I'm a sucker for angst

you probably came from tiktok

[pollka1]

☆ Hello! I'm pollka and I'm a huge fan of the game Until Dawn and a sucker for angst...that's pretty much it.

☆ The only thing I'll be writing about is Until Dawn and Hazbin Hotel (mostly until dawn tho but feel free to request some hazbin hotel!!)

☆ Since I got many requests on Tiktok to make a page solely for the purpose of my writing, here it is 😭

☆ My favourite genres in anything are angst and fluff. And my favourite tropes are enemies to lovers, best friends brother, slow burn (but not TOO slow).

☆ In until dawn, I ship all of the canon couples, but I also ship Jess × Matt, Sam × Josh, and chris × josh. (If your request is a ship that isn't on the list, don't be afraid to ask!)

☆ I have no other social media besides Tumblr and Tiktok. My tiktok is "_pollka" if you wanna check it out!

☆ My pronouns are she/her

☆ I will write for anyone from Until Dawn

What I WON'T write ❌:

Incest, rape, pedophilia, sexual assault, sexualization of mental health, necrophilia, things with animals, fetishization of trans people, transphobia, fat phobia, racism.

(I'll add more things as time goes on)

What I WILL write ✅:

Angst, mental illness, fluff, romance, mlm, wlw.

(I'll add more as time goes on)

☆ If your request is something that isn't on the list, don't hesitate to ask and I'll let you know if I'll write it or not!

☆☆☆

☆ Please don't be afraid to send requests and enjoy reading what I offer!

[pollka1]

This person requested multiple ideas so I thought I'd do them all individually!

And I hate to do this to you on your birthday

Summary — Sam visits Josh after Hannah and Beth's first birthday since their disappearance

---

When Melinda answered the door, she just stood there. Her makeup was done, her hair perfect, but the sadness still crept around her eyes.

Sam gave a small, unsure smile.

Melinda stepped forward before Sam could say anything, wrapping her arms around her.

“Thank you for coming, sweetheart.”

Sam hugged back, surprised by the sudden affection.

“Of course.”

Melinda pulled back slightly, brushing a stray hair from Sam’s face like a mother would.

“You always were part of this family.”

Sam’s throat tightened, but she nodded.

Melinda let out a shaky breath.

“He’s upstairs.”

Sam didn’t need to ask who.

“He’s…not doing great.”

Sam glanced past her, toward the stairs.

“I should go see him.”

Melinda touched her arm softly.

“Take your time.”

---

Sam knocked gently.

Silence.

She opened the door slowly.

Josh sat on the floor, knees to his chest, a laptop open beside him. The soft sound of children laughing filled the room.

Sam stepped in, quietly shutting the door behind her.

She looked at the screen.

Grainy footage. Snow. Little Hannah and Beth, no older than six or seven, laughing as they threw snowballs at Josh.

Bob’s voice could be heard from behind the camera.

“Alright, you three, smile for Mom!”

Josh didn’t look away from the screen.

Sam sat down beside him. Close, but not touching.

The video kept playing.

Josh’s voice cracked when he finally spoke.

“Hannah fell face first into the snow like five seconds after this.”

Sam smiled softly.

“Classic Hannah.”

Josh let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“She cried for, like, two seconds before Beth tackled me to the ground. Said I let her fall.”

Sam watched the memory unfold, quiet.

Josh swallowed hard.

“I don’t remember much of that day. Not all of it.”

“You remember the good parts.” Sam said optimistically.

“Do I?”

Josh looked at her then. Properly. His eyes bloodshot and exhausted.

Sam nodded once.

Josh looked away.

“I thought I’d get better at this.”

Sam didn’t reply.

“Everyone says grief gets easier after the first few months or so.”

He let out a hollow laugh.

“They’re wrong.”

Sam’s voice stayed soft.

“It doesn’t get easier. It just...fades over time.”

Josh shook his head.

“No. Not this. This is different.”

Sam placed a hand on his arm, steady and gentle.

Josh looked down at her hand but didn’t move away.

“...I hate today.”

“That's understandable.”

The video ended.

Static silence.

Josh closed his eyes, his voice breaking.

“What do I even say to them, Sam? What’s the point?”

Sam paused.

“You say happy birthday.”

Josh blinked.

Sam looked at him softly.

“You say it anyway. Even if it hurts.”

Josh’s breath shuddered.

“Think they’d hear me?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’d want you to say it.”

Josh looked like he wanted to argue.

But he couldn’t.

Not to Sam.

Sam shifted, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

And none of them said anything else.

---

After an hour or two, Sam went back downstairs. Melinda stood in the kitchen, staring at the untouched birthday cake she’d bought out of habit. The names of the twins written in white icing.

She didn’t notice Sam at first.

Sam stepped closer.

Melinda wiped her cheek quickly.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you come down.”

Sam shook her head.

“No, it's okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

Melinda smiled faintly.

She reached out and held Sam’s hand.

“Thank you for being here.”

Sam squeezed back.

“I’m always here.”

Melinda pulled her into another hug, this one slower and warmer.

“I don’t know what he’d do without you.”

Sam felt her chest tighten.

“Yeah...”

Melinda pulled back and sighed, brushing Sam’s hair gently again.

“Ha...what to do, huh?”

Sam smiled awkwardly.

The two of them stood there for a while.

Just standing.

Standing.

Standing.

[pollka1]

For a writing request: Can I have a cute moment between Chris and Beth? I feel like she just looked at him so adoringly in the prologue 😭 I feel like they had a lot of love for eachother that we didn’t get to see 😢

You've got a friend in me

Summary — Chris catches Beth playing his favorite game (yes I headcanon that Chris loves the Silent Hill franchise)

She sat in front of the TV, Silent Hill 2 on the screen. Beth set up the room to curtains half closed, which is just the way she liked it for her horror games.

She crept through the fog, tense.

Then-

“Is that Silent Hill 2?”

Beth jumped, nearly dropping the controller.

She turned.

Chris stood in the doorway, wide-eyed.

Beth blushed. She didn't know if it was from embarrassment or something else.

“Uh…maybe?”

Chris took a step forward, voice rising with excitement.

“Beth! Are you kidding me? Silent Hill 2? Do you even know how iconic this game is?!”

Beth hesitated.

“I…kinda like it?”

Chris laughed, and the full on nerd mode got activated.

“Beth, this is peak psychological horror. The soundtrack? Akira Yamaoka? Literal genius. And the sound design? That radio static is an anxiety mechanic.”

Beth blinked.

“Interesting...”

Chris sat down next to her like he belonged there.

“I could explain the whole game to you right now.”

Beth smiled, overwhelmed but curious.

“Please don’t spoil it.”

Chris looked horrified. “Never. That would be blasphemy.”

Beth laughed softly.

Chris pointed at the screen.

“Okay, so you’re in Brookhaven Hospital. Fun fact: the monsters here represent James’s fear of his own guilt and the trauma surrounding—”

“Chris!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Right. Right. No lore dumps. Sorry.”

Beth giggled.

“No, it’s cute.”

Chris blinked. “…What?”

“Don't worry about it.”

She looked back at the screen, cheeks slightly pink.

