlogging/fanpage with 42K followers on facebook, and both of these blogs stole from this page and neither of them were affiliated with this famous facebook.

Moving on, with some help, ive also found more evidence that raisedeyebrowemojii was a scammer. I know many people were already convinced by the callout post I already did, but I think it's important to debunk a lot of raisedeyebrowemojii's claims due to the fact that so many people thought they were genuine, that they had died, and due to the fact that they stole pretty much every detail of their alleged life from somewhere else, and I can prove it, so I want to clear things up, and maybe allow some people to gain peace in the knowledge that "Jay" did not die, and was never in danger of dying to begin with.

The rest of this post will be under the cut because again, this is going to get long. I encourage everyone who was approached by or donated to raisedeyebrowemojii to reblog to help get the word out, thank you. Image descriptions will be available in alt text.

For starters, raisedeyebrowemojii went by the name "Jay", and on the donation posts of theirs (scams), they used the paypal name "Jay Baldwin", and Jay claimed to be disabled (allegedly they had tourettes, autism, cerebral palsey, were deaf, in a wheelchair, had a terminal kidney disease, and allegedly other undisclosed disabilities), Canadian, that they lived in the city of Toronto (in Ontario, Canada), and a trans lesbian. Screenshots for that below

Misuse of terminology & racefaking

Let's talk about their bio first. I suspect that the scammer behind this blog is neither Black nor Canadian, due to the fact that, as I mentioned in this post, 1. Black Canadians don't really refer to themselves as "African American" as much here in Canada, partly due to the fact that a lot of Black Canadians actually have roots from the Caribbean & not directly from Africa or America, 2. "Jay" claimed to be Canadian but also said they had an uncle & grandparents still living in South Africa, which means they're implying they're either a first or second generation African Canadian immigrant, so why would they call themselves "African American" if they have no national/ethnic ties to America, and they are Canadian? So, like the blktransdyke blog, who i proved is most likely the same person as raisedeyebrowemojii, both of these blogs are using incorrect/strange terminology for the ethnicities they claim to be, thus indicating racefaking and a falsified Nationality.

Falsified Nationality

Here I also have reason to believe this person is not Canadian, or in the very least, did not live in the city of Toronto, or likely the province of Ontario. Partly due to the evidence ive just given above, but also due to the reasons I'm about to give & the connected next point I'll get to soon. For one example, "Jay" made the donation post in the first screenshot i gave where they claimed they were scared they were going to freeze to death, and that they could hardly even type on their phone due to the absolute insane cold temperatures of Toronto.

However, I took a look at the Toronto weather forecast for the day that raisedeyebrowemojii posted that update (February 12th, 2023) and found that the temperature had gotten up to 6°C (or 42.8°F), with very little wind, and it didn't even get below freezing temperatures that day, and only got two degrees below freezing the night before (which is when they claim they were staying in a shelter). Canadians will know that this type of temperature in FEBRUARY is actually very very warm and pleasant. Like, unseasonably, weirdly warm. Screenshot for that below.

Now, for an actual homeless person, being outside in the cold, even if it's warmer than usual, this is still difficult and harsh conditions to live under. However, this is still a large exaggeration from what Raisedeyebrowemojii claimed it was, and youre not very likely to freeze to death in this kind of weather compared to the usual Canadian temperatures. The way "Jay" described it makes me think that it is not a Canadian who made this post, and is someone who was not in Toronto to actually know what temperature it was that day, but just assumed it would be very cold.

Impersonation of the real Jay Baldwin

Thanks to some help (of people whom I will keep anonymous for their safety & as a precaution of the scammer harassing them), i managed to locate the identity of the REAL Jay Baldwin, and was able to concretely find out that this person is who raisedeyebrowemojii was impersonating. So, who is the real Jay Baldwin you ask?

Jay Baldwin is a Black, disabled (who uses a wheelchair and has Cerebral Palsey) nonbinary Canadian and the founder of the private Facebook support group "Disabled, Queer, and Fabulous" with over 1.1K members, and is a student at Carleton university in Ontario, Canada, and this Jay Baldwin has actually been doing really well for themselves, and has gotten pretty famous in the Ottawa area. And, as you can see, the raisedeyebrowemojii "Jay" apparently has a lot in common with THIS Jay Baldwin, including their names, being Black, a disabled wheelchair user with Cerebral palsey, nonbinary, Canadian living in Ontario, and both use they/them pronouns. But let me show you how I know they've been stealing from this person.

One way I can tell that raisedeyebrowemojii definitely was not THIS Jay Baldwin is their faces. On the screenshot to the left is the icon that raisedeyebrowemojii (of allegedly "themselves") used for their blog, taken from the webarchive screenshot of their blog, and to the right is a cropped portrait photo of the real Jay Baldwin, taken from this information page on the official Carleton University website, which also lists most of the information I just listed about the REAL Jay.

Obviously these two people look absolutely nothing alike. And we can tell that raisedeyebrowemojii meant for their scamsona to look like the person on the left, because they also used a photo of another dark-skinned Black person in ANOTHER donation post. So they stole these selfies from a different person altogether, although I haven't yet been able to locate where they'd stolen them.

One of the reasons that raisedeyebrowemojii's lies were so convincing though is that they were stealing or misconstruing some of Jay Baldwin's life experiences almost in real time, and I believe that raisedeyebrowemojii was keeping tabs on Jay in order to harvest their life details. For example, on a Facebook post, Jay Baldwin mentioned the death of their father a few times, but also on June 26th 2022, made the memorial post below about the death of their uncle

and meanwhile, on August 25th 2022, raisedeyebrowemojii ALSO suddenly started saying that their dad died, which you can see on the screenshot of their tumblr profile, which as webarchive screenshot shows, was not there before. While they changed the dates, raisedeyebrowemojii was clearly pulling from the real Jay's life, so it looks like we can see around the time that the dcammer decided to randomly incorporate this into their scamsona. As far as I can find, raisedeyebrowemojii never made a donation post regarding their "Father" and said that he was abusive, so adding this detail from the real Jay's life shows that it was unnecessary except to look more real and to manipulate people into believing them.

In the ways that raisedeyebrowemojii misconstrued things, they also of course constantly used the story that they were either homeless or on the verge of being homeless. Where Jay would post facebook updates of doing very well and being happy in life and even doing & hosting events for disability rights, raisedeyebrowemojii around the same time would post about needing money due to either allegedly starving, of dying, needing medical attention, or being homeless.

Below are screenshots of, in the order that they appear (so we're going chronologically in time that these were posted by both raisedeyebrowemojii and Jay Baldwin respectively) from left to right, raisedeyebrowemojii asking for money on February 16th 2023 talking about being in allegedly horrific conditions, then Jay Baldwin posting a peppy update on facebook, looking very happy and having a drink with the caption "Cheers to life!" on February 22nd, and then another donation scam post by raisedeyebrowemojii begging for money saying they're "on the streets" and "will die", posted on February 26th 2023.

You'll be happy to know that the real Jay Baldwin is not homeless or food insecure, and seems to have had a good relationship with both of their parents and is in an accepting home, unlike what raisedeyebrowemojii claimed THEY had, and claimed they were being abused. Raisedeyebrowemojii likely falsified all that while still impersonating Jay and keeping tabs on them in order to create a false sense of urgency whenever they wanted money at random.

Normally I wouldn't go into this much detail about the people who were stolen from in scams, but I feel like this case in particular it was important to point out where the scammer was pulling from to debunk their lies, but also because the real Jay Baldwin has become quite an iconic figure in their area, and all this information was taken from multiple publicly available sources, and so I can only assume that Jay is comfortable with this personal information being known.

Little to no life details, interests, or personality outside of the impersonating Jay Baldwin, and manipulation

As I'm sure many of you know by now (as ive mentioned it in previous posts, and that some of you currently reading this were victims of the scammer), but raisedeyebrowemojii contacted multiple, predominantly Black users to attempt to befriend them, and they did this in order to appear more legitimate, and most likely so that they had "friends" to call upon should any of their scams have been questioned. We've also seen this with multiple other scammers where a new blog will appear and suddenly start tagging mostly Black users to ask them to (unknowingly) reblog their scam posts.

And as a more famous example, we've seen this with the famed scammer Laura Deramas where she befriended multiple users to get them to stick up for her.

But to get down to the title's point, outside of the life details they were stealing or misconstruing from the real Jay, Raisedeyebrowemojii didn't have much of their own personality or traits, which is common in scams. Say, for example, a scammer will create a scamsona who is a lesbian and loves cats and is making a fake donation post for a sick cat, and so in order to make their blog look more convincing, they will randomly reblog popular posts from tags about cats or lesbianism.

In Raisedeyebrowemojii's case, we had one user mention that while Raisedeyebrowemojii was trying to "befriend" them, Raisedeyebrowemojii would only answer very generic questions asked of them despite the fact that they sent the messages first appearing to try to get to know that user, like answering "I like reading!" Instead of answering what their favorite books are if asked about their interests. Below is a screenshot of that conversation. This user emphasizes that they never got an answer to the last question they asked.

"Kidney disease" and alleged "death"

I stated on my blog that I believe raisedeyebrowemojii randomly said that they were diagnosed with a "terminal kidney disease" (allegedly chronic kidney disease) specifically with the view that they could leave, deactivate, or abandon their blog and then move onto ANOTHER scam blog (and likely this was the blktransdyke blog) without looking suspicious or weird, because then people would just assume they had died, which is exactly what happened.

Raisedeyebrowemojii stopped posting around June 2023, and the blktransdyke blog appeared in early April 2023, which makes me think this is when they started to move to that blog or potentially even another blog we don't yet know about. Funeral scams, or scams where the scammer pretends their persona has "died" in general is not new and is actually pretty common. It's possible that raisedeyebrowemojii was going to (or may still attempt) to return on another blog and pretend to be a family member or "friend" of the raisedeyebrowemojii in order to ask for alleged "funeral money", which we've seen with blogs like the now deleted blog @destrawberry.

