And They Were Roommates

͙۪۪̥˚┊❛And They Were Roommates ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

Being Alhaitham's and Kaveh's flat mate would include...

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ♦ First of all, you are kind of the black sheep between you three. Instead of going with your brain, you stick with your more artistic side. ♦ Alhaitham and Kaveh don't really mind the spontaneity you carry. As long you are not hurting yourself, they leave you be. ♦ They aren't overprotective, because they know you candle your own devices. Just know that they will have an eye out for you, even when you least expect it. You are their friend after all. ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

♠ The whole point on why you moved to Sumeru City is because your parents got you a scholarship in the Ackedemyia. From a long line of scholars, you are expected to do the same. Alhaitham knows you could care less about the works; however, he finds himself keeping you on track with a special made schedule. Maybe it's because he doesn't want his reputation to suffer, or it may be that you aren't going to do it yourself. Either way, be grateful he keeps up with your busy mind. ♠ You have found that you like to crochet bookmarks for Alhaitham. He insists that he doesn't need them and that he can remember where he left off just fine on his own. Though he grumbles and complains, you can find your creations stuffed in his many books. Don't call him out though or he'll get ticked off. ♠ Surprisingly, Alhaitham loves to chat with you about books. He'll recommend series he thinks you'll enjoy or gossip about publishes' plots and characters.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ

♣ When he's home, Kaveh likes to indulge himself in whatever you do. Your painting? He'll be your model. You need help writing? He'll give you suggestions and tips. He'll even join you for yoga. Just be warned though, he will get very playful. ♣ When Kaveh argues with Alhaitham about furniture, he tries to get you to agree with him. It usually ends up with you and him ganging up on the poor Sage. Imagine Kaveh's surprise when the one time he complains about a lamp, he completely broke when you said you refurnished it yourself.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

Author's Note: This is a bit short and I'm sorry Kaveh isn't as loved as Alhaitham. I'm soft for both of them though and needed to indulge myself. I hope you enjoyed regardless. 😭

Present Silence

C̲l̲o̲c̲k̲w̲o̲r̲k̲ ̲x̲ ̲N̲o̲n̲-̲B̲i̲n̲a̲r̲y̲!̲ ̲r̲e̲a̲d̲e̲r̲

❥ Warnings: mentions of neglect, mental instability, hints to eating disorder, mentions of cancer, death of a parent

𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴! 𝙸𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.

⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

   (Y/n) wasn’t much for silence, yet it was the exact thing that haunted them in the dead of night. You could say it rooted from a traumatic event from their childhood; an abandonment that made them become almost non-pellucid to the outside world. Not that they cared. They saw society in a fixed lens, seeing every little speckle of morality as if it was a blemish on their sketch book.

  However, the white tiled halls outside their room didn’t even make any motion. No reverberation of heels clicking against the marble or the creaking of an old wheelchair rolling down the narrow walls. It’s as if the present became quietude itself. Static fills the emptiness inside (Y/n)’s head, spreading down throughout their body like a virus. It bleeds into their veins, leaving a heavy formication. Their fingers itch and claw at the ashen sheets below them, pulling at the restraints hung taut at the edge of the bed.

  They wanted to scream, beg to the black figure standing in the corner to stop. It watches them with gaping eyes, its black irises widening with delegation. The creature wasn’t real, they knew this. The suppressed subjectivity of their mind was interesting. The morbidity that it plays with made (Y/n) want to laugh. To say that it all started with a drawing was much too simple.

  The doctors liked to prescribe it as a disease; a disease that will slowly consume (Y/n) as they spiral into madness within these matted panels. (Y/n) thought of this ‘sickness’ as gospel. With their new pair of glasses, they could distinguish what was true and what was false. Who was for them and who was not. That power does come with a cost.

  (Y/n) was quite bright as a child, finding new ways to express themselves as an upcoming member of a Utopia they thought existed. With a pencil and paper, they could abstract anything that popped into their young mind. They love to draw. It was an activity that allowed them to show others how they saw the world. Bright and opportunistic, with the sun shining over everyone in brand lighting.

  ‘That world doesn’t exist. Get over your stupid dreams of becoming something that’s unrealistic.’

