Easing Back into Things
I'm making an attempt to ease back into writing fanfiction. Lots of things happening and just haven't been feeling inspired to write. Or when I do feel inspired, I can't find the energy or enjoyment in writing anymore. I'm trying to find that joy in writing fanfictions again because I truly love it and love sharing my ideas with others.
I am in the slow process of rewriting my Hazbin Library. I still love the idea of it, but I'm not happy with the story. And I want to flesh out my OC more. That story started as a oneshot idea and one of my first attempts at writing and posting fanfiction. So I didn't really plan much with the story. So working on that. But for the mean time, I think I'll try writing oneshots here and there.
Here's a little VelvettexYou oneshot. Not sure if it's correct to call it a You oneshot when I have an idea for an OC concept in mind for the You character. I just don't have the OC fleshed out at all really, so I'm sticking with using You and they because it's easier for me as a placeholder. This is something that I've had locked in my brain for a while and might be a full fic at some point. I have OC design ideas for this, but for now, it's a oneshot. Made some last minute changes, encase there's any mistakes. I just happy to post something again.
Anyway, rambling over.
Hope you enjoy it!
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The Devil Wears Cosplay
Velvette had stolen a lot of things in her afterlife.
She’d stolen concepts, catchphrases, and even entire aesthetics. She’d stolen a runway show once. Like, just show up, got rid of the actual designer, and claimed the show as her own. It was a wannabe rival anyway and her loyal followers ate it up. Everyone loves a bit of drama after all.
And when others tried to complain?
Velvette posted a selfie with a caption that read: “U lot hate seeing a girlboss WIN 🙄” and moved on.
In the Pride Ring, “originality” wasn’t the main ingredient. It was a seasoning you sprinkled on top of whatever got the most views. And everyone knew it. So when Velvette found a little cosplay blog with barely any engagement and a suspiciously criminal amount of talent?
She didn’t think twice.
The blog wasn’t linked to any big social accounts or anything official. It was faceless, voiceless. All of the posts were beautifully shot photos of handmade costumes. Detailed armor plates with clean edges, wig styling so precise it looked airbrushed, and sewing work with the kind of finish that screamed ‘I Care!’.
The lame little blog had a cutesy title. Something harmless. Something that didn’t belong in Hell.
Velvette sat in her studio at the Vee’s Tower, perched on a plush chair at her desk. One leg was folded under her, the other bouncing with restless energy as she flicked through the blog on a floating tablet screen. Her nails clicked. Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, you are absolutely taking the piss,” she muttered, scrolling faster. “This is actually, genuinely fit.”
A digital moodboard glowed behind her with a collage of upcoming trends, doomed micro-aesthetics, and her own face in twelve different expressions of practiced adoration. She ignored all of it for the blog. This blogger, whoever she was, didn’t caption much. No rambling. No “thank you for the support.”
Just short notes like:
‘Foam build test. Finally got the bevel right.’
‘Hand-embroidered. Took forever. Worth it.’
‘Tried a new sealant. Don’t recommend it.’
This blogger didn’t beg. They didn’t make thirst traps. Their posts were just…joy. Like they were doing it for themselves. And if anyone enjoyed them? That was just a bonus.
That thought made Velvette’s chest tighten with an unpleasant feeling others would have called jealousy. But Velvette didn’t get jealous. That was beneath her. This was like seeing a stranger casually do something only you were allowed to be good at. And she was perfect at all things fashion. From sketching to sewing.
Velvette zoomed in on the sleeve detail of an older post. The tiny stitched symbols, even spacing, no puckering. It was a masterpiece. “That’s completely mad! Who the hell has time to do this?!” she frowned.
Her assistant, a little doll drone she’d named BabeCam, floated closer. Vox had gifted it to her after her last disappointment of an assistant was let go.
“NEW CONTENT REMINDER,” it chirped in an irritatingly chipper voice. “YOU HAVE NOT POSTED IN 19 HOURS. THAT IS SOCIALLY ILLEGAL.”
Velvette slapped it away without looking. “Not now, babes. Mummy’s having a moment.”
No face. No name. No sponsorship tags.
Just pictures and boring captions.