But the main reason I think why they stopped posting in specifically June is because that is around the time the real Jay Baldwin was gaining popularity again, doing multiple public events, and was doing very very well, so I think the scammer became aware there was now more of a chance of people discovering their scam. In June, Jay won an award at an LGBT film festival for a documentary they had made ("Supporting Out Selves") and an Academic Hospital wrote a piece on their success, and in August they announced that they teamed up with ASE Community Foundation for Black Canadians with Disabities to host their 3rd student summit in September. You can find evidence of this by googling or by looking at Jay Baldwin's facebook, but of course, please give respect to the real Jay Baldwin & do not pester them.

Conclusion

All in all I hope that this clarifies a lot of things for those of you that were confused by all this, and again, I extend my dearest sympathies to those who donated to raisedeyebrowemojii and were manipulated by them, I know the feeling and I'm so terribly sorry that it's happened to you too. I advise any Black users especially to be very cautious about any new blogs with a donation post up that is new, and this new blog is trying to ask you to reblog their donation post: it's common for scammers to retarget anybody who may have donated to them, talked to them, or even just barely interacted with them before.

I'll put some of raisedeyebrowemojii's old paypals, gfm accounts, etc in either the replies or another reblog, because for now I'm running out of space. If you donated to them at any point, i suggest you report their accounts where you did the donating. And in the mean time, my colleague @kyra45 is taking testimonies on raisedeyebrowemojii, so if you have an experience with this scammer and would like to share that experience with us so we can document this scammer's behavior, please send Kyra an ask.

#raisedeyebrowemojii #scam #donation scam #blktransdyke #donation scammer #scams

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hockeyandhrsepwr · 2 years ago

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Surprise Homies!

Luke Hughes x college vlogger!reader

Sup Homies Masterlist

** I had this idea but wasn’t really sure how to write to so hopefully it makes sense & y’all like it**

"Okay boys, you ready? " You ask the guys as you finish setting up your camera. Nods come from all of them, so you hit record. You’re crouched in front of the camera blocking most of what’s behind you.

"Sup homies & welcome back to the channel!!

Todays video is going to be a bit different, but still fun!! I’ve had lots of people asking for a boyfriend tag, but I think those can get boring so we’re spicing it up. I have here some of our closest friends too, since we’re going to play a little game so without further ado, let’s get started.”

You step back & walk backwards towards the couch, where there’s a spot for you on the floor between Luke & Dylan. Ethan, Steve, Philippe & Jacob are on the sofa behind. As you sit down, the boys wave. Steves made a couple of appearances in the vlogs when the two of you are studying together, but none of the other boys have so they’re pretty excited.

You plop down & Luke wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“This is Luke, my lover. Boys, introduce yourselves.” Quickly they go around & say their names.

“So, some of you many recognize these lovely lads, as they all play for Michigan’s hockey team. Steve here is the reason I met these lunatics, and you may recognize him as my study buddy as we go through engineering hell together” You stick your hand up for a fist bump, which you get before continuing “the rest of them just want to be in the vid for some clout.”

They protest “dont lie! Dylan asked me to put instagram handles in the vid. Anyway! They’ve all been playing since they were tiny, and today, we’re going to be testing their hockey knowledge. I’ve got 5 questions, of varying difficulty for them. They’ll have 10 seconds to write down their answers on these” you grab the mini whiteboards out of the bag in front of you and pass them around

“Okay, lets got going!!

Question 1, and if you guys can’t get this there’s no hope for you here”

“Hold up, what do we win?” Ethan pipes up “The satisfaction of beating your teammates isn’t enough?” he shrugs, “I mean yeah”

“Anyway, question 1.

Name one of the greats who had a fun nickname. "

“What the hell is considered a fun nickname “ Steve asks as he starts writing

"ehhhh. times up. flip!!"

L: CuJo

S: the dominator

D: Super Mario baby

E: The great one

J: Sid the kid

P: Finnish Flash

“Ethan, thats basic, so no point. Steve, who the fuck is that, Luke, Phil, Jacob you all get a point. Duker gets a bonus for being the only one to put Super Mario which is the best nickname, no question.”

“Dude, Dominik Hasek!” Steve says “oh okay, never heard him called that but” you pull up your phone “google says that was his nickname so you get a point. Moving on”

“Question 2, name Two teams to win back to back Stanley Cups at any point. Go” The boys are writing as you count down. “Done! Flip them”

L: Tampa bay & Islanders

S: Red Wings & Tampa

D: Pittsburg, Montreal

E: Oilers, Canadiens

J: Detroit & Toronto

P: Canadiens & Lightning

“Okay points for all good job boys. Next question, numba three!!

Give me 2 teams located in State, or provincial before you get your panties in a twist Ethan, capital.”

“Bruh I dont know geography!” Dylan complains. “Well, that sucks for you then”

“I though this was going to be stats or something!”

“So if I asked you to list the top scorers in NHL history you would get it?”

“Yeah probably!”

“That sucks for you then since I’m asking the questions. Go”

Dylans muttering to himself going “is that a capital” as the timer ticks down

L: Rangers & Preds

S: Avs (Denver) & Blue Jackets (Columbus)

D: Columbus & Boston??

E: Edmonton & Toronto

J: Red Wings (duh) hurricanes (hopefully)

P: Detroit & Boston

“Luke, you’re wrong no points!”

“Hang on, NYC isn’t the capital?”

“Dude even I know that & I’m Canadian”

“Jacob & Steve, you both get bonus points for actually putting teams, not just cities. Clearly the rest of the boys can’t listen”

“Duker, good job you bullshitted your way through that”

“Thats my talent babe” he winks at the camera

“Question 4, What is the dumbest penalty that a team can get? “

“Is there a right answer here?” Jacob asks

“Yes, There is a correct answer, And if you don’t know this, clearly you don’t pay attention when we watch hockey together”

“Oh thats easy” Luke & Duke both say before writing

“Time!! Flip.”

L: Too many men - can y’all not count or something (direct quote)

S: Too many men

D: Too many “idiots on the ice”

E: Too many sticks? idfk

J: yelling at the ref (abuse of officials)

P: Too many men?

“Wow Jacob & Ethan, wow. I see how it is.”

“You know we’re normally playing when youre watching hockey right?” Jacob says in protest.

“Well the others got it right so stop being a sore loser. The rest of you all get points. And get your shit together guys. Lukey, bonus point for the quote”

“Its not hard, you say it every time.”

“And yet, you idiots still get the penalty!! Think of poor Adam who had his hatty taken away the other weekend because you guys can’t count!”

“Okay lets move on. We’ve heard the rant before” Steve butts in before you can get too heated.

You stick your tongue out at him but continue

“Final question, and you can get a lot of points here. There have been lots of brotherly duos that have played in the NHL” The boys immediately start protesting & talking over each other.

“Seriously?”

“Pretty sure this is blatant favouritsim”

“Oh Hell no”

Putting your fingers in your mouth you whistle to get their attention.

“Can I finish? Thank you. Now, there have been many brotherly duos play in the NHL. Name one duo where at least one of them has played at least one game this season. More obscure means more points, for a max of ten, so for example if you were to say a certain Canuck & his annoying brother, that’s easy as fuck so half a point. Since this requires some more brainpower, I’ll give you 20 seconds. Go”

“What if we dont know both their names?” “You’ll still get the points if you give one as long as it fits the criteria”

“Bro what the fuck?”

“Who the hell”

You sit there laughing at them as they try & come up with more obscure duos than the others. After 30 seconds, times up.

“Flip em boys”

L: Mikey & Ryan Mcleod (Go Devs!!)

S: P sure Adrian Kempe had a brother

D: Foudy Bros (CBJ!)

E: Willy & Alex Nylander

J: Reinhart (??)

P: Kevin Hayes

“Okay, honestly I dont know off the top of my head so imma google.”

“So Luke, you’re good, 2 points. Dylan also good, three points .”

“Hey!” Luke protest

“Shut it. Your brother plays with one of them so its not worth as much.”

“Ethan’s secretly a Leafs fan confirmed. Also 3 points”

“Philippe & Steven. One of your boys have played this season so 5 points for more obscure”

“But Jacob, I’m impressed. Even though you weren’t sure, you not only got 2 brothers, you’ve got 3!! And only one of them has played this year, Mr Sam Reinhart. I would’ve given you more if you had at least one first name, so 7 points for you!! Be more confident in your answer next time”

“Woah woah woah 7?!” Steve says

“What would it have taken to get ten?” Phil muses

“My game, my rules. Okay!” You clap your hands “Time to see who our winner is.”

You’ve got the scores on the whiteboard in front of you, just have to tally them up

“Alright, so here’s our final ranking

On the bottom Ethan with 5 points. You did terrible.

Not much better, we have Luke next with 6. What the hell babe, thats embarrassing for you.

Dylan in fourth with 7. Philippe with 9,

Stevn has 10

And our winner, Jacob! With 11 points!!

“WHOOOO!!”

“Can I just say, they’ve been alive longer than us so obviously they’d do better”

“Ethan age has literally nothing to do with this. You just suck.” Jacob says

You stand up and talk to the camera

“Before this ends up in an argument or wrestling on the floor, Thanks for watching everyone! If you want to see more with these lovable idiots, check out the UMich hockey social media accounts. Maybe they’ll make some vlog appearances too!

Love all you homies, see you in the next video!!

Luke pulls you down into his lap and you smile up at him while the boys argue, as your outro music plays in the video.

Arms wrap around your shoulder and Luke presses a kiss to your neck. “Done babe?”

