#superchats

Jimbo’s superchat about us!

America First Ep. 1576 | 03/10/25

a/n : this is mostly a joke. it's very ooc and i apologise. also heavily self indulgent. based on a run in with a mormon i had last week. idk how long this will be up. might take it down when i become sane. not really proofread sorry. also implied ND reader

Nick first saw you about to cross the road, and what a sight it was — a beautiful girl, pretty in a way that made him pause, though clearly not of the Catholic faith, no, no, that scarf of yours gave it away, light blue and neatly pinned in place, matching your sweater and your jeans, and what were the chances that his very first time here he’d lay eyes on a hijabi woman, a Muslim girl, and not just any but one who made him think, however reluctantly, of the word beautiful.

And of course, being who he was, he had to stop you.

“Hey, we’re placing these stickers on a map to let us know where everyone’s from,” he said, smiling the smile he used on strangers, handing you a slip of paper like it was the most important thing in the world.

You shuffled the things in your hands, trying to get a grip — notebooks, some kind of folder, and of all things a chocolate ice lolly, which already told him you must have been hot, not that it surprised him, since you weren’t really dressed for the weather and September had decided to be cruel.

You pressed your sticker onto the map and he peered at it with curiosity he couldn’t quite disguise. Nepal? No, no, not Nepal. Afghanistan. Afghanistan of all places. And suddenly the shape of you sharpened in his mind, because here was an Afghan girl, and not just any but one with the kind of beauty he had only read about in forums and dark corners of the internet, rumors given form, and it struck him, rather guiltily, that he had spent so much time online tearing your country to shreds, and yet here you were in front of him, smiling faintly, and it unsettled him.

Naturally he decided to draw out the moment. You exchanged names, and in that tiny span of time he caught a better glimpse of you: your eyes, doe-like and brown, lit in such a way that they seemed to glow; your bare skin, pale and impossibly smooth; your lips, naturally pink, almost distracting; and the modest cut of your clothes, which in his head only added to the gravity of you, because God, if you had been a Catholic girl he might have dropped to his knees then and there.

His thoughts betrayed him — how would it feel, he wondered, to touch your skin, to let his thumb drag across your lips, to lean in close? And yes, you must be a virgin, he told himself, of course you were, all the good Muslim girls were, and you fit neatly into that assumption, the safe, unspoiled kind of girl he could imagine without even needing proof.

But what he liked — or told himself he liked — went beyond looks, because you were articulate too, speaking carefully, sometimes awkwardly, shy in a way that only made him lean in more, and whenever you paused, there was that smile again, small but there, and it thrilled him to think he was seeing it, him and only him, because usually he was the short one in conversations, the one craning his neck ever so slightly, but you — at last — were shorter, and that made something ridiculous swell in his chest, because here was the rare chance to look down and not up, and that tiny victory made him feel unreasonably taller, stronger, more in control.

He cut into your words, suddenly, clumsily: “I’m Nick by the way.”

You blinked. “Hi Nick… Didn’t you tell me that already?”

And fuck — yes, he had.

Something about you threw him off balance, something he couldn’t name, something almost uncanny — the way your face slipped from flat to animated, the way your pupils widened as you spoke, the constant flickers of your eyes toward places that weren’t his, and he decided it must be some kind of neurodiversity, not that it made you less attractive, in fact the opposite, it gave him the strange sense that he was the one steering the conversation, and that power — however slight — made him want you more.

Which was when the un-Catholic thoughts started to creep in, the ones he wasn’t supposed to have, because Nick had always told himself he didn’t like Muslims, not the men at least, never the men, but the girls, the girls made something shift inside him, because you hid your skin, you limited your interactions, you pulled no attention to yourself, and what Catholic women did that anymore? What Christian girls lived like that? Even the devout ones, even the ones who larped devotion, could not measure up to this quiet discipline you carried without even trying.

And that scared him, more than he wanted to admit, because he told himself over and over again that he wasn’t going to pursue you, that he didn’t want you like that, that you were just a pretty face in passing — and yet with every word you spoke, every flick of your eyes, every accidental smile, he found himself slipping deeper, sinking into a swamp of feelings he neither welcomed nor understood, but which pulled him down all the same.

Full clip of the superchat that I sent for Keith, with a Tumblr mention at the end! Yes Keef, the Tumblr does indeed send its regards. ;P