And Velvette, who had built her brand on being the queen of trendsetting, saw an opportunity to start a new one. Don’t get it twisted, Velvette was a fountain of new designs and fresh ideas. But for someone as important and busy as her? It was so much easier to steal from a no name moron online.
She grinned, slow and sharp.
“Alright,” she whispered. “Let’s see what happens when I make this viral.”
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Velvette’s “adaptation” was an outfit from some nerd show she wouldn’t have been caught dead watching. The original post caption said something about pieces and pirates. It didn’t matter to her. But true fans would recognize it immediately.
The original blog had posted a set of photos the week before. It was a beautiful costume with a dramatic wide brimmed, orange hat with gold accents and a large fluffy feather on the side. A white vest with gold trim and a deep v-neck orange dress underneath. Everything was cinched in by a belt with a large red gem in the middle. Gold and beaded accessories completed the look. Every element was handmade.
And Velvette took it. With a few changes here and there. Making an exact copy would be tacky. And she was never tacky.
She changed the colors to match her aesthetic. Added a few heart and chain details. Swapped the gold for chrome and made the hat a little smaller. Velvette posted a slick video of her posing under studio lights. Her hair was perfect, her makeup was lethal, and the outfit was styled like it had always belonged to her.
The caption read:
“Dropping this masterpiece I whipped up. Obsessed with this silhouette, darlings. You should be too. 😘💅👑”
Within minutes, the likes poured in. Velvette watched the numbers climb with satisfaction.
“See? They don’t care about the source,” she glanced at BabeCam. “They only care about the level of slay. It’s all about the aesthetic.”
BabeCam beeped. “ENGAGEMENT UP 43%. COMMENTS: 2,981. NEGATIVE SENTIMENT: 0.7%.”
Velvette smirked. “Only 0.7%? That’s basically a declaration of love. Next.”
Then the negative sentiment increased.
“NEGATIVE SENTIMENT: 1.2%...2.4%...5.1%.”
Velvette blinked. “Wait, what is this?”
The comments started shifting. Not enough to cause concern, but enough to irritate the fashionista.
“This looks like @Y/N’s cosplay???”
“I’ve seen this exact dress pattern before.”
“The stitching patterns are identical to Namu from that anime, Two Piece. Like… identical identical. Is Velvette an anime fan?!”
“Velvette, did you do a collab? Because this looks exactly like a design on a small blog I follow.”
Velvette scoffed aloud and continued to scroll.
A few followers of that little blog were in her comments like feral guard dogs. They weren’t even being polite about it.
“Stop fucking stealing from indie creators.”
“It’s not inspiration when the outfits are the same, bitch.”
“Stick to your fast fashion!”
Velvette felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. The audacity! Her followers had watched her claim entire aesthetics and had clapped while she did it. Why was this different?
She stared at the original blog again, then at her own post. The truth annoyingly stared back at her. The blog’s work had a kind of sincerity Velvette’s audience could smell. It wasn’t about if Velvette had stolen or not. It was about who she’d stolen from.
Stealing from a rival brand? Fun. Drama. Entertainment for the masses.
Stealing from some quiet creator who clearly wasn’t chasing clout?
Looked… ugly.
Velvette snarled at her phone.
BabeCam floated closer, projecting stats. “FOLLOWER COUNT DOWN 3,000 IN 7 MINUTES.”
Velvette’s eyes widened. “WHAT! Is this a fucking joke?!”
“FOLLOWER COUNT DOWN 8,000 IN 12 MINUTES.”
“No,” Velvette snapped, jabbing a finger at the screen like she could physically threaten the numbers back into place. “No, no, NO! Are you serious!? They’re leaving over some crusty little indie creator? That is so basic!”
She refreshed the page only to see more comments, more callouts, and more links to the original blog.
And the worst part?
Some people were being nice about it. Like they were disappointed in her. Ugh. Fucking pissbabies.
“Velvette you’re better than this.💔”
“I love you but you gotta credit the creators.”
“This is not it.👎”
Disappointment was like poison. Anger could be spun and hate could be monetized. But disappointment was quiet and lethal.
“Alright,” she said dangerously. “So you lot want a morality arc? Fine. Let’s make it content.” Velvette typed out a quick post claiming it was a collaboration to try and save face before slamming her phone down on the table so hard the screen flickered. “Find them. Immediately,” she said, voice tight.