Smiling, you lean back in your desk chair & tip your head back for a kiss. “Just about”

“Hurry up I want cuddles” he whines.

You giggle as you turn back to your laptop, double checking the title & thumbnail before scheduling the video to go live in place of your usual Sunday vlog. Hitting upload, you close you computer & join Luke on your bed.

“All done” you whisper before kissing him. He palms your ass, pulling you closer & says “good” before hungrily kissing you. You ignore the rest of your responsibilities to lay there together and cuddle, knowing your time like this is coming to an end soon.

#sup homies!#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #vlogger!reader #umich hockey #umich imagine #michigan #jjwritesshit

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tori-santamarias · 2 years ago

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BASICS.

full name: victoria “tori” santamaria date of birth: january 22nd zodiac sign: aquarius age: twenty pronouns: she/her orientation: bisexual / biromantic faceclaim: alexa steele

ACADEMICS ET AL.

year: second studying: theatre & drama studies + communications gpa: 2.9 extracurriculars: drama club & power squad work: co-instructor @ the dance studio

FAMILY.

mother: lea santamaria father: angelo santamaria

PERSONALITY.

positive traits: playful, loyal, & bubbly negative traits: jealous, impressionable, & stubborn hobbies: yoga, dance, shopping, thrifting aesthetics: tabloid magazines, starbucks every morning, & cheesy romantic comedies. puppy dog eyes, taking buzzfeed quizzes, rose gold iphone case. the smell of lavender. rose petals. gel pens.

EXTRAS.

most things are canon except for tori moving away. she’s stayed in toronto her whole life. her parents indulged most of her interests growing up: dance, modeling, and beauty pageants.

tori’s love languages are words of affirmation and quality time

a lover of popular culture - she’s always in the know of what’s happening in hollywood and the latest trends on the internet

she’s such a fangirl, but it’s toned down a little as she grew older. her west drive phase is a fond memory now and she’s always been a fan of craig’s.

had a shitty ex-boyfriend in high school who taught her that she deserves better. while she can be insecure at times, tori definitely knows her worth and won’t settle for less.

along with working as a co-instructor with arlene takahashi at the dance studio, tori has a large following on tiktok and instagram as well. dances and mini-vlogs are her usual type of content. because of this, she tends to get a lot of pr packages. she’ll share these with her friends or donate them to avoid wasting anything.

the money she earns from her job and videos/sponsorships tends to go directly to tuition, supplemented by the scholarships she’s won in recent pageants.

#about.

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pucksonnet · 1 year ago

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386 - Someone Bought Out This Season Finale

Support us on Patreon

The NHL Draft and Free Agency has come and gone, the Canucks drafted and signed as safely as possible and it all went down without Twitter!

Ryan and Arash get together on a 30 degree celcius day to chat about the Vancouver Canucks' draft and free agent decisions. The positives and negatives of their safe signings and the lovely feeling of not being terrified of big ticket contracts weighing us down for decades.

Along with Vancouver, they look at Nashville's big ticket moves as well as their insane buyouts and dead cap situation. They head east to discuss the Toronto Maple Leafs' interesting signings and finish up in Carolina, where they oddly want to re-start the Burns and Karlsson experiment.

The fellas play Sauce It or Toss It, answer some great listener questions (including a Question of The Week Hattrick), wish everyone well and send them off into the summer break with Lions In the Street, a PON tradition!

Support the show on Patreon! Pledge a coupla bucks ($5+) for access to our bonus content including Vlogs and video commentaries, access to the PON Discord and our weekly 5 Minutes For Paying segment. On this week's segment: Arash and Ryan play puckdoku

Looking for our social media? Here's our link tree

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danielgoh-ca · 2 years ago

Link

#immigration #travel #malaysia vlog #canada vlog #migration #IRCC #LMIA

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slowsburn · 2 years ago

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full name: victoria “tori” santamaria date of birth: january 22nd zodiac sign: aquarius age: twenty-one pronouns: she/her orientation: bisexual / biromantic faceclaim: alexa steele

ACADEMICS ET AL.

year: second studying: theatre & drama studies + communications gpa: 2.9 extracurriculars: drama club & power squad work: co-instructor @ the dance studio

FAMILY.

mother: lea santamaria father: angelo santamaria

PERSONALITY.

EXTRAS.

most things are canon except for tori moving away. she’s stayed in toronto her whole life. her parents indulged most of her interests growing up: dance, modeling, and beauty pageants.

tori’s love languages are words of affirmation and quality time

a lover of popular culture - she’s always in the know of what’s happening in hollywood and the latest trends on the internet

she’s such a fangirl, but it’s toned down a little as she grew older. her west drive phase is a fond memory now and she’s always been a fan of craig’s.

had a shitty ex-boyfriend in high school who taught her that she deserves better. while she can be insecure at times, tori definitely knows her worth and won’t settle for less.

the money she earns from her job and videos/sponsorships tends to go directly to tuition, supplemented by the scholarships she’s won in recent pageants.

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

angie - best friends, first ( girl ) kiss, current roommates

dallas - friends, in a will-they, won’t-they loop

fitz - shitty ex boyfriend

jenna - enemies, fitz cheated on tori with her

jack - used to be friends until jack’s mom found out she had a crush on tori, currently acquaintances

arlene - used to dance together, co-instructors, and went on one date but tori figured out she was thinking about someone else the whole time

darcy - family friends because their families attended the same church

manny - family friends but there’s a mutual dislike

mia - role model, looks to mia for industry advice

tiny - classmates, gets him to be in her tiktok videos

lola - friends, creates videos together sometimes

jane - previous crush, friends

liberty - friends

to be updated <3

#about / tori santamaria.

0 notes

influglueofficial · 2 years ago

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As we all know, it is a massive world with so many nations to explore and so little period. But thankfully, top famous Canadian travel bloggers will help you narrow your holiday wish list. This blog will teach you about the top travel bloggers in Canada.

Marie-Eve Vallieres (To Europe and Beyond)

In spite of the fact that this title seems to be written by a European, Montreal-based Marie-Eve Vallieres is a lover of the mainland. Her desired region on the continent is northwestern Europe, and she cannot stay away from it for more than a few months. Despite this, as her title says, her blog extends beyond Europe and covers topics worldwide. Marie-Eve wants to show her readers that travel can be "licensing and safe, smart yet realistic, fulfilling in various parts.” She is a famous Canadian bloggers.

Dalene and Peter Hack (Hecktic Travels)

In 2009, Dalene and Peter Heck sold their house and left corporate jobs to travel the world. A few of the nations the Hecks have visited and chronicled in the blog include Bolivia, Ecuador, Croatia, Finland, Italy, Malta, and Morocco. In their capacity as house-sitters, this couple is constantly moving and won't be slowing down any time soon. This roving couple defines their living situation as "too good." As a cherry on top, they were named Travelers of the Year by National Geographic in 2014.

As defined by Dalene, "Our blog is a recorded history of our journey around the world, providing a deeper insight into the places we visit and our thoughts as we move." This makes them the best Canadian travel bloggers in the world.

Justin and Lauren (Justin Plus Lauren)

There is no doubt that Justin Plus Lauren is the most thoughtful blog about Canada. Lauren and her partner Justin are eager to travel, including veganism, eco-tourism, and sustainability to reduce ecological impact. In addition to local travel, the blog also boosts small firms, mainly in Canada. This is why Justin Plus Lauren is regarded as one of the top travel bloggers in Canada.

Deb and Dave (ThePlanetD)

The couple calls themselves "Canada's Adventure Couple," and you'll see why after checking their blog. A married couple from Toronto, Deb, and Dave, have assumed many activities, including training in Muay Thai in Thailand and skydiving in New Zealand. Are there any fears that this thrill-seeking couple cannot overcome? This couple inspires people with their bold and vibrant way of living life to the fullest. Their motto, "adventure is for everyone," inspires their readers to partake in similar incidents.

● Nadine Sykora (Hey Nadine)

In addition to being a travel blogger, vlogger, and videographer, Nadine Sykora also has over 317,000 subscribers on YouTube. Her travels have taken her to more than 48 nations over the past five years. She has recorded many of these affairs through her blog posts and videos. Furthermore, her videos discuss packing tips, food in different nations, and her adventurous travels, sure to fuel your wanderlust. Hence, she is one of the top travel bloggers in Canada.

Gemma and JR (Off Track Travel)

The Off Track Travel blog is an ideal resource for getting outside Canada. Gemma and JR's primary goal is to travel across Canada and write about outdoor activities such as kayaking, hiking, and road tripping. Furthermore, they have taken six working breaks in four different nations and moved to Canada as emigrants. This blog has a lot of helpful info, making Gemma and JR two of the top Canadian travel bloggers.

· Brock (Backpack with Brock)

Although Brock was raised in rural Canada, he calls Toronto his home during his travels around the globe. He began writing his blog as part of a year-long backpacking trip across 36 countries and six continents in 2009. During this journey, he vlogged and has continued to do so. Kenya, Italy, and Tibet are three countries with which he maintains a continuous love affair.

● Cam and Nicole (The Traveling Canucks)

There is another great blog about travelling with kids in Canada called The Traveling Canucks. Because Cam and Nicole are British Columbians, they write a great deal about British Columbia. Several spot guides are available on their blog, specifically designed for travellers with children. Additionally, there is a great deal of info for new parents travelling with their children.

Jen Twyman and Kim Gray (Toque and Canoe)

With their journalism backgrounds, Jen Twyman and Kim Gray created this fun blog that explores "real" Canadian travel culture. From visiting the "storied" land of Labrador to offering a local's guide to Calgary, these self-described "travel hounds" share their unique experiences in each city they visit in this vast and beautiful nation.

