@imawinnerforever

Would absolutely love some more teenage dirtbag hamzah.. maybe smth like meeting/getting to know his friends (aka Martin n Mandy)

The Booth at BENNY’S

70s hamzah..

The first time you meet Hamzah’s friends, it’s at some dimly lit pizza joint called Benny’s, the kind of place with cracked red vinyl booths and a jukebox that only half works. The whole place smells like melted cheese and grease, and the floors are just sticky enough to remind you that generations of teenagers have sat exactly where you are now, huddled in a booth, stealing fries off each other’s plates, talking about nothing and everything at once.

Hamzah’s next to you, his arm draped lazily along the back of the seat, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. It’s casual, but it’s something. He keeps glancing at you like he’s trying to read your expression, make sure you’re okay, because Martin is a lot. He’d warned you about that on the way over.

“He overstimulates people,” Hamzah had said, cigarette balanced between his lips as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out some invisible rhythm against his knee. “Talks too much, says weird shit, but he means well. And Mandy’s cool. She’s just—” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ll see.”

Now, you see.

Martin is across from you, mid-story about the time he saw a guy punch through a vending machine because his Snickers got stuck. He’s reenacting the whole thing, wild gestures, full sound effects, even a dramatic recreation of the guy’s emotional breakdown afterward. “Dude fell to his knees, right there in the hallway. Hands bleeding, Snickers in his mouth, just sobbing. It was beautiful.”

You’re not sure if the story is real, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s entertaining.

Mandy is next to him, sipping her soda like she’s heard this one before. Which, she probably has. She catches you watching her and just smirks, leaning in a little. “Don’t let him overwhelm you. If you ignore him long enough, he short-circuits.”

“I do not,” Martin protests, offended.

She just raises an eyebrow and turns back to you. “So. What’s your deal?”

Hamzah shifts beside you, like he’s nervous about what you’ll say, but you just tell her the basics, where you’re from, what you do, how you met Hamzah. The last part gets Martin’s attention.

“Wait, wait, wait— let me guess,” he interrupts, squinting dramatically at you. “You saw him from across the room, all broody and mysterious, and just had to know who he was.”

Hamzah groans, kicking him under the table. “Shut the fuck up.”

Martin grins, undeterred. “Or—or maybe he said some deep poetic shit and won you over, huh? That sounds like him. Just staring at the stars, all like, ‘You ever think about how small we are in the grand scheme of things?’

You snort, shaking your head. “Actually, he just asked if I had a lighter.”

Martin slams his fist on the table like you’ve just told him the greatest joke of all time. “CLASSIC.”

Hamzah groans again, sinking lower into the booth, but you can tell he’s smiling a little.

The conversation keeps flowing, movies, music, the weirdest things you’ve ever seen on public transport. Martin jumps from topic to topic like a pinball, Mandy rolling her eyes but still smirking at him like she secretly finds it funny. Hamzah mostly listens, watching you more than he watches them, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll laugh at the right moments, if you’ll understand their inside jokes, if you’ll, fit.

And you do.

Somewhere between stealing the last slice of pizza off Hamzah’s plate and making Mandy laugh with some dumb story about your childhood, you realize you’re not nervous anymore. You like them. And, maybe more importantly, they like you.

Hamzah nudges your knee under the table, subtle but warm, and when you glance over, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Happy. Like he knew this would work out all along.

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo @yearlyism

You’d have to pin me down and waterboard me into getting my brothers names tatted personally. That was cute tho

Would u guys be mad if I drastically change my theme. I got so many compliments on it I feel scared to change it😭

ooooooo gimme dat

In love with the way u write hamzah ❤️ Ty for ur service

AWWW!! Thank youuuuuuuu!! Ilysm

YAHT ROCK???? Oh you see my exact vision

⋆ ࣪introducing.. 70s GOLDEN BOY ART DONALDSON

golden boy art.. may live and breathe tennis, but he’s not just his sport. Off the court, he’s the picture of effortless style, pressed polos, crisp white shorts, loafers without socks, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose like he belongs in some glossy magazine spread. Even when he’s lounging, he looks like he has somewhere important to be, like he’s already won at something.