  Their mother had told them that a long time ago, when the colors they once saw turned bland. When their father left, life as they knew it flipped upside down. ‘You can be anything, and I’ll be there for you,’ he said. What a joke. He should have known that the cancer would get to him before (Y/n) would ever aspire in a work ethic. Their mother wasn’t much of an enthusiast, especially after her husband died. The one luminosity that ever dared to make her smile was the one that left her with a kid she didn’t even love.  

  Life wasn’t too bad. (Y/n) still had the gift of sight and vision that provided them with the love of drawing. As they woke up from the distant memory of a peachy story, they then realized their potential. No one understood their craft though, using the aphorism that grotesque and dark art did not aid in this world’s progression. (Y/n) did not adjure this type of thinking. Didn’t they see it wasn’t that of a pretentious display?

  The school recommended that they be transferred in an institute during their third year of high school. (Y/n)’s mother was more than compliant for their requests. ‘They need medical help. A kid their age should not be thinking so deeply about these things.’ The nurses were nice enough. They had charming smiles and always made nice comments on (Y/n)’s latest projects. They were fake, sadly. Though, (Y/n) appreciated their efforts to perceive the meaning.

  The crisp breath of the inky silhouette fans over (Y/n)’s face. A shudder goes down their spine, pricking their nerves like hot wax. It lies on their leaden body, grabbing at the muscles of their neck with a tight squeeze. (Y/n) was hyperventilating again, the edges of their field of vision spotting. It was a trick. Why was their mind going against them so?

  They twist and turn against the restraints tied around their limbs, the leather rubbing into their skin harshly. The feeling of it burning at the pellicle of their wrists and ankles erupts another feeling inside the pit of their stomach. They needed to get out. They wanted out. The sudden anticipation to move ached in their joints and they struggle more against the phantasmal weight on them.

  (Y/n)’s hands slip through the material, and they heave themselves upward. The darkness emitting their sight disperses into the shadows of the room, leaving them to gasp for air. Rubbing at the red pigmentation of their abused wrists, they kick off the belts holding their feet. The distant sound of a clock erupts the quiet void of the room.

  The window adjacent to the door opens gradually, and the form of a girl crawls in. The constant ticking coming from the girl’s retina eases the density crawling at (Y/n) with vigor. The static falls into a pleasant buzz on their skin.

  The girl pushes her brown locks out of her face, her one hazel orb almost glowing in the moonlight. Her sewn smile stifles one to reach (Y/n)’s blue-tinted lips. She reaches into the bag hanging over her shoulder, unzipping it with ease. She pulls out a black book and tosses it onto the thin bedding. Despite her not speaking, (Y/n) nods their head in appreciation.

  “Thank you, Clocky…” (Y/n) huskily remarks. Their fingers graze over the rough fabric of the cover and they open it to see it was another sketch book. It was probably one she snatched from one of her 'jobs’. She would never say what she did, but that didn’t cause any frustration on (Y/n)’s part. “You always know how to make me feel better…”

  “I saw you screaming again,” Clockwork replies, “Did you have another episode?” She sits down on the mattress, crossing her arms.

  (Y/n) simply taps at their head, the pads pointing towards their left eye. They suddenly get up from their position, their malnourished body contorting with audible pops. Clockwork watches them with precise movements as they grab for a box under the furniture. (Y/n) opens it, grabbing some paper and two graphite pencils.

  “Will you draw with me?” They ask sweetly.

  Clockwork looks towards the door, before breathing out. “Alright, but only for a little bit. I’m not supposed to be here.” She places herself on the cold floor as (Y/n) positions the material.

  “I’ll show you the new monster I saw tonight. I’ll call it Present Silence…” They muse as they begin to drag the charcoal tip over the clean sheet of paper with eager. Clockwork observes as they wind the black substance in circles. Normal people would call (Y/n)’s art as childish or rubbish, but she was fascinated with it. They drew the way she saw the world.

  “Are you not in the mood to draw?” (Y/n) asks, stopping for a moment to look up.

  Clockwork hums in response before grabbing the book from (Y/n)’s lap.

  “I’m not finished-” They reply, but don’t fight with her as he looks over it.

  “Present Silence, you say?”

  They nod with a smile. “It suffocated me.”

  She gathers her thoughts, before placing a hand on (Y/n)’s head. She brushes her fingers through their hair; these were the hands of a killer. Her hazel eye locks with (Y/n)’s as they wait for a response. She gives them back their art piece and picks herself off the ground.

  “Where are you going?” (Y/n) says sadly, “Stay for a little longer?”