Summary,

These are the top famous travel bloggers in Canada. It is wise that you must follow these best Canadian travel bloggers, and you will get a chance to learn from them by reading their blogs. Then what are you waiting for? Follow these top travel bloggers in Canada to follow your passion.

FAQs

1.Do travel bloggers get paid?

Yes, they get paid for writing travel blogs. However, the paid money may differ from blogger to blogger.

2.Who is the most famous travel blogger?

Dan Flying Solo is a famous travel blogger.

3.How much does the average travel blogger make?

You can make around $3000 to $10000 per month.

4.Is travel blogger a good career?It sounds simple, but it isn't. It takes a lot of patience to become a famous travel blogger.

5.Who is the most famous blogger?

Timothy Sykes is the most famous blogger.

6.Who is the number one blogger in 2022?

Ariana Huffington is the number one blogger in 2022.

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ucanall · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

MY APARTMENT TOUR in downtown Toronto. Moving day vlog. 1 bedroom + den ...

#youtube #apartmenttour lifeincanada torontovlog canadavlog uCANall

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sarahtran · 2 years ago

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all about love (and polka dots, and moonbeams)

youtube

is this a vlog? a book review? a love letter? a music video? a goodbye? a deeply personal romanticized way of coping with major life changes?

thank you to adrian for composing the soundtrack to my life, and all those who are in or film/photograph these moments.

#summer vlog #moving vlog #moving away #toronto #montreal #vancouver #markham #summer 2022 #adrian lo #video #bell hooks #all about love

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uglyandtraveling · 2 days ago

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youtube

This Is How Quickly the Weather Changes in Canada: Toronto's Yonge-Dundas Square

Experience the magic of downtown Toronto as I take you on a walking tour during the early days of winter! 🍁❄️ Canada’s weather is famously unpredictable, and this vlog captures a dramatic shift in conditions right before my eyes at the iconic Yonge-Dundas Square.

Known as Toronto's "Times Square," Yonge-Dundas Square is the heart of the city, alive with vibrant energy, dazzling billboards, and a hub for culture, shopping, and entertainment.

But even amidst the bustling crowd and urban lights, Mother Nature stole the show with her quick temper, reminding us why Canadian winters are so unique.

Join me as I stroll through the city streets, soak in the winter vibes, and embrace the unpredictable beauty of Toronto’s ever-changing weather. Don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe for more high-quality walking tours and city adventures in 4K! 🌨️🚶‍♂️

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nataliyakvitka · 5 years ago

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Toronto Path и SkyWalk: путешествие по подземным переходам даунтауна Торонто

Сегодня мы с вами отправляемся в самое сердце даунтауна Торонто, исследовать Path and Skywalk.

(more…)

View On WordPress

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oyesmendes · 4 years ago

Text

i keep on missing you

a/n: so remember when i said there would be a part two to “all i wanted was a happy ending” ? ya its here.... this was largely inspired by Missing You - The Vamps and i miss you, i’m sorry - Gracie Abrams. hope you guys got some tissues ready HAHAHA sorry in advance! @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @lonelyreputation

read part one here

'Cause I'm sat here in my front room with a girl who ain't you / Hopin' and prayin' you're breakin' up with another fool

The sunlight that streams through the small crack between his curtains is what wakes Shawn up. He has his hand draped across a body - or should he say, his girlfriend’s body and he finds himself frowning at the lack of the olive skin he’s grown so used to waking up to. He’s quick to change his facial expression once he sees the body roll around to face him. The girl grins at him, stroking his cheek and pressing a soft kiss on his lips which he struggles to return.

“Morning, sunshine”

“G’morning” He mumbles back. They don’t say much, only sharing a few kisses and cuddle for what felt like too long before they both stumble out of bed into their morning routines.

Shawn is sitting at the dining table, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram like he was reading the morning papers. He likes a couple pictures posted by friends back in Toronto, before he lands on one that makes his breath hitch.

@kiara_hammani: everyday is worth celebrating with you. happy three months, sweet pea!

It was a picture of her - Kiara. His finger hovers above her face, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against his. She was in that blue sundress they bought on impulse during a trip to Hawaii two years ago, and she was posing at the beach. Wrapped up in the arms of another man. He’s contemplating if he should zoom in or tap on the tagged account of the man, but decides to just stare at it for a couple more seconds instead. It’s only been less than five months since she moved out, how could she have moved on so quickly?

“Shawn? Hey you there, gorgeous?” Shawn blinks his eyes a couple of times to bring him back to reality. He quickly places his phone face down on the table and smiles softly.

“Yeah? Sorry I got a little distracted.”

“That’s alright, would you like coffee or green tea today?” She was holding up a French press in one hand and pack of teabags in the other. She smiles sweetly at him and Shawn feels himself cringe internally. This girl was everything but Kiara. The tone of her voice constantly laced with sweetness, and pale skin covered with fake tan which made her look orange. He thinks back to all the times that Kiara would purposely use a high-pitched voice to mock the waitress or random girl that was trying to get in his pants and they’d have a good laugh about it. He knows she would’ve done the same right now. Shawn looks at the girl standing in front of him and he hides the disappointment that fills his chest when he realises that she’s not here.

“I’ll have the tea, thank you Chris.” She nods and spins around to make him a mug.

Christine was your typical LA girl. Yeah, the ones that have beach blonde hair, holding a hydro flask and wearing cut off denim shorts all year round. How she and Shawn ended up together for the last two months? Ask management. They initially paired him off with another girl but she was way too much of a blonde that Shawn ended up ditching her on their first meet. He put up a strong fight with the team afterwards and they eventually settled on Christine. She was no where near Kiara, but according to Shawn’s publicist - Christine was the cure to his falling reputation.

So they’ve spent every single day together for the last two months, drowning out all the dirty news of their breakup. Shawn didn’t hate it completely, Christine was too nice to him that he forced himself to enjoy every moment. But he does catch himself comparing her to Kiara, and he can’t seem to shake himself out of it. He watches as Christine turns around, two mugs in her hand. At first, he doesn’t notice the pastel pink mug that belonged to Kiara. But as she places it down on the table, he sees the faint lipstick stain on the edge of the mug and he stops her from lifting it up to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Christine asks when Shawn’s hand lands on top of hers.

“Throw it out.”

“What? Babe, I just made this-“

“I said THROW IT OUT!” She jumps slightly in her seat when Shawn raises his voice and he immediately regrets it. Christine pushes her chair back, letting them scrape the hardwood floor because she knows how much Shawn hates it when she does that. She gets up from her seat and stalks to the front door.

“You can throw it out yourself.”

Nothing happened in the way I wanted / Every corner of this house is haunted

The front door slams and Shawn is left with the same deafening silence from two months ago. His eyes focus on the mug and then roams the house. Every corner was filled with the essence of Kiara. After their heated argument, she moved out the next morning, taking everything that she could without the need to turn back. Naturally, she left a few shared pieces in the house which Shawn never touched, and it was starting to feel haunting. Each object that she had left - the dark blue curtains from Ikea, the cream coloured throw from a boutique in London, and even that chipped porcelain vase she bought from a kid at a yard sale held three years of happy memories. Memories he couldn’t bear to relive or throw away. Shawn would much rather be alone than to share this special place with someone new, but he couldn’t lose Christine now, especially when his career’s on the line. So he forces himself to grab his keys and pull himself out the front door. He’s out on the streets and thankfully, Christine hasn’t made it too far from the apartment building.

“Christine!” She increases her footsteps but before she could make the corner, Shawn grabs a hold of her arm.

“What do you want, Shawn?” He pulls her closer to him and she’s resting her hand on his chest. Her touch felt different. But Shawn settles for it in the moment.

“You, me and the grocery store.” He smirks at her. A small smile erupts on her face and Shawn knows he’s immediately been forgiven. It’s been a vicious cycle that’s got them through the last 8 weeks - Shawn does something stupid, then he makes it up by suggesting Christine’s favourite activity which he would hate, on a normal day. He knows this isn’t the way to love someone, especially someone who only has good intentions for him. But he needs Christine to stay, at least he thinks he does. She makes the silence less deafening, and it stops Shawn’s head from reeling into his horror movie of thoughts. She was his imaginary safety net, somewhere he could fall into for a moment and not think until reality hits him like a truck again.

The store was quiet, and Shawn is thankful for it. He doesn’t need to put on a loving couple front for the cameras or fans that would recognise him from a mile away. He’s pushing the trolley behind Christine, empty focus on the squeaking of the wheels.

“Should we try cashew milk this time? I was watching Claudia’s vlog the other day and she was raving about this brand.” Christine holds up the cartons in front of Shawn’s face. He smiles at her, knowing well that he has to give her some sort of attention or care in order for this relationship not to crumble.

Kiara couldn’t care less about the type of nut milk we had at home. He stops himself before he dives further into that part of his brain.

“Well if Claudia says it’s good, I don’t see why we shouldn’t try it.” Her face immediately lights up when Shawn showed the slightest interest in her rambling. She drops the carton of cashew milk into the trolley and scampers off while he trails behind her. They wander around the fresh produce, and while Christine goes on about which kind of salad she wants to make next week, Shawn hears the distinct laughter and voice.

His eyes dart around the store until they land on a specific couple and he sees her. In all her 5’7” glory, Kiara stood next to the same man that was on her Instagram post, trying to catch her breath from all the laughing the pair had been doing.

“You’re telling me, you microwaved eggs?!” She’s still laughing, shaking her head as she placed the carton of fresh eggs into the trolley in front of her.

“Hey, no shame in that! We were in college and really dumb. Besides, you’re the one that burnt the kettle to a crisp while making tea last week.”

