the Fear& podcast, starring an unbelievably hot autistic person, an unbelievably hot autistic person, an unbelievably hot autistic person and a 1930's radio announcer
tags : probably extremely out of character hasan (it’s been a minute since i’ve watched a stream pls let me live), use of y/n, angst, comfort, tension?, english isnt my first language, probably lots of inconsistency’s and errors.. lmk if i missed any tags !
a/n : heyyy ppl.. sososososo sorry for how long this has taken !! i’ve been very busy in my personal life and i’ve had extreme writers block, and no motivation to write for men tbh LMAOO. if you have any requests for fem streamer fanfics send them my way ig 😭. all that to say, again; im so terribly sorry for the delay with this fic. sorry if it’s awful, i’ve been writing it on and off for MONTHSSS. read part one here.
You awoke around 3AM to a gentle knock at your apartment door. The current ‘situation’ Hasan had sprung the two of you into only mere hours ago had easily kept you up; having only been asleep for about 10 minutes at this point. It was like clockwork watching it play out; first the clips, then the comments against Hasan, followed by the people running to his defense, and of course the few content creators (who probably didnt meet him more than once) insisting they ‘always knew something was off about him’. It had been hours since it blew up, and other than responding to the few initial texts from your friends informing you of the situation, you had gone completely radio silent.
The saddest part was you werent even upset. Rather the opposite, your brain jumped through hoops trying to rationalize it. He just said it in the heat of the moment, he didnt mean it the way it came off, he was just defending himself, he just wanted to make his feelings clear. But of course, the rationalizing thoughts can only do so much to block out the harmful ones; you just really over-thought the way the two of you acted, it was never like that, you made it weird, its your fault.
But honestly, what else could you do? Sitting and ‘rotting’ (for lack of a better word) in bed was much more appealing than the other options. Yes you could hop online and defend yourself, be mad about it, say how gross it was for him to insinuate you'd do anything for views, talk about how weird it is for him to get that pressed over a fan video. Or, you could always flee and take the sad victim side, let all your friends do the talking for you, leave little comments like ‘i didnt know he thought of me that way’ and profusely apologize. But none of that would be you being honest. Of course you wanted to defend yourself, of course you were sad and beating yourself up about it, but you wanted nothing more than to just sit and wallow in it for a while. Avoid the inevitable for as long as possible.
Your friends had all been bombarding you with messages and calls, but your phone was long past muted and set aside. Before going awol you left most of them with a brief ‘im going to sleep it off’ message, but judging by the still persistent notifications, youd assume that didn't ease their minds at all.
Youd been aimlessly watching a show for a few hours at this point, lulling in and out of sleep and tuning out the sound of your phone for the most part. The sudden knock at your door was a change in pace though, the sound snapping you out of the static and fog buzzing around in your head. No, the idea of one of your friends driving over to check on you wasn't all that out of the question. You lived just outside of L.A, far enough from most of your friends to feel like a nuisance asking anybody to drive to come visit you, but not far enough where you couldn't justify driving there yourself. You sat up, adjusting your loose sweatpants where they hung low on your hips. After a bit of quick process of elimination, you figured it was QT; one of your closer (and most considerate) friends. Because of this, you opted not to throw a shirt on to cover yourself, clad in a just a comfortable sports bra.
You shuffled your way over to the door, throwing on the best smile you could manage before twisting the knob and opening it. You were surprised when you had to adjust your eyes upwards, the figure at your door towering over where QT would normally reside. As you took him in, it didnt take long for an exhausted sigh to leave you. It was Hasan. There he stood, still sporting his typical tall and broodingly aloof aesthetic, even despite being moderately hunched over and with concern etched in every inch of his stature. You couldnt help but notice how unsure he looked. Anxious. No, Hasan wasnt always the most outgoing and ‘go-lucky’ guy, but he looked almost pained as you met his eyes; his clothes twisted in ways that made you guess hed been fidgeting with them, his nail polish chipped away on most fingers, the way he took an almost comically large step back as soon as you opened the door.