  Clockwork climbs over the windowsill, her hand holding onto the glass. She glances back, a ghostly tender look veiling over her harsh looking demeanor. “The next time I visit, I’m bringing something special.”

  “What you bring me is always special,” They answer.

  “See you…” Clockwork says in response, closing the window back to where it was before she entered. Present Silence once again greets the lonely figure within the room.

 ⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Nice to meet you, Thomas” - Leatherface x Female! Reader

 Author’s Note: I guess you could consider this some sort of Au for the Hewitts. Nevertheless, please enjoy the little fluff with Thomas. He deserves all the love!

〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣

 It was a hot summer’s day in Puller, Travis County, Texas. The black cement that made up the road sizzled with intensity, almost like it was an illusion put on by a magician. The (L/N)’s took the time to admire the old farmland that sweeps across the hills of the abandoned town. The baby blue 1961 Chevrolet Impala that (F/N) (L/N) joyously owned sputters and spits as it tracks down the old roads.

  An audible sigh escapes from (F/N)’s lips as the check coolant light blinks on, flickering expeditiously from the dash panel. Fortunately, a small convenient store comes into view through a mass of trees. It seems rundown, with a few bikes huddled in the front. Rusted machines and old tires collect around the outside of the building. The paint was chipping off and the A/C system looked old as can be. 

  Nevertheless, they turn into the driveway, parking on the other side of the gas pumps from the scraggly group smoking pot from their vehicles. “You girls go inside and get coolant for the car. I’ll stay out here,” (F/N) says, eyeing the batch as they pointed towards the little family with envious smiles.

 “Come on sweetness,” (M/N) coaxes to her daughter, stepping out of the passenger side door. She was a thing of beauty, growing with grace as old age overtakes her. Her (M/E/C) eyes shimmer in radiance as the blazing sun catches sight of her. Petite hands brush past her short (M/H/C) locks, curling them behind her ear. (Y/N) wishes to grow old just like her. 

  The backseat door opens quickly after, and two youthful (S/T) legs jump out in modest Mary Jane shoes. (Y/N) (L/N) was the spitting image of her mother, though the soft delicate skin gave her away. The young girl follows along after her mother, mindlessly toying with the buttons of her overalls. 

  The door creaks as her mother enters. The strong smell of liquor and cigarettes instantly burn at (Y/N)’s nose, but she tries her best not to cringe as they walk up to the front counter where the shopkeeper sits. It was an old woman, with frizzled grey hair done up in a bun. Her blue gaze watches the two ladies with a dourly look. A release of smoke pours from her mouth as she takes another hit from her cancer stick. “What can I help you with?” She responds bluntly. 

  “Yes ma’am, we were wondering where your car coolant is,” (Y/N)’s mother replies kindly. “We just ran short.”

  “Middle aisle, probably at the bottom…” the older woman replies. 

  “(Y/N), would you be a dear and go fetch that for me,” (M/N) asks with a grin. 

  The inside, the girl realizes, was dark and dreary. The shelves were crammed with items in no particular order or form. As she examines the contents of the third rack, she notices a couple sitting at a table near the bathroom. They both sported leather jackets and glowering stares. She quickly notes in her head not to even look in their direction.

 “Did you get lost in there, sweetheart,” the older woman calls from the front counter.

 “No ma’am…” (Y/N) responds politely. She finds the blue bottle stuck in between two funnels before rushing up to the front, where her mother was having chit-chat with the owner of the store. 

  “There you are!” (Y/N)’s mother says, gesturing for her daughter to come closer. “Apparently this is our neighbor! She lives a mile up the road from where we built our house!”

  “Oh… Nice to meet you then, Miss…” (Y/N) questions softly. 

  “Luda Mae,” The older woman remarks. “You know, I have a son around your age. He’s on the shy side though…”

  “You here that, (Y/N)? Perhaps you can make a friend after all,” (M/N) exclaims with excitement as she digs out a wad of money from her pants pocket. “We will definitely come visit sometime after we get settled! How much for the coolant?” 

  “If you wouldn’t mind coming for dinner Wednesday evening, it’s on the house. I would love for Thomas to meet (Y/N).”

  “I see no problem in that at all. Until next time, miss Luda Mae!”

〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣 〣

  The tires skid across the gravel of their newly done driveway that travels to a lovely white plantation house. Big trees settle lowly around the property, providing shelter from the hazardous sun. (F/N) and (M/N) talk amongst themselves as (Y/N) daydreams in the back seat. 

