Lorenzo zurzolo

*you and Lorenzo have been dating for a while now. But Lorenzo keeps cheating on her*

Louis Partridge

*You were a famous actor and you were walking on the red carpets as a girl you’re age asks your autograph*

Louis Padridge

*Louis and You were really close friends and there were many rumours about you two dating but you two were just friends. Louis was a really famous actor and Sophia was a popular singer*

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

💍|| 16 year anniversary

Theodore Nott

*You two were the biggest troublemakers in school.None of the teachers liked you two, but the worst was that theo smoked everywhere and you and Theo are dating for a while*

Mattheo Miller

*your best friend Mattheo was a hockey player, you always came to his match, mattheo was a bad boy and he was hot, he liked to play with fire, you were also a professional ice skater*

Mattheo Riddle

*you two have been dating for a while now. He’s been very touchy. Normally he isn’t really touchy*

Theodore Nott

*It was the battle of hogwarts. You two were dating. Voldemort was attacking Hogwarts. Everyone was outside. Theo saw you standing on the side of the death eathers. He sisnt know you were a death eather.Theo was furious*

Mattheo Riddle

*you two have been dating for over 2 months now. You two were very close but one thing that Mattheo doesn’t like is that you come home late. You were 1 hour late* “Why are you so late*

Rafe Cameron

Rafe Cameron never planned on Barry showing up in broad daylight. The coke deal from two nights ago replayed in his head as he worked on his motorcycle, knuckles scraped, jaw tight. Barry’s voice echoed like a threat he couldn’t shake. Two days. Rafe had the size. He always had. Taller. Broader. Stronger. But Barry wasn’t just some guy — he was the line to the drugs. The one person Rafe didn’t cross. The sound of a car pulling in made Rafe straighten immediately. Barry stepped out, eyes already locked on him. “Say you got it.” Rafe swallowed. “Not yet.” That was all it took. Barry lunged first, shoving Rafe back into the bike. Metal rattled as Rafe stumbled, hands coming up instinctively — not to fight, just to block. He could’ve ended it. One swing. One shove. But he didn’t dare. Fear rooted him in place, panic crawling up his spine. Barry hit him again. Harder. Rafe went down to one knee, blood spilling from his nose. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Aaliyah: Pulling up. 5 minutes. Rafe barely had time to read it before Barry dragged him by the collar and slammed him onto the driveway. Gravel tore into his back. Barry was on him instantly, fists coming down fast and angry. “You think I’m a joke?” Barry snarled. Rafe covered his face, teeth clenched, taking the hits. He didn’t swing back. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Losing Barry meant losing everything. A car screeched into the driveway. Aaliyah jumped out and froze. Rafe on the ground. Barry on top of him. Blood on concrete. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screamed. She didn’t hesitate. Aaliyah ran forward, grabbing Barry by the back of his jacket and yanking him off Rafe with all her strength. “Get off him! Right now!” Barry staggered back, caught off guard. “Stay out of it!” “No,” Aaliyah shot back, standing between them, shaking but furious. “You don’t get to beat someone half to death in my driveway. Back. Away.” Rafe struggled to sit up, chest heaving, eyes locked on Barry — fear clear on his face despite his size. Barry sneered, pointing at Rafe. “Tell your friend he owes me.” Aaliyah turned on Rafe, anger flashing. “You let this happen? You didn’t even fight back?” Rafe wiped blood from his mouth, voice rough. “You don’t fight Barry.” Barry gave one last look, then stepped away, climbing back into his car. “This isn’t over,” he said, before peeling out of the driveway. Aaliyah exhaled hard, hands trembling as she looked back at Rafe — not soft, not gentle. Just real. “You’re bleeding,” she said flatly. “And whatever mess you’re in? It’s bigger than you.” Rafe didn’t argue. For once, he couldn’t.

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo are dating for a while, but you guys have been arguing about his smoking* "sometime you can be such a bitch"

Theodore Nott

*You two were in the same class, Theo is also really popular and not shy do to anything, but he doesn't really notice you while all the other boys think that you're so hot* .

Mattheo Riddle

*you two have been dating for 5 years. Mattheo found out you were pregnant with his child*

Niccolo Govender

*your parents and Niccolos Parents are good friends of each other but there is one problem. You and Niccolo don't really like each other*

Rick Grimes

👶🏼|| Pregnant w/ Carl

Drew Starkey

The crying turned sharp. Not just fussy—panicked. Noa’s tiny face scrunched, breaths hitching between sobs, his body stiffening in her arms. Aaliyah felt it immediately, the fear rising fast and uncontrollable. “No—no, no, no,” she whispered, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Her hands started shaking. People slowed. Some stared openly now. Someone muttered something under their breath as they passed. Aaliyah tried to rock him, bounce him, shush him—but the sounds coming from her baby only got louder, more desperate. Her chest tightened. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said out loud, voice cracking, panic spilling over. “I don’t—please, please—” Her breathing went uneven. Too fast. Her vision blurred. That’s when a voice cut through the noise. “Hey—hey. You’re okay. Look at me.” She barely registered the man stepping closer, just enough to block the crowd without touching her. His tone was calm, grounding, like an anchor thrown into rough water. “I’m right here,” he said. “You’re not doing anything wrong.” Aaliyah looked up, tears streaking her cheeks, and recognized him in the same split second her panic tried to swallow her whole. Drew Starkey. But he didn’t act like someone famous. No confidence. No charm. Just concern etched into his face. “What’s his name?” he asked gently. “Noa,” she said quickly, clutching her baby closer like the world might take him if she loosened her grip. “He won’t stop crying and everyone’s staring and I—I can’t breathe—” “Okay,” Drew said immediately. “Okay. Aaliyah, right?” She nodded, surprised he knew. “Listen to me,” he said, lowering his voice. “Babies cry. Sometimes they cry because everything is new and loud and scary. And right now, you’re overwhelmed, so he feels it too.” Her breaths came out shaky. “I don’t know how old he’s supposed to—what he’s supposed to do,” she admitted, shame flooding her. “I’m doing this alone.” Drew shook his head softly. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.” He glanced around, noticing the eyes, the whispers. “Let’s move over there,” he suggested, pointing to a quieter spot near a building. “I’ll walk with you. I won’t touch him. I promise.” She hesitated only a second before nodding. Each step felt heavy, but once she sat down, once the noise dulled just a little, Noa’s cries started to break into softer sounds—small gasps, tiny hiccups. Aaliyah covered her mouth and sobbed. “I’m scared I’m messing him up already,” she whispered. Drew stayed standing, close but respectful. “You’re not,” he said firmly. “You stopped. You protected him. You asked for help—even if you didn’t mean to.” Noa’s fingers curled around the edge of her shirt. For the first time since the panic hit, Aaliyah felt her chest loosen. She wasn’t invisible. She wasn’t failing. And somehow, in the middle of the street, with a crying newborn and a stranger who just happened to be famous, she wasn’t alone.