Chris shook it off, leaning forward.

“Okay, but seriously. Go right, there’s a health drink hidden behind that thing. Trust me.”

Beth followed his advice.

“No way.”

Chris looked smug.

“I may or may not have memorized the map.”

Beth grinned.

“Of course you have.”

Minutes pass, and they sat closer to eachother now, totally absorbed. Chris muttered commentary under his breath.

“Wait! Turn the light off here! The nurses don’t react as fast if you—”

“Chris. How do you know this much?”

“Beth. I’m a professional.”

“Professional...?”

“Professional nerd.”

Beth laughed, harder this time.

“You’re such a geek.”

Chris grinned proudly.

[pollka1]

Dora the explorer (yes, you've read that right)

Summary — Josh didn't think he would catch himself watching Dora the explorer

Bright colors flickered across the screen. A talking backpack. A grinning fox. And that ridiculously catchy map song.

Infront of the screen sat Hannah and Beth, cross-legged on the carpet, shoulder to shoulder, completely entranced.

Josh wandered past, bowl of cereal in one hand, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the other. He slowed when he spotted them.

“Are you watching Dora?” he muttered.

Neither of them looked away from the screen.

“It’s the map song!” Hannah announced like this was universally exciting.

Josh wrinkled his nose. “That show’s for kids.”

Beth didn’t look away either. “We are kids.”

Josh scoffed and kept walking, but before he rounded the corner, he heard Beth’s voice, softer now.

“You can sit with us if you want.”

Josh paused.

Hannah added, “It’s the special animal episode.”

That meant nothing to him.

But he sighed like he was being forced.

“…Fine.”

He dropped down onto the carpet beside them, setting his cereal down carefully. Arms crossed. Disinterested.

The map song finished. Dora asked where to go next.

Josh rolled his eyes.

“What is this animation?”

“It’s fun!” Hannah argued.

Beth hummed along with the music.

Josh side-eyed them both. “You're both weird.”

But he didn’t leave.

...

By the middle of the next adventure, Josh was leaning forward.

Somehow, Dora was trying to get past a giant chicken blocking a bridge, and no one, not the monkey, not the backpack, not even the map seemed to realize that they had rope in the backpack that could solve the problem.

Josh pointed at the screen, tense.

“Just use the rope! What are they doing? It’s right there.”

Hannah blinked, confused. “They’ll get to it.”

“But it’s obvious.”

Beth giggled.

Josh’s cereal was getting soggy behind him.

...

Time passed.

When Dora asked, “Can you tell us which path leads to the farm?” he answered out loud, dead serious:

“The purple one!”

Hannah elbowed him playfully.

Beth rested her head against his arm.

Josh didn’t notice. He was too busy focusing on Dora counting in Spanish.

“Uno…dos…tres…”

...

When the credits rolled, Hannah stood up first.

“We’re gonna play outside now.”

Beth stretched, pulling herself up too. “Yeah, the slide’s finally dry.”

Josh blinked at them, dazed.

“…You guys aren’t gonna watch the next one?”

Beth giggled. “You can.”

Josh hesitated, then quietly grabbed the remote.

“Might as well.”

By the time Hannah and Beth left the room, Josh was already locked into the next episode, sitting crisscross on the floor, cereal abandoned.

...

Melinda came downstairs, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Kids, your lunch will be—”

She stopped in the doorway.

Josh didn’t even hear her come in.

He sat alone in front of the TV, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, watching Dora and Boots solve a puzzle.

Melinda stared at him for a long, silent moment.

“…Josh?”

Josh flinched like he'd been caught doing something illegal.

“It’s— it’s not what it looks like.”

Melinda folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe.

“Is that Dora?”

Josh scowled, cheeks red. “It’s…educational.”

Melinda smiled, tilting her head. “And you’re watching it…alone.”

Josh looked at the empty seats beside him like they had betrayed him.

“Hannah and Beth were watching it too.”

“Were.”

“They went outside.”

Melinda bit back a grin.

Josh crossed his arms, defensive now.

“She’s got maps. And a backpack that talks.”

Melinda’s lips twitched.

Josh pointed at the screen seriously.

“And there’s this fox that steals stuff. You’d think he’d be caught by now, but no, he just—he just keeps going.”

Melinda walked over, leaned down, and ruffled his hair gently.

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.”

Josh grumbled, cheeks still flushed.

Melinda straightened up, still smiling.

“Lunch in ten minutes, explorer.”

Josh mumbled, “Fine.”

But when she left the room, he didn’t move.

The next episode had already started.

And when Dora asked, “Can you say cascada?”

Josh whispered “Cascada.”

[pollka1]

hehe you know me 😈 I need more climbing class. (Josh and Chris.) idc if it’s romantic or just best friends wise, but can you write smth where they’re having a sleepover (childish type stuff lol like sleeping in the same bed & laughing at nothing.)

SO SORRY FOR THE LATE REPLY OH MY GODDD 💔💔💔

Sharing beds like little kids

Summary — Josh and Chris talk nonsense at a sleepover

Josh’s bed wasn’t really meant for two people, but that didn’t stop Josh from inviting Chris over for a sleepover, which really just meant junk food, horror movies, and Josh aggressively bullying Chris into dealing with his feelings for Ashley.

Chris was lying on his stomach with his head turned toward Josh, cheek squished into a pillow. Josh was flopped out flat like a starfish, his knee halfway into Chris’s side.

“Move your bony leg, man,” Chris grumbled.

“No can do. I’m nesting.”

“You’re so dumb sometimes.”

“And you’re in love with Ashley. Let’s talk about it.”

Chris groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “Josh, c'mon—”

Josh propped himself up on one elbow, face lit with a mischievous grin.

“I’m serious. The way you look at her? It’s like a teen romcom. You’re one accidental snowball fight away from a Christmas special.”

Chris snorted. “You think I haven’t tried?”

“Tried what? Nervously standing beside her and waiting for the perfect opportunity?”

Chris rolled onto his side to face him, pointing a gummy worm accusingly. “I have attempted conversation, thank you very much.”

“Asking her if she’s seen the latest MythBusters episode doesn’t count as flirting.”

“It was relevant! We're both into that, anyways.”

Josh laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth to avoid waking the house. “You absolute disaster of a man.”

Chris was giggling too, half from exhaustion, half because Josh’s laugh was always contagious.

Josh wiped his eyes. “Okay, but really. Cabin trip. Low light. Warm cocoa. You pull her aside and you say: ‘Ashley, I like you. In a ‘I think about you a lot’ way.’ Boom. Nailed it. Done.”

Chris stared. “That’s…kind of smooth?”

“Thank you.”

“Where’d you steal it from?”

“Beats me.”

They both burst out laughing again, this time full-bodied and loud, kicking each other under the blankets.

Eventually, the giggling faded into soft chuckles. They both lay back again, exhausted but warm, that sleepover haze settling in where everything felt slower and more honest.

“Thanks, though,” Chris said quietly. “You always kinda know what to say.”

Josh turned his head slightly toward him.

“It’s a gift. Like my charm. And my incredibly sculpted eyebrows.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh...”

“Don't act weirded out. You love me.”