“Can we talk?” He said, his voice a harsh change in the silence you didnt realize was resting between the two of you. “You can say no of course-” He rushed out, only his fingers flaring out in emphasis opposed to his usual hand movements, almost as if he was afraid hed startle you.
“Yea, sure.” You sighed out, hardly even mentally present in the moment. You rubbed at your eyes as you held the door open, leaving plenty of space for him to walk in. He took you up on the invitation, albeit looking incredibly unsure whilst doing so.
He padded into your apartment painfully slow before quickly snapping his eyes to you, almost as if waiting for permission to do something. For you to give him instruction. You didn't even look at him though, instead grumbling your way over to your previous home on the sofa, tugging your blanket to one end and leaving plenty of room for him on the other. He waited till you’d sat down to follow, trying his best to gently take a seat at his appointed spot on the couch.
“How’d you get my address?” You said plainly, opting to just stare into the tv as it lowly played some random show. He’d never been there before. You honestly didnt care, whatever his answer was. You just hoped it would spring him into getting the daunting conversation over with.
“Austin.” He breathed out, sounding even tenser than he looked. “He gave it to me so I could send you something for the podcast a while ago.” He pausued, but continued; “Im sorry, I know how fucking weird it is for me to just show up but I couldnt just sit there and-” He took a breath, and you could practically taste the oncoming ramble. “You wouldnt answer anybody, and you totally have the right to do that obviously but I couldnt just sit with myself not knowing what was going on.. I started driving here before I even thought it through, which is totally my bad.. but I couldn’t just go all the way back without even checking in.. -And I know my feelings are irrelevant in this and its about you I just-”
“Hasan stop.” You turned to him, trying and failing not to look as sympathetic as you did. “I dont-.. it’s fine, okay? I mean obviously it’s not fine, but we’ll get over it. Im sure you didn't mean what you said, or at least not like that- you know- it's whatever, okay?” You practically hushed the words out, opting for the soothing approach and acting way more casual about the situation than you felt. You threw in a horribly farse reassuring smile at the end, hoping to solidify your words.
“You really didnt need to come all this way, I wouldve answered in the morning. I was just sleeping.” You added, and you saw the way his face ticked. He knew you were lying, but he was definitely not going to pry, whether about the lack of sleep or your want to brush things off. He persisted for himself though;
“It’s not fine, y/n. Im not shoving this shit under the rug, it’s going to eat me alive.” He said, his voice switching between frustration, desperation, and forced softness. You could see the way he struggled with his words, trying so hard not to talk about the way he feels (and failing miserably at it). The way a ping of regret would flash over him after every word he spoke. His eyes flickered back and forth from boring into you and staring off into the abyss of meddled emotions he’d created for himself.
“I’ll just lay it out how it is, okay? It was beyond messed up for me to insinuate you’d maliciously do something.. Like that stuff, for views, okay? Especially when I was doing that.. shit to you too. I shouldve never said that, or even thought it for that matter. I was just- frustrated, okay? Thats not me justifying it or anything, I just wanted you to like, know that-”
“Hasan.” You cut him off, this time sitting up and reaching to put a hand on his knee. You swear you could feel his leg flex under your touch. You stopped for a moment, searching his face for answers to questions you couldn't compute.
“What is so frustrating?” Is the question you somehow managed to compose. You don’t know the answer you wanted. It was an open ended question, he could take the side that you secretly hoped he would; that it was the fans. The overwhelming shipping and attention your relationship got from the fans was suffocating to him, and that he didn’t feel the way they portrayed him to feel about you. Or he could take the side that scared you. That he felt exactly the way everyone was portraying it, and them rubbing his own feelings in his face before he even had a chance to do anything about them himself was driving him crazy. Instead, the two of you sat in silence, and it wasnt uncomfortable. The air almost felt thick around the two of you, a comfortable fog, but something in it possessed you to add a gentle squeeze to his leg with emphasis. And you definitely felt him twitch this time.
“Tell me i'm not the only one who's feeling this way.” He finally muttered, and suddenly the feeling of his gaze hit you like a ton of bricks. You almost wanted to cower away with the way his eyes bored into yours, almost needy, the look feeling even more pleading than the words he'd said.