BabeCam blinked. “CLARIFY: ‘THEM’?”
“The blogger,” Velvette snapped. “That little knob behind the sewing machine. The one who’s apparently got the entire fucking internet acting like I skinned a puppy for my next collection.”
BabeCam beeped. “PRIVACY SETTINGS DETECTED. IP MASKED. NO LINKED ACCOUNTS.”
Velvette leaned forward, elbows propped on her desk, eyes shining with the kind of determination that usually preceded someone else’s downfall.
“How cute. They think they can stay hidden.”
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Across the Pride Ring, in a tiny apartment, you were having a great evening. Surrounded by fabric, your sewing machine, and your current works in progress.
It was quiet, controlled, and safe.
The only light came from your desk lamp and the soft glow of your laptop. A mannequin stood near the window wearing the half-finished torso of your newest build. Pieces were taped in place with markings and measurements scribbled across them. A wig head stared blankly from a shelf, pins stuck into it like it had survived torture.
You sat cross-legged on the floor with a seam ripper in one hand and a sleeve in the other, tongue caught between your teeth in concentration. You had a muted tutorial playing in the background of some demon explaining how to get clean weathering effects without looking like you’d rolled in dirt.
You were thinking about your next project and how satisfying it would be to complete it just like all the others. It was never about the amount of views your post got.
That never mattered to you.
It was about sharing the joy with the handful of people who understood why you’d spend six hours on embroidery no one would notice. Seeing your hard work morph from an idea into reality by your own hands was far more rewarding than likes and views. Your blog didn’t have much traction, but it had a few regulars. People who left thoughtful comments. People who asked questions. That was enough.
For your next project, you thought about doing the demon priestess Sakoko from Quiet Mountain f.
You were interrupted when your phone buzzed, breaking your concentration. You ignored it, but it kept buzzing. Sighing, you set the sleeve down carefully, and reached for your phone. Your eyes widened at the amount of notifications. And there were a lot of them.
You blinked.
“What?”
Messages from followers. DMs. Comment alerts. You opened the first message.
“HAVE YOU SEEN VELVETTE’S POST??”
A cold knot tightened in your gut. Velvette? As in the overlord and member of The Vees, Velvette? You knew who she was in the way everyone in Hell knew who she was. You didn’t keep up with socials, but you weren’t living under a rock. You opened the next message.
“SHE STOLE YOUR DESIGN. I’M NOT KIDDING.”
“She’s sayin’ it was a collaboration. Is that true?”
Your fingers went cold.
You clicked a link.
Your browser loaded the video: Velvette, flawless and gleaming in her studio. She turned in slow motion, hair swishing, lips parted in a practiced smile. And on her body was your work.
Not exactly, no, there were tweaks. She swapped the gold for chrome. She made the hat smaller. She changed the colors.
But the stitching pattern was yours. The way the deep v-neck of the dress sat perfectly. It was a solution to a problem you’d wrestled with for an entire night and finally solved at 3 a.m. with shaky hands and a triumphant shout that woke your neighbors.
You stared at the screen and tried to think of a reasonable explanation. Maybe it was a coincidence. You took another look at the video. No. It was too close to be a coincidence.
You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight not from fear, but from humiliation. Like someone had walked into your quiet little corner, taken what you’d built for fun and peace, and turned it into content. You continued to scroll through the comments. People were fighting for you. Strangers with profile pictures of various fandoms and usernames you recognized from your blog.
They were defending you like you mattered. That should’ve felt good, but instead, your chest squeezed. You hadn’t wanted attention. Your phone buzzed again, and you flinched.
‘I don’t want this,’ you thought, eyes burning. ‘I just wanted to make costumes.’
A new notification slid across the top of your screen.
NEW COMMENT ON YOUR POST
It was from an account with no profile picture and a username that was just a string of symbols.
“hey babes. cute work. let’s chat.”
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. You didn’t need the profile picture to know who it was.
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Velvette hated waiting.
Waiting was for people with nothing to do and nothing to lose.
She paced her penthouse, heels clicking against the floor. BabeCam hovered near her shoulder, projecting a live feed of her follower count.
“DOWN 36,000,” BabeCam reported cheerfully.
Velvette whirled on it. “Stop sounding so damn happy about it. It’s giving bad vibes!”
