What Would You Call The Style Of Ur Page? Its So Amazing

luvvv ur new theme

ILY tysm beautiful ❤️

Give me time to grieve.. please.

guys i can’t hold it in anymore andy samberg is top 10 finest celebrities

HE’S FUNNY, HE HAS NICE HAIR, HE’S FUNNY, HE’S HANDSOME, HE’S FUNNY.

If they do decide to remake an American psycho movie I do not think it should be Nicholas Chavez or Jacob elordi. I think those options are ass ngl. But pls pls pls cast Cory Micheal Smith. If u saw Saturday night yk he can do the voice. AND if u watch Gotham he is very good at play a psycho and he is very versatile so i think he could make to where his demeanor matches Patrick’s. He always talks about spending so much time and research into his characters and I think if they are gonna cast somebody this is what needs to happen. HE IS PATRICK BATEMAN LIKE WHAT.

I have a book idea. How do I write a book. I wanna write a book.

If yall have that little shop of horrors slime tutorial please send it to me I’ll do anything 😭 everyone is gatekeepingghhh uuhhhegdh like your secret will be safe with me I swear

More Hamzah fics PLEASEEEE

the BLONDE

teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

It was 2 a.m., and the whole world was quiet except for the hum of the bathroom light and the faint scratch of a record spinning in the next room. The tile was cold under her knees, and Hamzah sat on the closed toilet lid, knees spread, head bowed slightly as she ran gloved fingers through his hair. His roots had grown out, dark waves creeping past the bleach, and he had been dragging his feet about re-dyeing them. But tonight, somewhere between a lazy kiss and a cigarette on the fire escape, she had decided for him.

“You’re dramatic, you know that?” she murmured, combing through the strands, sectioning them with careful fingers.

Hamzah smirked, eyes half-lidded. “You love it.”

She did. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.

Outside, the city was restless, cars rolling slow down wet pavement, a couple arguing on the next block, a distant dog barking at nothing. But in here, it was just them. The sharp scent of bleach, the softness of his hair between her fingers, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You always do this for yourself?” she asked, dipping the brush into the mixture.

“Yeah.” He yawned, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Tried to get Martin to help me once, but he almost burned my scalp off.”

She laughed softly. “Well, I won’t let you go bald. Again. Hold still.”

He closed his eyes as she worked, pressing her thumb to his forehead when he leaned too far forward. The silence between them was easy, comfortable, stretching out in the dim light. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You ever think about just keeping it natural?” she asked after a while.

Hamzah cracked one eye open, smirking. “You don’t like the blonde?”

“I like you, dumbass.” She flicked his forehead lightly. “Just wondering.”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t know. It’s just… me, I guess. Feels like I should be like this.”

She understood that more than she could put into words.

She finished applying the dye and leaned back on her heels, peeling off the gloves. “Alright, we wait.”

Hamzah stretched, rolling his neck before grabbing her wrist and tugging her toward him. “C’mere.”

She let herself be pulled onto his lap, arms draped over his shoulders, fingers tangling loosely in the still-damp strands at the nape of his neck. He smelled like soap and bleach and cigarettes. Like him.

“You tired?” she murmured.

He hummed again, a little softer this time, forehead pressing to hers. “Not if you stay.”

She smiled, fingertips tracing lazy circles at the base of his skull. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And she meant it.

The bleach had been sitting long enough, and now it was time to rinse. She nudged Hamzah’s knee, motioning for him to stand. He groaned dramatically, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders and stepping toward the sink.

“Alright, put your head down,” she instructed, turning on the faucet, testing the water with her fingers until it was just warm enough.

Hamzah bent over the sink, arms braced on either side. She ran her fingers through his hair as the water rushed over it, watching the bleach swirl away in pale, milky streaks. His dark roots were gone now, replaced with that familiar platinum blonde that somehow suited him so well.

“You okay?” she asked, kneading her fingertips against his scalp, gentle but firm.

Hamzah exhaled through his nose. “Feels nice,” he muttered, voice slightly muffled by the sink.

She smiled to herself, rinsing out the last bit of bleach, then reached for the towel. “Alright, you’re done.”

Hamzah lifted his head, shaking out his hair like a wet dog before she could wrap the towel around him properly. She swatted his shoulder. “You’re irritating.”

He grinned, wrapping the towel around his head like some dramatic movie star. “I’m beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes, dragging him over to sit on the edge of the tub. “Sit still, I need to dry it.”

Hamzah sat obediently, hands resting in his lap as she plugged in the blow dryer. It roared to life, sending warm air rushing through his damp hair. She combed through it with her fingers, tousling it slightly, watching as the color settled in fully under the heat.

His eyes fluttered shut again, that same relaxed expression he had when she was running her fingers through his hair earlier. It was rare, seeing him this still, this quiet in a way that wasn’t wrapped in nervous energy or some joke he was waiting to deliver.

“You’re like a cat,” she said over the hum of the dryer.

Hamzah cracked one eye open. “Yeah? That’s pretty weird I’m not a cat?”

She smirked, switching the dryer off. “Nah. Just saying you like being taken care of.”

His lips parted slightly, like he was going to argue, but then he just shrugged, smirking. “Maybe I just like when you do it.”

She flicked his forehead again. “Cheesy.”

“Maybe.” He leaned back against the wall, looking up at her, brown eyes still half-lidded, long lashes casting shadows against his cheekbones. “But you like it.”

She ran her fingers through his now-dry hair, feeling the soft texture of it under her touch. He was right. She did.

But then she tugged lightly at one of the uneven strands near the back of his neck. “You need a haircut.”

Hamzah groaned, slumping dramatically against the wall. “I just got my hair done, and now you wanna chop it off? You’re fucked up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can stop by my dad’s shop. I’ll tell him to fix it up for you.”

Hamzah immediately sat up straighter, brows lifting in mild alarm. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” she said, completely nonchalant. “What, you scared?”

Hamzah rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I dunno. I feel like he already thinks I’m weird.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Why would he think that?”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Because I am weird! And I always say the wrong thing! And I— I dunno, I feel like dads don’t usually like me.”

She laughed softly, leaning down a little. “Well, lucky for you, he doesn’t hate you. He actually thinks you’re funny.”

Hamzah blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she smirked. “But now that you’re all nervous about it, maybe I should warn him that you’re a weirdo before you show up.”

Hamzah groaned again, covering his face with his hands. “Forget the haircut. I’ll just grow it out, become a new person. Change my name. Start a new life.”

She tugged at his hair again. “Oh, shut up. You’re coming.”

Hamzah sighed heavily, letting his hands drop. He looked up at her again, still slightly wary. “…Fine. But if your dad actually does think I’m weird, I’m blaming you.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

I accidentally deleted something I’ve been working very hard on since last night and I’m so sick so this is very lazy but I’m so upset pls

@issysh3ll

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enemies to lovers hate lwk warranted cause why are u beefing every ten minutes just to end up together like wtf

THIS. Like I get so impatient like it’s so cringey yk u wanna kiss why are u acting slow? If im enemies with someone I couldnt even be in the same room as them.. how are yall fuckin 6 minutes later? Stand on business

Og fine shyt