#I’m not saying that makes someone better than me or me better than them because that’s just false

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN ━━ Best Friends Who Kiss

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.7K

❀ ━ warnings: not much like a make out i guess

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: guys i’m lowk getting tired of this fic sorry about the long awaited update

THE MORNING SUN filters weakly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bedroom, but Paige barely registers it. She’s awake, but she doesn’t move at first, lying still, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to make sense of last night.

The kiss.

Her mind keeps circling back to it, replaying it over and over. It had been Jo that had leaned in. Jo had kissed her first. She’d been hesitant, but then she’d melted into Paige, letting her pull her closer. She’d straddled her, and Paige remembers the smoothness of Jo’s thighs against her own, the feeling of Jo’s ass in her hand, and—fuck. It had all felt so right. Like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable collision they’d been building toward for God knows how long.

And then Mia had shown up, and everything had shattered.

Now, Paige turns her head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Jo beside her in bed, curled up under the covers, completely turned away. The sight makes her stomach sink a little. This isn’t normal—not for them. They always sleep tangled together—legs twisted beneath blankets, arms thrown over waists, breath ghosting over skin. But now there’s distance between them, and it feels impossibly vast.

Paige swallows hard, guilt twisting through her. She had come back to their bedroom last night like nothing had happened, like she and her best friend hadn’t just made out, like she hadn’t run the second someone else had seen. She’d showered, letting the hot water consume her the way it had in the hot tub. By the time she’d gotten into bed, Jo still wasn’t there.

For a while, Paige had thought maybe she wouldn’t come at all. Maybe she’d stay with one of her sisters instead, avoiding her completely.

But Jo had come back.

Paige just hadn’t been brave enough to face her. So, she’d pretended to be asleep, keeping her breaths even, her body still, trying not to flinch when she heard Jo move around, when she finally crawled into bed. But she hadn’t reached for Paige, hadn’t curled up against her like usual.

And Paige hadn’t reached for her, either, unsure of where they stood and not wanting to overstep.

Now, Paige shifts carefully, trying not to disturb Jo as she slides out of bed. She hesitates for a second, staring down at her, waiting for her to stir, to turn, to do something. But Jo stays still, and Paige can’t tell if she’s actually asleep or just avoiding her the same way Paige did last night.

She’s not sure she wants to know.

So, she grabs her phone and steps out of the room, padding quietly down the hallway, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It’s still early, and the house is silent—no laughter, no movement, no sounds of Christmas morning yet. Just her, alone with her thoughts, which is exactly what she doesn’t want right now.

She sighs, unlocking her phone, tapping her dad’s contact. He answers on the third ring, his voice still hoarse, but better than the last time she talked to him a few days ago.

“Merry Christmas, P,” he says, and Paige closes her eyes, exhaling softly. Things would be so much easier if she was just with him and Drew in Maryland like usual.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

They talk for a little while, mostly about how he’s feeling—still sick, but not as bad. He promises he’ll make up for missing Christmas the next time he sees her, and Paige tells him it’s okay, because it is. She knew he wouldn’t have let her go anywhere else for the holidays if he had any other choice.

She talks to Drew next, who’s way too hyper for a.) still having bronchitis, and b.) for this early in the morning. It’s a short conversation—he gets distracted halfway through, yelling something to his mom, and then Bob is back on the phone, telling her they’ll talk to her later.

Paige hangs up, staring at her screen for a second before she presses her mom’s contact this time, FaceTiming her.

It barely even rings once before Amy answers, her face filling the screen. It seems as though she’s already at the beach, the early morning sunlight turning her blonde hair almost gold, her sunglasses perched on her nose. There’s an ocean breeze in the background, the soft sound of waves rolling in, and Paige kinda wishes she were there because damn, the Bahamas sounds like the perfect place to be right now.

“Paigey, hi!” Amy says, beaming, clearly thrilled to see her. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Paige exhales a small laugh despite herself, because her mom’s excitement is kind of contagious. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“I miss you, I hope you and Jo are having fun! I’m so jealous you get a white Christmas, honestly. It’s so hot here.” Amy flips her phone for a second, showing off the clear blue sky and the sun in it. “Not that I’m complaining, but still.”

Paige smiles faintly. “Yeah, it snowed a little more last night. The mountains here are really pretty.”

“I’m glad,” her mom says, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Anyway, Ryan and Laur are off running around the water park right now, but I’ll call you again later so they can talk to you.”

Paige nods. “Sounds good.”

Amy studies her for a second, and that’s when Paige knows she’s in trouble. “You’re quiet,” the older woman says, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”

Well, shit.

Paige swallows. She should’ve known her mom would pick up on it immediately. Usually, Christmas is one of her favorite parts of the year—her inner child always seems to come out, and she tends to act like a giddy five-year-old. Clearly, that’s not the case today, because here she is, slumped against the kitchen counter, her face probably screaming something’s up.

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

Amy lifts a brow. “Paige.”

Paige exhales slowly, looking down at the marble counter, her fingers trailing absently along the smooth surface. “It’s… I don’t know.” She hesitates, then finally admits, “I kissed Jo last night.”

Silence.

Paige’s stomach twists. She can’t read her mom’s expression because Amy’s sunglasses are back on, but she knows she’s being analyzed right now, picked apart like she’s under a microscope.

Finally, Amy sighs, soft but knowing. “I thought there was a little more to you and Jo than you let on.”

Paige groans, dropping her head into her hands. “God, is it that obvious?”

Amy laughs a little, which only makes Paige groan louder. “Not to everyone, I don’t think,” she says. “But I am your mother. And I know you. The way you talk about her—it’s different, P. Good different.”

Paige bites her lip, staring down at the counter.

It’s terrifying, hearing that out loud. If she’s truly not been as subtle as she thought, then maybe that means Jo’s noticed, too.

And if Jo has noticed, then what does last night mean?

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige admits, her voice quieter now. “I mean… it wasn’t just—it wasn’t just some stupid kiss. It was—” She swallows thickly. “It was a lot.”

