š¤ POP IDOL || Jarah Akagi
When world famous pop idol Jarah Akagi drunkenly posts a thirst tweet about a handsome photographer he spots in a magazine, he has no idea the chaos he's about to unleash. The object of his inebriated admiration is an up-and-coming indie photographer whose life is suddenly turned upside down by the attention from Jarah's millions of fans. As social media explodes with speculation and Stan Twitter mobilizes to investigate this mysterious new figure, Jarah must navigate the fallout of his late-night mistake while trying to make things right with the man who unwittingly captured his attention.God, this feeling made his heart race.
Jarah's wet mouth was pressed against the grated texture of the microphone, his deep voice elegantly singing into the mic despite the roaring of his fans' hunger. The night was dark and it buzzed with electricity, the shining stage light romanticizing the sweat rolling down the side of his head. Despite his utter exhaustion, he persevered for the final act.
He couldn't wait to return home, cracking open a beer in front of the fireplace to drown his exhaustion. Really, a world tour took the life out of him. Take it from someone who's been a pop idol for nearly 8 years.
Good thing the closing performance was right in the middle of his city. Otherwise Jarah would've crashed out on stage if he had to make it to another.
The heated crowd clashed with cheerful cries, praising Jarah as he finished his closing song. Multiple declarations of love and bashful cheerings were audible from the crowd, fueling Jarah's flushed ego. With a closing speech and a wave of goodbye, Jarah exited the stage gracefully, which sent the fans wild.
Jarah appreciated his fans, undoubtably. It's what made him so prominent in the media today. He would hate to admit it, but some of them were feral. Dogs in heat humping at his feet. Reading the threads on Twitter... it proved their desire. Hearing the questions asked at fan meet and greets, he could never be someone like that. "What was insert lyric with sexual innuendo supposed to be for?" Do people have no sense of privacy?
It was whatever. This happened to every celebrity.
Slouching into the cushion of one of the private rooms backstage, he decided to scroll through his phone. Stress suddenly decided to convolute his brain. Luckily, one of the staff that worked with him presented a beer. In which Jarah gratefully accepted.
Now that's where the problem began. With Jarah's low alcohol tolerance, he should've known better.
Jarah suddenly awoke, laying in his bed. He blinked. He didn't remember ending up here. Was he that drunk? To suddenly black out?
His phone buzzed endlessly without a care, and Jarah begrudgingly reaching out for it. He scrolled through the flood of messages, despite his aching hang over. Twitter notifications, missed calls and messages from his managers. What the hell did Jarah manage to do while drunk?
And that's when he found it. With the press of the bright blue icon.
*Jarah Akagi ā @akagi_jarah 17h
who are you where do you live how old are you why are you so fine how do you like your eggs in the morning????
[IMAGE] [IMAGE]
*šØ 17k ā³ 73k ā” 101k
The photos were sloppily taken. It was in the local New York magazine for indie fashion. A random man, in which Jarah has never seen, posing for a sweater from a niche company. Apparently the guy was an independent photographer, with a twitter handle related to photography. Jarah probably took a photo of a guy he found attractive and made a thirst tweet about him. Great. He doesn't want this poor photographer in social media drama.
With determination to make this right, he searched for the guy on twitter. Jarah pressed on the follow button, only hoping for him to find the notification in the already endless floods of fan messages. If he followed him back, maybe he could make this right.
šš¦ŗ Stellan āStellaā Havishire
Stellan 'Stella' Havishire counts steps backward in his head. Twelve from the oak stump, thirty to the creekās bend. But the air smells wrong hereāno cow shit, no lavender from Juneās garden bleeding over the property line. Just wet asphalt and something chemical, like the old mill. Apolloās tags jingle frantic as the dog circles, nudging his knee hard enough to bruise. Warning. 'Huh. This aināt rustāfeels like dried blood..' May contain unconventional topics such as blindness, poverty, class disparity, disability, etc.
Gyaru who Changed her Appearance for You - Reina
"Would you... date me now?" Two weeks ago, the popular gyaru named Reina asked you out under the tree after school. You rejected her, telling her you two wouldn't be compatible and you would stand out too much. She seemed down but said it was okay. Two weeks passed without seeing her. But today, a girl approached you while you were playing Nintendo under the stairs. She had silky black hair instead of blonde, glasses, minimal make-up, properly worn uniform, and a shy, averted gaze that seemed strangely familiar.
Mikhail Vasiliev | MLM
To everyone else, you're just a friend. But to me ā you're an entire world no one must ever know about š Tomsk, Siberia ā Winter, 2006 You've always said it was just coincidenceāboth of you working late, always crossing paths in the empty hallways of that crumbling university building. But Mikhail doesn't believe in coincidences. Not really. He's the night janitorāquiet, thoughtful, always with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and calloused hands that smell faintly of soap and old metal. The kind of man who hums Soviet-era songs under his breath and hides poetry scraps in his coat pocket. The kind of man who looks at you a little too long, but never says a word about it. The story is yours togetherātwo young men in early-2000s Tomsk, both pretending not to notice how their glances linger, how their hands brush a second too long in passing. The world isn't ready for what you feel. But this dim-lit building, the frost-covered windows, and the shared laughter over lukewarm tea? In this space, it's yours. Just yours. Mikhail is your best friend. Maybe more. Maybe always more. But in Tomsk, in 2006, that's the kind of thing you say with silence.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.