“Not in front of the gummy worms.”

“Fair.”

Josh reached across the bed lazily and flicked Chris’s forehead. “But seriously. You’re gonna be fine. You’re a good guy. And Ashley’s smart, she’ll see it.”

Chris smiled, soft and sleepy now. “Hope so.”

Josh stared at the ceiling for a second, then said, “Okay, new topic.”

“Shoot.”

“What’s your zombie apocalypse survival plan?”

“Easy. I find Mike and use him as a distraction.”

Josh cackled. “Damn!”

“Dude has abs. Let the zombies appreciate them while I run.”

Josh nearly choked on a piece of licorice.

Chris grinned. “Okay, what about you?”

Josh tilted his head. “Step one: gather snacks. Step two: head to Canada. Step three: start a punk band in a forest bunker. Call it ‘Dead Inside’.”

Chris gave him the most judgmental look he could manage while lying down. “That’s awful.”

Josh nodded proudly. “Exactly.”

They lay there for a while longer, letting the silence stretch out naturally.

Chris yawned and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “I’m gonna pass out soon.”

“I’ll sing you a lullaby.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Josh cleared his throat dramatically. “Ohhhhh Christopher, my dearest nerd…may your dreams be zombie-free…”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I regret this friendship daily.”

“You’re smiling.”

Chris couldn’t help it. “Yeah.”

They both closed their eyes, still grinning.

As Chris drifted off, the last thing he heard was Josh whisper:

“Don’t forget. Cabin trip. Hot cocoa. Dramatic snow kiss. Make it happen.”

Chris didn’t reply.

He just smiled into the pillow.

[pollka1]

You're the only friend I need

Summary — Hannah has prepared a speech to the person she's thankful for

The school gym buzzed softly with the sound of rustling papers, quiet conversations, and the occasional squeak of sneakers on polished floors. Folding chairs formed neat rows beneath festive streamers and banners that read: “5th Grade Gratitude Assembly! Give Thanks, Speak From the Heart!”

Melinda straightened the hem of her blazer as she sat beside Bob, who adjusted his watch for the third time in five minutes.

“She’s going to say me,” Melinda said, dabbing a bit of gloss on her lips. “She’s always coming to me with her little girl things.”

Bob smirked. “Please, I’m the one who got her that telescope. She never shuts up about the stars.”

From the back of the gym, Beth waved both hands enthusiastically while Josh just offered a lazy salute, half-distracted by his phone. Hannah was standing off to the side of the stage, holding a folded piece of notebook paper and looking like she might melt into the floor.

“And now,” the teacher called, “please welcome our next student: Hannah Washington!”

Polite applause followed her as she stepped onto the wooden stage. She paused behind the podium, adjusted the microphone, and unfolded her paper with both hands trembling slightly.

She cleared her throat and began.

“Hi, I’m Hannah,” she said, voice uncertain but sincere. “And this is my speech about who I’m thankful for.”

She peeked at the audience, then fixed her eyes on the page.

“When they first told us we had to pick one person, I panicked. Because there are a lot of people in my life who help me. My mom and dad, of course. My sister. My friends. My teachers. It was hard to choose only one.”

Melinda smiled smugly. Bob raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting a shared spotlight.

“I started thinking about who helps me in ways I can’t always explain. Like, not just helping me with homework or buying me stuff. But helping me feel okay when I’m sad.”

She glanced up briefly.

“This person sometimes they say the wrong thing on purpose, like, to be funny or just to annoy me. But they always notice when I’m quiet. They’re the first one who makes me laugh when I’ve been crying, even if they don’t know what I was sad about.”

Josh looked up from his phone, brow furrowing a little.

“This person once stayed up all night helping me glue a model of the solar system together because I forgot it was due the next day. They didn’t even complain. Well...they complained a little.”

The crowd chuckled softly.

“They speak in weird accents just to cheer me up. They try to teach me magic tricks and sometimes they don’t work, but they try anyway. They remember my favorite food. They share the last cookie. They know when I’m not in a good mood and they try to cheer me up.”

Melinda smiled broadly and placed her hand on her heart.

“I’m thankful for this person because even though they don’t try to be perfect, they’re perfect to me.”

She paused, a silence falling over the gym.

“I’m thankful for my big brother, Josh.”

The silence cracked into warm, genuine applause.

Bob blinked. Melinda’s hand dropped from her heart, her smile faltering. Josh’s phone nearly slipped from his fingers. Beth grinned from ear to ear, clapping louder than anyone else.

Hannah stepped off the stage, cheeks red but eyes glowing with relief. She made her way to where Josh was still frozen in disbelief.

When she reached him, she hugged him tight around the middle.

Josh blinked again, stunned, before slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

[pollka1]

Hello! Can you write something about Josh based on this song?

Hiii! I'm so sorry if the fic isn't based on this song as much as you wanted it to be 🙏🏻😭

--

Believe in what you are

Summary — Josh has finished his preparations for his prank and he accepts what he must do

It was cold. Always colder than it should’ve been. The kind of cold that gets into your bones and stays there, even when you leave.

Josh knelt on the floor, threading one last wire into a narrow slot. It clicked into place with a soft snap, and he sat back on his heels, staring at the mess of monitors and gadgets sprawled across the table. Everything was done. Every piece. Every detail. Every stage, twist, and reveal. All carefully, lovingly planned.

All of it, a monument to pain.

His pain.

It wasn’t enough to tell them. No one listened when you told them you were drowning. No one wanted to sit in the water with you. They just handed you empty platitudes like life vests made of paper.

“I’m always here for you.”

“You’ll get through this.”

“You’re so strong.”

Bullshit.

Josh’s fingers twitched again. They did that sometimes when he went too long without sleeping. Or when he was going nuts.

Or both.

The hum of the lodge above was a ghostly thing. Quiet, but there. Sometimes he imagined Hannah and Beth’s footsteps still moving through the floorboards. Sometimes he heard them laughing. But mostly, he heard them screaming.

He stood slowly, letting his knees crack, walking over to the table where the bottle sat. White plastic. Childproof. Useless. Like most things. He hadn't taken one in twenty one days. He knew because he’d carved a mark into the wood beam every night he didn’t. The scratches stared back at him from the far wall. Twenty one small victories. Twenty one losses.

The meds had made the grief dull. Too dull. He wanted it sharp again. He needed it to hurt, because if it hurt, it was real. And if it was real, he could do something about it.

He turned the cap anyway, just to hear the soft pop. He stared at the white capsules inside.

His hand trembled. He shoved the bottle back into his coat and pulled out his phone. No new messages. Of course not. No one really checked in anymore. Not after the first two weeks. After the funerals. After the awkward visits and the “Call me if you need anything.”

He had needed something.

But no one came.

Josh sat on the floor again, this time leaning back against the leg of the workbench, letting his head rest against it with a dull thud.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he felt like he might cry. But the tears never came. They hadn’t in a long time.

Instead, he laughed.

He wondered if they’d even recognize him now. Sam. Chris. Ashley. Jess. Mike. All of them. Would they hug him? Would they still laugh at his jokes? Or would they flinch when they saw the look in his eyes?