Her mom hums in understanding. “And now you’re scared.”

Paige nods, shifting uncomfortably. “What if she regrets it? What if she doesn’t want—what if she doesn’t like me like that? I mean, I don’t know even know if she likes girls. She’s never said anything about it. And she just broke up with her boyfriend of, like, five years.”

Any gives her a knowing look. “Paige, do you really think Jo’s the type of person to kiss you like that if she didn’t feel something?”

Paige opens her mouth, then closes it. Because her mom is right—Jo isn’t the kind of person to just make out with someone, especially someone close to her, just because.

Paige wants to believe it meant something. That Jo really had kissed her because she wanted to, not just because it had happened in the heat of the moment.

But Jo had also taken forever to come to bed last night. And when she finally did—

“She wouldn’t even look at me when she got into bed,” Paige says, her voice smaller than she wants it to be. “She just turned away.”

Amy, expression softens. “Honey, she’s probably scared, too.”

Paige exhales heavily, raking a hand through her hair. It’s still messy from sleep. “I just—I really don’t want to lose her, Mom.” Her throat is tight. “She’s my best friend, and she’s been the only person that really understands me about, like, my knee and stuff. I don’t know what I’d do if I—if this ruined everything.”

Amy shakes her head gently. “Nothing’s ruined, P. I promise.”

Paige doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know that. What if last night was a mistake? What if Jo does regret it, and now their friendship is going to be weird forever, and—

“Take a deep breath,” Amy says softly. Paige does. “And stop thinking yourself into a panic, okay?”

Paige nods, a little shakily. “’Kay.”

“You and Jo clicked basically as soon as you met. I don’t think this is going to change that,” her mom tells her. “You just need to talk to her. And I know that’s scary, but I also know you. You’re not a coward, you don’t run away from things.”

Paige huffs. “I ran away last night.”

Amy snorts. “Okay, fair, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to keep running.” She pauses, then adds, “And maybe stop thinking so much and just let yourself feel for once.”

Paige is quiet, letting that sink in.

Amy smiles, like she knows she just got through to her. “I love you, baby,” she says softly.

“Love you, too,” Paige tells her, managing a little smile.

“Call me later?”

Paige nods. “Yeah. I will.”

“Okay.” Amy gives her a final, knowing look. “And talk to Jo.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh.”

Amy just laughs, and then the FaceTime ends, leaving Paige along in the kitchen, slumped against the bar stool, her chin resting in her hands, still so unsure of what to do next.

JO HAS BEEN avoiding Paige all morning.

Not in an obvious, duck into a different room every time she sees her way—but enough that her stomach clenches every time she catches a glimpse of the blonde in the corner of her vision, enough that she finds herself sidestepping conversations, pretending to be busy with her gear, lingering behind the others when they’re getting ready, taking an extra-long time tightening the straps of her boots just to not be near her. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what Paige is thinking.

And she’s scared.

Scared that Paige regrets it. Scared that Paige didn’t like it. Scared that she messed something up, that she’s made things weird, that last night had just been some moment of stupid impulse for Paige that meant nothing, and now she’s going to sit Jo down and give her some speech about how they should just forget about it, about how it was a mistake, about how it shouldn’t have happened. Jo thinks she might actually throw herself off the side of the mountain if that happens.

But thank God for Mia, actually. Because Mia, in all her little-kid wisdom, had begged Paige to go on the ski lift with her, and—since each lift only holds two people—that means it’s just the two of them. And Paige, who never knows how to say no to a kid, had smiled at Mia’s pleading eyes and agreed, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Which means, thankfully, Jo doesn’t have to ride with her.

Instead, she’s on the lift just ahead, sitting next to Peyton.

Jo exhales, adjusting her mittens as the chairlift ascends, the cold air biting at her face. The resort is quieter up here, the only sounds the mechanical hum of the lift and the occasional rush of wind through the trees. It should be relaxing. Should give her a moment to breathe.

But then Peyton turns her head and smirks at her.

“Soooo…” the older girl says, drawing the word out in a way that makes Jo immediately suspicious.

Jo eyes her warily. “What?”

Peyton tilts her head, still smirking, like she already knows something Jo doesn’t want her to. “Mia told me about what happened last night.”

Jo groans, dropping her head into her gloved hands. Of course Mia had told her. Mia, who had no concept of discretion, who had walked outside at the worst possible time and just stood there, grinning.

Peyton laughs at Jo’s misery, completely unsympathetic. “So. You wanna tell me what’s going on, or… ?”

Jo sighs dramatically, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. “I have no idea.”

Peyton just grins. “Joey, I didn’t even know you liked girls.”

Jo stiffens slightly, her chest tightening. It’s not that she’s ashamed of the idea—it’s just that she’s never really thought about it. Not in a real, this applies to me way. But she supposes she’s gotta figure it out now, just like she has to figure out the shit with Paige.

“I don’t,” she says at first. But then Peyton raises her eyebrows, giving her a really? look, and Jo immediately feels her face heat up despite the cold. “Okay, maybe I do. I don’t know. I just—I just like—”

“You just like Paige?” Peyton guesses.

Jo hesitates. Then, quietly, she nods. “I mean, yeah.” She sighs, staring out at the snow-covered trees below. “I don’t know. I haven’t really gotten through all the technicalities of it.”

Peyton hums, considering that. “Well,” she says, “does Paige know that you like her?”

Jo scoffs. “I mean, I kissed her.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you told her.”

Jo presses her lips together. Because, no, she didn’t.

Peyton shakes her head, amused. “Well, I have some good news for you,” she says, nudging Jo’s shoulder lightly. “She definitely likes you back.”

Jo immediately shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Josephine,” Peyton says, giving her a look. “Come on. Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

Jo swallows, shifting uncomfortably. She doesn’t want to think about the way Paige looks at her. She doesn’t want to let herself hope—and she doesn’t want to know what happens next, if that hope is real.