Theodore Nott

*Theo and his friends where sitting at the fountain,smoking, as you pass them, you don't know them and they all start whistling*

Theodore Nott

*You and Theo are dating, but it's like you two never talk to each other and it looks like Theo lost interest in you. You and Theo keep arguing all the time*

Louis Partridge

*your boyfriend was a famous hockey player. Hockey 24/7. You didn’t mind you even grew liking to the rather aggressive sport. Today was a it was a big game for Louis.You were here to support him He was doing great in fact he scored a lot of points, blowing a kiss at you after each one. The kiss cam pointed to you and a stranger next to you. You laughed and shaked your head. The guy didn’t get the memo and leaned in. Your boyfriend skated to the glass and banged on it “don’t fucking touch her!!”

Matteo riddle

*matteo was sitting by the lake smoking a cigarette, he whistles a bit as he looks at the starts*

Drew Starkey

She was five months pregnant when the world knocked her to the ground. It was a crowded street—too loud, too fast, people moving like she wasn’t there. A shoulder clipped her. Then another. She lost her balance, hands instinctively going to her stomach as she fell hard onto the pavement. No one stopped. People stepped around her. Over her. Like she was an inconvenience. Except one person. Drew Starkey was across the street when it happened. He didn’t think—didn’t hesitate. He crossed through traffic, dropped to his knees beside her, panic sharp in his chest. “Hey—hey, don’t move,” he said softly, already shielding her with his body. “I’ve got you.” She was shaking. Embarrassed. Terrified. Crying more from shock than pain. Her boyfriend had left weeks earlier—walked out the moment she told him she was pregnant, said he “wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility.” So when Drew stayed—really stayed—it felt unreal. He waited with her. Called for help. Held her hand when her breathing wouldn’t slow. Walked her home afterward because she didn’t want to be alone. They talked. Then they kept talking. Falling in love didn’t happen all at once. It happened in check-ins. In Drew showing up to appointments when he could. In late-night calls when she couldn’t sleep. In the way he listened—really listened—when she talked about fear and exhaustion and becoming a mother alone. One month before she gave birth, they moved in together. The house was chaos from the start. Boxes everywhere. Paint cans open and forgotten. One wall half-covered in a warm neutral, the other still bare drywall. Drew was juggling interviews, shoot days, flights—sometimes leaving before sunrise and coming back after dark, apologizing every time like it was his fault the world didn’t slow down. But one room was finished. The nursery. He’d made sure of that. After she gave birth, the house stayed a mess. She came home exhausted, sore, overwhelmed—with their son, Milo, cradled against her chest. The living room was still stacked with boxes. The kitchen counters cluttered. Laundry unfolded and forgotten. But the nursery was calm. Soft green walls. A crib assembled with care. A rocking chair already worn-in from late nights Drew had practiced for. Everything ready—because even when he was busy, even when he was gone, he’d made sure this was done. Drew came home late that night from interviews, tie loosened, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. He stopped in the doorway of the nursery. She was there, rocking Milo gently, eyes half-closed. The mess of the house faded away. This—this was what mattered. “You okay?” he whispered. She nodded. “Tired. But… okay.” Drew crossed the room, pressing a kiss to her temple, then crouching in front of the crib like it was sacred. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “Sorry I’m late.” It wasn’t his child. But he was there. From the street where she fell. To the house that wasn’t finished. To the life they were building anyway.

Mattheo Riddle

You and your enemy were getting chased by three cars. “Do something Sophia!”Mattheo says. She groans reaching under her seat getting out a pistol. She rolls down the window and shoots 2 times perfectly, running 2 cars off the road, 1 left but she couldn’t see it.”shit”she whispers,she looks at Mattheo.”I need you to trust me” “What do you mean?” “Just trust me” he takes a quick glance at you.”Do it” he says She gets out of her seat and sits on you lap,she rolls the window down, shooting the car*

Enzo Berkshire

*you and Enzo were close friends in Hogwarts. They were the biggest troublemakers. They were best friends with Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. Sophia was sitting in the Astronomy tower covered in blood smoking*

Theodore Nott

*You and Theo have been friends for a while. But you two were online friends. You two didn't saw each other in real life.*

Drew Starkey

The Outer Banks set was buzzing again. Season 5. New call sheets. New storylines. Same salt-thick air that clung to everything. You—Aaliyah Grace, director, calm under pressure, chaos in a baseball cap—walked onto set like you always did: clipboard tucked under your arm, headset crooked, heart… not so steady. Because Drew Starkey was standing near the trailers. Rafe Cameron himself—messy hair, sunglasses pushed into it, laughing at something Chase said—but to you, he was still Drew. Your Drew. Your fiancé. No one knew. Not yet. Drew felt you before he saw you. He always did. His smile faltered for half a second—just long enough for you to catch it—then he straightened, professional mask sliding perfectly into place. “Morning, boss,” he said, teasing, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. You raised an eyebrow. “You’re late, Starkey.” “Worth it,” he murmured, only for you. If anyone noticed the way his hand brushed yours as he passed, they didn’t say a word. ⸻ Rudy Pankow was the first problem. Rudy had known you since season two. Late-night edits. Inside jokes. Coffee runs. He plopped down next to you behind the monitors like he owned the place. “You good?” he asked casually. “You’re… glowing. Or stressed. Or both.” Madelyn Cline leaned in from the other side, sunglasses hiding way too much curiosity. “Yeah,” she added. “And Drew’s being weird.” You swallowed. “Drew’s always weird.” From across the set, Drew chose that exact moment to look at you. The look—soft, grounding, mine—lasted barely a second before Rafe Cameron snapped back into place. Rudy followed your gaze. “…Oh,” he said slowly. “Oh.” You froze. Rudy’s eyes flicked between you and Drew again. His mouth fell open. “No way,” he whispered. “No. Way.” You sighed, defeated. “…You weren’t supposed to find out like this.” Rudy broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “You’re engaged?!” Madelyn gasped. “ENGAGED?” You lunged for the volume dial. “Lower your voices!” Too late. Drew was already walking over, jaw tight but eyes warm. He stopped in front of you, professional smile barely holding. “What’s going on?” he asked. Rudy stood up, hands raised. “Relax, Romeo. Your secret’s safe.” Drew blinked. “You know?” Madelyn crossed her arms, smirking. “You two thought you could hide that energy?” Drew laughed then—quiet, relieved—and reached for your hand without thinking. His thumb brushed over the ring you’d been keeping hidden under tape and excuses. “Well,” he said, squeezing gently, “guess it was only a matter of time.” Rudy shook his head, emotional already. “You proposed recently and didn’t tell us?” Drew looked at you, softer than anyone else ever got to see him. “Wanted it to be ours first.” The call for first positions echoed across the beach. Work mode snapped back in. You slipped your hand from his—reluctant, electric—and squared your shoulders. “Alright,” you said, voice steady. “Let’s make season five unforgettable.” Drew leaned in as he passed, voice barely a breath. “Already is.” And as the cameras rolled, the cast watched Rafe Cameron spiral onscreen—never knowing the real love story was unfolding quietly between takes.