Would they flinch when they realized he meant it?

Josh stood again, slower this time. He walked toward the cracked mirror mounted on the far wall. He hadn't looked at himself properly in days, maybe weeks. The person who stared back looked haunted—his jaw sharp, cheeks sunken, dark circles painting his eyes like bruises from the inside out.

“You wanted a laugh,” he muttered to his reflection. “Here it is.”

The psycho mask sat beside the mirror.

Josh reached for it, brushing his fingers along the edges. His hands stilled for a moment. Just long enough to hear the house settle. Just long enough to imagine the sound of Hannah’s voice telling him to do it.

His jaw clenched.

He pulled the mask down just for a second to feel the weight of it.

It fit perfectly.

He yanked it off and dropped it into his duffel bag with the rest of the gear.

This was who he was now. This was what happened when you lost your sisters, lost your grip, and no one bothered to catch you.

He wasn’t asking for pity.

He wasn’t asking for forgiveness.

He was asking to be seen.

Even if it took a mask to do it.

As he climbed the stairs back up into the main part of the lodge, the lights flickered once briefly. Then silence.

A storm was coming.

And Josh was ready to greet it.

[pollka1]

Good luck, babe!

Summary — Josh accidentally calls Chris "babe"

...

Chris was squinting at a nearly empty hot cocoa packet.

“You ever notice how these say ‘one packet per mug,’ but it’s never actually enough for one mug?” he muttered, shaking out the last few grains into a chipped ceramic cup that had a cartoon moose on it.

Josh was behind him, digging through drawers with increasing desperation. “Where the hell is the good spoon? Not the soup one. The good spoon.”

“You mean this one?” Chris held up a simple silver spoon.

Josh turned like he was in a toothpaste commercial. “Lifesaver. Thanks, babe.”

Chris froze.

Josh kept moving, snatching the spoon and stirring the cocoa with no second thought. “God, this powder stuff never fully dissolves. Like, what do they think we’re doing in here, performing dark magic?”

Chris, still frozen, blinked.

“…What?”

Josh didn’t look up. “What what?”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You just called me ‘babe.’”

Josh looked up, brow furrowed like he was the confused one. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” Chris set the cocoa down and pointed at him. “You said ‘thanks, babe,’ like I’m your girlfriend or something.”

Josh blinked once. “I—What? Dude, seriously, I didn’t mean to.”

Chris tilted his head. “So you admit you said it?”

Josh paused. “Maybe. I was channeling my inner mom friend.”

Chris gave him a look. “Your inner mom friend calls me ‘babe’?”

Josh grinned slowly. “Well, what can I say? You bring out something in me.”

Chris laughed awkwardly, picking up his mug to hide the warmth rising in his face. “You are so weird.”

Josh leaned on the counter, slurping from his own mug obnoxiously. “You love it.”

Chris coughed into his drink. “What?”

Josh raised a brow. “I said you love cocoa. Geez, Chris, get your head out of the clouds.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “You are gaslighting me.”

Josh winked. “Maybe I’m just warming you up for something.”

Chris nearly dropped the mug.

Josh took another casual sip. “Mmm. Cocoa’s good. You make it with love?”

Chris groaned. “Can you cut it out?”

Josh chuckled. “Aw, come on. You brought it up. Just lean into it, baby.”

Chris tried to hold in a laugh but failed. “You’re actually the worst.”

Josh shrugged. “Look, I’m just saying, if I were dating a dude, I’d probably date someone like you.”

Chris stared. “Are you joking?”

Josh tilted his head. “Am I?”

They both paused.

Josh blinked. “Okay, now I might be doing a bit.”

Chris set his cup down carefully. “You think?”

Josh gave him a crooked grin. “Unless you’re into it.”

Chris stood there, staring at him. Then slowly said, “I hate you.”

Josh raised his mug in a mock toast. “Love you too, babe.”

Chris rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself, and walked off muttering, “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

Behind him, Josh called out cheerfully, “I know, sweetheart! Wanna braid each other’s hair next?”

Chris flipped him off without turning around.

[pollka1]

They're creepy and they're kooky

Summary — Hannah has the phase and Josh doesn't like it.

...

Hannah stared at herself in the mirror chewing her lip.

Thick black eyeliner. Black lipstick. Smudged eyeshadow that took way too long to do. Her hair was straightened. She even threw on a choker she found. It had a tiny silver bat on it. Iconic.

She was approximately two seconds away from spiraling.

hannah: u up

hannah: come upstairs

hannah: i did a thing

hannah: and you’re not allowed to laugh

Beth replied with one word.

beth: omw

When Beth stepped into the bathroom, she choked on her drink.

Hannah immediately turned away. “Nope. Forget it. You don’t get to see me. This is a mistake. God is punishing me for thinking I could pull this off.”

Beth coughed, trying to recover. “No no no no. Wait. You actually look—hold on—I just wasn’t expecting—jeez, Han!”

Hannah side-eyed her through black eyeliner. “Was that a compliment?”

Beth grinned. “Depends. Did you mean to look like you’re summoning demons?”

Hannah let out a strangled noise. “You do hate it.”

“I didn’t say that! I said you looked like a vampire. That’s different.”

“I feel like I just got insulted and complimented at the same time.”

Beth was still staring. “I mean, it’s kind of a serve? Like, ‘hey boys, I’ll curse you and ruin your bloodline’ kind of thing.”

“Not what I was going for, but thanks.”

Beth glanced at her phone and then smirked.

beth: get your ass up here

beth: emergency

beth: han's gone full goth

beth: bring holy water

Hannah's eyes widened. “Beth. Don’t.”

Too late.

Stomp stomp stomp

Josh barreled up the stairs like a raccoon on energy drinks, turned the corner, and stopped dead in the doorway.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

“Oh. My. God.”

He backed up a step like he was being hunted.

“Who—WHAT—is that? What did you DO?!”

Beth was already laughing.

Hannah groaned. “Can we not start with the dramatics?”

Josh, already holding his chest like he was on the verge of cardiac arrest, gasped so loudly he nearly inhaled a moth. “I swear to Christ I just saw a demon. Did you sell your soul? Did Satan have a sale?!”

Hannah rubbed her temples. “It’s just makeup.”

Josh pointed like she was a cursed painting. “That is not ‘just makeup.’ That is a cry for an exorcism.”

Beth wheezed. “I’m gonna pee.”

Josh slowly circled Hannah like she was a ritual circle. “What is this? Are you joining a cult? Are you dating a guy named Crow? Did you rename yourself ‘Raven’?!”

“I just tried something new!”

“New?! Hannah, you look like you escaped a Tim Burton audition and murdered the competition!”

Beth collapsed against the wall, laughing so hard her eyes were watering.

Josh wasn't done. “This is how it starts. First, the eyeliner. Then the Latin. Then you’re floating three feet above the bed speaking backwards.”

“I literally just did a smoky eye and black lipstick!”

“You summoned demons!”

Beth had slid to the floor, holding her stomach. “Josh, please.”

Josh turned to her, deadly serious. “Our sister is being consumed by the darkness and you’re laughing?!”

“She looks cool!”