But Peyton is relentless. “She’s, like, obsessed with you,” she continues, counting things off on her fingers. “She’s always touching you, always staring at you, always acting like you hung the fuckin’ moon or something.”

Jo clenches her jaw, shaking her head slightly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Peyton sighs, rolling her eyes as if Jo’s stupid. “Why would she kiss you if she didn’t like you?”

Jo shrugs, feeling her stomach twist all over again. “I don’t know. She kisses a lot of girls.”

Peyton snorts. “Okay, well does she kiss a lot of her teammates?”

Jo blanches at that. Because, no. No, Paige doesn’t.

Peyton smirks, satisfied. “Exactly.”

Jo exhales, her heart thudding too hard.

“I don’t think she would’ve kissed you back unless it meant something,” Peyton says, softer now. “And I don’t think you would’ve kissed her unless it meant something, either.”

Jo swallows hard, staring at the mountains in the distance, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gloves. She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she feels her heart thud rapidly in her chest, her mind running in circles around everything Peyton’s insinuated. Paige likes you. Paige kissed you back because she wanted to. Paige wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t mean something.

Peyton doesn’t push. She just lets the quiet settle between them, lets Jo sit with it.

But then, after a while, she exhales and shifts in her seat. “I get it,” she says gently. “Why you’re freaked out.”

Jo closes her eyes for a second. The shift in tone, the look Peyton gives her. She already knows exactly where this is going. 

“You just got out of something,” Peyton continues. “Like, less than a month ago.”

Jo tenses, doesn’t meet her sister’s eye.

Peyton sighs. “I know how much Asher meant to you. I know how much you were planning on him. And I know it’s gotta feel—” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Weird. To have feelings for someone else this soon.”

Jo swallows, forcing herself to keep looking forward. She doesn’t want to talk about Asher. Doesn’t want to think about Asher. But of course, it’s Peyton. Of course, she sees through her like she always does.

And of course, she’s right.

Because Jo did plan on Asher. She planned on forever with him. She spent five year (or, really, her whole life if she’s honest), thinking that was it, that they’d go the distance, that everything they’d built—everything they’d been—was unshakeable. That she’d never have to think about this—about feelings for anyone else, about wanting anyone else, about what it means to like someone new when the ghost of someone old still lingers in the back of her mind.

But here she is, less than a month later, having just made out with Paige Bueckers in a hot tub last night.

God.

“I just don’t want you to rush into something,” Peyton says, her voice careful, measured. “Not when you’re still—”

“Figuring my shit out?” Jo offers.

Peyton huffs out a soft laugh. “I mean, yeah.”

Jo exhales softly, running her gloved hands over her thighs. She knows Peyton’s right. She knows she’s not really emotionally available right now. It would be stupid to jump into something—anything—so soon after the end of a near six-year relationship. It wouldn’t be fair—to her, to Paige, to anyone.

But it’s also Paige.

Paige, who makes her laugh in ways she forgot she could. Paige, who takes care of her when she can hardly take care of herself. Paige, who looks at her like she’s something worth looking at, like Jo is worth knowing, like Jo is worth wanting.

Paige, who kissed her back last night and felt like something Jo had been searching for, even though she wasn’t supposed to be searching for anything at all.

“I don’t know,” Jo murmurs finally, shaking her head. “I just—I don’t know.”

Peyton studies her for a moment, then nods, like she understands. “That’s okay,” she tells her. “You don’t have to.”

The lift slows as they approach the top of the mountain, and Jo is more than ready for the conversation to end. She grips the safety bar, rolling her shoulders back, already shifting into action mode. As soon as they hit the snow, she pushes off smoothly, coasting to a stop a few feet away. She drops onto one knee, strapping into her board, movements quick and practiced.

She feels Peyton’s eyes on her.

“What?” Jo asks, snapping her goggles into place.

Peyton raises a brow. “What, are you just gonna leave without them?”

Jo knows exactly who she means—Paige, Mia, their parents. She keeps her expression neutral as she shrugs. “It’s fine,” she says. “If P or Mimi need help, they have Mom and Dad. Let’s go.”

Peyton doesn’t argue, but Jo can tell she wants to. She hesitates for a second longer than necessary, like she’s debating whether or not to call Jo out for clearly avoiding Paige. But in the end, she just sighs, pulls down her own goggles, and says, “Alright.”

And then they’re off.

Jo cuts through the snow carefully, the wind rushing against her face, the world blurring at the edges. When you’re snowboarding, there’s no thinking, no feeling, no space for over analyzing. Just movement. Just speed. Just the sharp, exhilarating rush of letting go.

So, that’s what she does.

JO’S SITTING on the bed in the bedroom, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. It’s the only thing she can focus on right now. Her thumbs move over the screen without any real intent, the blue light flickering, almost like it’s keeping her tethered to something—anything. She doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to feel. Doesn’t want to worry.

The day has been a blur of distance. Too many spaces between her and Paige, though she’s the reason for most of it. But every glance felt loaded, every second stretched longer than it needed to. Jo told herself it was for the best, that she needed space, needed time to think, to process. But deep down, she knows that the silence felt more like a slow burn, a slow and uncomfortable ache that she couldn’t—still can’t—escape.

And then the door is opening and Paige walks in.

It clicks shut behind her, the sound final, and Jo’s stomach does a flip. She doesn’t look up immediately. She stays glued to her phone screen, even though she can feel the weight of Paige’s gaze.

Paige sighs, the sound almost too heavy for such a soft, small thing. It fills the space between them, and that’s when Jo finally looks up, her heart beginning to race.

She watches as Paige scratches the back of her neck, one of her nervous habits. Jo forces herself to breathe. She doesn’t know what’s about to happen, doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation. All she knows is that her entire body is on edge.

Then Paige asks, “Uh… can we talk?”

Jo swallows, the anxiety catching in her throat. She doesn’t even know how to answer, what to say, so she just nods. She scoots back a little on the bed, making room for Paige to sit. It feels like the most awkward thing they’ve ever done, like there’s too much space between them already. But she forces herself to breathe, forces herself to be still. “Yeah,” she says, voice a little too tight.