Louis partridge

*you and Louis have been dating for a few years. Sophia was pregnant and her water broke. But Louis was at work. A few hours later he got a call from the hospital*

Theodore Nott

*You and Theo were best friends. But still he kept teasing you and pranking you*

Rodrick heffley

Summer lovin

Negan Smith

Running from Marshalls

Mattheo Riddle

*you two were dating but she moved into another town and you two didn't talk to eachother for 1 year straight*

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

💐|| getting married

Drew Starkey

Drew Starkey had always lived in the in-between. Not quite anonymous. Not fully untouchable. At 32, Drew Starkey had already carved out a space for himself in Hollywood. People knew him as Rafe Cameron from Outer Banks—wild-eyed, complicated, impossible to ignore. They also knew him as Eugene in Queer, softer, aching, magnetic in a completely different way. He had the range. The mystery. The face that photographers loved and fashion houses borrowed. Model. Actor. Internet obsession. But the one role he protected the most? Boyfriend. Her name was Aaliyah Grace. She was 24. Unknown. No blue checkmarks. No interviews. No fandom edits set to sad indie songs. Just a quiet girl with observant eyes and a laugh that didn’t care who was watching. Their relationship wasn’t public. Not because they were ashamed. Not because it wasn’t real. Because the internet loved numbers too much. 32. 33. Eight years felt bigger online than it did in real life. They met quietly—through mutual friends at a low-lit New York gallery showing. She didn’t recognize him at first. Or if she did, she didn’t react. That was what caught him. No performance. No immediate fascination. Just conversation. And Drew liked conversation. They started slow. Coffee dates that turned into long walks. Late-night diners. Shared headphones on the subway. She liked old poetry. He liked listening to her explain why certain lines mattered. The first time they were photographed together was accidental. A blurry street shot. Drew leaning against a brick wall outside a downtown bar, cigarette between his fingers. Aaliyah beside him, slightly turned away, hood up, her face half hidden in shadow. You could see her profile—but not enough for certainty. Headlines followed. “Drew Starkey Spotted With Mystery Girl.” “New Girlfriend?” “Age Gap?” Speculation moved faster than truth ever could. So they stayed quiet. When they went out, it was usually late. Streets calmer. Corners darker. Sometimes they shared a cigarette, passing it back and forth like a secret. Sometimes she just watched the smoke curl from his mouth and teased him about the habit. “You look too good doing that,” she once said. “That’s the problem,” he replied. He never posted her. But she existed in small ways. A silver ring he started wearing. A book she recommended that he mentioned in an interview. A faint smile he couldn’t suppress when his phone lit up during press tours. The age difference did come up once—late at night, sitting on the hood of his car. “You think people would judge?” she asked quietly. “They always do,” he said. “About something.” “Does it bother you?” He looked at her like he was trying to memorize the moment. “It would bother me more if I didn’t get to be with you.” That was the thing about Drew. For someone who played chaos so well on screen, he was steady in real life. Thoughtful. Protective without being possessive. He never tried to make her smaller to fit beside him. If anything, he gave her space to grow. She stayed mostly unseen—by choice. When paparazzi shots surfaced of them smoking on quiet sidewalks, her face was always half-hidden. Hair falling forward. Camera just slightly too far away. Like a ghost in his world. But she wasn’t a secret. She was a boundary. And Drew had learned the hard way that not everything beautiful needed to be public to be real. On screen, he could be Rafe—volatile and unraveling. In films, he could be Eugene—tender and searching. But off camera, under streetlights and drifting smoke, he was just Drew. And beside him, always just out of focus— Was Aaliyah Grace.

Louis partridge

*you were sitting on the couch watching tv. She turned on the news.there was a serial killer running around in town. They showed a picture of the killer. Your heart started racing. The picture was your boyfriend. Then you heard someone banging on your door. It was your boyfriend. Blood was dripping of his face*

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

*You are dating his son, Gus. You’ve been togheter for 3 months now and you just met his father. Jeffrey Dean Morgan. You were in Gus his house sitting on the couch next to Gus. Jeffrey was talking to you. He liked you. Gus had a little sister George and his mother was Hilarie Burton.” So is he treating you good?” Jeffrey asked as he looked at you*

Louis Partridge

*you and Louis used to date 3 years ago. But you were ugly back then. Louis was the hottest guy in school.School started again after a summer break. And you had a really huge glow up. It was the first day back of school. You looked really hot

Rafe Cameron

The first thing people noticed about Rafe Cameron and Aaliyah Grace was what they didn’t do. They didn’t hold hands. They didn’t sit close. They didn’t kiss goodbye. At parties on Figure Eight, they stood on opposite sides of rooms like acquaintances who happened to share the same air. If someone asked if they were together, Rafe would shrug. Aaliyah would just look away. It didn’t look like love. Maybe it wasn’t—at least not the kind anyone understood. Aaliyah had turned eighteen three months ago. Fresh out of high school, still figuring out where she fit in a world split between Kooks and everyone else. Rafe was twenty-one, already worn thin by expectations, by his father’s disappointment, by the heavy reputation that followed his last name. They didn’t touch because touching meant something. And neither of them were sure what they were allowed to mean to each other. ⸻ That afternoon, Aaliyah wasn’t supposed to stay. She had only come by Tannyhill to drop off a small white box—Rafe’s watch he’d left in her car the night before. She parked quickly, intending to leave it with the housekeeper and disappear before anyone asked questions. But as she rounded the side of the house toward the back entrance, she heard voices. Low. Tense. Barry’s laugh carried first—sharp and smug. Aaliyah froze. She moved carefully toward the hedge lining the driveway and peered around it. Rafe stood stiff near Barry’s truck, jaw clenched, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. Barry leaned against the hood like he owned the world. “Where’s my money, man?” Barry asked, dragging the words out. Rafe didn’t answer right away. That silence told Aaliyah everything. She had seen this before—the bruises Rafe tried to hide under long sleeves, the way he flinched when someone moved too fast. The way he’d show up at her place late at night, sit at the edge of her bed, and stare at nothing. He wasn’t scared of much. But he was scared of owing Barry. “I’ll have it,” Rafe said finally, voice tight. “Just give me a few days.” Barry laughed again. “You said that last week.” Aaliyah’s heart started to race. She knew the rhythm of this conversation. Knew how it ended.

