Armin Arlert

📓| he’s tutoring you.

Zeke Yeager

👓|Your best friend’s older brother.

Hange Zoe

🍝| Your new weirdo boss, Hange.

The jock

🏈| your school's football jock. (WLW)

Hange Zoe

👓|They’re tutoring you.

Zeke Yeager

💛| Your new colleague loves to bother you.

LOVESICK best friend

🩷| He totally isn't in love with you.

Jean Kirstein

⭐️|The star quarterback.

Armin Arlert

🛏️| Dorm Inspection

NBJM Jean Kirstein

⚾️|NBJM • 𝕵𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝕶𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖎𝖓

Armin Arlert

The power had come back at some ungodly hour—2:57 a.m., according to Armin’s half-asleep muttering from the couch. You had been awake long enough to notice your synth blinking like it was in a coma. Coffee in hand, headphones hanging around your neck, you watched him balance his laptop on his knees, hoodie half-zipped, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. “Did the power come back at three?” you asked, tone half-amused, half-annoyed. “Yeah… around 2:57,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I was uploading volunteer applications and everything just… died. Felt like the world forced me into meditation.” You snorted. “You? Meditating? Please. You start spiraling if you can’t refresh your email every five minutes.” “Not true,” he said, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I spiraled for, like, two minutes tops. Then I… reorganized the pantry.” You raised an eyebrow, peeking into the kitchen. Every can had a sticky note with calorie counts and expiration dates. Alphabetized beans. Only beans. You stared. “Armin. It’s beans. Nobody cares.” “Future us will care,” he said. “When the next blackout hits and you’re crying over a dead mini-fridge of oat milk.” You rolled your eyes, sipping the now-cold coffee. A flyer poking out from under his laptop caught your attention: Community Tech Hub – Free Repairs, Free WiFi, Open Mic. “You’re still doing the open mic tonight, right?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Only if you come. You know I’m bad at public speaking unless you’re near the exit pretending to record.” “I’m not pretending. I actually record,” you said, tugging your hair into a messy bun. “You went viral once, and now you think I’m faking support?” “It’s not fake,” he said, voice softening as he watched you. “You look like you just stepped out of a vinyl cover shoot. That… ‘I manage a record label but still fix broken amps in my free time’ aesthetic.” “Excuse me, I’m on time for once,” you said, grabbing your tote. “I have a client meeting about their EP drop. If I survive Detroit traffic and don’t spill coffee on myself, that’s a win.” He finally got up, brushing lint off your jacket like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You know I’m proud of you, right? Real proud. You’re out here building things. People actually know your name. That’s wild.” You smiled, a little bashful. “Says the guy who rebuilt half the neighborhood’s routers for free. You’re literally Detroit’s WiFi Jesus.” He laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. The warmth lingered, suspended between the hum of traffic, distant sirens, and someone blasting SZA down the block. “Tonight—after the open mic—let’s go to that diner near the riverfront. The one with the strawberry pancakes.” “Only if you stop alphabetizing the beans.” “No promises,” he said, grinning. You stepped out into the sunlight, earbuds in, bass-heavy music spilling into the air. The skyline was half-rusted, half-golden, stretching over the city in quiet defiance. Somewhere back in the apartment, he was still there, organizing the chaos of both your lives—methodical, quiet, and somehow perfect in its madness.

Grey Halschitz-Oba

🩺| The doctor and grandchild.

CIRC manager

The circus fucking sucked. You were still so confused on how it got people each day. It was somehow wildly popular. It didn’t make sense to you. It smelled of shit. Someone was always throwing up. The rides were dingy. There were always creaky sounds that meant that the place was a safety inspection away from the biggest lawsuit in history, and there sat you. The measly trapeze artist. Number 18. The other 17 fell to their deaths. The only job requirement? Don’t fall to your death. You guys were in the last couple days of the tour dates in the city. The circus made even the brightest places so gloomy. Right now, the sounds being heard outside the Porta potty you were in, were as follows. A crying child, the clown trying to make the crying kid happy, while doing the opposite. “Shit, babe.” You heard from under you. Insert Dom. Your manager/boss/fuck buddy. Heavy on that last one. He played one of the jesters. Then counted money, then did illegal drugs. That was his day and it was his day for 8 years. He never cracked a smile. He was super negative. And this was one of those times where you both decided to take an early ‘break’. You two weren’t in love in the slightest. “Did you put on a condom?” You ask. “Didn’t fit on my big dick, remember?” He smirked, then it immediately fell as his head fell back. “Fuck.”

VAMP old friend

💋| wait, you go here too?

Levi Ackerman

📖| Meet your college boyfriend, Levi.

NBJM Armin Arlert

🍎| Chalkdust and Footnotes.

HOTLINE Confidence

🧡| Calling Hotline 143 for Confidence.

Armin Arlert

🎹| He understands.

Azreal Protathlitis

⚔️|The loverboy hunter.

Armin Arlert

🤭|Best friends brother.