  “Oh, look! Our strawberries are growing!” Her mother grins. She quickly picks up the paper grocery bag that was settled in between her legs and ventures over to marvel at the fruit saplings. “Do you see, my sweet!”

  “They are beautiful, mother.” (Y/N) says with a gentle smile.  

  “Oh girls!” (R/N) bellows from the front porch steps. “I hate to ruin your sight- seeing, but aren’t we supposed to be going over to the Hewitt’s home tonight?”

  “It’s Wednesday already?” (M/N) gasps, “Where did the time go… I guess we better get freshened up.”

      Luda Mae was standing in front of her kitchen door as the (L/N) family pulls up. Her wrinkled face invited them with a friendly grin as she waves. All of them are ushered inside, where white porcelain cups and biscuit appetizers were set on the small dining table. It had a long dining cover with brightly colored flowers printed on them. An artificial bouquet is the center piece. Luda went busy at work making sure all of them are accustomed to, pouring tea into each of the glasses in front of them. 

  “Charlie- he’s the sheriff- will be a little late for supper. His patrol is going longer than he anticipated… though he would love to be here to meet you, I’m sure.” Luda explains with affliction. “But Tommy should be done some time soon, no worries miss (Y/N).” 

  She starts to attend to her crockpot on the stove, stirring the red soup with broad strides. (M/N) insists to help her cook, but Luda rejected the idea immediately. “Are you sure, miss Luda-”

  “Please, just call me Luda Mae. No need to be so formal,” the older woman sighs. “And no, that’s alright dearie. What kind of host would I be if I made you cook? You just sit there; your company will be enough.”

  Suddenly, the screen door slams shut. The deep breathing of a man stops the chattering of the room, and everyone stills. A man in an overused leather apron and a sweat-stained yellow striped shirt stands tall in the doorway, frozen like a deer who was spotted by a predator. His thick hair was caked in grease, his curls kinking into knots. The air stunk of meat.

  “Tommy, welcome home!” Luda Mae welcomes him in with a kiss on the cheek. “These are the (L/N)’s; they are our guests. Now don’t be rude! You’ll be sitting by (Y/N) right there, she’s very nice.”

  Thomas’s body slowly pulls out the chair, sitting in it as he was told. His whole body was tense, and (Y/N) could feel the heated shaking of his hands. He adjusts his mask, looking down at his lap.

  “You have pretty hair,” (Y/N) says to him, surprising herself with the sudden complement. “I always wished my hair had coils like yours.”

  Thomas’s salt blue eyes widen slightly as he makes eye contact with (Y/N). Never in his life has someone complimented his hair. He was not used to such nice comments to be thrown in his direction, especially not from a pretty girl he was just introduced to.

  (Y/N) giggles a little at his reaction, but nonetheless finds the innocent behavior cute. “Good to meet you, Thomas. I’m sure we’ll become the best of friends.”

The only good thing that came from welcome to raccoon city was this line Chris said🤧.

┃Coffee Please~┃☕

Pairing: Dean x Sister! reader x Sam 

Description: The youngest Winchester wakes up exhausted from an awful night of sleep. She has never had coffee before but seeing her brothers have a cup, she wants to see if it will help perk her up too.

Warnings: slight swearing

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

          (Name) opens her eyes as a hand around her shoulder begins to shake her lightly. Her older brother, Dean, hovers over the bed she slept in, his face dim compared to the sun coming through the window behind him. Wrinkles form at the end of his eyes as a smile quirks onto his lips.

          “Five more minutes,” (Name) mumbles while tugging the patterned quilt over her nose. Dean’s smile darkens, olive green eyes glimmering with mischief, and he took a step to the right. She hisses and shields herself from the beaming light with the back of her hand.

          “Sammy will be back in a few minutes,” Dean says, chuckling at his sister’s reaction.

          “So? Let me sleep until he gets here...” (Name) groans. She turns her back to him, hiding her face in the bicep of her arm.

          “Alright then, but we’re leaving right when he does. I just thought you would like a bit of time to do your girly stuff,” Dean replies, leaning against the window and looking out. “Oh, here comes Baby,” he lies after getting a grumble as a response. 

          (Name) throws her covers off, grabbing her bag by the handle, and flounces into the motel bathroom with a slam of the door.