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo were dating for a while.you two were sitting in the slytherin common room, Jasmine was an death eather but she never told you, Once you two were sitting in the common room you could soo a piece of the mark*

Louis Partridge

*Sophia worked at a Police Force. There was a victim that survived an attacker. She was describing him, it’s was Sophia her job to sketch if so that she could help the police to identify him, but the sketch looked familiar…too familiar, she got a text from her husband. Her heart started racing, her wallpaper was her husband, it was identical to the sketch*

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo have been chatting for a while now. You two never saw each other in real life because of the distance*

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo were childhood friends. Aurora moved to another place so you two didn't saw eachother for 3 years*

Louis partridge

*you worked at a nursing.there was an old man who had a soft spot for you.he called you his best friend. One day you came in work and immediately went to see him.when you walked in you saw a tall handsome man.”who are you?” You asked.before he could awnser, the elderly man did”this is my son Louis.”oh hi” you said. He smiled at you “can you believe he is single? When will you find a woman?” The elderly man asked.”when I find the right one dad” the tall man said

Niccolo Govender

*You were niccolos ex, everytime you two guys saw eachother you gave a death stare. Well you hate Theo and Theo hates you everytime he sees you he tries not to hit you*

Daniel Larusso

😅|| you’re avoiding him

Rafe Cameron

The party was already loud when Aaliyah Grace arrived—music pounding through hidden speakers, laughter echoing off the water, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder in the glowing blue pool. The kind of night that felt reckless before anything even went wrong. She sat on the edge of the pool, palms pressed to the warm concrete, her legs dangling in the water. Droplets clung to her skin, reflecting the string lights overhead. People splashed around her, shouting over the music, but Aaliyah felt strangely still—like she was waiting for something without knowing what. She’d never met Rafe Cameron. She didn’t need an introduction to recognize him. Her eyes drifted across the crowd, and then they stopped. Rafe stood just outside the pool, talking to Topper like the rest of the party didn’t exist. Topper looked relaxed, smiling, fully in his element. Rafe didn’t. His shirt was slung lazily over one shoulder, chest still damp, a backward cap shadowing his eyes. He swayed slightly where he stood, jaw tense, gaze unfocused. He looked high. And dangerous in that effortless way that made people stare before they realized they were staring. Aaliyah watched him longer than she meant to. He didn’t notice her—not the way he was standing, attention fractured, listening to Topper with half a grin that came and went like static. He laughed at something, sharp and sudden, then rubbed his face with his hand like he was trying to wake himself up. She felt a flicker of nerves, the kind that buzzed low in her chest. Someone splashed near her, water sloshing up onto her thighs, and she shifted, tucking one leg closer. That’s when Rafe’s head tilted—like he’d heard something beneath the noise. His eyes lifted, scanning the pool, unfocused at first. Then they landed on her. The look wasn’t dramatic. No slow burn. Just a pause. His gaze sharpened slightly, curiosity breaking through the haze. For a split second, the chaos around them blurred—music, shouting, movement—all of it faded under the weight of being noticed. Aaliyah held his eyes without meaning to. Rafe didn’t smile. He didn’t look away either. Something unreadable crossed his face, something darker than interest but not quite disinterest. Then Topper clapped him on the shoulder, saying something she couldn’t hear, and the moment snapped. Rafe looked away. But the feeling didn’t. Aaliyah exhaled slowly, heart beating harder than it should have for a stranger. She told herself it was nothing—just a party, just a glance, just another Kook night spiraling toward morning. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense that whatever had just passed between them wasn’t accidental. And Rafe Cameron, high or not, had already noticed her.

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo used to have sex all night.But Theo broke up with you. Now it's embarrassing when you two have eyecontact, you two hate eachother*

Rafe Cameron

Midsummers was never about summer. It was about money. White tents covered the Cameron lawn, fairy lights tangled through oak trees, and the richest families on Figure Eight floated around in linen and diamonds pretending they weren’t sizing each other up. Ward Cameron’s construction empire. Andrew Grace’s realty empire. Old money, new money—everyone pretending it was tradition and not strategy. Aaliyah Grace stood near the terrace railing, fingers curled around a sweating glass of sparkling water. Seventeen and already exhausted by it all. Her father was across the lawn with Ward, laughing like they hadn’t just spent the past month arguing zoning permits. They’d been best friends before she was born. Before Alex was born. Before her mother died bringing her into the world. Andrew Grace never remarried. Never dated. He raised his kids and built an empire instead. Sometimes Aaliyah wondered if that was easier. “You look like you’re planning an escape,” Sarah said, appearing beside her in a pale pink dress. Sixteen, sharp-eyed, and just as unimpressed. “I am,” Aaliyah replied. “There’s a boat docked on the south end.” Sarah snorted. “Tempting.” They’d grown up together—summer barbecues, forced vacations, joint birthday parties. Sarah was the only Cameron Aaliyah actually liked. Across the lawn, Rafe stood with Alex near the bar. Nineteen and twenty. Both in black tuxes. Both pretending they didn’t hate these events. They looked like rivals in a country club war. Rafe leaned against the bar, jaw tight, eyes scanning like he was looking for something to break. Alex stood straighter, calmer, but just as guarded. They’d been circling each other for years—never friends, never enemies, just permanently competitive. Aaliyah followed Rafe’s gaze when it flicked toward her. Their eyes met. Instant tension. They’d never gotten along. Even as kids. Rafe thought she was judgmental. She thought he was reckless and entitled. They didn’t fight loudly—they didn’t need to. It lived in the looks. Rafe excused himself from Alex and walked over. “Grace,” he said flatly. “Cameron.” Sarah looked between them. “You two are exhausting.” “We’re not doing anything,” Aaliyah said. Rafe gave a humorless smile. “You’re judging the entire event.” “I am judging the entire event.” “It’s how things work.” “It’s how rich people pretend they’re saving the island while carving it up.” His jaw ticked. “You’re here.” “Because my father expects me to be.” “And mine doesn’t?” That hit closer than she expected. Before she could answer, Andrew tapped his glass for attention. The crowd quieted. Ward stepped forward beside him, hand clapping Andrew’s shoulder. “We’re proud to announce a joint development along the north marina,” Ward said smoothly. “Grace Realty and Cameron Construction.” Applause rippled. Aaliyah felt her stomach drop. Rafe went still beside her. More shared dinners. More “next generation involvement.” More pressure. Alex joined them again, eyes narrowed slightly. “You heard.” “Yeah,” Rafe muttered. Andrew beckoned his children closer. Ward did the same. “This,” Andrew said warmly, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “is for the future. One day it’ll be yours.” Aaliyah swallowed. The weight of it pressed heavy—inheritance dressed up as opportunity. She never knew her mother. Only stories. Only photographs. Sometimes she felt like half her life had been decided before she could speak. Rafe stared at the marina lights in the distance. “You don’t even want this, do you?” she asked quietly. He glanced at her, surprised by the softness. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s happening.” Alex crossed his arms. “We’ll be dragged into meetings by next week.” “Already on my calendar,” Rafe replied dryly. Sarah huffed. “Great. Family bonding.” The adults resumed talking investments, laughing like this was simple. Aaliyah looked at her father—strong, respected, relentless. He built everything from nothing after losing his wife. She knew the story by heart. She knew what it cost him.