BabeCam blinked. “WOULD YOU PREFER SAD TONE?”
“No!” Velvette snapped, then ran a hand through her hair so hard it tugged at the roots. “Ugh! So cringe! Just stop updating me for a moment.”
She opened her messages again.
No reply.
Of course there was no reply. This creator didn’t want attention. That was the problem. Velvette could resolve the situation by force. She could dox the faceless little nobody. She could use her status as an overlord to threaten them. But the comments had made one thing painfully clear. If she handled this like a villain, she’d lose.
And Velvette didn’t lose.
She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to calm down and type out a new message.
“listen. i want to collab. properly. paid. credit. the lot. Cash money, babe.”
She stared at the message, then added:
“and before u get weird about it, i’m trying to not get publicly executed by my own audience 🙃”
She hit send.
Then she sat down, crossed her legs, and waited exactly twelve seconds before checking again.
Nothing. Her jaw tightened.
BabeCam’s screen-face displayed a warning icon. “LOCATION UNKNOWN.”
“Fine, if they won’t answer my messages, then we’ll do this the, ugh, old-fashioned way.” she groaned.
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But finding the mystery blogger was not easy.
Not because Velvette couldn’t. She had resources, VoxTek had resources. The kind of resources that made privacy settings feel like a cute suggestion.
But they were careful.
No face. No voice. No recognizable landmarks in photos. No reflection in mirrors. No metadata in uploads. Whoever they were, they’d built their little anonymous life like a fortress.
Velvette respected that. It was irritating as hell, but she respected the effort.
She sat in her studio again, surrounded by fabric samples and half-finished designs that suddenly felt cheap compared to yours. A massive screen in front of her displayed the mystery blog in one window and her own comment section in another, the latter still simmering with outrage.
And to make matters worse, Vox called her.
His face appeared on a side screen, all bright smiles and perfect pixels. “Velvette! Doll! Trending’s going a bit… in the red for you lately.”
Velvette didn’t look away from the screen. “I noticed, obviously. I’m not clueless.”
Vox did his talk show host chuckle. “Want me to spin it? We can do a little narrative shift. ‘Velvette champions small creators.’ Boom. You’re a hero.”
Velvette scoffed. “Being a hero? So last season. That’s for off-brand rejects trying to trend.”
Vox’s eyes flicked to her dropping follower count. “Mhm.”
Velvette shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Do you know how rare it is for my audience to grow a conscience? It’s disgusting. It’s like watching a roach learn empathy.”
Vox laughed. “So what’s the plan?”
Velvette leaned back in her chair, tapping her nails against the armrest. “I need proof.”
“Proof?” Vox echoed.
“They want proof it was a collab,” Velvette said, voice dripping with annoyance. “They’re demanding receipts. Like I owe them anything. They’re lucky I grace them with my online presence.”
Vox grinned wider. “So you lied.”
Velvette gave a sly smile and shrugged.
Vox hummed. “And you need this anonymous creator to play along.” Velvette’s gaze slid back to your blog. The newest post, a progress shot of some sort of headdress, had a caption that made something twist faintly in her chest:
“Reminding myself I’m doing this because I love it.”
Velvette’s expression softened for half a second before she caught herself.
“Yes,” she said briskly. “I need them to play along.”
Vox tilted his head. “Want me to pull their info? I can..”
“Absolutely not.” Velvette surprised herself with how fast she said it.
Vox blinked. “No?”
Velvette’s nails paused mid-tap. She didn’t like the way “no” felt in her mouth. Like a boundary. Like she cared. She recovered quickly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “If you do it, it’ll look like VoxTek is involved. Then it’s a whole corporate thing. And I’m not letting you lot make this about you.”
Vox’s grin turned sly. “Oh, it’s already about me. Everything is.”
Velvette rolled her eyes. “Just stay out of it. I’ve got it.”
Vox leaned closer on the screen. “You sure? Because it’s kind of adorable watching you panic.”
Velvette bared her teeth. “I’m not panicking. My face is just aggressively contoured.”
“Your left eye is twitching.”
Velvette turned her back to the screen. “It is not.”
Vox cackled and the call ended.
Velvette turned to face the blank screen, breathing hard through her nose. Then she stood.
“BabeCam, we’re heading out.”