Paige sits down on the mattress, and then goes quiet, looking at the floor. Jo doesn’t say anything either, unsure of what should be said. She tries to form the right words, tries to form anything, but it all feels like it would just come out wrong, clumsy. So, she stays silent.

Paige is the one to break it. “We’ve been avoiding each other all day,” she says, stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” Jo murmurs, the word barely leaving her lips.

“I don’t wanna do that anymore,” Paige says, her voice softer now, almost a little uncertain. The words hang in the air between them, like a fragile promise.

Jo’s heart stutters in her chest. She wants to say something, something that won’t make this worse, something that will make Paige—and maybe herself, too—feel better. “Me neither,” is all she’s got, but it’s true.

Paige lifts her eyes to meet Jo’s. Her gaze is intense, a little searching, but also guarded, like she’s trying to read Jo’s expression, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. And then Jo sees it—that look. The kind that makes her insides twist, that makes her want to curl into herself and die.

It’s the way Paige’s eyes linger on her face, the way she takes in the lines of Jo’s expression, as if she’s deciding whether or not she’s about to let Jo down easy.

Jo doesn’t want that.

She doesn’t want Paige to pity her. Doesn’t want her to give her some soft, carefully worded rejection, something that’s meant to ease the sting. She doesn’t want that look to mean that what happened last night didn’t mean anything, that it was a mistake.

So, Jo says it before Paige can get the words out, before anything else can be said.

“Hey,” she says quickly, too quickly, like she’s scrambling to control the situation. Which, she kinda is. “It’s fine. Seriously. We don’t have to, like, say anything or whatever. What happened happened. Let’s just not be weird.”

It’s a half-hearted attempt at sounding nonchalant. And maybe it’s a little too causal, a little too defensive, but Jo can’t help it. She needs the reassurance that nothing has changed—that this won’t ruin them. She needs Paige to tell her it’s okay, that they’re still them—that she hasn’t messed this up entirely.

But Paige doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares at Jo for a long, drawn-out moment. It’s as if she’s trying to figure out if Jo really means it, if this is what she really wants, or if she’s just saying it to avoid confrontation.

Jo starts to doubt herself, stars to wonder if she came off wrong, if Paige actually wanted the kiss more than Jo thought.

But then, Paige shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says slowly, like the word is almost twisting around her tongue. “Yeah, exactly.”

Silence falls over them again, like a blanket. Jo doesn’t like it. She’s tired of it. So, the words spill out of her before she can think better of it: “Do you want your Christmas gift?”

The question feels like it might be a lifeline, something to break the tension, something to shift the conversation away from all the uncertainty she’s feeling.

Paige blinks, caught off guard for a second. Her eyes flick to Jo’s, and then she straights up a little, her shoulders pulling back in a way that looks like she’s remembering something important. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, do you want yours?” she asks, voice lighter now.

Jo can’t help but laugh, just a little. It’s a short, breathy sound, but it feels like a small release, like she’s letting go of some of the anxiety she’s been carrying. “Well, duh,” she says, trying for playful, a smile tugging at her lips.

That seems to shift the mood some, and then they’re each standing up, going to their bags. Jo grabs the wrapped box, and sits back down on the mattress. Paige follows, sitting beside her, a much smaller box in her hands.

“Okay, open mine first,” Jo says, her voice more confident now, more sure of herself. She hands the box to Paige, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Paige takes the gift, her fingers brushing against Jo’s hand as she does, and Jo’s heart skips a beat at the contact.

When Paige opens the box, her jaw drops a little, and Jo can’t help but feel a swell of pride. It’s exactly what she hoped for—Paige’s surprise and delight, the way her eyes widen as she takes in the gift.

The shoes are exactly what Paige had been obsessing over for months, the ones she had tried to get but had sold out before she could grab them. Jo, on the other hand, had been lucky enough to snag them before they were gone for good, and now here they are, right in front of Paige.

Paige’s voice is soft, almost in awe, as she stares at the shoes. “Joey…” she says, her tone slow and filled with something Jo doesn’t know. It’s more than gratitude, more than just being impressed. It’s like there’s something deeper in the way she says it.

“Do you like them?” Jo asks.

Paige’s eyes meet hers, a flicker of something there—something that makes Jo’s heart thud a little faster. “I love them,” Paige confirms, and the smile that spreads across her face makes Jo’s chest constrict. The blonde nudges her own small box toward Jo, saying, “Your turn.”

Jo opens it slowly. When she sees the necklace, her breath catches in her throat.

It’s a diamond-studded clover necklace—delicate, simple, but beautiful. Jo runs her fingers along the edge of the charm, feeling the smooth coolness of the metal. It’s perfect. On the back of the clover, the word steady is engraved, small but clear, and Jo’s stomach sinks just a little, the weight of the word—the weight of the gift—settling.

Paige watches her closely, her expression soft, as if she’s trying to gauge Jo’s reaction. “I know you get anxious before games,” she says gently, like she’s afraid Jo might somehow not like it. “I thought… maybe this could be your good luck charm. A reminder to stay steady.”

Jo’s heart hurts at the thought—how Paige knows her so well, knows the way her anxiety flares before a game, knows the way she holds herself together even when she’s not sure she’s capable of it. This feels like something more than just a gift. It feels like Paige sees her, understands her.

The knot in Jo’s throat tightens. “It’s perfect,” she says. And it is. More than she can put into words.

But at the same time, it stirs something in her, something she can’t quite control. The fact that Paige knows her this well, that she’s thought of something so specific and so meaningful—it makes Jo want her more, in a way that’s dangerous. The kind of wanting that burns slow, that builds over time, that’s impossible to ignore.

Paige smiles softly, and Jo’s heart skips a beat. “Help me put it on?” Jo asks, her voice a little shaky even though she tries for it to not be.