Billy Hargrove

The bell had barely finished ringing when the crowd started forming. The smell of sweat, asphalt, and adrenaline filled the air. Aaliyah stood in the middle of the circle, her hair wild, jaw set tight. Across from her — Angela, all attitude and lip gloss, fists balled like she actually meant business. The first hit came fast. Angela’s knuckles cracked across Aaliyah’s nose — a sharp snap, blood running down her lip. The crowd howled. Aaliyah wiped the blood with the back of her hand, looked down at the red smear — then grinned. “Big mistake.” She stepped in and drove a hook into Angela’s stomach hard enough to make her fold. Another swing — open palm — cracked across Angela’s cheek. It echoed. Gasps turned to cheers. By the time a teacher started yelling from down the hall, Angela was backed against the lockers, eyes wide, breath gone. Aaliyah stood over her, nose still bleeding but smiling like a wolf that just learned how good the hunt feels. Then the Camaro pulled up outside, engine growling low. Billy Hargrove leaned against the hood, smoke curling from the cigarette in his mouth. He didn’t ask questions — he just looked at Aaliyah, at the blood on her face, at the fire in her eyes. He smirked. “Looks like Hawkins finally woke up.” Aaliyah spat the last of the blood onto the pavement, grabbed his jacket, and climbed in. The Camaro’s tires screeched as they tore off — leaving behind the echo of cheers, chaos, and a streak of blood drying under the late sun. “The Next Day” The Camaro rolled into the Hawkins High parking lot like a storm cloud. Everyone knew that sound — the low growl of Billy Hargrove’s engine meant trouble was about to get real. Aaliyah stepped out first. Black hoodie. Fresh bruise on her jaw. Didn’t care. Billy followed — denim jacket, cigarette behind his ear, eyes scanning the crowd like a predator checking who dared to stare. Inside, the halls went silent. Everyone had heard. Angela showed up with a swollen face and a story about being “jumped.” But the whispers said otherwise. They said Aaliyah won. Principal Higgins called them both into his office. Angela sat stiff, arms crossed, a bandage under her eye. Aaliyah slouched in the chair opposite, tapping her boot against the floor. Billy waited outside, leaning on the wall. The secretary wouldn’t even look at him. The principal started lecturing — something about “violence,” “school image,” “consequences.” Aaliyah barely listened. She just stared at Angela, dead-eyed, while a small grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. Angela’s voice shook: “She attacked me first!” Aaliyah cut in, cold and low: “You hit me first. You just weren’t ready for what came next.” The principal slammed his hand on the desk. “Enough! Both of you are suspended!” Aaliyah stood, cracked her neck, and smiled. “Guess I’ll see you after school, Angie.” Billy was waiting when she walked out. He didn’t say a word, just tossed her a pair of sunglasses. “Let’s get outta this dump.” They drove off — windows down, music loud, wind ripping through the silence. Billy looked over once, that half-smirk on his face. “You hit her good?” Aaliyah grinned, blood still dried on her lip. “Good enough she’ll think twice next time.” Billy laughed — low, dark, satisfied. “That’s my girl.” The Camaro roared into the distance, smoke and rebellion trailing behind them — two wild flames in a town too small to contain them.

Negan smith

on ur knees

Rafe Cameron

🍃🍺|| Drunk again

Theodore Nott

*you were the hottest girl in the school. Theo and his other 3 friends made a bet who let's you fall in love with firts. Who wins gets money*

Negan Smith

highschool sweethearts

Hwang jun ho

The sky melted into soft hues of orange and violet as the sun dipped low over the horizon. The waves whispered against the shore, brushing the sand with foamy kisses. Hwang Jun-ho stood barefoot in rolled-up pants, his badge and gun left behind for once. Today wasn’t about police work. It was about **her**. Yi Seo giggled as she ran into the waves, twirling, her white sundress catching the golden light. Jun-ho smiled—he couldn't remember the last time he felt peace like this. Not since his brother disappeared. Not since the games. But here and now, he had her. And hidden in his pocket was a small velvet box. “Jun-ho!” she called out, laughing, “You’re not even getting your feet wet!” “I’m watching for sharks,” he teased, approaching with slow, playful steps. She raised an eyebrow. “The fearless cop is afraid of seaweed?” He chuckled, pulling her close. “The fearless cop is afraid of losing you.” Her eyes softened, and for a second, the world slowed. His hand reached into his pocket— —but his phone buzzed. An encrypted message. No name. Just coordinates… and two words: **“New Game.”** Jun-ho’s smile faltered. Yi Seo noticed. “Work?” He nodded slowly, tucking the box back in his pocket. “I… I have to check this out. It could be nothing, but—” “You think it’s about your brother again.” He looked down. “Maybe. I need to know. I *have* to.” Yi Seo reached up, cupping his face. “I get it. But promise me—when it’s over, no more running. Just us. No more shadows.” He kissed her forehead. “I swear.” --- Jun-ho watched from behind a shipping container. Men in red jumpsuits loaded unconscious participants into black vans. The symbol—circle, triangle, square—flashed in his memory like a nightmare. They were back. But this time, Jun-ho wasn’t alone. He had hidden a small tracker in Yi Seo’s necklace earlier—just in case. Because he had a gut feeling that **they** would try to silence anyone close to him. And he was right. --- Yi Seo returned home. Something was off. She stepped in slowly. “Jun-ho?” Silence. Suddenly—a masked figure lunged. But before the intruder could act—**BANG!** Jun-ho burst in, gun raised. The assailant dropped. Yi Seo screamed, falling into his arms. “They know about you now,” he whispered, breath heavy. “You’re in danger because of me.” “I don’t care,” she said, gripping his shirt. “I’d rather be in danger with you than safe without you.” He hesitated. Then finally… he dropped to one knee. Right there. Amid the chaos. In the dark. “Yi Seo… marry me. Whatever comes next—we face it together.”