The drone beeped and followed its owner.
Velvette grabbed a coat, something dramatic, and slid on sunglasses even though they were indoors because the vibe demanded it.
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The streets of the Pride Ring were loud as usual. Blinding neon signs, demons screaming while they murder each other, the crack of gunshots and tire screeching.
And Velvette moved through it all like she owned the pavement. People noticed her, of course. They always did. Heads turned. Phones came out. Someone shouted her name like it was a prayer. Velvette didn’t stop. She kept walking, scanning the storefronts.
Cosplay materials weren’t exactly a hot commodity in hell. Most demons preferred fashion that screamed I’m going to hurt you rather than I spent three days making a prop sword, but there were niche shops. Craft dens, costume supply places for entertainers.
Velvette slid into one such shop, the bell above the door chiming weakly as if intimidated by her presence. As it should be. Inside, it smelled like fabric glue and old cardboard. It was cozy in a way that made Velvette feel violently out of place.
A tired-looking demon behind the counter glanced up and froze. “Oh! Uh, Miss Velvette.”
Velvette smiled brightly, weaponizing charm like it was a designer handbag. “Oh, hi love. Don’t piss your knickers. Quick question, do you know a cosplayer who comes here a lot? Proper talented, but completely ghosting the limelight. Looks like they’re allergic to attention.”
The demon blinked. “That could be any of my customers.”
Velvette’s smile didn’t falter. “This customer buys premium shit. And they definitely know what they’re doing. This one’s got actual skills.”
The demon hesitated.
Velvette leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “I’m not here to start drama. I’m here to offer them a job. A real one.”
“Even if I did know,” the demon said slowly, “I shouldn’t…”
Velvette sighed dramatically. “Babes. I don’t like asking twice. I don’t like asking at all.”
The demon flinched, then glanced at the door like it might save him. “There’s someone who comes in sometimes. Never says much. Pays cash. Always buys in bulk.”
Velvette’s pulse jumped. “Go on.”
“They live a few blocks over, I think. Old building. Top floor.” He swallowed. “That’s all I know.”
Velvette’s grin sharpened. “Perfect.”
She turned to leave, then paused and glanced back sweetly. “You didn’t see me.”
The demon nodded frantically.
Velvette stepped back into the chaos of the street, BabeCam hovering close.
“Top floor,” Velvette murmured. “Old building.” Her eyes gleamed.
“Let’s go meet my collaborator.”
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You heard the knock and immediately went still.
It wasn’t late, exactly, but you weren’t expecting anyone. You mainly kept to yourself and never invited anyone over. Your apartment was your sanctuary. It was messy with projects, but safe. A world of half-finished dreams and hot glue strings and fabric scraps like confetti. So having a visitor was strange.
The knock came again, sharper.
You set down your paintbrush slowly. Maybe it’s the landlord, you tried to tell yourself. But your landlord usually sounded like he was apologizing for existing. You walked to the door on quiet feet. You didn’t want to look through the peephole at first because you were afraid of what you’d see. But you forced yourself. You could only make out the top of the demon’s head but you knew it was Velvette. You knew that perfectly quaffed hair from all the videos people kept sending you of her in your stolen work.
Another knock.
“I know you’re in there. Your lights are on, and your whole vibe is giving panic mode.” Velvette called out.
You didn’t move.
Velvette sighed theatrically. “Ugh. Look, I can absolutely do this the scary way if you want the drama. But I’m trying not to be toxic today, okay. Just open up.”
You opened the door a crack as your brain screamed at you not to. Through the crack you saw the rest of her. Perfect makeup, designer sunglasses even in a dimly lit hallway, and a smile on her lips that looked like it had been practiced for hours.
Velvette’s sunglasses tilted down just enough for her eyes to lock onto you. For a split second, she looked almost surprised. Not at your appearance, she couldn’t see much through the crack, but at the fact that you were real. That you existed outside of a screen. Then her expression snapped back into place.
Animated and a bit mean.
“Finally. You were bloody hard to find,”she said.
You swallowed, the question catching in your throat. "How did you..."
Velvette interrupted you by waving a hand like the concept of privacy was adorable, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”
You tightened your grip on the door. “Why are you here?”