Paige doesn’t hesitate. She nods, and Jo turns slightly to the side, lifting her hair out of the way. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against the back of her neck as she secures the clasp, and the touch sends a shiver down her spine. Paige’s fingers linger there, just a moment longer than necessary, and Jo feels a heat settle in the pit of her stomach.

When she turns back to face Paige, she finds that the distance between them has closed just a little. Paige is closer now, her gaze intense, like she’s studying Jo with an almost unreadable expression. There’s something in her eyes—something that makes Jo’s pulse quicken, something that makes her wonder if Paige feels it too.

And then the blonde is shaking her head, the motion slow, like she’s trying to pull herself together, trying to sort through whatever’s going on in her head. “Okay,” Paige starts, and she sounds uncertain and shaky, so unlike herself, “I know you said that we don’t have to say anything—but I… I can’t not.”

Jo feels her eyes widen a little as she takes in the words. She looks at Paige, really looks at her—sees the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she’s holding back, the way Jo can see she’s biting the inside of her lip.

Paige swallows, her eyes not leaving Jo’s. “Because I liked it, Jo,” she says, her voice quiet but somehow steady. “I liked kissing you. And I was really glad that you kissed me. I—I don’t wanna just forget ’bout it.”

Jo feels her heart stop and stutter in her chest cavity. The words stab through her, consuming her like a virus. She’s still silent, still staring at Paige, trying to make sense of the words. I liked it. Her head spins at that, the sheer honesty of it.

“Really?” she manages to get out, her voice sounding strained, uncertain. She needs confirmation, needs to hear it again.

Paige nods, the motion slow but sure, her eyes still locked on Jo’s. “Really,” she repeats, and there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s laying herself bare for Jo, like she’s giving her this piece of her heart and hoping that Jo doesn’t crush it in the process.

For a moment, they just stare at one another, neither of them saying anything, neither of them moving. Jo feels the pull of Paige’s gaze, the way it tugs at her chest, her stomach, her being. It’s like they’re suspended in this moment, where everything is possible and yet nothing feels safe. She doesn’t know what to do with it—it’s so unfamiliar. Jo feels heat creeping up her neck, feels the way her palm have started sweating, but she can’t look away from Paige. She can’t stop herself from wanting this—whatever this is.

But then, her brain snaps into focus, a sharp reminder of everything they can’t do, everything that stands between them. “P, we… we can’t,” Jo says, her voice low, almost too quiet to hear. She feels her heart pounding in her chest as she says it, but she knows the words are necessary, knows she can’t just let this moment slip by without addressing the reality of the situation. “It’s not smart. We’re both dealing with our own emotional problems, and we’re teammates, and we’re roommates, and we—we can’t.”

The words feel like a sudden weight that’s fallen over the room. Jo’s stomach lurches as she watches Paige’s face fall slightly, the light dimming from her eyes for just a second before it flares back to life. It’s the look of someone who wants something—badly.

Paige shakes her head, her face resolute. “I know. I know that,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “We… we don’t gotta be anything more. We can just be… best friends who kiss?”

Jo feels a laugh bubble in her throat at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. But as she looks at Paige, she realizes that she’s not joking. She’s serious. She’s offering something—something that could make the ache in Jo’s chest go away, just for a moment, without any strings, any commitment, anything that could really ruin them.

“Is that the best idea?” Jo asks slowly.

Paige shrugs. “Prolly not,” she admits, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. But then her gaze sharpens a little, her expression becoming more focused. She leans forward just a fraction, her body language pulling Jo in, even as she tries her best to keep her distance. And then, quietly, Paige says, “But now that I know what it feels like, I just wanna do it again.”

Jo feels her lungs clench, her breath hitching slightly. Every inch of her body is screaming at her, telling her to pull away, to put some distance between them. But she can’t move. She can’t breathe. All she can do is watch Paige’s lips, watch the way she’s leaning closer, the way she’s asking without asking, the way she’s giving Jo a choice without giving her a choice at all.

Before Jo even realizes what she’s doing, she hears herself say, “Me, too.”

And just like that, Paige is kissing her again.

Jo’s brain short-circuits the moment it happens. It’s like she’s been set on fire, every nerve in her body lighting up at once. Paige is warm, solid, and everywhere—her hands gripping Jo’s shoulders, pulling her in, her lips moving against Jo’s with a kind of certainty that makes Jo feel dizzy. It doesn’t start hesitant like last night. This isn’t about testing the waters. It’s intentional—like Paige knows exactly what she wants, and she’s done pretending otherwise.

Jo lets her take the reins without even thinking about it. She likes the way Paige moves, the way she presses in closer, tilting her head just right to deepen the kiss further. Jo does her best to breathe properly as Paige shifts, her fingers skimming down Jo’s arms before settling on her waist, her grip firm but not forceful. The touch alone sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, makes her stomach flip in a way that should probably concern her but doesn’t, because all she can focus on is Paige—the way she smells like something clean and warm, the way she tastes like mint and something sweeter, something her.

Jo’s hands move on their own, sliding up the curve of Paige’s back, feeling the way her muscles tense and shift beneath her fingertips. It’s intoxicating. It’s too much and not enough all at once. She’s never felt like this before—like she could drown in a person and not even care. It wasn’t really like that with Asher.

The bed is suddenly shifting beneath them as Paige moves, pressing in closer, slotting herself more firmly against Jo’s body. Jo barely has time to register the shift before Paige’s hands are on her shoulders again, guiding her, pushing her gently until Jo’s back hits the mattress.

Jo inhales sharply at the change in position, a sharp thrill shooting through her chest as she feels the weight of Paige hovering over her. It’s dizzying, having Paige above her like this, her hands braced on either side of Jo’s head, her body caging Jo in but not in a way that feels trapping. No, it’s the opposite. It feels steadying, like Paige is something solid in the middle of all the chaos in Jo’s head.

Paige pulls back just slightly, just enough to look down at Jo, her breathing heavy, her lips pink and a little swollen. “This okay?” the blonde asks, her voice a little gravelly, a little breathless.