Rodrick Heffley

Rodrick leaned back in his old rolling chair, drumsticks twirling between his fingers as the sound of static filled the garage. The band, Löded Diper, was in their “creative phase,” which basically meant nobody was doing anything. Bill: “Rodrick, the amp’s fried again.” Rodrick: “Nah, it’s supposed to sound like that. It’s grunge.” Ben: “It smells like smoke.” Rodrick: “That’s the smell of rock, man.” Alia was sitting on the couch—well, the couch-shaped pile of cushions in the corner—scrolling through her phone. Her ripped jeans, band tee, and messy eyeliner matched Rodrick’s look almost exactly. They were like the punk-rock version of those couples who wear matching sweaters. Alia: “You know, if you actually fixed your gear, you might win the talent show this year.” Rodrick: “Win? We’re not in it to win, babe. We’re in it to destroy the competition.” Greg popped his head into the garage, holding a bowl of cereal. Greg: “Mom says turn it down or she’s gonna call the neighbors again.” Rodrick: “Tell Mom it’s called art, and art can’t be contained by suburban noise ordinances.” Greg: “Okay, I’ll tell her that. Then you can tell her yourself when she grounds you.” ⸻ Scene 2 – The Talent Show Plan Rodrick slapped a flyer onto the table. Rodrick: “This is it. The Westmore Middle School Talent Show. Big crowd. Real stage. Maybe even free pizza.” Bill: “Didn’t we get banned last year?” Rodrick: “Technicality. They said ‘don’t come back,’ but they didn’t say never come back.” Alia grinned. “We’ll just change the band name for one night. How about Loaded Paper?” Rodrick: “Genius. They’ll never see it coming.” ⸻ Scene 3 – Practice Makes Chaos For the next week, Rodrick and Alia practically lived in the garage. They worked on their new song: “Mom, It’s Not a Phase.” The lyrics were mostly Rodrick yelling about chores, curfews, and the meaning of freedom while Alia backed him up on guitar. Ben: “I think this one might actually sound… good?” Rodrick: “Don’t say that, man. You’ll jinx it.” Of course, Rodrick’s parents weren’t thrilled. Susan Heffley: “Rodrick, honey, maybe play something nice for the show this year?” Rodrick: “You mean boring?” Frank Heffley: “You mean music.” Rodrick: “Trust me, Dad, this is going to change lives.” Greg (under his breath): “Yeah, mostly ear doctors’ lives.” ⸻ Scene 4 – Talent Show Night The auditorium lights dimmed. The air buzzed with anticipation… or maybe feedback from Löded Diper’s amp. Rodrick adjusted his bandana and looked at Alia. “You ready to make history?” Alia: “Always.” The curtain lifted. The first few notes blasted out, shaking the stage. The crowd gasped — half in awe, half in terror. Susan buried her face in her hands. Frank leaned back and muttered, “At least he’s not on drums in the basement.” By the end, the audience was a mix of cheering kids, horrified parents, and one janitor covering his ears. Greg (to Rowley): “I think my brother just invented new noise.” ⸻ Scene 5 – After the Show The judges didn’t give them a trophy. But Rodrick didn’t care. Back in the garage, he grinned as Alia leaned against his shoulder. Rodrick: “We might not have won… but we rocked.” Alia: “And nobody got electrocuted this time. I’d call that progress.” Bill tossed a half-eaten slice of pizza in the air. “Löded Diper forever?” Everyone raised their hands. Rodrick & Alia (in unison): “Löded Diper forever.” The garage filled with laughter, static, and the faint sound of a drumstick snapping — just another perfect day in the Heffley driveway. ⸻

Mattheo Riddle

*you and Mattheo have been dating for 1 week now. You two always argue about him smoking too much*

Rick Grimes

🎤|| a band with Rick Grimes

Matteo Riddle

The dungeons of Hogwarts never slept. They whispered. Candlelight flickered against damp stone walls, painting two silhouettes in the corridor — Matteo Riddle, heir of the name no one dared speak, and Alia Parkinson, the girl with a smirk sharp enough to cut glass. They weren’t together. They would never be together. Everyone knew that. And yet, somehow, every time a boy looked too long at Alia across the Great Hall, that boy would mysteriously stop showing up for breakfast. Once, a Ravenclaw tried to hand her a rose outside the library. The petals turned black in his palm before he could blink. No one could prove anything. But everyone knew. “Riddle,” she whispered one night, half hidden behind a column, voice low enough that even the castle couldn’t hear. “You don’t have to do that.” Matteo didn’t look at her. His eyes — dark, unreadable — stayed fixed on the burning torch. “I don’t have to,” he said softly. “But I want to.” Alia crossed her arms. “They’re just boys. They look. That’s what boys do.” “They shouldn’t look at you.” There was something dangerous in the way he said it. A quiet possession wrapped in calmness, in perfect control — the kind that could crumble the world if it ever cracked. Alia tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not my boyfriend, Matteo.” He finally looked at her then. “No,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m worse.” It became a secret dance. Hidden glances across Potions class. Fingers brushing when she handed him a quill. A silence heavy enough to make the air tremble whenever someone else said her name. Everyone whispered that Matteo Riddle didn’t care for anyone. Everyone was wrong. In the shadows behind the Slytherin common room — in those late hours when the lake above them glowed faint green — they’d meet. Not to talk. Not to kiss. Just to be. A tension sharp as magic itself. A connection neither of them named. Because naming things made them real — and real things could be destroyed. Once, Alia asked him, “Why me?” He looked at her, the torchlight catching the faint scar beneath his jaw — a mark from a duel gone too far. “Because,” he said, “you look at me like I’m not him.” “Who?” “My father.” Alia didn’t answer. She just stepped closer, until her breath brushed his. “I don’t see him,” she whispered. “I see you.” The next morning, a Hufflepuff who had smiled at Alia in the courtyard was found hexed in the Astronomy Tower — nothing fatal, but enough to make people remember. And when Matteo passed through the corridor that day, everyone looked away. Everyone except her. He didn’t smile. But his eyes — for a single, forbidden second — softened. Because in a world built on bloodlines and darkness, Matteo Riddle had one secret no one could ever uncover: He would burn the castle down before letting anyone touch his. And Alia Parkinson — clever, reckless, beautifully cruel — would let him.