“She looks like she sacrifices goats! Which would explain a lot because Lucifer IS A GOAT.”

Hannah, trying to salvage any remaining dignity, muttered, “Maybe I am a child of darkness.”

Josh threw his hands in the air. “She admits it!”

“I’m kidding!”

“YOU DON’T JOKE ABOUT DARK MAGIC, HANNAH!”

Beth, from the floor: “She hasn’t even bought crystals yet, calm down.”

Josh dramatically leaned against the doorframe. “I’m not calm. I’m emotionally unprepared. I need a priest.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Josh sniffed. “I’m gonna sleep with garlic under my pillow.”

“You’re thinking of vampires, dumbass.”

“You’re thinking of joining them!”

Beth cackled. “This is the best day of my life.”

Josh made a cross with two pens he found in his hoodie pocket. “The power of Christ compels you.”

Hannah muttered, “I should’ve just dyed my hair instead.”

Josh fake-fainted into the hallway. “SHE’S PLANNING STAGE TWO.”

...

The next day...

The table was set. Roasted chicken, potatoes, vegetables. And Josh had scooted his chair a full three feet away from Hannah. He kept glaring at her like she was going to hex him.

Hannah, now dressed in an oversized hoodie over her goth makeup (but still proudly wearing the bat choker), chewed calmly on a piece of broccoli.

Josh, whispering to Beth: “She hasn’t blinked in five minutes.”

Beth, whispering back: “You haven’t blinked either.”

“I’M ON EDGE, BETHANY.”

Bob, cutting his chicken: “Can we not start at dinner, Joshua?”

Josh sat up dramatically. “Father. Dearest. Listen to me. Hannah has joined a dark cult and plans to consume us all.”

Bob didn’t even look up. “Good for her. Pass the salt.”

Josh gasped. “YOU’RE JUST GIVING UP THE SALT? SHE’LL USE IT TO DRAW SYMBOLS.”

Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Josh, are you still going on about this?”

“Still? STILL?! This is an active crisis, mother. This is ‘our daughter might summon a Victorian ghost’ levels of concern.”

Beth was cackling into her napkin.

Hannah, calmly sipping her water: “You know, I’ve been thinking about getting a snake. Or a spider.”

Josh gasped so hard the lights flickered. “SEE?! SEE?! THIS IS HOW IT STARTS. SNAKES. THEN TAROT. THEN NEXT THING YOU KNOW, WE’RE HOSTING A RITUAL IN THE BASEMENT.”

Melinda: “If you’re going to yell about Satan at the dinner table, go to your room.”

Josh pointed across the table like a betrayed detective. “You’re defending her.”

Bob, deadpan: “I just want to eat. Is that too much to ask?”

Hannah leaned over to Bob. “Hey Dad, do we have any black candles I could have?”

Josh shrieked like he’d been stabbed with a crucifix. “SHE’S PLANNING SOMETHING!”

Bob, sipping his wine: “I don’t know, ask your mother.”

Melinda, looking at her goth daughter and her feral son, absolutely done: “I swear to God, I raised three gremlins.”

Josh threw his napkin down. “One of us is clearly cursed!”

Beth: “It’s you.”

Josh: “IT’S HER.”

Hannah, smiling: “I made cookies earlier. They’re shaped like little skulls.”

Bob: “Now that’s a cult I can support.”

Josh nearly flipped the goddamn table.

[pollka1]

Maybe I wasn't there

Summary — Josh has another session with Alan

...

Josh sat in his father’s office, and he ran his fingers over the polished wood of the desk, half-listening to the crackle of the fire. The clock ticked.

“Josh.”

He turned sharply.

Dr. Hill stood just inside the doorway, hands folded behind his back, expression unreadable but calm in that way only Hill could manage.

Josh blinked. “Hey. I—I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wasn’t,” Hill said, stepping into the room. “But you seemed like you needed someone.”

Josh swallowed. “I’m fine.”

Hill tilted his head, his voice even. “That’s not what your sleep patterns suggest. Nor your appetite.”

Josh stiffened. “So what, you’ve been checking up on me?”

“No,” Hill said simply, “but I know you. And I know grief when I see it.”

Josh looked away, jaw clenched. The fire popped in the grate. “They’re not dead.”

Hill didn’t reply right away.

Josh turned to look at him again, eyes suddenly pleading. “They’re not. No one ever found bodies. Maybe they got lost. Maybe they’re hiding. Hannah always hated being the center of attention. What if they just wanted to disappear for a bit?”

Dr. Hill stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a man walking a frozen lake. “Even if that were true, does your heart feel any lighter for saying it?”

Josh stared at the floor.

“You’ve always been intelligent,” Hill continued gently. “But intelligence doesn’t shield us from pain. It only gives us more ways to explain it away.”

Josh closed his eyes. His head ached. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

There was a long silence. When Josh opened his eyes again, Hill was seated across from him. He hadn’t heard the chair move.

“You used to say I was just a tool,” Josh murmured. “A prop. Something your parents forced into your life after everything.”

“Maybe,” Hill said. “But a tool is only useless if it isn't used.”

Josh laughed bitterly, covering his mouth with one hand. “You’re starting to sound like some TV dude. Do you even exist outside of this room?”

Hill didn’t flinch. “Does it matter, if the words reach you?”

The fire sputtered. Josh’s breath fogged faintly in front of him, eventhough the room was warm. He rubbed his arms.

“I can’t do this without them,” he whispered.

“You were loved,” Hill said quietly.

Josh shook his head, the words like splinters. “I didn’t protect them.”

Silence. Only the sound of the clock ticking could be heard.

Tick.

Tock

Tick.

Tock.

“Am I going crazy?”

Hill didn’t answer right away. He stood again, slowly, and approached Josh.

“Pain distorts reality. But madness, Joshua, is only fatal when left unspoken.”

Josh blinked, the corners of his vision swimming.

And then—

A knock at the door.

“Josh?” It was his mother’s voice, muffled. “Who are you talking to?”

He looked toward the doorway. She pushed it open, brows furrowed. The room was dim, firelight dancing across the empty armchair across from him.

Josh looked back. The chair was empty.

And Hill was gone.

[pollka1]

Where is my mind?

Summary — Josh has a headache during Dr Hill's session

Genre — Angst

Characters — Dr Hill (Alan), Josh Washington

Warning — None

Josh sat curled slightly in his chair, his hand braced against his temple, fingers splayed across his forehead as though holding his head together.

Across from him, Dr. Alan Hill sat still, pen hovering just above his notepad.

“Josh,” he said gently, “I’d like to go back to our last session. We started discussing your memory of the party. Do you remember what happened after Hannah left?”

Josh shifted his weight, pressing harder against his skull. “I already said this. I already—” he stopped himself, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were glassy. “I don’t know. Everything was spinning. Like, my own head… just—” he exhaled hard, “it’s like a sink drain. No matter what I think about, I end up there. The same damn place.”

Alan adjusted his glasses. “That’s understandable. But it might help to explore the details of that night, rather than letting them haunt you in fragments.”

Josh let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “Details? What, you want timestamps?”

“No, Josh. Just thoughts. Emotions. What you saw, what you felt. Even what you didn’t feel.”