“Well, we’re both to blame for that.” Shawn watches as Kiara gives the man one of those cheeky smiles that she used to give him. He watches as he attacked her sides, tickling and then peppering kisses down her neck as she squeals in excitement. Shawn should look away, he knows he should before he gets caught, but he can’t help himself. Before he knows it he hears Christine next to him,

“Shawn? Did you hear me? What are you- Oh for god’s sake!” The couple turns when they hear Christine raise her voice and Shawn snaps out of his trance. His eyes meet briefly with Kiara’s and her face falls just enough for Shawn to notice. Christine shoves the packet of spinach she has in her hands back on the shelf. She shoots Kiara a death stare before pushing Shawn out of the way and storming out of the grocery store. He doesn’t go after her, instead his hand tightens its grip around the handles of the trolley and he forces himself to breathe. The man with Kiara is rubbing both sides of her arms, a concerned look on his face as he mumbles something to her. She’s shaking her head, giving him a reassuring smile as they continue with their shopping, not taking another look at Shawn.

I still love you, I promise / Nothing happened in the way I wanted

Shawn abandons his cart, the Canadian in him feeling guilty about not placing the stuff back on the shelves. But his mind is running too fast that his legs couldn’t comprehend his own actions. He finds himself squatting outside the store, baseball cap pulled far down on his face. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some damned miracle to happen. Something to fix his heart.

“I’ll drive the car up here? That way we don’t have to push the cart back.” Shawn recognises the same voice and he peers up slowly.

“Sure, I’ll wait here.” Kiara.

He waits for a couple moments before he scrambles to his feet and it makes Kiara jump out of her skin.

“Pinché pendejo.” She mutters under her breath. Kiara’s about to push her trolley further away, when she recognises the white and pink Dodgers baseball cap that used to belong to her.

“Shawn?”

He feels like a deer caught in headlights, looking down at her with widened eyes. The look on her face was unreadable as she puts her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie. He tries to drink in as much of her looks as he can - the change in the way her hair now falls just above her shoulders instead of having it in those long beach waves; how she now has the confidence to be out in public with barely any make up on. The moment of staring doesn’t last too long though, when Shawn hears a voice call out for her.

“Babe, you good?” Kiara and Shawn both seem to be shaken back to reality quickly. She’s pushing her hair out of her face and smiling softly to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Let’s load her up.”

And I know you said that we're not talking / But I miss you, I'm sorry

“Wait.” Shawn says barely above a whisper. Both of them stop in their tracks and look to him.

“Can I-can I talk to her for a second? I promise you it won’t take long.” Kiara’s boyfriend is already dropping the bags back into the cart, trying to go in front of her to give Shawn a piece of his mind.

“Ryan,” She pulls his arm toward her and he switches his attention to his girl, “I’ll talk to him. I won’t take too long.” Ryan looks at Kiara then back at Shawn and he stalks toward him, chest out, looking like he’s ready for some brawl. Kiara’s holding her breath as she watches him walk, the anxiety in her chest just become worse by the second. Ryan has his pointer finger up, voice low as he stares at Shawn in the eyes, “you hurt her again and I guarantee you, I will ruin you.”

He turns back around, kissing Kiara on the cheek before he loads the groceries into the car.

Shawn smiles awkwardly at her, “well, he seems nice.”

“I’m so sorry, he’s just protective.”

“That’s okay, I understand.” An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them and Kiara think’s this is probably the worst idea in the entire world. To be standing out on a cold day in LA, next to her ex, with her boyfriend waiting less than 10 feet away. She’s wrapping her arms around herself, bouncing on her feet to keep herself warm. Shawn doesn’t say anything for awhile and Kiara’s growing frustrated by the second.

“Did you want to-“

“So I-“

They start at the same time, and it makes Shawn chuckle. But it makes Kiara sigh and she’s hugging herself tighter. Shawn finally sees the hint of annoyance on her face and his mind scrambles for the right words. (Though, I’m not exactly sure these are the write words, Shawn)

“How are you?” Kiara gives him a look, and she couldn’t believe her ears. After standing out in the freezing cold weather, he just wanted to ask how she was doing?!

“Get to the point, Shawn. I don’t have the time for small talk right now.” He’s fiddling with the loose thread from his sweater, trying to avoid Kiara’s intimidating brown eyes when he speaks.

“I just-I, I just miss you, Ki.” Kiara scoffs, very audibly and she takes a step back to look at him.

“Cariño,” He recognises the same sarcastic tone that her mother uses, “don’t you have a girlfriend you should be with?”

Breaking dishes when you're disappointed / I still love you, I promise

“Yeah I do, she’s standing right in front of me.”

“You did not just-“ Kiara mutters under her breath, shaking her head violently. She looks around her to ensure that there’s no one in earshot, then steps toward him and pokes his chest.

“Shawn Peter, you do not just squat out here wanting to talk to me after you argued with your current girl and then say that you want me back. You do not just walk up to me and say all those things after what you did, how you hurt me and-“

He grabs both her wrists and Kiara stops mid-sentence.

“What are you doing?” She mutters under her breath. Kiara knows that Ryan would be watching them both, and any bigger movement would send him running out of the car to punch Shawn in the face. She looks over her shoulder and she already sees the door of the Range Rover opening slowly.

“I miss you, I really do. I still love you, Ki, I still fucking love you.” He tries to lean in and Kiara finally had enough, pulling her hand out from his grip.

“Fuck Shawn, I’m happy now can’t you see? We’re over, it’s over.” Kiara turns around, her eyes meeting Ryan as he stands next to the car. She musters up a smile for him before she hears Shawn shout from behind her.

“Does he love you like I do?” She stops in her tracks and looks over at him.

“No Shawn, Ryan has done a better job in the last three months than you ever did in the three years I’ve known you.”

With that, Kiara walks away, and Shawn is left with half of his heart and the image of her back burned in his mind.

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes angst

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parvuls · 4 years ago

Text

fic: in the space between (2/2)

word count: 6.6k

rating: teen

tags: space, science fiction, enemies to friends to lovers, pre-relationship

notes: due to length and tumblr's formatting, reading on ao3 is recommended

(part 1 | part 2 | read on ao3)

“Just a month till we’re home, boys,” Holster announces as he climbs into the bottom bunk across from Eric, addressing the dark room at large. Eric can hear him shift around in his bed, sheets rustling with his movements. “Can I get a hallelujah?”

“You can get pizza,” Ransom replies dreamily from the top bunk above him. “Because Holtzy -- The Real fucking Pep God. You and me, Matty Matheson pepperoni. One month.”

There’s one month left until landing back in Houston and disbanding for three weeks of leave. It’s been creeping up in conversations for weeks now, nestling itself in crew breakfasts and mission briefs and downtime. Shitty waxes poetry about things like dipping his toes into the ocean and breathing that sweet Terra air as often as he talks about smoking three joints at once the moment they set foot on the ground. Holster and Ransom talk about the heaps of food they’ll be shoveling to compensate for a year of outer space cuisine. Jack doesn’t talk about much other than the missions, and Eric thinks about organic chemistry and molecular modeling on good days, thinks about crying on bad ones. He talks about almost anything else to distract himself and hopes to Jesus that no one can tell.

The picture frame on the shelf by his bunk wobbles on its back stand as the ship tips into Krer orbit for the night. Krer itself is dim and murky, obscuring the shining lights of its neighboring planets and cloaking the crew quarters’ portal window in darkness. Jack said that the last mission of this tour should be coming in from Flight Director Hall sometime during the night.

Eric sighs quietly, turns onto his side, and stares blindly at the blank white of the wall as he mentally runs through the primary structure of proteins once more. Holster and Ransom are arguing about the best Toronto pizza in the background, the sound of their voices weaving in with the beeps of the ship’s machinery and the creaking noises of it when in motion.

“You gotta come too, Bittle,” Holster says, drawing Eric’s attention. He rolls his head to the other side, watches Holster’s blurred figure move in the dark to lean over the edge of his bunk. Eric must’ve missed a change of conversation. “Getting together over leave? We spend the last day before launch together, all of us. Y’know, hitting some bar, maybe watching a game, then catching the plane to Texas in the morning. Last time we went to Shitty’s -- man, that was fucking wild sauce.”

“And you gotta meet Lardo,” Ransom adds. “Crew bylaws. Sorry, rookie, everyone’s in.”

There are ten densely-printed pages about prokaryotes crumpled in the back of Eric’s personal locker, that he’s riffled through maybe twice. Eric chews his lip raw, tries to think of a carefully-masqueraded way of brushing the invitation off, but Holster grumbles lowly before he can. “Well, not everyone.”

“Right,” Ransom says, his enthusiastic tone turning slightly hesitant. “But. Us and Shitty and Lardo and probably her trainee Ford. It’s almost everyone.”

It’s almost everyone, plus ground team. “But not Jack,” Eric concludes, unintentionally dismayed. He should know better by now than to be disappointed, probably. He should, but doesn’t.

Holster sighs and throws himself back onto the mattress, bed springs groaning loudly. “Jack doesn’t really do social things. He’s too cool for them. Which -- whatever, man, who cares, it’s probably more fun for us that way. So you in?”

What Eric’s in for is a world of trouble. Eric’s in for the sweltering heat of the Texan desert, he’s in for submerging in textbooks all the way up to his ears, he’s in for never being quite enough for this world. He turns his head back to the other side, facing the wall, and stifles a sigh.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and knows that he will, also knows he’d never be able to say yes. He doesn’t leave them enough time to round up on him before he adds, “Now shut your pieholes, gentlemen, some people need their beauty sleep. And by some people I do mean y’all.”

“Really, he means you,” Ransom tells Holster, and there’s the distinct sound of Holster reaching up and whacking the top bunk with a pillow. Eric buries his face in his sheets and tries to think distracting thoughts loudly enough to drown out the constant screeching noise of his worries. That, at least, is something he’s an expert at.