golden boy art.. doesn’t read much, but when he does, it’s always something too intellectual, something dense and complicated. He wants to be the kind of guy who reads Camus or Kerouac at a party, drink in hand, looking effortlessly cool, but the truth is, he barely makes it past the first few pages before he gets bored. Still, he keeps a book on his nightstand, just in case.

golden boy art.. was raised in country clubs and private schools, where competition was just as much about who you knew as how you played. He’s always been good at both. He knows how to charm the right people, shake the right hands, flash the right smirk. He’s got that old money ease, the kind of confidence you can’t fake, but underneath it all, there’s something restless. Like he’s always searching for the next thing to chase, the next high, the next game.

golden boy art.. was raised in country clubs and private schools, where competition was just as much about who you knew as how you played. He’s always been good at both. He knows how to charm the right people, shake the right hands, flash the right smirk. He’s got that old money ease, the kind of confidence you can’t fake, but underneath it all, there’s something restless. Like he’s always searching for the next thing to chase, the next high, the next game.

golden boy art.. never turns down a dare. Jumping into pools fully clothed, sneaking into concerts without tickets, taking a road trip to nowhere just because someone said he wouldn’t. He thrives on impulse, the thrill of the unexpected, the idea that life is only as interesting as you make it.

golden boy art.. is secretly a romantic, but he’d rather die than admit it. He doesn’t do grand gestures, but he’ll remember the way you take your coffee, the song you hum under your breath, the exact shade of your eyes when the sun hits them just right. He teases more than he compliments, but when he does say something sweet, it sticks with you for days.

golden boy art.. loves the ocean. Not just for the way it looks, but for the way it feels, cold saltwater against sunburned skin, the endlessness of it, the way it makes him feel small in a way he actually likes. He’ll dive under waves like he’s chasing something, stay out there longer than he should, come back to shore breathless and grinning.

golden boy art.. has a way of making everyone feel like they belong, even when he feels out of place himself. He’s the life of the party but also the guy who’ll sneak out early just to drive around with the windows down, radio low, smoke curling from his lips as he sings along to some song no one else remembers.

golden boy art.. is the guy who falls asleep with a book on his chest but never actually finishes reading it. He likes the idea of being well-read, but he prefers stories that move, movies, music, things with rhythm and motion. He’s seen every classic film twice and can quote entire scenes from memory. He thinks Casablanca is overrated but The Graduate is genius.

golden boy art.. loves the chase. Loves the way people look at him, the way they lean in when he talks, the way they fall into his orbit without him having to try too hard. He flirts like it’s a game, all teasing grins and lingering touches, but sometimes, just sometimes, he catches himself meaning it. And that terrifies him.

golden boy art.. is all confidence and charm until he isn’t. There are nights when the weight of expectation feels heavier than his racket, when the pressure knots in his chest so tightly he can barely breathe. He doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t know how to talk about it. Instead, he drowns it in late-night drives and half-finished cigarettes, in the feeling of someone else’s hand in his, grounding him, steadying him, reminding him that he’s not just golden boy Art Donaldson, but something more. Something real.

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @cinnamoncunt

Don’t you hate when parents waste your time. Life is too short to waste it on shit I don’t wanna do.

ur blog is amazing 😭😭 its like every thing i like is in this blog 🙈 ur the best!!! 😽😼🙇‍♀️

AHHH ILYSM TYY💋💋💋💋 this is so sweet omg im so glad you likeee I can’t stay consistent with the stuff I talk and write about 😭 im glad someone gets it

I don’t really watch the kalogeras sisters just cause they’re not really my type of humor, but I have the biggest crush on Sunday wtf SHES SO SWEET AND PRETTY AND HER LAUGH. Thats a face you’d go to war for. I just started getting edits and clips of them on my fyp randomly and they are all very pretty but SUNDAY. HER NAME IS LITERALLY SUNDAY LIKE SHES NOT REAL

GUYYSSS.. I need your help. I’m planning on making a 70s Matt post but I don’t know what he would be like as a 70s senior tbh😭 if you guys have an idea of how you want me to write him personality wise please recommend 🙏🏽 *mwah* love ya