“Straight to business. Love that.” Velvette pressed a hand to her chest. “Here’s the deal, I took some inspiration from one of your little costumes and-”
“Stole,” you corrected, opening the door a tiny bit more. “You stole my design.”
Velvette blinked, then laughed once. “Well, it’s not my fault you made it so easy.”
You stared at her.
She stared back.
There was something unnerving about seeing her this close. Online, Velvette was a concept. She was a brand, a villain, a beautifully dressed monster. In your hallway, she was still those things, but somehow more real. And she was looking at you like you were interesting.
You hated that your heart reacted at all. You swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want this.” Your gaze drifted to the mannequin, half-clothed in your latest project. “I don’t even show my face. I just...make things.”
Velvette’s expression softened again, just slightly, like her features forgot to stay sharp.
“Yeah,” she said. “I noticed.”
You looked back at her, startled by the lack of snark.
“Like I was saying. I borrowed inspiration from you and now the mindless pissbabies I call followers are dragging me about my post. So, I told them it was a collab and now they’re demanding proof.”
Your stomach dropped and you went pale. “No. Absolutely not.”
Velvette’s smile tightened. “I’m offering you a chance of a lifetime. A viral moment that will make you momentarily relevant. You really think you can afford to pass up an iconic collab with me?” She narrowed her eyes.
You narrowed your eyes back at her. “That sounds like something someone says right before they ruin your life.” You opened your door wider, taking a bolding stance. “And from the comments and DMs I’ve been getting, you’re the one who truly needs this collaboration.” You were determined to keep up the brave facade in a desperate attempt to get the overlord to leave.
Velvette’s lip curled with a snarl as she took a single, slow step closer, forcing you to hold your ground.
“Let’s be crystal clear, bitch. I don’t need anything from you. I am the trend. I am the moment. You are nothing. The only thing I need is for you to stop wasting my perfectly curated time with this pathetic ‘I’m standing up to the big bad Overlord’ performance.”
A shiver went down your spine at the positively poisonous look in Velvette’s eyes. You had struck a nerve. You took a deep shaky breath, preparing to strike another one.
“You do need me. You need me to agree to this collaboration plan to make your followers happy. You said it yourself. They aren’t happy that you stole from some lowly no name, no face creator. I have nothing to lose from refusing you.”
You matched Velvette’s step with one of your own. The two of you were nearly chest to chest. Or you would have been if you weren’t the taller demon. Wow, the fear from talking with one of the Vees totally blocked out the fact that you were a bit taller than her. She only reached your shoulders. ‘Cute,’ you thought. Her scowl deepened. ‘But deadly.’ you reminded yourself.
“If I don’t agree to this collaboration, your followers will realize that you lied again. And I’m sure that won’t go over so well.” You shrugged.
But you could feel yourself deflating. You were tired from staying up for hours working on your next cosplay. And this conversation wasn’t helping. You didn’t want to fight, especially not one of the Vees.
“Look, I don’t want to fight against you. I know there’s no way I could possibly win and you could destroy me in more ways than one.”
You took a slow breath. “So, what exactly do you want from me? You’re the overlord of social media. You could just clip together a fake photo to appease your fans and make it look like it was real.”
Velvette tilted her head, studying you like you were a fabric sample she couldn’t decide whether to buy or not.
“Yeah, I could fake it. But I want you,” she said easily, then, when your eyes widened, she quickly added, “to work with me. Properly. Publicly. Like, for real.”
Your heart stuttered.
Velvette leaned in again, voice dropping into something almost intimate. “You’re talented. Like, annoyingly talented. And you’re wasting it on a blog with what, a couple of followers?”
You bristled. “I’m not wasting it. I like my blog.”
“I know you do,” Velvette said in a condescending tone, but there was that odd softness again. “That’s the point. You’re doing it for you and it shows.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. Compliments from an overlord felt like being handed a thorny rose.
Velvette straightened, snapping back into her usual energy like she’d caught herself being too honest.
“So,” she continued, “you come to my studio. You bring your little craft goblin magic. We film. We post. I credit you properly. I pay you properly. And in exchange,” her eyes glittered “my followers stop trying to murder me in the comments.”
You stared at her. You still wanted to say no for so many reasons. Your privacy. The anxiety. The fact that Velvette had stolen from you. Letting her into your world felt like inviting a wildfire into a paper house.