Drew Starkey

The arena was packed to the brim, every seat screaming with energy. Tonight was Aaliyah Grace’s sold-out concert, and the air was electric. Fans waved their glow sticks like sea waves, chanting her name. She owned the stage—short skirt, commanding presence, and a setlist full of her sultriest, most daring songs. Backstage, Drew Starkey leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching her warm up. Being co-stars on Outer Banks had already made him appreciate her talent, but seeing her in this element was something else entirely. Rudy Pankow had teased him when they first met, saying, “You’re gonna see a whole new side of her tonight,” and Rudy was right. Aaliyah knew how to own a crowd like nobody else. The lights went down. The music hit, heavy bass reverberating through the arena, and Aaliyah exploded onto the stage. Her fans went wild. She danced, spun, and strutted across the stage, every movement confident and flirty. Each song was packed with attitude, energy, and just the right amount of tease—classic Aaliyah. Throughout the night, Drew watched from the side of the stage as his co-stars cheered him on. Madelyn, Chase, Rudy—they were all here, laughing, shouting, and dancing along. He could see Aaliyah’s friends and other celebrity guests mingling near the VIP area, the whole place buzzing with energy and glamour. Finally, the last song hit, and the crowd was roaring louder than ever. Aaliyah grabbed the mic, her eyes scanning the audience with a mischievous grin. “You know, there’s someone I want to say hi to tonight,” she said, pointing toward the side of the stage. “Drew Starkey! You’ve been watching all this, haven’t you?” The crowd erupted as Drew gave a mock-wave, grinning. Aaliyah laughed, shaking her hips one last time. “Don’t worry, you’re lucky—front row’s reserved for you!” And just like that, the concert ended in a blaze of confetti, flashing lights, and cheers. Drew didn’t need to be in the spotlight—tonight, she owned it completely, and he got the perfect view of her doing exactly what she was born to do.

Drew Starkey

The arena was already electric—Drake’s sold-out crowd roaring, lights sweeping the stands—but when the screens faded to black, something shifted. This wasn’t just an opening act. Tonight marked the first time “i hate u, i love u” was ever performed live. The spotlight came up on two podiums. On one stood gnash. On the other—calm, radiant, completely at home onstage—was Aaliyah Grace. Her voice had already been called angelic by critics, but live? It was unreal. Back in the audience, Drew Starkey stood shoulder to shoulder with the Rudy’s crew, eyes locked on the stage. This wasn’t nerves—he’d seen her perform before. This was pride. This was that’s my girl energy. The opening notes played—soft, familiar, heartbreaking. Gnash began with his verse, voice raw and restrained, singing about wanting someone who keeps him just out of reach. He leaned into the mic, confessional, honest, every word landing heavy in the arena. Then Aaliyah stepped forward. Her voice floated effortlessly—clear, emotional, almost glowing—singing about loving someone quietly, painfully, from the sidelines. Not bitterness. Not anger. Just truth. You could hear it in the way the crowd went silent, hanging onto every note. When they reached the chorus, gnash turned toward her, their voices blending: That push and pull. That I don’t want you, but I need you. They interacted naturally—glances, half-smiles, shared breath between lines—like two people caught in the same story, telling it from opposite sides. Gnash delivered his next verse, aching and unresolved. Aaliyah answered with hers, soft but devastating, her voice soaring just enough to remind everyone who she was. Out in the crowd, Drew smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe this was real. The way she owned the stage. The way her voice filled the stadium like it belonged there—because it did. As the final chorus faded, Aaliyah held the last note—pure, steady, angelic. Silence. Then the arena exploded. Cheers thundered. Phones shot into the air. Gnash laughed, stepping closer, giving her a quick nod of respect before they shared the spotlight one last time. Aaliyah looked out over the crowd, eyes shining—not overwhelmed, not surprised—just present. This wasn’t a debut. This was a moment. And standing there in the crowd, Drew knew everyone else had just realized it too: That voice wasn’t just beautiful. It was unforgettable.

Rafe Cameron

Topper’s house was already halfway destroyed by the time Aaliyah Grace showed up. Music rattled the windows like the place was breathing too hard, red cups littered the lawn, and somebody had knocked over a patio chair and just… left it. Aaliyah loved it instantly. Chaos felt familiar. Comfortable. She slipped through the crowd like she belonged there, hair a little wild, eyeliner smudged like she’d put it on in a moving car—which, honestly, she probably had. She grabbed a drink from the kitchen counter without asking and took a long sip, scanning the room. That’s when she saw him. Rafe Cameron was standing on the coffee table like it was a stage built just for him. No shirt. Of course. A backward cap pulled low over his forehead, sweat on his skin, grin sharp and reckless as he shouted something unintelligible over the music. People were laughing, cheering, egging him on. He looked like a bad idea with good timing. Aaliyah snorted into her drink. “Wow,” she muttered. “That guy is a problem.” As if summoned by the universe’s love for irony, Rafe hopped down from the table and nearly crashed straight into her. “Whoa—” he steadied himself, hands briefly gripping the counter behind her. Too close. Definitely too close. “Didn’t see you there.” She raised an eyebrow. “Hard to miss the half-naked guy yelling at a lamp.” Rafe blinked. Then laughed—loud, unfiltered, like he wasn’t used to being checked and kind of loved it. “Yeah, well, the lamp had it coming.” She smirked. “Naturally.” Topper appeared at Rafe’s side like a loyal shadow. “Rafe! Dude, don’t break my stuff.” Rafe slung an arm over Topper’s shoulders. “Relax, bro. Builds character.” Topper noticed Aaliyah then. “Oh—hey. You good? You need a drink or something?” She lifted her cup. “Already committing bad decisions.” Rafe looked at her again, really looked this time. “You got a name, Trouble?” “Aaliyah Grace,” she said easily. “And you are…?” He scoffed. “You know who I am.” She tilted her head. “I know who you think you are.” Topper choked on his drink. Rafe stared at her for a second, then broke into a grin that was half-challenge, half-interest. “Okay. I like you.” They ended up on the back porch, the noise muffled but still pulsing through the walls. Rafe leaned against the railing, cap still backward, bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. Aaliyah sat on the steps, legs stretched out, shoes kicked off like she planned on staying awhile. “So,” she said, “you always shirtless, or is this a special occasion?” Rafe shrugged. “Too hot. Shirts are overrated.” Commitment issues?” “ With shirts? Yeah.” She laughed, real and unguarded. He liked that more than he expected. They talked—not deep, not romantic. Just messy stories. Bad choices. Nights that went too far and mornings that started too late. Rafe wasn’t the soft, brooding type. He didn’t wax poetic or flirt sweetly. He teased. He pushed. He told the truth like it didn’t care who it offended. And Aaliyah matched him beat for beat. She called him out when he got arrogant. He smirked when she admitted she liked chaos more than stability. Neither of them pretended to be something they weren’t. At some point, Rafe lit a cigarette and held it out to her. “You smoke?” She took it without hesitation. “Only when things are already a mess.” He watched her inhale, the porch light catching her face. Something twisted in his chest—annoying, unexpected. Topper stuck his head out the door. “Rafe! Cops might roll by.” Rafe rolled his eyes. “They always say that.” Aaliyah stood, brushing off her hands. “Well. This was fun, Shirtless Menace.” He stepped closer, just enough to feel the heat between them. “You leaving already?” “Maybe.” She smiled. “Maybe not.” Rafe tipped his cap slightly, grin crooked. “You gonna give me your number, or am I supposed to steal it dramatically?” She pulled her phone out, typed fast, and shoved it into his chest. “Don’t get sentimental.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” As she walked back into the party, Rafe watched her disappear into the noise. Topper nudged him. “Dude. You’re smiling.”