Eric wishes he could say that he spent his entire life looking up to the stars. That would be a lie.

He spent most of his childhood looking at the ground, instead. At the toe picks beneath his feet; at the dough rising in the oven; at the floor of his school’s hallways, trying to avoid eye contact. The sky in Georgia was ordinarily clear, stars blinking in and out of view, but they’d never held much of Eric’s interest. He wouldn’t have known what to search for even if he’d tried.

Eric, aged eighteen, went to college mostly for the going and less for college. New England was as much an escape as it was a destination. He liked some of his classes, didn’t like others -- remained undeclared for most of junior year, bouncing around between classes about food and culture. He put off doing his work for too long and preferred baking to writing essays too often, but it was fine, most of the time. His days were filled with more people than papers and he found that it was exactly the way he liked it.

College was the point Eric realized that, once he’d stopped being too afraid to try, he was really good with people.

“You could charm mountains into moving for you,” his sophomore year roommate told him, not without a hint of exasperation, when Eric fretted about meeting his first boyfriend’s parents. “Literally everybody likes you.”

And Eric laughed nervously, said, “Come on now, that is certainly not true,” because he couldn’t charm thirteen year old bullies out of forcing him across the state, couldn’t make small-town Georgia like him for who he really was. Those seemed a lot like immovable mountains to him.

But people flocked to his vlog, kept telling him he was so charismatic, and his hockey team kept turning to him for advice with their problems, and in November of junior year he reviewed his credits, expecting to see every food class his college had to offer, but found Populism and Norms and Deviance and Inequality and Social Change, instead.

He got his B.A. Got his master’s, too, not particularly fond of academia but not too keen on leaving the shelter it provided, either. He accepted an offer to work as a consultant for a big company right after grad school, spent a year expertly tailoring trade relations and marketing techniques to partners and customers from foreign cultures. He understood people, liked people, and people, apparently, liked him. It wasn’t the job of his dreams but it was a decent start, and once the one year mark came and went he began considering PR work, maybe putting his people skills to a smaller-scale use. He was twenty-five and definitely not unhappy and his eyes were, always, firmly on the ground.

And then -- well. Then, one day, NASA called.

Jack gathers the four of them outside the flight deck to inform them that their crew has been tasked with the last Human-Islik Intergalactic Treaty info exchange of the quarter, in time for the summit meeting at the end of August. He tells them Flight Director Hall is counting on them, tells them to wear clean suits, and when Holster and Ransom begin chanting last mission, last mission, last mission, he sternly reminds them that being assigned to the Treaty IE is an honor. Still, when they all scatter and the two of them practically skip down the bridge, Eric thinks he sees the corners of Jack’s mouth twitch.

The mission takes four days, requires a series of security checks before entering each room and short transmissions to Houston for green lights at every step. Islikaru has the largest concentration of humans outside of Earth, but protocol must be followed nevertheless. Eric shakes hands, shakes paws, shakes tentacles, makes pleasant small talk and smiles brightly and lets Ransom ramble about science and Jack deal with bureaucracy. It feels at last like a familiar dance, and Eric tries not to think about how much he doesn’t ever want to stop dancing.

By dusk of the fourth day Shitty convinces Jack to wrap it up at a local eatery, the crew crowded around a small table in a pressurized O2 pod with their helmets thrown on the seats by their thighs. Eric finds himself squeezed between Jack on one side and Shitty on the other, a cool syrupy drink emitting translucent wisps of steam in his hand. Holster orders for all of them in rusty Isli that may or may not actually result in food, but they’re all just too jubilant to care.

“Alright boys,” Shitty hollers, banging his coaster on the table several times for effect. The glass containers holding all of their drinks jiggle with its force, creating a cheerful ringing sound. “A toast to this fucking beaut of a year. Being stuck in a cramped metal case floating in nothing for three hundred sixty-five days has been a great pleasure with your rockin’ bods for company. Fucking cheers!”

Ransom whoops, Shitty pretends to wipe a tear, Holster belts out the chorus of Cheers’ theme song passionately. Eric watches them, helplessly indulgent, and thinks: he’s actually making a home here.

On his other side, Jack shoves one of the food baskets towards Eric with his knuckles and says, “You should try the octo-bacon, if you haven’t.” His eyes meet Eric’s for a brief moment, make Eric’s lungs expand in his chest. He can’t remember the last time Jack spoke to him for no good reason.

Jack’s face is uniquely relaxed, his jaw convulsing as he fruitlessly tries not to laugh at something Shitty says, and Eric’s former thought continues, completely unbidden: gracious, I’m going to miss these boys so much. Their bickering and their worst habits and their dumbest moments. Holster’s booming voice, Ransom’s midnight thesis writing, Shitty’s insistence on nudity, Jack’s continual ability to confuse him.

“Holy shit, man,” Ransom says, slamming his emptied drink onto the table and staring at its last drops in awe. “What the fuck is this shit. I need another one ASAP.”

“Not it!” Holster calls, and then stretches his arm across the table, fingertip of his index finger pointed mere inches from Jack’s face. “But I just know our commander would love to buy his best crew another round. Right, Zimmermann?”

“You’re my only crew, Birkholtz,” Jack rolls his eyes, mostly good-natured. Holster’s wiggling finger and Shitty’s foot kicking at his shin beneath the table must goad him into action anyway, because he puts his helmet back on, disappears out of the pod and towards the service counter without further protest.

While Eric watches him go, Shitty slides closer in the booth and flings his arm around Eric, tugs him right into the crook of Shitty’s body.

“This is it, Bittle,” he sighs, eyes closing dramatically. “Once this tour ends, you will no longer hold the title of rookie. Finally, you will graduate to the same titles everybody else gets -- mainly bro, or fucker, or, if I’m spectacularly schwasted, yo, what’syourname. This is a monumental day for all. You might even get a nickname. Are you appropriately emotional?”

Eric is emotional about many things. He can't stop thinking about this crew and what they've come to mean to him, can't stop hating keeping secrets, can't stop dreading the moment they cross back into Earth. Eric is emotional about the possibility of seeing his mama again, and what it'll mean if he does; Eric is emotional about life in general, right now, so he says, “Sure thing, Shitty,” and shoves a ring of octo-bacon into his mouth. It seems, for lack of a better option, like the smartest response.

From above Ransom’s head, Eric spots Jack reappearing just beyond the glassy walls of the pod, carrying a tray with four containers between both hands. He then keeps watching, helpless and open-mouthed, as another astronaut rises from a nearby booth and slams into Jack shoulder-first, tipping the entire tray sideways and nearly knocking its contents over and to the floor.

“Oh shit, sorry mate!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching out to catch Jack’s hands and help stable the tray. His Australian accent is thick, the ASA pin decorating the shoulder that knocked into Jack glinting under artificial lights. The two of them grab the tray with three hands, containers sliding back into place still intact, before the man’s eyes flick up and catch on Jack’s face. He then jerks back, his eyes widening and his hands yanked away from Jack like he’s afraid to catch on fire. “Fuck, Zimmermann! I didn’t see it was you! Fuck my life, uh -- here, I’ll pay for the drinks --”

Eric watches, crestfallen, as Jack’s previously relaxed expression gradually darkens back into his usual scowl, lips disappearing between his teeth. “It’s fine, don’t --”

The other astronaut shakes his head vehemently, shoving his gloved hand into his utility pocket and fishing out some local coins that he then throws onto the tray haphazardly.

“Fuck no, mate, I’m not taking risks with you,” he hurries backwards, flat palms raised up, like he’s under some kind of threat Eric can’t read in Jack’s distressed body language. “For real, it was an accident, don’t get your dad to kick me off the program, yeah?”

The man backs off, scurrying back to his pod and to his whispering crewmates. Jack remains standing, shoulders rigid and tray held in clenched white knuckles, vacant stare fixed on the floor. Eric glances away from Jack for the first time since he saw him approach and notices that his whole table is silent and tense. He catches Shitty’s furrowed eyebrows and Ransom’s worried look, and becomes slowly conscious of the fact that unlike him, everybody else already know what just went on in front of them.

Jack’s mood seems to fracture, then. He steps through the pod’s sliding sealing and sets the tray down on the table too forcibly, glass containers knocking together. He doesn’t sit back down. Shitty parts his mouth to say something, but Jack latches his helmet closed before he can, muttering, “I’m done for tonight. I’ll see you guys back on the ship.”

His face is almost blank, valiantly trying for imperviousness, but Eric has never seen him look so decidedly miserable before. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab Jack’s wrist; he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what just happened, but he does know that Jack shouldn’t leave like that. He manages to stammer out, “...Jack --” before Jack tears his hand away from Eric’s grip with the same excessive aggression that rattled the drinks, and says curtly, “Excuse me.”

Eric stares at his back stalking off until he's entirely out of view, feels unjustly hurt and primarily very confused.

Jack Zimmermann is --

Jack Zimmermann is one of NASA’s Arctic Project’s best pilots and ship commanders, Eric learned his first year in the program. He’s exceptionally committed to his job, loyal to his crew, unwaveringly focused on the mission. He’s direct, sometimes brutally so. He’s good at following orders, makes tough decisions under pressure, and never takes the opportunity to rub elbows with the higher ups. He just loves what he does, and does it notably well.

The name and the legend is a lot to live up to, but when Eric met Jack he realized that the man is exactly as he’s advertised. Jack, in the role of Jack Zimmermann, is straightforwardly that: an amazing astronaut, an amazing ship commander, an amazing pilot.

It’s unfortunate, then, that Jack in the role of a human being is sometimes an enormous asshole.