          “Don’t stay in there too long,” Dean calls out.

          “Shut it!”

         (Name), back hunched forward, came out with a new set of clothes on. She throws her off-brand converse to the floor, taking a seat at the small dining table, and rubs her eyes harshly to rid of the tiredness.

          “How did you sleep?” Dean asks in a serious tone when noticing her exhausted state.

          “Like shit,” his sister replies while supporting her chin with the palm of her hands.

          “Swear.” 

          “You and Sammy cuss all the time,” (Name) said in defense, crossing her bare feet on the wooden chair. 

          “Because we’re adults, you’re just a baby.”

          “I’m fifteen!”

          “And?” Dean shrugs, sitting at the end of one of the beds. He tugs his jacket over his shoulders, looking at his sister with the most salient expression.

          “My god,”(Name) whispers to herself, trying to hide the small smile that twitched at the edge of her lips.

          Dean opens his mouth say something else; however, the front door opens to reveal Sam with two steaming cups of coffee. Shutting the door with the heel of his shoe, he then passes Dean one of the cups to drink.

          “Papers dating back to fifty years ago have retold occurrences where bodies were found mutilated on the outskirts of town, such as Emelia Roberts. A few locals reported to have seen a tall black entity hanging around the old gas station two miles north from the court house,” Sam explains before taking a sip of his beverage. 

          (Name) watched longingly at the perk up juice in his hand, wanting nothing more than to jug it down to wake herself up. She smacks her cheeks to help focus on her brothers’ conversation on the monster that has been terrorizing the people of the community they were inhabiting for a few days.

          “Should we start there?” Sam asks, giving his sister a confusing glance before turning his attention back to Dean. 

          “We need to go back into town and ask around for any info we can get. We’ll head for the gas station near dark to avoid any run-ins with the owner,” Dean said while grabbing his gun from the bedside drawer and placing it into his jean pocket. Sam began to gather his things as well but (Name) keeps her position in the chair. Her head is pressed on the surface of the table, taking glimpses at the cup Dean had set down in front of her.

          “(Name)-” Sam starts.

          “Can I have some coffee too?”

          The two brothers stopped in their tracks, looking at their sister with amusement. (Name) turns her head in their direction, a humdrum expression on her face.

          “Uh, why?” Sam asks, removing his cup’s lid from his mouth.

          “Because,” She replies with a lazy shrug.

          “Okay?” Sam looks at Dean with an arched eyebrow.

          “I’m exhausted,” she continues, “it seems to help you so maybe it will help me too.”

          They laugh, humored with her pensive mood. Dean extends his hand towards his cup in front of her, gesturing for her to pick it up. 

          “Is it good?” (Name) asks, holding the Styrofoam between her hands, relaxing under the warm touch.

          “I don’t know,” Dean says with a smirk, “You’re the one who wanted to try it so try it.”

          (Name) presses the tip to her mouth, flinching as the hot liquid goes down her throat. She looks up at her brothers with a broadening smile.

          “This is mine now,” She motions to the object in her hand before taking another sip.

          “I don’t think so, chick.” Dean snatches it from her and cradles it in his armpit. Sam laughs again as (Name) lets out a long-noted groan. 

          “Here,” Sam replies, motioning for her to take his. “You can have mine.”

          “No! You already drank half of yours,” she whines, slinging her arms like a child with a tantrum. “I want Dean’s.”

          “Not gonna happen,” Dean dismisses. 

          “Why not?” (Name) argues, standing up to press her jaw against his shoulder.

          “Cause it’s mine,” he responds, flicking her nose.

          (Name) glares at him before giving Sam the best puppy eyes she could muster.

          “There’s no need for that, (Name). When we head out, we’ll stop by somewhere and buy you one... and refill Dean’s now empty cup,” Sam says, pointing to their brother who was guzzling down the rest of his coffee.

          “What? She drank most of it,” He states.

          “You two are children,” Sam mutters, slipping his bag over his head.

          “Hey, She’s the child,” Dean said, walking out the door.

          “I’m fifteen!”

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

“Get over yourself, McLean” - Chris McLean x reader

Author’s Note: I honestly don’t know but enjoy anyway. Reader is gender-neutral. 

Warning: TOXIC LOVE

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:**:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–

  There’s a lot of things you could say about Chris McLean. Of course, you could go on and on about his charming attitude with the cameras or his brilliant ideas when it comes to reality TV. You could also say a few things about his personal life too.