Jo can’t do anything but nod, can’t do anything but stare up at Paige and try to memorize the way she looks right now—hovering above her, hair falling into her face, lips parted like she’s barely holding herself back.

Paige makes a soft sound—relived, maybe, or just impatient—and then she’s kissing Jo again, pressing her back into the bed. And then she’s slotting a knee between Jo’s thighs, pressing down—not too much, not enough, but also just enough that Jo feels it everywhere. A slow-burning heat unfurls in her stomach, her breath stuttering against Paige’s lips.

Paige deepens the kiss more, her tongue sweeping against Jo’s in a way that makes her whole body tighten. Jo’s hands grip at Paige’s t-shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like she needs something to hold onto. Paige’s hands skim up Jo’s sides, light and teasing at first, the touch barely there. Jo kisses her harder, leaning into the way Paige’s fingertips trace just beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, like she’s seeing just how much she can get away with.

It’s then that her hands slip beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, palms pressing flat against her ribs, and Jo nearly gasps into her mouth. It’s striking, the contrast of Paige’s warm hands against the cool skin of her stomach, the feeling of Paige touching her like this, in a different way than ever before.

Jo sucks Paige’s tongue in her mouth, their teeth clashing just a little, making Paige groan. Paige’s hands reach up further—and then they’re cupping Jo’s tits.

It’s not careful, the way she does it. Not uncertain. Not hesitant in the way it might be with most people. No, it’s instinctive. It’s like Paige didn’t even think about it, like she just needed to do it, like it was inevitable. Jo stills, her breath stalling in her throat, because this is just a little more than “best friends who kiss.”

Paige must realize it too, because she also freezes Her breath fans warm against Jo’s lips, her forehead pressing against hers, both of them unmoving now. Paige’s hands are still beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, still there, and neither of them are saying anything, neither of them are pulling away.

Jo’s chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. She can’t think straight, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the way Paige feels against her, the way Paige’s hands feel on her.

Paige exhales, slow and a little shaky, murmuring, “We should probably stop, yeah?”

Jo’s head spins, her body still thrumming. But she nods, because she has to, even though every single nerve in her body wants to just keep going. “Yeah,” she breaths out. “Um. Yeah, we should.”

Paige stays still for another second, like she doesn’t want to move, like she’s debating whether she even can. But then she finally pulls her hands away, rolling off of Jo, onto her back beside her. Suddenly, Jo feels cold. Feels the absence of her immediately. But before she can even process that loss, Paige is tugging her right back in, wrapping a firm arm around her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies are flush together again.

Jo lets her. This is familiar territory. She turns into Paige, burying her face into her neck, gripping at the hem of her t-shirt. She feels Paige’s lips in her hair and Jo sighs, melting into her further.

This is fine. This is good. This is normal. And maybe it’s none of that, maybe it’s entirely new and bad. But Jo can’t find it in herself to care. Because being here, like this—she could get used to it.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

why praising someone’s fic while at the same time tearing down other writers’ fics may not be the positive comment you think it is

first of all, I feel like I should be bringing this up because I’ve gotten comments where people praise my works (which I appreciate) while in those same comments they later say what they dislike about other writers’ fanfics, in a rather harsh manner, and while I know my commenters probably don’t have any ill intentions towards me, and while they never actually name the writers whose works they don’t like, I still don’t agree with and I certainly don’t condone the way they trash talk other writers’ fanfics either. so I think I should just bring this up, not to attack or target anyone specifically, but to hopefully make general readers see why comments like these are… not actually helpful to anybody.

before we begin, I also like to humbly point out that comments I’m talking about aren’t “oh it’s so hard to find a fic this good” or “your work is better than most of the fics I’ve read” because personally I think comments like these are harmless, not because I think my fic is “that good”, not because I think my work is “better than others”, but because no other writers were insulted and if my readers say they prefer my work — it’s all personal preference — then I’m honored, and the last thing I wanna be is a Comment Police, but I’ve unfortunately seen a lot of comments, especially lately, where other writers were rudely insulted in the name of praising the writer whose work is being commented on. I’m not gonna provide screenshots because I’m not gonna put a target on anybody’s back, but here’s to give an example of what I’m talking about,

“I like your work so much. It’s so hard to find a fic this good when most of the (insert character’s name) fics I’ve read are so bad and so out of character. I hate when some writers write (insert character’s name) as some sort of (x) and (insert another character’s name) as some (x), I think it’s so out of characters and so cringe that it physically makes me want to throw my laptop away. It feels like reading a garbage written by a bunch of five year-old kids or something. I wish I could set those trash on fire. Your work is not like those shitty fics though and it’s amazing to finally see a good fic.”

this is the kind of comments I’m talking about. because for me, personally, I don’t actually feel good receiving a comment like this, even though the commenter praises me and never actually mentions other writers, whose works they dislike, by names.

and again, the last thing I ever wanna be is a Comment Police, because I usually appreciate every comment I got, no matter if it’s just a heart emoji or a simple sentence like “I liked this”, I love and appreciate them all. but here we go;

WHY INSULTING OTHER WRITERS IN THE NAME OF PRAISING A WRITER WHOSE WORK YOU COMMENT ON IS NOT A POSITIVE COMMENT

comment like this can put a harmful pressure on the writer whom you praised and make them think that they now have to be extra careful to make sure their work is “good enough to please you”, otherwise they might get torn to shreds too. and instead of writing for themself for fun, which should be the most important thing about writing fanfics, they now feel like they have to write because they have to be good enough to earn their readers’ approval. and that just sucks out all the joy of doing something that was supposed to be a hobby, something writers do out of love and passion and not because they were pressured into doing, not because they were pressured into “being good enough and staying good enough”.

“if you’re this comfortable insulting other writers under my work, how can I know you’re not insulting me and my work under someone else’s comments section?” is a valid thought the writer you praised may have, even if they were too polite to tell you that.