Matteo Riddle

The Great Hall whispered when he walked in. “Riddle,” someone murmured under their breath. Matteo lifted his chin higher. The name was both his curse and his crown. The Sorting Hat barely grazed his hair before it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!” He joined Draco Malfoy at the table — cool smirks and silent understanding passing between them. Draco clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome home, Riddle.” Beside Draco sat Theodore Nott, quiet and clever; Blaise Zabini, charming and dangerous; and Lorenzo Berkshire, the sarcastic strategist of their little circle. Together, they ruled the shadows of the castle — ambitious, unbothered, untouchable. Alia was the only one who made Matteo forget who he was supposed to be. She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t flinch at his last name. When she laughed, it sounded like light spilling through a cracked door. Her best friend, Pansy Parkinson, warned her. “You don’t date a Riddle, Alia. You survive one.” But Alia didn’t care. She saw something human in his eyes. She kissed him once by the Black Lake, the moon reflecting on the water, and he whispered, “You shouldn’t trust me.” She smiled. “Too late.” At night, Matteo met in the dungeons — torchlight flickering on stone walls. The Dark Mark on his forearm burned like fire when his master called. Draco was there. Theodore, Blaise, and Lorenzo too. All bound by the same unspoken vow: Serve the Dark Lord, no matter the cost. But Alia didn’t know. When she traced his arm with her fingertips, he hid the mark beneath his sleeve, his heart pounding like guilt itself. Rumors spread of Death Eater attacks — of a figure who looked too young, too fierce to be Voldemort. Matteo avoided the mirror. He was beginning to look like his father. Theodore watched him closely. “You can’t live in both worlds, Matt,” he said one night. “You’ll lose her.” Draco stayed silent, eyes like cold steel. Blaise smirked — pretending nothing mattered. And Lorenzo just sighed. “He already has.” The night Alia found out, it was raining. She saw the mark — glowing faintly as he pushed up his sleeve. The betrayal cracked through her chest like thunder. “Tell me it’s not true,” she whispered. “Tell me you’re not him.” He wanted to — Merlin, he wanted to. But lies were ashes now. “I am,” he said softly. “I’m my father’s son.” Her wand trembled in her hand. Behind her, Pansy stood in shock — torn between loyalty and fear. Alia’s voice broke. “Then I don’t know who you are anymore.” Matteo didn’t stop her when she walked away. Because the truth was — neither did he. By the time dawn touched the castle, Matteo Riddle had made his choice. He stood with Draco, Theodore, Blaise, and Lorenzo — cloaked in black, their wands raised. The world would remember the name Riddle again. But deep down, in the cold ache of his heart, he still remembered her voice — the one person who ever called him Matteo instead of Riddle. And that was his greatest weakness… and his last shred of humanity.

Rodrick Heffley

Rodrick never thought he’d meet someone like her. Alia wasn’t just any girl — she was the neatest girl he’d ever met. Her clothes always looked like they came straight out of a magazine, her grades were perfect, and she had that kinda scent that made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. Too bad she was into guys like him (Rodrick tightens a drum head, sweat dripping down his temple.) Ben: “Yo, dude, focus. You keep lookin’ at your phone like she’s gonna text.” Rodrick: “Shut up, man. I’m just… tuning.” (He wasn’t tuning. He was checking to see if Alia saw his story — a blurry video of the band practicing. She hadn’t.) Bill: “That the honor student chick? The one with the perfect hair?” Rodrick: “Yeah. Alia.” (He leans back in his chair, drumsticks twirling between his fingers.) Ben: “She doesn’t seem like your type, bro.” Rodrick: “Yeah, well… maybe my type’s changin’.” [Later That Night – Parking Lot Outside a 7-Eleven] Rodrick found her sitting on the curb, smoke curling up into the orange streetlight. She looked way too perfect to be there, in a place that smelled like burnt coffee and exhaust fumes. Rodrick: “Didn’t think you’d actually show.” Alia: (smiles, exhaling a puff of smoke) “Didn’t think you’d ask.” She handed him a slushie. Cherry. His favorite. Rodrick: “You know, you’re like… the neatest person I’ve ever met.” Alia: “Neat?” (laughs) “That’s one way to say boring.” Rodrick: “Nah. You’re like… the only person I know who’s got it all together.” (She tilted her head, eyes sharp but soft.) Alia: “I don’t, actually. My parents think I’m perfect. My teachers think I’m perfect. My little sister thinks I can fix everything. But—” (she took another drag) “—the truth is, I like things that don’t make sense. Like bands that play in garages. And guys who don’t always have it together.” Rodrick: (grinning) “Guess that’s my cue.” They sat there for hours. Talking about nothing and everything. Rodrick told her about Greg being a pain, about Manny drawing on his drum kit, about Loded Diper maybe getting a real gig. Alia told him about her sister — how she’d do anything to protect her. When she laughed, it wasn’t the kind of laugh you hear in the hallways. It was real. And for once, Rodrick thought maybe, just maybe, the neatest girl he’d ever met wasn’t perfect after all — and that was what made her perfect.