The ship’s lights are all off when the boys straggle themselves back on board later in the evening, their boots dragging sluggishly against gravity. When Jack left, the celebratory mood followed his footsteps out the door; no one seemed the least bit inclined to talk about it, so Eric didn’t ask. Though the four of them did their best to recover, cracking halfhearted jokes and staying for another couple of rounds, even Shitty’s mustache seems to droop lower than normal by the time they finally find their way back to the ship.

Shitty passes airlock and walks straight towards the pilots’ quarters without saying a thing, so Eric wordlessly follows Holster and Ransom into their own quarters, brow still creased with puzzlement. He watches as Holster starts stripping by the door and Ransom sits down on the bottom bunk to take off his gear, and waits, and waits, until the silence is just too strange to handle.

“Alright, can anyone tell me what in the deep-fried hell was that?”

Holster glowers, rips off his support strap with gusto. He doesn’t answer, so Eric turns his frown at Ransom, who sighs as he removes the tough overshoe off his boots. “Ignore him, Bittle. Jack just gets real bitchy when people mention his dad. Which happens pretty often because, you now, his dad.”

“His dad…?” Eric prompts, desperate, because it seems like he should know something that he doesn’t. It’s not in the least a foreign feeling these days, when concerning space and science and always, always Jack.

Ransom looks up at him, one boot dangling from his left hand. “Yeah, you know, his dad. It’s a lot of pressure, living up to that. It’s probably most of why Jack is how Jack is.”

Eric doesn’t believe daddy issues are any excuse to be so surly, and he thinks, rather bitterly, that he would know something about the matter. But he pushes, still, because it’s always one step forward and three steps back with Jack, and any scrap of information making his commander seem a little more human could go a long way right now. Or even not human; Lord knows Eric can figure out nonhums just fine. “What does he have to live up to?”

Holster pauses peeling off the suit’s hard upper torso to squint incredulously at Eric. The lower torso assembly of the suit pools around his thighs. “You don’t know who Mad Bob is?”

“Uh,” Eric deflates, taking a tentative step back, the crown of his head hitting the frame of the top bunk. The tone of conversation begins to sound a lot like the time he disclosed that he doesn’t really know the periodic table or has, at any point of time, known it at all. “No. I don’t.”

Ransom throws his other boot to the side and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and face contorting into an expression that closely mirrors Holster’s; surprised, scandalized, disbelieving. “He’s like -- Mad Bob. He was the first commander in the original Avalanche Project. He was the first pilot to leave the Solar System and come back alive?”

“They say he was the first to meet extraterrestrial life!” Holster gestures grandly with his hand, yanking off the EV glove to have free use of the other hand as well.

“That’s actually not true,” Ransom clarifies, “No nonhum races were recorded until almost a decade later --”

“Not the point, dude,” Holster waves him off. “The point is, Mad Bob is a legend. His ship nearly burned on the way back to Earth and he totally saved everyone on board. Made the first round trip, you know? He’s a big fucking deal. Can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.”

Eric blanches, digs his nails into his skin to hold his instinctual reaction at bay. Eric spent the first twenty-five years of his life with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his eyes never straying upwards. Later, Eric spent every moment of his time at Houston scrambling to prove his worth in an environment so wholly alien to him that the irony in the metaphor was no longer funny. Eric wouldn’t be able to tell Neil Armstrong from Adam, just like Eric can never really remember the difference between Newton’s and Einstein's theories, doesn't know the primary structure of proteins even now. Eric doesn’t belong here, and he’s quickly running out of time to pretend like he does.

“Oh,” he says finally, weakly. Holster and Ransom haven’t looked away from him yet, so he averts his eyes, turns to face his bunk. “Must’ve just missed it somehow.”

He can almost hear Holster and Ransom hem and haw for a few long, silent moments, before the sound of nylon rustling resumes. Eric takes a deep breath, and does his very best not to regret ever asking. It’s made worse by the fact that this hasn't really helped him understand Jack any better than before.

So Jack had spent most of Eric’s first few months on the ship treating Eric like an inconvenience. That was okay -- it hadn’t been the first time he’d been perceived like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. He hadn’t been a fresh-faced teenager from the South in a long while; he’d been older, tougher. He’d been places and had met people, nicer people and smarter people and even meaner people than Jack Zimmermann. He hadn’t really needed a pat on the shoulder or an encouraging smile, just the opportunity to do his job, and do it well.

The real problem was that Eric had always been good at his job because he understood people. And Eric, despite his best begrudging efforts, cannot make sense of Jack.

Jack, who clearly had not understood Eric’s job at all until, suddenly and out of nowhere, there was Evor. Jack who, after Evor, told Eric good work and sounded like maybe he even meant it. Jack who, after Evor, was sat by Eric when Lardo radioed to tell them that Jack’s report had made the deputy administrator call to congratulate Eric specifically.

Jack who, also after Evor, stopped meeting Eric’s eyes unless absolutely necessary. Jack, who Eric sometimes caught staring from the corner of his eye, looking lost in thoughts. Jack, who roughhoused with Shitty in the flight deck, and arranged Holster a private DSN connection for his mom’s birthday, and listened to Charlie Rich on late night piloting shifts -- but whose glimpses of personality disappeared the moment Eric tried to study them for too long.

Missions transformed into something different in the aftermath of Evor. A month after the crew’s return to action they were sent to do testing on the magnetic field of Pladora, and Jack put Eric in charge of communication with the local scientists without preambles. Eric choked, floundered, but grabbed the opportunity with both hands; he still couldn’t shake the weight of Jack’s gaze on his shoulders whenever he spoke with the Pladoran team.

Later, Jack pulled him aside and asked, “Are you capable of confidently explaining to me the exact kind of testing we’re doing here?”, stared at Eric until he was fidgeting uncomfortably in place. “It’s important that you can do that,” he added, like Eric didn’t already know, like Eric didn’t think about it every night before he fell asleep, like he needed Jack’s eyes on him for that, making the nape of his neck burn and his palms tingle with sweat. But Jack frowned at him, then, took a step back, like he didn’t understand why Eric was flushed with embarrassment. It almost seemed for a moment like he wasn’t actively gunning for humiliation.

And then it happened again. Two weeks after that they were helping ESA fix a satellite on a German space station, and Jack left Eric to discuss mission parameters unattended, but also ordered him to watch Shitty install a new GPS chip for three hours. During the strategy session for a recon mission in the Austra System, Jack insisted on hearing Eric’s opinion, but also accosted him after it to demand that Eric read about the complication with the wavelength disturbance. In a charged encounter with destitute merchants from a dead galaxy, Jack remained two steps behind Eric’s right shoulder and let him conciliate them, but when Eric later babbled about the civil turmoil caused by the demise of the galaxy, Jack asserted that he should understand the astrophysical process leading to such death.

So Eric generously thought: maybe Jack was trying, poorly. But three months after Evor the two of them returned to the ship frazzled and peeved, had spent most of the day wrangling with diplomats on Uzeru, and Eric scrubbed a hand over his face, resolved to try one more time. He offered Jack a friendly, tired smile, and said, “Wanna share bad coffee in the kitchen to drown our sorrows?”, but Jack only shook his head once, sharply, before immediately walking away.

The inability to make any sense of it consumes Eric's thoughts for much longer than he's comfortable with. Jack pushes and then pulls, hovers over Eric professionally but disappears the moment it’s interpersonal. A week before they're off for leave Eric looks up from his plate to see Jack taking his dinner into the flight deck, ignoring Shitty’s offer to join him, and thinks that maybe he can never peek past Jack's mask because Jack makes sure to turn away whenever it comes off. He thinks that maybe this is what loneliness looks like, thinks that he should still know better than to care, thinks for the first time that maybe Jack’s silent treatment is nothing more than not knowing what to say to Eric after Evor. Thinks that maybe Jack’s inept solution to not knowing what to say is to just say nothing at all.

The impact crater chipping Vylos’ surface is visible from two-hundred thousand miles out. It’s the nearest planet to the jumping point back to Earth, and its crater serves as a parking lot for all ships on their way to or from there. Its chaotic layout strongly reminds Eric of the QuikTrip station just north of Atlanta, but he bites his tongue and keeps that to himself. Jack and Shitty have probably never seen a QuikTrip, anyway.

Jack grumbles about finding a parking space on the night before leave, body curved over the control wheel and eyes squinted at the windowpane. Shitty leaves him to it, drapes his legs sideways on his armrest to tell Eric about the long claws of capitalism stretching into the cosmos, and how this has resulted in Vylosian beer being the best there is this side of the Milky Way, “Even though it’s like, totally not a real beer, dude, but -- marketing ploy!”, and how its atmosphere was chemically engineered, “To be breathable for all us Earthly suckers passing by ‘cause of the jump point. Filthy fucking marketing plot, I tell ya -- and the beer costs like my goddamn kidney.”

“Your goddamn kidney’s not worth much with the amount of Vylosian beer you regularly consume,” Jack interjects, lowering the ship into a vacant spot skillfully. Vylos’ terrain, reflected at Eric from the three surrounding windows in the flight deck, is grainy and blue.

The Vylosian bar Shitty buoyantly pushes them into is decorated in mismatched memorabilia, posters of Uma Thurman and Justin Bieber and a life-size stormtrooper suit personally signed by George Lucas looming by the wall. The AI pouring the drinks is a hologram in the shape of a Western saloon bartender, the beer is thick and neon green. Eric’s been outside the Kármán line for nearly a year and feels caught by surprise, still, almost daily; but tonight he gets to wear denim shorts instead of nylon spacesuits, gets to clink his glass against Ransom’s, gets to pretend that tomorrow isn’t possibly the end of it all. It has to be enough, he thinks, and takes a determined drink.