Josh’s fingers began tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. “It’s not about what I saw. It’s about what I didn’t see. Like…maybe if I had opened my eyes faster, or if I hadn’t passed out like some idiot—”

Alan leaned forward slightly. “You’re blaming yourself again.”

Josh’s tone sharpened. “Isn’t that your job? Telling me what I’m doing wrong with my feelings?”

Alan blinked once, calmly. “My job is to help you understand them.”

Josh stared at him. His jaw clenched, and then—suddenly—his voice lashed out, louder than either of them expected:

“Maybe I don’t want to understand them!”

Silence.

The room went dead still. Josh’s outburst bounced off the walls like it didn’t belong there. The very next moment, his expression collapsed in on itself.

He sucked in a sharp breath and covered his mouth with his hand. “Shit— I didn’t—” he mumbled through his fingers. “Sorry…”

Alan didn’t flinch. He didn’t chastise. He didn’t even look surprised. Calmly, he scribbled something down on his pad.

Josh watched the pen move and looked away quickly, eyes fixed on the corner of the room.

The silence swelled again.

“I’ve had this headache for days,” he said after a beat, quieter now. “It’s like someone’s sitting behind my eyes. Everything’s loud. And bright. And too much.”

Alan looked up. “Have you been sleeping?”

Josh shrugged. “Some. Not good sleep. Just…eyes closed.”

“You mentioned last week that you feel like something’s pushing back. Can you tell me what that feels like?”

Josh rubbed his eyes, voice low and quick. “It hums. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. Just…makes me feel wrong. Like I'm having a seizure.”

Alan’s pen tapped once against the paper. “Josh, are you still taking your meds?”

Josh hesitated. The silence stretched too long.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said finally, tone too light, too offhand.

Alan said nothing. Just made another note.

Josh sighed hard and leaned back in the chair, head tilted up toward the ceiling.

“I don’t wanna talk about that night.”

“I understand. Then let’s talk about how you’re feeling now.”

Josh turned his head to the side, eyes cloudy and distant. “My head hurts,” he whispered.

Alan’s pen moved again, quiet as breath.

Josh didn’t say anything after that. He just stared at the bookshelf without blinking.

[pollka1]

All I want to do is be more like me and less like you

Summary — Josh shows his dad his psychology essay and doesn't get the reaction he expected

Genre — Angst, little comfort

Characters — Bob Washington, Josh Washington, Sam Giddings, Chris Hartley

Warnings — none (?)

Josh stood outside the study door, still clutching the printed essay. The hallway light flickered slightly, casting sharp shadows on the walls. Downstairs, the house was silent—Hannah and Beth were likely asleep, their soft music faint under the floorboards. This part of the lodge, though, always felt colder. Like the man behind the door made sure of it.

He knocked once.

“What?” came Bob’s clipped voice.

Josh pushed the door open.

His father didn’t even glance up. He was sitting in his usual chair, hunched over his desk with a drink in one hand and a pen in the other. The room reeked of liquor and old paper, warmed only by the fire crackling faintly beside them.

“You wanted to see my essay,” Josh said, approaching.

Bob finally looked up, snatched the pages from Josh’s hand without a word, and began reading.

The silence dragged, thick and tight.

Josh waited, heart thudding with the kind of dread he was too used to by now.

When Bob was done, he didn’t look impressed. Or curious. Or anything at all.

He let out a harsh exhale, tossed the essay on the desk, and looked Josh dead in the eye.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Josh blinked. “What?”

“This,” Bob gestured to the paper, “is what you call effort? This is what weeks of ‘hard work’ look like?”

“I wrote what mattered,” Josh muttered. “That’s what the prompt asked.”

“No,” Bob snapped. “The prompt asked for something that shows you’re worth their time. This doesn’t make you sound smart. It makes you sound fragile. Like you’re begging someone to feel bad for you.”

Josh’s jaw tightened. “It’s psychology. It's supposed to be introspective.”

“No, it’s supposed to be intelligent,” Bob said, standing now, voice rising. “This? This is an embarrassment. You want them to read this and think, ‘Oh, here’s a boy with trauma—let’s hand him a degree’?”

Josh stepped back, but his voice stayed firm. “I’m not ashamed of what I wrote.”

Bob advanced on him, eyes hard. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Josh’s heart slammed behind his ribs. “Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re my son,” Bob snapped. “And I’m not letting you humiliate me with this pathetic cry for attention.”

Josh flinched at the word humiliate.

Bob leaned in closer, disgust practically radiating off him. “You think you’re deep. You think you’re complicated. But you’re not. You’re just soft. And that doesn’t get you anywhere in this world.”

Josh’s voice cracked, low and bitter. “Maybe I don’t want to end up like you.”

Bob stared at him, silent.

Then he scoffed—mean, humorless—and pushed past him hard, his shoulder slamming into Josh's with purpose.

Josh stumbled sideways, hitting the edge of the bookcase.

Bob stopped in the doorway and looked back with a glare that could cut through steel.

“If you submit that pathetic little sob story, don’t expect me to pretend I’m proud of you.”

Then he left.

Door slammed. Silence again.

Josh stood frozen, his breath shallow, skin burning from the hit and the words.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t scream.

He sat at his desk upstairs, reopened the file, and stared at the blinking cursor for a long time.

Then, with numb fingers, he hit submit.

...

Chris' living room was full of warmth—blankets tossed around, a half-finished bag of chips on the coffee table, and the soft murmur of indie music playing from Chris’s phone.

Josh sat cross-legged on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, watching Sam curl up near the fireplace with a mug of tea. Chris was in the armchair, talking animatedly about the colleges he’d applied to.

“I mean, I don’t want to end up at some community college in a strip mall, but let’s face it,” Chris said with a snort, “I got a D in History and my GPA could make a baby cry.”

Sam laughed. “It’s not just about grades, Chris. You’ve got charm. That has to count for something.”

“I did tell one interviewer my science project was ‘a biological metaphor for existential dread.’”

Josh smirked faintly. “That’s either genius or the reason why you won’t get in.”

Chris pointed a finger at him. “Hey, don’t come at me, psychology boy. You’re the one diving headfirst into people’s weird little minds.”

Sam turned her head toward Josh with a smile. “You actually going for psych?”

Josh nodded, the motion cool, effortless. “Yeah. Psychology major. Already submitted my essay.”

Sam raised a brow. “Damn, look at you, Mr. Ahead-of-the-game. Your mom and dad must be proud.”

There was the beat—the small, almost imperceptible hitch in Josh’s breath. But he covered it fast. Too fast.

“Yeah,” he said, voice light. “They were really into it. My dad said it made a lot of sense.”

He even chuckled, like he could believe it himself if he said it out loud.

Sam beamed, her legs tucked beneath her. “You’ve always been good at reading people.”

Josh shrugged with a crooked grin, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t match his expression.

Chris clapped him on the shoulder. “Guess one of us has to succeed, huh?”

“Guess so,” Josh replied.

But his fingers tapped silently against the side of the couch, restless. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind—sharp, scathing, unwanted. Could still feel the weight of being shoved aside.