You knew what you wanted to say, but how could you possibly admit to it? Through this whole situation, you’d been not only so terribly irked at him, but also so frustrated with yourself. How could you admit that you too had been feeling the same way, and you hadn’t done anything about it either? You’d be admitting that the ripples throughout the fandom and now the controversy had been from your actions (or lack there of) too. You’d already been beating yourself up about it all day. What answer did he truly want? If you admitted to him that you too felt the same way, would he be greatful or mad? If you lied and said you didn’t feel the same way, what good or bad would it do? It could wreck him, he’d beat himself up beyond belief, the fact that he not only projected his unreciprocated feelings onto you but also gotten mad over it live. All of it being his fault. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. But you didn’t know which was worse, seeing him mad at you, or seeing him sad. You could only hope for the best, before the words spilled out of your mouth;
“Hasan of course I feel the same way.” A frown etched into your face, and you continued before he even had a chance to react; “I’m so so sorry I hadn’t done anything about it sooner either, I just beat myself up about it until I couldn’t-“ you withdrew your hand from his knee, shaking your hands, looking for the words you couldn’t form yourself. “ -I couldn’t tell how I was even feeling about it anymore..? I used to be so upset that you hadn’t done anything, I thought you were toying with me. I mean.. I tried making it obvious that I liked you so that you’d do something if you felt the same way but you never did so I convinced myself that you didn’t-“
“Hey, Hey,” He cut me off, and it was only then that i’d realized how close he’d moved to me during my rant. His leg rubbed against mine where I sat criss cross in the corner of the couch. His frame leaned over mine as he gave his best attempt at shrinking down to aid me. His eyes scattered across my face as his large hand cupped my cheek, hurriedly wiping at tears that I didn’t even notice were falling. It was only then that I finally realized the sound of my hurried breaths, the air practically huffing out of me. He looked frantic, broken, even though that’s exactly what I didn’t want. He pulled me close to his chest, i’m sure not only to sooth me, but also because he couldn’t bare to look at my tear stricken face anymore. I gripped onto his shirt, not even knowing I needed to cry this bad.
He didn’t say anything at first. I felt him pressing kisses into the crown of my head, and I couldn’t tell which one of us needed them more. He held me tight and close, all of his previous worries of hurting me more and being gentle replaced by the need to comfort. It was unspoken how much we’d both wanted to hold each other over the last few months, whether like this or otherwise, and after all our emotions boiling over, I think this was exactly what we needed.
We sat there in the silence for a long time. The humming of the tv still echoing through my flat, and the now present thumping of Hasans heartbeat against my ear was beyond peaceful. Of course, we’d pull ourselves together soon and have a realistic conversation, but for now, this was perfect.
this is so fucking funny news man is so addicted to news he left his best friends birthday early bcuz he needed to prep for stream bcuz russia invaded ukraine
Generation Loss is a comedic tragedy in every sense of the word. Every character we see exemplifies this fact, but no one other than The Austin Show proves its truth.
We begin at the carousel. Austin, Gay, takes his turn by pleading for himself to live because he has a wife and children back home. The rest of the cast interrogates him about his “wife and kids,” clearly suspicious of his truthfulness without even knowing his dubbed “title.” Everyone in the room treats Austin like a joke.
In turn, so do we.
Next, we reach the closet and shortly after the failed drag show, Austin remarks, “Look, I uh… I didn’t expect to die here.” It’s a moment of pure honesty, whether we like it or not. It happens again when the Puzzler tries to party with them, and Austin has to angrily remind him that they are his captives and are actively trying to kill them.
Austin: “What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? We're trying to get out of here. I have children and wives— wife. One wife! What is this some sort of game? I’ve been stuck in hear for hours it seems. We’re trying to get out. Why is nobody else freaking out? We’ve got C4 strapped to our neck…”
It isn’t until Ethan’s death, his blood pooling out from underneath the door, Austin screaming at the others, begging them to have a reaction, to care about their circumstances, to care about death, that we finally understand Austin’s role in Generation Loss.
After all, in every great comedy, someone always has to play the straight man.