And yet…a part of you wanted to see what you could do with real resources, real space, on your terms.
More dangerously, a part of you couldn’t stop noticing the way Velvette looked at you. Like you were a challenge she wanted to win and like you were worth winning.
You swallowed. “What if I say no?”
Velvette’s smile didn’t fade, but her eyes sharpened. “Then I’m still cancelled, and your shit was still stolen.”
You let out a small, surprised laugh. For a second Velvette’s eyes flicked and the air between you shifted. Interesting.
You cleared your throat. “If I did it…I’m not showing my face.”
Velvette blinked. “Oh, we can work with that. Masks, babes. Dramatic lighting. Mystery. Honestly, it’s kind of hot.”
You choked. “What?”
Velvette waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing. I’ll protect your anonymity. Cross my heart.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you even have a heart?”
Velvette clutched her chest, offended. “Of course I do! It’s designer, obviously.” Her lips curled like she was enjoying this far too much.
“I’m not used to people caring,” she admitted. “About stealing, I mean. They usually don’t care who made what. They just want the drama.”
Velvette shrugged like she hadn’t said anything vulnerable at all. “The concern is kinda cute, I guess,” Velvette drawled, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned back slightly, pulling out her phone. “Very old-school. Like, dial-up internet levels of quaint. But hey, if it gets clicks, I’m not complaining. Now, about these masks... glitter, or more of a matte finish? We need options, darling.” She tapped a manicured nail on her screen, already scrolling through potential designs.
You looked away, suddenly overwhelmed.
Your work. That’s what they cared about, you reminded yourself. Not you. Which made sense. You never showed your face or told anything about yourself. It was hard to care about a ghost.
But Velvette had come to your door. Not just to your blog. To you.
You took a breath. “I’ll agree but only on my terms. It’ll be an actual contract instead of a soul deal. I’m not that stupid.” You hesitated, then continued, “I’ll have a contract draft made with my terms. We can meet to look over the draft and make changes until we’re both satisfied.”
“Oh, please. A contract? You make it sound like we’re negotiating a hostile takeover, not planning a viral PR stunt. But fine, if it gets you to agree the easy way.” Velvette rolled her eyes dramatically.
She tapped on her phone, already typing up some terms of her own. “Draft your little contract. Just make sure the margins are even and use a font that doesn’t scream ‘community college dropout.’ We can meet for revisions, but I draw the line at more than two drafts. My time is expensive, and honestly, the sheer boredom of reading legal jargon ruins my complexion.”
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours,” she said, like she was granting mercy. Then she pointed at you. “Any longer than that and my follower count will be through the bloody floor.”
Velvette turned on her heels, coat swishing dramatically, already halfway down the hall like she owned the building.
Then she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
“Oh,” she added, voice light, “and babes?” Velvette’s eyes glinted. “Next time I steal something from you, I’ll at least take you out to dinner first.”
Your face went hot.
Velvette laughed at your expression and disappeared down the stairwell.
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A slow, predatory smile spread across Velvette’s face. Well, well, well. She’d expected a scrawny, awkward, nerd. An ugly little thing hiding behind a webcam with bad lighting.
But that crack in the door, the glimpse she’d gotten of you.
The image of you played over and over again in Velvette’s mind. The way the light caught the soft curve of your jaw, the way your eyes, even wide with fear, held a quiet intelligence.
Smart and beautiful.
Just her type.
The way you blushed, when she’d made the crack about dinner? That alone gave Velvette enough inspiration for at least five new looks. And that little laugh. That tiny, surprised puff of air. She wouldn’t mind hearing again. It was a real reaction in a world full of carefully sculpted everything. The way you bristled and didn’t back down. Everything about you was real and genuine.
And the queen of hashtags and trendsetting was beginning to get a craving for it.
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You stood in your doorway long after Velvette left before going back inside. You were still dazed from the encounter with her.
Your phone buzzed.
You looked down.
Velvette had posted a story.
“working on something with a VERY talented someone. stay tuned bitches 😘”
You leaned your back against the door, and slid down to the floor, surrounded by your current project. You pressed your fingertips to your warm cheeks and tried to breathe.
This was insane but you wondered if this might not be the worst thing to have happened to you.