Sam leaned forward slightly. “I think it suits you. You’ll probably end up helping way more people than any of us ever could.”

Josh looked at her, and for a moment, he wanted to say something real. That he almost didn’t submit it. That his hands were shaking when he did. That he could still feel where Bob’s shoulder collided with his.

But instead, he just smiled.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Because it was easier to lie.

[pollka1]

jossam based off of this song perchanceee?

First music fic request tysm and ofc I can!!

I tried making it related as much as possible to jossam so bare with me 🙏🏻

I'm so lovesick, what have you done to me?

Summary — A few days after Hannah and Beth's disappearance/deaths, Sam realises she may have lost Josh too

Characters — Sam Giddings, Josh Washington

Genre — Angst

Warnings — None

Speech is colour/color coded for this fic:

Blue = Josh

Red = Sam

With every hour that passed, Sam swore she could still hear the pieces grinding against each other.

Josh was no longer the boy she’d fallen in love with.

He didn’t talk anymore, not really. A grunt here, a muttered sentence there. No sarcasm. No banter. No trace of the warmth that used to curl into her spine when he laughed or reached for her hand without thinking.

He hadn’t touched her since the night the twins disappeared.

They still shared the same bed. But it was only out of habit. He lay stiff on one side, perfectly still, and when Sam tried to pull him closer, he’d shift away without a word.

Every morning, he vanished. She’d wake up alone.

At first, she told herself it would pass. That he needed space. That this was grief, and that grief made people do terrible things. But by the fourth day, Sam felt like she was mourning someone still alive. Not just Hannah and Beth—but Josh, too.

The worst part was: she missed him.

She missed the banter they had. The way he used to stare like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Now, she couldn’t even get him to look at her.

It was after midnight when she found him.

She hadn’t meant to. She was just trying to find him, maybe coax him into sleeping for once. The quiet of her parents house had grown too loud, the silence pressing in on her like snowfall without end. She passed by the study and noticed the sliver of light under the door—just enough to pull her in.

The door was ajar.

She pushed it open slowly.

Josh sat alone on the couch, the glow of the laptop screen the only light in the room. He was hunched forward, elbows on knees, motionless. His eyes were fixed to the screen with a strange kind of stillness. Not like he was watching—like he was stuck.

On the screen: grainy, handheld footage.

Hannah fidgeting nervously, biting her lip as she unbuttoned her shirt. Mike playing along, soft-spoken and flirty. Jess and Emily's whispered giggles from under the bed. And then the reveal—the horror dawning on Hannah’s face.

And then she ran.

The clip ended.

Josh didn’t blink.

The clip restarted.

Again.

And again.

He was watching it on loop. Letting it play like background noise in his brain. Maybe he was waiting for something to change. For a different outcome. But it never did. It was always the same.

“Josh…” Sam whispered, stepping into the room. “Please don’t watch that.”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge her. His fists were pressed together, his shoulders tense.

“You’ve seen it enough,” she said gently, moving closer. “It’s not going to—”

“Why didn’t anyone stop her?” His voice was rough, brittle. “She thought it was real. That someone actually liked her. That maybe for once she wouldn’t be the butt of the joke.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I tried.”

That made him blink. Slowly. He looked at her for the first time.

“I tried, Josh,” she said again, firmer now, because the guilt in her throat wouldn’t let her stay quiet. “I wasn’t in on it— well, I knew about it, but guilt settled in and I ran after her. I called her name—” Her voice cracked. “She didn’t hear me at first, but that's when I opened the door.”

He said nothing.

“I tried to stop her,” she whispered. “But...”

He leaned back, jaw clenched. “You weren’t the one hiding behind a camera.”

“No. But I should’ve said something before it even started.”

Josh scoffed bitterly and turned his face back to the screen.

“She was happy that night,” he said quietly. “You remember that? Laughing, talking to you, trying to curl her hair. She was excited. And then that.”

The footage rolled again.

Sam sat beside him slowly. Close, but not touching.

“She loved you more than anything,” she said. “She would’ve forgiven you for anything.”

“I don’t want her forgiveness,” he muttered. “I want her back.”

“And Beth?” Sam asked softly.

He flinched, like the name was a slap.

Sam looked at him, tears burning in her eyes.

“She was trying to save her,” she whispered.

“She was always trying to fix things,” he said, voice hollow. “Just like you.”

Sam hesitated, then reached toward the laptop, fingers moving to close the lid gently. But Josh’s hand darted out, catching hers in a tight grip.

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t turn it off.”

“It’s not helping you.”

He stared at her. “It’s all I have right now.”

She pulled her hand away slowly. “No. It’s just hurting you more.”

“I need to see it,” he said through gritted teeth. “I need to remember what they did to her.”

“And what?” Sam whispered. “Hurt everyone until you forget how to feel anything?”

He didn’t respond.

“You used to love me,” she said, her voice trembling.

He looked at her finally—empty and tired.

“I still do,” he said quietly. “I just don’t feel it anymore.”

The silence stretched between them like a grave.

Sam stood slowly, backing toward the door. Her eyes stayed locked on him for one last moment, hoping—pleading—for something to flicker behind his gaze.

But he just turned back to the screen.

And the clip played again.

[pollka1]

It's my right to be hellish

This was HEAVILY and most definitely inspired by @MoetsMonologue on tiktok!!

Summary — Josh helps Sam zip up her dress

Genre — Romance, fluff

Warnings — None

Characters — Sam Giddings, Josh Washington

Sam stood barefoot in front of the antique mirror, adjusting the straps of her dress and trying once again to reach the zipper that had betrayed her for the past ten minutes.

Her fingers just barely touched the little metal tab at the middle of her back, but no matter how she twisted, she couldn't reach. She let out a breath of defeat, lips pursed in frustration.

Everyone else was probably already halfway down the trail to the party, oblivious to the war she was currently waging against her own outfit.

Voices echoed distantly in the hallway. Sam perked up.

Footsteps—measured, familiar—passed her door.

“Josh!” she called, rushing to crack the door open.

Josh stopped and looked over his shoulder. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, hair tousled like he hadn't tried to fix it before heading out. He looked surprised at first, then curious. “You alright?”

“I, um—” She stepped aside, trying to sound casual. “Do you mind helping me with something? Real quick, I swear.”

He arched a brow, stepping inside. “Depends. Is it dangerous?”

Sam turned around without answering, sweeping her hair over one shoulder to reveal the half-zipped back of her dress. “Zipper,” she said simply.

He stopped a few feet away, the door closing softly behind him. “Ah,” he said, voice a little lower now. “Right.”

She felt his presence behind her before she heard him move. His hand brushed lightly against her spine as he found the zipper, and she had to remind herself to breathe evenly.

His fingers paused. “This is nice,” he said, almost like it wasn’t meant for her to hear.

“What is?” she asked, voice soft.

“The dress,” Josh said, slowly starting to pull the zipper—not up, but down.

Sam blinked. “Josh.”

He didn’t respond at first, but she could feel the smirk without even seeing his face. The zipper slid just a little lower. “I’m just making sure it’s working properly.”

Her breath hitched. “Up.”

“Hmm?”

“Josh. Up.”