  When his current manager called you one evening to ask if you would consider taking a position in McLean’s new show, you almost hung up. There was no way you were working with your ex-boyfriend of all people. However, being the respectable and polite celebrity you were, you allowed them to explain the situation.

  You still chuckle at yourself for accepting. They reciprocated with eager that they needed a co-host for an upcoming show called Total Drama Island. They wanted someone more level-headed to contrast from Chris’s boisterous personality. It will consist of twenty-two contestants going through different trials put on by Chris, all competing for tabloid fame and a small fortune.  Even if he was striking by himself, the show would do so much better with someone to balance the care for the campers. Who better than the old power duo of (Y/N) (L/N) and Chris McLean?

  You knew what they were actually doing, a wolf in sheep’s clothing scenario. The directors wanted a host romance, or at least allow the audience to make up theories about your relationship with the Host with the Most. Honestly, you didn’t care. There was no way you were falling in love with him again. You only had to deal with him for eight weeks, then never see his stupid face for the next decade. 

    When your yacht came up onto the dock of the island, you immediately cringed by the smell that hung in the air. The island itself featured a few rickety cabins and a mess hall that looked like it was minutes from collapsing. You almost felt bad for the teenagers who would be staying here, but it’s not like they didn’t sign a contract. Even if they were promised a stay at a five-star resort.

  “Let me help you with your bags,” a gruff voice says from behind you. You recognized it to be Chef, an old friend of Chris. You recall that he’s a rough character, but he was always kind to you. You assume it was because you were Chris’s old sweetheart. He was invited to the wedding, after all. Times do change, don’t they?

  “Sure. Didn’t think I’d see you here. Nice to see you again,” you say sweetly, handing him one of your bags.

  “Yeah… I didn’t think I would be here either,” Chef grumbles, taking another suitcase and throwing it over his shoulder, “I’m surprised you actually showed up.”

  “Come on, it’s not like me to put down a challenge! Mind showing me where we’re staying?”

  He nods, walking past you with a rugged smile. “It’s just, you and Chris… You fell out, yeah? When was the last time you talked?”

  “The campers are sure in for a treat when they arrive, huh?” You say, stretching your arms over your head with a yawn. 

  “Short Stack,” he answers with the nickname he used to call you, “You know he’ll wanna talk to you.”

  “I’m an adult, Chef. I know what I got myself into.”

~~~~~~~~~~

  Actually, seeing Chris was harder than you thought it was going to be. You wanted to run and hide as you made your way back to the dock. The first episode was airing tonight, and the crew wanted to make sure everything was prepared for when the contestants arrived. Old memories swirl in your thoughts as he turns in your direction. As much as you wanted to turn away from his overambitious smile, you had to stay professional. The camera crew gets you mic-ed up, before directing you to your designated spot.

  “I’m so stoked you accepted the offer,” Chris grins.

  “I don’t usually decline a gig either,” you reply coolly as you straighten the creases of your sheer blouse.

  “Starting in five!” Someone calls out.

  “So excited to work with you again! Just like old times, huh?” He says with the same enthusiasm he always has. He places an arm around you, rubbing your side.

  You smack his hand away. “We are co-worker, Mr. McLean. Act like it.”

  “I am!” He whines as he shakes the stinging sensation from his fingers. “(Y/N)-bear, no need to be that way!”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “You used to love it.”

  “Key word: used to. Get over yourself, McLean.”

  Chris is quiet for a moment, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re still mad about that?”

  Your eyes narrow at him, and he frowns for the first time.

  “You know it wasn’t like that,” He pouts. 

  “I’m not talking about this,” you hiss through your teeth.

  “She flirted first-”

  “It was a freaking interview- shut up. Just shut your mouth. We are here to host, nothing more. I’m not here to start up old drama.”

  “See a yacht- starting in 5, 4, 3. 2,- ACTION!” A director announces.

  Both you and Chris beam for the cameras. You stood tall, putting on a friendly façade for the viewers. On the inside, you wanted to strangle Chris.

 “Welcome back to Total Drama Island!” Chris proclaims, his arms stretched out wide, “I’m your host, Chris McLean, with everyone’s beloved (Y/N) (L/N)!”

 “Great to be here, Chris!”

 “Awesome. It’s time to meet our first eleven campers!”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:**:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–