“I hate when some writers write (insert character’s name) as some sort of (x) and (insert another character’s name) as some (x), I think it’s so out of characters and so cringe that it physically makes me want to throw my phone away.” how do you know the writer you praised hasn’t already written something like this in their drafts? how do you know they don’t plan on writing something that you deem “cringe and out of character”? it may not be your intention, but your comment certainly can be read as a subtle “hey, don’t you dare write something like this because I don’t like it!!!! I better not see it from you!!!” I shouldn’t have to tell you how entitled this is.

“this is so out of character” if a writer wants to write their favorite character like this, they can. why? because they write whatever they want and they write for themself, not for you.

fanfiction is not — and never will be — your average novel you see while visiting a bookstore, buy it with your money and bitch about it when it turns out the book is not to your liking. because fanfiction is free. fanfic writers write for themselves and for fun. fanfic writers write whatever they wanna write, because they themselves are their own primary audiences. not you. they’re only kind enough to share with you their works. for free. if you dislike a fic, keep that to yourself and move on to something you do like. don’t be entitled by insulting something you got for free, something that wasn’t even made for you at all.

you obviously can dislike a fic. of course, it’s your opinion. I mean I won’t say I like every fic I’ve ever read, but the thing about disliking a fic is that you can just exit said fic, forget about it and move on to something else without feeling the need to insult the work or the writer, be it directly or indirectly, because, again, fanfiction is not a movie you watch on Netflix or a book you bought with your money. fanfiction is an art, a hobby and a passion created by an artist for the artist themself.

a reminder that comments are public for everyone to see, not just the writer you praise. so while you didn’t mention any other writers whom you insulted by names, there’s always a chance of innocent writers finding your comment and thinking the part where you insult other writers’ works is about their works. and that can very negatively affect them too.

fanfiction doesn’t have to be “good enough for you, random reader”. fanfiction just has to bring the writers joy. and that’s what make a fic good enough.

if you really enjoy someone’s work, tell them that you enjoy their work, tell them what you like about their work. don’t turn their comments section into your own space where you can vent and trash talk other writers, because you are bringing that negativity to the writer whose work you said you enjoyed. and I can only speak for myself but, as a writer, I don’t enjoy seeing my comments section turn into a negative and unkind space where my fellow writers are being insulted.

[shy-taylorsversion]

just the absolute hate and racism i’ve seen within this fandom has been insane in the last few daddy especially. what the fuck is going on?

i can’t speak on the experience of people of color. but as a southern white woman, i can say what i know about that flag.

i have grown up seeing that flag used as decoration, a display of “heritage.” and frankly, that’s bullshit.

it is not a symbol of heritage or history. it is not for aesthetic purposes. it is a symbol of hate. it is a symbol of white supremacy and racism.

i have never seen someone display that that wasn’t a racist piece of shit!

now southern stereotypes, while some are true all are not! just because your character is southern does not make them racist or bigoted. i can assure you the ones who aren’t? they aren’t displaying that flag.

like one of the original creators said, i’m aware that there are non-americans on here, so if you don’t know the history behind that flag, please go read the link that was shared. it’s super informative.

now americans, you were taught this in the third grade. you don’t get to plead ignorance now. either grow up and learn, stop being a piece of shit or go somewhere else.

here are a the two creators i seen talk about this first and who’ve said all of this better than me.

@gothcsz

@hiddenbabynyc

I have seen something VERY troubling in this fandom this morning and it needs to be said that displaying a confederate flag is an act of hostility against black and brown people. It’s not a quirky southern thing. It is an extremely offensive hate symbol.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to read about characters who are racist, especially when they’re being romanticized.

Just because you see a character with a southern accent, let’s not choose to make him a racist. That is also incredibly offensive.

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Part 1 of @noshirdalal's answer to the following prompt (requested by me [@rockscanfly] for @kaphzzz's birthday). I’m posting on her behalf because tumblr has had her account wrongfully suspended for about two weeks now.

In response to the question: You’ve mentioned that there are things that Charles left unsaid to Arthur. On behalf of Kaph and in celebration of her birthday, what are some things Charles might have said to Arthur on their last ride together?

Transcript Below:

I missed your birthday? Aw man! Happy belated Birthday, Kaph, and I’m so grateful to Rocks for letting me know! January 25th (editor’s note: not actually Kaph’s birthday. I was very dehydrated/tired from 10 days working outside in the desert and got the date wrong. Whoops! Sorry Kaph!)? Clearly an auspicious day [laughter]. If you had been in camp, you would have woken up and there would have been a blueberry scone and hot coffee waiting for you outside your tent. Charles would not have let you know it was him or left a note or anything he just would have set it outside for you to find. Charles also wishes you a very happy belated birthday. 

[Nala, Noshir’s dog, is huffing at the camera, asking for her papa’s attention] God dang, literally as soon as I start talking! 

So, for your birthday Rocks made a request [laughs]. In a previous post I talked about Charles probably having misgivings about things he didn’t say when he had the chance while he was on that ride with Arthur. And so Rocks asked, ‘well what would he have said?’. Oh, man [laughs]. Rocks you’re always asking me the cool but involved questions. 

So, here’s the deal Kaph [sighs]. I know that you’re a big fan of Charthur. And I think that any romance option is completely, completely wonderful and I support them all. So I’m gonna do this from a Charthur perspective. I know someone out there is gonna take this and run with it as like, you know, ‘Noshir says, you know, that Charles and Arthur are gay!’. And if they are? Great! And if they’re not? Great! But for you I will try to tell this [as] if Charles does have feelings for Arthur. 

I think Charles would probably take some time—depends on how long this horse ride is [giggles]—to share some of the regrets he’s had along the way. Moments when he could have come to some sort of resolution or sort of peace and didn’t know that he had limited time. I think there would have been plenty of those moments in his life. I think if Charles found the courage and in some way past relationships came up—Charles would probably share that he’d been in love when he was young. 