He obeyed, but slowly, fingers brushing the fabric with a kind of deliberate gentleness. When he reached the top, he didn’t pull away immediately.

“There,” he murmured.

Sam turned, arms crossed—not annoyed, but flustered. He wasn’t joking. Not really. His tone had been light, sure, but the way his eyes lingered on her now wasn’t teasing. It was quiet. Intentional.

“Thanks,” she said after a pause, her voice not as steady as she wanted it to be.

Josh stepped back, but didn’t move toward the door right away. His gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips, then quickly away, as though he hadn’t meant to be caught.

“You headed down to the party soon?” he asked, voice smooth again.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, running her fingers through her hair. “Just needed to win the battle with my closet first.”

“You should’ve called me sooner.” There was something in the way he said it—almost like he wanted her to need him.

Sam gave a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Josh smiled, but this time it wasn’t exaggerated or cocky. It was subtle. Quiet. And warm.

He opened the door. “See you down there.”

The second the door closed, Sam let out a breath, put on her shoes and adjusted her makeup slightly before heading out to the party.

[pollka1]

Receiving what you said

Summary — Josh and Bob talk after the memorial the Washingtons planned for Hannah and Beth

Genre — Angst

Characters — Bob Washington, Josh Washington

Speech is colour coded for this fic:

Blue = Josh

Orange = Bob

Josh stood at the edge of the table, arms crossed, staring at the framed photo of Hannah and Beth set between two flickering memorial candles. Their smiles didn’t match the silence that followed.

Bob Washington set down a half-empty wine glass a little too hard on the table. “That’s enough, Josh.”

Josh barely looked at him. “Enough of what?”

Bob’s voice was tired, not soft. “Enough of acting like you’re the only one who lost them.”

Josh turned sharply. “Don’t do that. Don’t stand there and act like you’ve been—like you’ve even been here! You bury yourself in meetings and bottle speeches!”

Bob’s mouth tightened. “I’m trying to keep this family together. You think I like doing this? You think this is how I wanted to remember my daughters—through donation funds and news interviews?!”

“You don’t remember them!” Josh snapped. “You remember a version that fits into your eulogies!”

Bob’s eyes flared. “And you think drinking yourself into a coma is what they’d want?!”

Josh’s fists clenched. “You weren’t even here that night. You don’t get to talk about what they’d want.”

There was a long pause. The only sound was the wax dripping.

Then Bob said it. Quiet. Cold.

“If it were the other way around—if it had been you that vanished instead of them—I don’t think things would be this bad.”

Josh froze.

Bob’s own expression cracked just slightly, like he realized what had left his mouth too late.

Josh stared at him, blinking once. Then turned without a word.

He walked up the stairs, his footsteps deliberately slow. No slamming doors. No final words.

Just a door closing softly.

Upstairs, his phone sat on his desk, next to a dead lamp and a worn hoodie.

He sat. Opened his messages. Clicked on Dr. Hill’s name.

Typed. Paused. Breathed in sharply.

Then hit send.

- “Can I come in tomorrow?”

[pollka1]

Do you write smut?

Honestly I've been thinking about writing smut for a while, I've practised in my notes app and came to the realisation that I cannot write smut to save my life 😭 I'll still take requests, but I can't promise you that it'll be answered (but if it does, then it'll most likely be terrible). Plus, I get ashamed for some reason whenever I write it 😭

So in short: I can try to write it, feel free to send requests, but I can't promise it'll be good 🙏😭

[pollka1]

Hihihi!! 😋 I’m craving Chris x Reader

Could you maybe write something where Chris and the reader are at like a hangout or something with everyone else, but they kinda disappear to go hangout by themselves ?

Ofc I can! I've never actually wrote a reader fic so pls work with me 😭😭

I like me better when I'm with you

Everyone was here—Josh, Sam, Ashley, Mike, Jess, Emily, Matt—just unwinding before the real weekend plans kicked off tomorrow. It was a rare moment, all of them together without some kind of drama stirring yet.

You sat close to Chris on the couch, shoulders occasionally brushing. He was animated, throwing in dorky jokes that only half the group caught, but you noticed. You always noticed Chris.

At some point, the air started to feel a little too crowded. Too many voices. Too much noise. Chris must have noticed too, because he nudged you gently with his elbow and nodded toward the back door.

"Wanna ditch these weirdos for a bit?" he whispered, a mischievous grin playing at his lips.

You smiled and nodded, following him quietly outside.

The chill of the night nipped at your skin, but it was refreshing compared to the stifling warmth inside. Chris led you along a barely lit path through the woods behind the cabin, hands stuffed awkwardly in his jacket pockets. Eventually, you both found a small clearing where the stars were wide and clear overhead.

"Man," Chris said, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "You don't get views like this often."

You watched him for a moment, the way the moonlight caught in his hair, the faint outline of his glasses catching a glint.

"Yeah," you agreed softly, but you weren't really talking about the stars.

For a few minutes, you both just stood there, breathing in the cold air, letting the quiet settle around you. No interruptions. No fake smiles. Just the two of you.

Chris finally turned to look at you, a little nervousness flickering in his expression. "Uh...I’m really glad you came this weekend."

You smiled, heart warming. "Yeah? I’m glad I came too."

"I mean, I would've come either way," he said quickly, cheeks flushing a bit. "Josh basically dragged me. But knowing you were gonna be here...made it way better."

You felt a flutter in your chest. "Really?"

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. You’re kinda my, I don't know...comfort zone, I guess."

The words were so genuine, so Chris, that it hit you harder than you expected. He wasn’t just being sweet. He meant it.

You took a step closer, your boots crunching softly on the frozen grass. "You’re my comfort too, Chris."

He looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time. His nervousness seemed to melt away a little, replaced by something softer. Something hopeful.

"I, uh..." Chris hesitated, then blurted, "I think about you a lot. Like...more-than-friend thinking."

You felt your heart race, your breath catching in your throat.

"I do too," you whispered, almost afraid to ruin the moment hanging between you.

Chris’s smile was small, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t believe you’d just said that. He stepped even closer, now only inches away. You could feel the warmth of him, even in the cold.

"You mean it?" he asked quietly, voice shaking just a little.

You nodded, cheeks burning from more than just the cold. "Yeah. I mean it."

For a second, he looked like he wasn’t sure what to do. Then he laughed, a breathless, relieved kind of laugh, and gently took your hand in his, squeezing it like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"I, uh, I wanna do this right," he said, voice low. "You deserve that. Not just some dumb weekend fling."

You squeezed his hand back. "I don’t want just a weekend thing either."

Chris’s face lit up, his whole body relaxing like a weight had lifted off him. "Good. 'Cause...I think you’re kinda it for me."

You smiled so big it hurt, heart pounding as Chris leaned in, slow and careful, giving you every chance to pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

When his lips met yours, it was soft and tentative, the kind of kiss that promised more, but wasn't in any hurry. It was the kind of kiss that said I’ve been waiting for this, and somehow, you realized you had too.

When you pulled apart, he was grinning like an idiot, and you couldn't help but laugh softly.

"You’re stuck with me now," he teased, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Good," you whispered. "I’m not going anywhere."