Their group starts out leaning against the wooden countertop, skin sticking to its surface. Later, Holster and Ransom chat their way into the table of two local girls, and Jack disappears from view. Eventually, their group winds up scattered across different corners of the bar, red-faced and loose. Eric catches himself repeatedly looking up from the bottom of his glass to the open door, at the pale glint of the sky just outside it, and after a thorough sweep around he takes his drink, gets up, and starts walking.

The bar overlooks the vast expanses of the crater sprawling beneath it, and Eric finds himself sitting outside at the edge of the cliff, thighs bare over the rough azure dirt and beer glass tilting in his hand. Vylos’ three moons are out of sync, rising and peaking and setting in a simultaneous cycle, and Eric is busy watching them when he hears heavy footsteps coming up behind him.

He’s surprised to find Jack standing there, suspended in motion with his hands deep in his pockets and his hair windswept, figure backlit by the lights of the bar twinkling behind him. He seems just as startled to see Eric; his expression wavers out of its usual stoic façade to betray some semblance of emoting.

“Oh, Bittle, I -- I thought you’re inside with the boys,” Jack blinks, a hint of a frown wrinkling his forehead.

“No,” Eric blinks in turn, unsettled by this strange creature wearing the face of his commander. He looks so different in jeans and an AsCans training program t-shirt, out of the bulky spacesuits they spend most days in. “Uh -- no. I’m not.”

“Right.” Jack nods stiffly, glances at the ground and then at a spot somewhere over Eric’s shoulder. His body language is guarded, and he looks misplaced, painfully awkward. They still haven’t exchanged more than two or three sentences in private since Evor and Eric, typically the chatterbox, wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Well, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll go.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Eric says, before he can think too carefully about why the heck he’d say such a thing. Before he can recall the snapshot memory of Jack turning to eat dinner in the flight deck, alone. “I mean. I’m just sitting here. Drinking alien beer,” he raises his glass, the bright green liquid sloshing around, leaving traces of neon on its rim. The ridiculousness of the situation may be slightly lost on Jack, but not on him. Space still is, and probably always will be, kind of weird.

“Right,” Jack repeats, the line of his back tightening and his eyes narrowing at Eric. “Be careful with that. Don’t want you to throw up during descent tomorrow.”

Dear Lord. One step forward and three steps back. “Yes, Commander,” Eric sighs, swallowing the chagrin out of his voice. His shoulders sag as his body curls towards the view, away from Jack. God forbid Jack Zimmermann think about anything other than the mission for a single flippin' moment. Eric should know better than to be disappointed, but the sour churn of his stomach is unmistakable. Eric should, but doesn’t.

The footsteps behind him pick up again, and he expects to hear Jack walking farther and farther away. Instead, he’s shocked into silence by Jack sliding into his peripheral view, sitting down beside him on the cliff. His shoulders are rigid, his mouth pressed thin. His expression looks like he’s as bewildered as Eric by his own actions.

“Are you excited to go back?” Jack asks after a long, uncomfortable minute, during which they both sit mutely and watch the pits of Vylos before them. Its second moon has finished a full rotation and is now shining down in soft lilac beams. Jack’s voice is tense, flat; this boy, Eric thinks almost pityingly, really is terrible at small talk.

He’s been asked this question a dozen times that month, but mustering his practiced fake enthusiasm now seems hard. Maybe it’s the alien alcohol; maybe it’s that Jack could regress into not speaking to him again at any moment. “I guess so. Home sweet home, ‘m I right?”

Jack shrugs one shoulder, a short and angular movement. “It doesn't feel like going home to me,” he says, honest and plain. “I spend most of my time out here. It’s more like -- a summer vacation. Some people go to the Caribbean and we go visit Earth.”

Eric nods, absently, unsure of how to respond. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long swig of it, tastes green all the way to the back of his throat. It’s almost impossible to imagine that in twenty-four hours he could be drinking locally-produced white wine in the Washington Corridor. Earth feels so darn far away.

“What’ll you do on your vacation, then?” Eric asks after another long stretch of silence, mostly out of politeness that his mother persistently lectured into him over years.

Jack’s attention is fixed on the moons, his profile sculpted by the sharp lines of his nose and cheekbones and chin. His eyes are so pale under the lilac moon -- big, slanted, annoyingly beautiful. He remains quiet for a moment, leans his weight on his palms and considers Eric’s question. His gaze is still flickering over the view when he says, finally, “I usually go see my parents. Read. Buy groceries.”

Eric snorts inelegantly. If he didn’t know any better, didn’t know Jack any better, that could almost be mistaken for a joke. “Buy groceries?”

“Yes,” Jack says, perfectly serious. His eyes flit over to meet Eric’s, and Eric holds them for only a moment before quickly looking away. His cheeks grow inexplicably warm. “I don’t really miss anything when I’m up here -- I mean, not really -- but I guess sometimes it’s nice to remember people. Stupid human stuff, eh? Supermarkets. Banks. I always think I'd catch a movie in the theatre but somehow I never do.”

He appears to be uncomfortable with his admission, face closing off once the words are out of his mouth. The sharp lines of his features twist back into a familiar scowl, but Eric watches them, him, thoroughly transfixed. The authentic snippet of personality cannot disappear under the reapplied mask this time; Jack has put something truthful on the table, a hint of something charmingly sentimental. A mundane humanity space can't recreate, newspapers and laundromats and coffee stands and taxes. Grocery shopping. Eric doesn’t know if the fast, erratic beating in his chest is at the sweet tinge of it, or the mere thought of Jack paying attention to such things.

“You should,” Eric finally finds his words somewhere in his strangled windpipe, slowly facing forward. Jack, and his continual ability to confuse. He can see Jack from the corner of his eye, turning his head to subtly raise both eyebrows at Eric. “Go to the movies. You should do it this time.”

“Yeah. Maybe I will,” Jack says after a long pause. “I'll tell you how it went when we’re back here.”

“If I come back,” Eric sighs before he can catch himself, and then freezes, fingers clenching around his glass. Dang it. Dang it all to hell.

“What?” Jack asks, confused, and when Eric refuses to meet his eyes, shoulders squaring and chin dropping to his chest, Jack’s voice sharpens and he repeats, “What? What do you mean? Bittle. What do you mean.”

Eric exhales unsteadily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his free hand. He thought he'd have more time. He thought -- like he always does, and is always wrong -- that he’d successfully outrun his problems by denying their existence. He could try shoving those four incriminating words back into his mouth, but Eric can feel Jack’s intense attention focused on the side of his face. Once Jack stepped back into the professional boots of Commander Zimmermann, no denial will make him let this go.

“I’m spending all of my leave in Texas. I gotta pass evaluation for the clearance to come back here with y’all. These past six months were my test run -- I’ve never passed the written exam.” Eric drags his shoe through the sandy ground, watches as the grooves he makes are swept away. “Y’all know I’m no good at the sciency stuff, Jack, alright. I don't need to hear it from you as well. If I don't get an adequate score I'm off the program for good.”

Eric chews the inside of his cheek and chances a side glance. Jack looks outraged, his thick brows drawn down and his entire face devoid of color. Eric’s immediate reflex is to flinch away, but Jack speaks before he can make a move. “What subjects?”

“What?” Eric asks, thrown completely off-balance. He was expecting a thundering reprimand at worst, an indifferent dismissal at best. He doesn’t know what the quiet, heated response he's gotten even is.

"What subjects are they testing you on?”

Eric hesitates, body still braced for the blow that isn't coming. “Uh. All of the introductory subjects. Basic physics, geobiology... mostly modern astronomy. But I swear --”

“Alright,” Jack cuts him off with a single sharp nod, his chin sticking out slightly, like Eric has somehow pushed him to make up his mind. His expression, typically impassive, is now staggeringly transparent. “I’ll help you study for the written exam.”

“What?" Eric blinks several times, glances down to see if he's had more to drink than he thought, but the glass is still half-full and Jack's figure is still corporeal by his side, intense expression still in place. He doesn't fade away like the hallucination Eric is so sure he must be. "Jack -- what --?”

Jack doesn't seem to pick up on the astonishment that has Eric stumbling over his words. “We’ve got two and a half weeks, right? You need entry level stuff to pass that exam. If we study hard, you can do it.”

Eric thinks he might be gaping, his mouth hanging open and growing dry in the arid air, but he apparently isn't capable of collecting his jaw off of Vylos’ ground. “But… what… but you’ll be in Canada…?”

“I’ll stay in Huston,” Jack looks determined. “Bittle, we're a team. You should’ve told us before and we would’ve helped you. You’re a strong crew member, you’re smart, you’ve got an edge that none of us has got. If that’s the only thing holding you back we’re going to get you over it. Study clinic, day and night.” He pauses, the self-assurances faltering for only a moment, and the lines of his mouth soften somewhat. “Just trust me, okay?”

Eric is absolutely floored. The only foolish thing that manages to leave his mouth is, “What about going to the movies?”

Jack almost smiles. Eric has spied that expression on rare occasions before, but never directed at him, and never from up close. It does something to Jack's face that Eric can't put in words. “I’ll catch one on the next leave. Which you’ll be taking as well, ‘cause you’re not leaving the program. We've got each other's backs, Bittle.”

Under the moonlight, purple shadows carving his face from marble and a mellow half-smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards, Eric could almost let himself admit how handsome Jack is. Jack rubs the dirt off of one palm and slowly curls his fingers, holds them up in a silent offer. Eric can see the thin veins beneath the surface of his skin. He looks at the hand, looks up at Jack, and lets a tentative smile blossom on his face. He brings his clenched hand up to meet Jack’s, and bumps his fist.

#zimbits #omgcp #omgcheckplease #zimbits fic #it is the space fic! they are in space!#i cleaned up the first chapter if anyone wants to reread or catch up #check please!#jack x bitty #pavfics #okay great this is a series now. i'm SORRY

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