Ugh 70s Tdb Hamzah I Miss You.. Should He Come Back Guys

៹ 𔘓 rest in peace one of the most beautiful actresses to ever be in the industry. not only on the outside but inside too, her acting and her creative soul brought joy to many of us, i feel the need to thank michelle thachtenberg her for every single second on screen

i cant with how STUNNING your theme is um im actually in love.

Umm I’m actually in love with you tysm😭🙏🏽 your pfp and banner is so tea oml

Should i do Lochlan Ratliff smut.. I haven’t done smut before and I wanna see how good or bad it could be. And Lochlan is just too cute..

HAPPY NEW YEARS LOVELYS💋

i’m gonna sob THANK YOU<33 i love your whole 70s theme so much, i can’t get over it

Omg this makes me so happy because I didn’t think anyone would really vibe with it since no one really does it. But this made my heart flutter tysm🙏🏽🤍

repeat after me. A person that doesn’t care about you CAN and WILL put you in danger for their own selfish goals. Even when it’s not intentional. If a person doesn’t care about you, their actions and thoughts are not gonna be “I’m gonna walk away to keep this person I love from getting hurt”. NO. They are impulsive with their thinking especially when it comes towards you because they don’t think about you at all. You are the second thought. No matter how much love you pour into that relationship weather it’s a friendship or romantic. Pick up on people like this because you will not gain you will only hurt until it goes too far. This was just an example of it going to far.

It’s not gay if it’s in a three-way

martin as early 2000s older brother core

70s teenage dirtbag hamzah meeting reader at some old vhs place and immediately gushing to martin abt her ...

the WARRIORS

teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

summary.. A chance encounter at a dusty VHS store leaves Hamzah completely hooked.. now all he can do is rewind the moment in his head and gush to Martin like an idiot.

VHS & Chill was the kind of place that smelled like stale popcorn and forgotten cigarette smoke, the scent of dust settling over old plastic cases stacked on wire racks. The sign outside flickered weakly, a busted neon “Open” buzzing against the quiet hum of the street. It wasn’t the busiest spot in town, most kids preferred the drive-in or the record store, but Hamzah liked it here. The silence. The low hum of a TV in the background playing something grainy and forgotten. The feeling that no one was really watching him, that he could just exist.

Martin, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about silence. He was already flipping through tapes, tossing titles at Hamzah like he was quizzing him. The Last Picture Show? “Depressing.” Enter the Dragon? “Classic.” Harold and Maude? “Kinda weird, but I dig it.” Hamzah let out a breath, running a hand over his buzzed head, before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his camera. It was second nature at this point, filming the nothingness of his days, capturing the way life looked when you weren’t really a part of it.

And then she walked in.

Hamzah didn’t even notice her at first, not really. Just the soft jingle of bracelets, the scuff of thick rubber soles against linoleum. It wasn’t until she passed by, the scent of vanilla and something deeper, warmer, hitting him like a sucker punch, that he actually looked up. Her hair framed her face perfectly, like one of those actresses in French films he pretended to understand, and she was wearing these shoes, chunky, broken-in, the kind that made a girl look like she could stomp you out if she wanted. A black baby tee, gold jewelry catching the dim light, making her look untouchable, unreal.

Hamzah stared.

And then Martin, the menace, clocked him immediately. “Oh, hell no,” he whispered, grinning. “Don’t even say it.”

“I—” Hamzah started, but Martin cut him off.

“Dude. Every time.”

“This is different.”

“It’s never different.”

Hamzah huffed, gripping his camera like it might stabilize him. “She looks like she has good taste.”

“She just walked in, man.”

“And?”

Martin just shook his head, amused, but Hamzah could feel it, the inevitable. The way he was already forming theories in his head. What movies she liked. What kind of music she listened to when no one was around. If she’d think his camera thing was weird or if she’d let him interview her with that lazy, amused look that pretty girls always had when he got too in his head.

She was flipping through the cult classics section now, rings glinting as she ran her fingers over the spines of old VHS tapes. Hamzah was not gonna go up to her. Absolutely not. His social skills were limited to Martin and his cats, and he was barely holding onto those. But then.. then she grabbed The Warriors, tilting her head like she was debating it.

Hamzah’s mouth moved before his brain did. “That’s a good one.”

She turned, surprised, and for a second, he thought maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. But then.. she smiled. Not big, not showy, just enough for him to see the amusement behind her eyes.

“Yeah?” she said, flipping the tape in her hands. “Think it’s worth it?”

Hamzah swallowed, nodding. “Definitely.”

And just like that, Martin was grinning like a devil over his shoulder, and Hamzah knew he was doomed.

The second she walked out the door, the little bell jingling behind her, Hamzah let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. He turned to Martin, eyes wide, heart still stuttering in his chest like an old car refusing to start.

“Oh, man,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, man.”

Martin just stared at him, arms crossed, already smirking like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Here we go.”

Hamzah ignored him. He was still staring at the door, like maybe she’d come back, like maybe he’d get another chance to act like a normal human being around her.

“Did you see her?” he asked, half in a daze. “Like, actually see her? The shoes, man. The jewelry. She smelled like—I don’t even know, but I think I just got cursed or something. That was—I think I’m actually losing my mind.”

Martin snorted. “Dude, she bought The Warriors. That’s literally the bare minimum.”

Hamzah whipped his head toward him, scandalized. “The bare minimum?! That’s cinematic taste, Martin. That’s culture.”

Martin held up his hands. “Okay, okay, relax, movie nerd. So what, you gonna actually talk to her next time?”

Hamzah groaned, tipping his head back. “I did talk to her.”

“Telling a girl a movie is ‘good’ doesn’t count as talking, dumbass.”

Hamzah let out another sigh, glancing back at the door. His camera was still clutched in his hands, fingers drumming anxiously against the side. Next time, he thought. If there was a next time.

And God, he really wanted there to be a next time.

I accidentally got lost in the sauce and stayed up all night writing this and now I’m running off no sleep..

@issysh3ll

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