SURPRISE, FOX! :D

Feugo had been scouring endlessly down Instagram when he found it:

A post that said "PM ME IF YOU WANT YOUR FAVOURITE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS TO COME TO LIVE!"

He blinked and turned so he laid on his side. His mattress creaked from the motion.

He took a moment to subtly glance at the time. It was 1:12 in the morning, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't sleep. He was unsure as to why. Did there even need to be a reason? Lots of people had trouble sleeping all the time.

He looked back at the ridiculous post, clicked on the account only to find that it had one post, no followers, and no followings.

The account's name was miracle_exists

Yeesh. Could they be any cheesier?

There was, indeed, no better definition for the word 'shady'.

Feugo hummed to himself and adjusted his smudged glasses.

There is no way I'm getting involved with that, he thought as he closed Instagram and read RWBY fan fiction.

Sadly, there was no fresh and good RWBY stories. Not even his friend Clementine had posted anything, recently. Something along the lines of "waiting for school to start so I'd want to procrastinate on learning so badly I write in the best quality!"

It was hard to find decent stories that he hadn't read. It was inches close from the impossible to find a story that had Neo as the main character, not that he didn't understand.

Neo was such a cool character! She was cooler than Weiss and brighter than Yang, and she didn't need cheesy one-liners or 'witty' dialogues to prove her badass-ness.

Man, if only there was someone out there who has any resemblance to Neo…

Feugo scoured for what must've been at least 3 minutes.

He looked at the analog clock of his phone. It read 1:12.

Are you kidding me?!

He grunted and tried to find something - anything - that would occupy him. Nothing would. He was no big fan of games, and his sleep-deprived mind couldn't whip out a decent writing, much less a good one.

Feugo's thumb wandered and clicked on Instagram again. He found himself staring at the shady Instagram post.

He stared at it for a moment too long and decided why not? So long as I don't give them my credit card number or social security card, I'll be fine… I think.

He started the message with a simple, "Hi."

His phone's screen glared at him with its bright light. The only light in his room, apart from the dimmer, calmer, yellow light of the street lamps outside.

He thought of the day that would come tomorrow. And the mundanities it entailed.

He'd recently skipped more and more of work. He'd been pushing the boss' buttons.

It wasn't as though he hated work, it was just…

Was he really this unfulfilled? This boring? Was this what his life had become? Retail and Netflix and the occasional trip to IKEA.

He chuckled deliriously to himself. I should really come to work tomorrow, though. Don't want the boss man firing me, or worse, tell Mum I've been skipping…

Feugo's eyes drooped. He yawned. He waited for an answer he wasn't sure would come and flopped into slumber ungraciously at 1:13.

Feugo didn't notice that the eye button popped up and signalled that the person he sent his message to read it.

…

Feugo woke up to the purple morning light, and faint motor engines as vehicles outside passed by his house, and poking.

Harsh, impatient poking at his cheek.

"Mum, quit it." It wasn't as though he was in a hurry. His shift started at noon, meaning he could sleep in. But the poking would not stop, and when he buried his face in his pillow, a rectangular object pressed into his face, and he winced as the remnants of his sleep fleeted away.

"Damn it." He'd forgotten to put away his glasses last night. Let's just hope it's not broken.

He pushed himself up with his elbows. He neither sat nor lay down on his bed as he inspected it. His sigh of relief at finding that his glasses wasn't broken cut into a yelp when a finger poked into his eye.

"What was that for?!" He put his glasses, a scowl already in place, only for it to disappear at what he saw.

Honey brown and childlike pink. They were in her eyes and her hair, split almost evenly, complementing and highlighting each other in a lukewarm way.

Necklaces, of all kinds. They accompanied her collarbone in a way that oddly satisfied him.

A jacket - or was it a coat? He never could tell - fluffy and gracefully flowed down to shower her legs. Its inners, pink, and outers, white.

Leggings and a pair of boots that seemed to blend in together as one.

She stood out in a flashy way. Everyone would've mistaken her for a child if it wasn't for the depth in her eyes, her structurally refined face with no baby fat, and her developed figure.

It took him a moment to realize he focused too much on the last issue. And a long moment to realize he should focus on something else. And a longer moment for him to grasp what he should focus on, instead.

Neapolitan - a fictional character from a web series with questionable quality - stood at the edge of his bed, on his room, on his house, on his reality.

And boy, did she look pissed.

So, this fic is not meant to be taken seriously, even if there will be some serious stuff in later chapters. Not "serious" serious, but kind of serious.

It's, like, 5-6 chapters close to being done. But I decided to post it now because I just can't wait.

So...

Yeah.