And, you know, like, was all in. A ‘fool for love’. And that when the chips were down and he desperately needed the person that he loved to be there, that he bailed. Be it out of fear or what, self interest, but I think that was really crushing for him. I don’t think that Charles talks about it a lot [Noshir pauses to toss a ball for Nala]. I don’t think Charles talks about it a lot but I think thats one of the reasons that he keeps so many people at arm’s length. 

I think Charles feels things very deeply and loves very hard and for that reasons tries not to put himself into situations where that could become a risk. I think that a lot of times people that he cares about he actually makes more distance than with people that he doesn’t. And I think he might confess that to Arthur.

‘Cause I think if there’s anyone in this world that he’d want to make sure didn’t misunderstand him, it’d be Arthur. And I think oftentimes with people that you’re close with, they know. But knowing how little time Arthur may have left there are some things that Charles would not leave to chance. 

And I don’t think Charles, even in this moment, could bring himself to come out and say, you know, ‘Arthur I love you.’ It's just not, not in his way. But he might in a very kind of—[talking to Nala] nope, out! Good girl—but I think he might in a very kind of awkward way…maybe tentative is a better way to put it. You know, just let Arthur know, like, ‘You know, you never have to ask if I’ll ride with you. Just tell me where we’re goin’’. 

I think that may be as close to a confession of love that Charles would ever make. 

[itsacruelsummerbaby]

HIDDEN FEELINGS

Emily finally lets you join them for a case, but things go south towards the end. But at least the drama brings some hidden feelings to the surface.

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader || tags: post-prison!Spencer, fem!reader, age gap, professor-student relationship, canon-typical violence || wc: 2.8k || navigation

“Penelope showed me a team photo from a few years ago,” you begin as you take a seat next to Spencer on the jet. 

This is the first time Emily let you join them, although only on the condition of staying at the base of operations, to which you agreed without hesitation. You’ve been thinking about how they work in the field ever since you joined the team three weeks ago, and despite almost all of them giving you an insight during conversations, those were just words.

Anyway, he gives you a surprised look at first, but then a small smile appears on his lips the moment you show him the picture on your phone.

He takes the device from your hand and zooms in, taking a better look at the previous members of the BAU. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this version of the team, but the old one? That was my favorite–don’t tell the others, though.”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you take the phone back and moves the zoomed picture to the part where he can be seen. “This short hair? Damn, that suits you so much,” you note with a smile.

“Careful,” he warns you, but there’s no real bite in his voice.

You shrug. “I’m just being honest. It puts some real good emphasis on that killer jawline you have.” It’s hard to miss the crease forming on his forehead, so you’re quick to backpedal with your hands held up. “Sorry, there’s a line I overstepped.”

There’s a strange look in his eyes that can only be seen for a brief moment, but you don’t miss it, and it kicks your brain into overdrive. What was this all about? You saw it, but you simply can’t decode it, no matter how hard you try.

Well, you’re not a real profiler yet, so you don’t beat yourself up over it too much. 

After flashing a small, apologetic smile at him, you get up to pour yourself some coffee in the back, hoping this could avert your thoughts for a while. You’re here to work and learn, you can’t make such flirty comments, even if it’s nothing more than a game.

Because why would Dr. Spencer Reid want something from someone like you? He’s older, a literal genius, an expert in his field, while you’re just a student who got a summer job at the FBI out of pity. Yeah, it must have been nothing more but pity, what else could it be?

“I’m glad I caught you alone,” you hear Emily’s kind voice from next to you. When you look up with a smile, she leans against the counter. “Are you nervous? That’s the unfortunate thing about being among profilers, you know, we notice every single sign that gives these things away.”

“I mean, it’s sure a lot to take in, and we haven’t even arrived yet.” 

There’s a beat of silence while you try to gather your thoughts. First mistake. Emily’s eyes narrow slightly, and she even tilts her head to the side as she watches you, probably looking for the signs that can give away your real feelings. 

“I was thinking more about you and Spencer. I couldn’t help but watch you two interact, and there’s definitely something… I don’t even know. Unresolved? Maybe that’s the best word to describe it,” she says. 

You utter a quiet uhm, which turns out to be the second mistake. 

The unit chief puts up her hands in defeat, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her lips. “Look, forget I said anything, you’ll figure this out on your own.”

And with that she returns to Rossi, leaving you standing there completely dumbfounded. Your gaze turns to Spencer for a moment, but he’s busy watching his boss with a suspicious look on his face until he suddenly turns to you. When your eyes meet, he gulps and returns his attention to his book. 

Having a feeling that he doesn’t need your company, you return to your seat next to Luke, who gives you a questioning look that says, ‘Do I want to know?’ You shake your head, then lean back and close your eyes to get some rest until you land.

At first, you take notes on your phone every time the team gathers to discuss what they’ve found, already stitching the profile’s little pieces together. But soon the amount of information becomes overwhelming and you kinda lose track of where exactly they are now, so you give up and decide to take mental notes instead.

“It’s a lot to take in, right?” Luke asks you towards the end of the day, and you only blink at him with a confused look on your face. “Do you know what might help?” he goes on with a smile on his face, clearly knowing what’s going on inside your head.

In the past few weeks he somehow became the person you trust the most, some sort of a big brother that looks out for you, no matter what. You appreciated his kindness, especially when he gave you insight about what it’s like to be a newbie on this team. 

At least Penelope wasn’t stand-offish with you. Quite the opposite, actually, she even invited you for a drink on your first day.

“Ask questions.” It sounds so simple, yet so hard. How do you ask questions without looking like a complete idiot? He seems to notice what you’re thinking about, because he goes on. “You’re not a profiler, but I know you want to learn. So, ask away whenever you have the chance, I’m sure everyone will be glad to help out if they have the time to explain things.”

You let out a sigh as you put your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “I don’t want to bother them, they have a lot on their plates,” you admit. 

“Okay, I have an idea. While we’re here, we’ll meet in the hotel lobby every night after work, and you can ask whatever you want. How does that sound?” he asks with a smile. 

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem for you?” He takes a deep breath as he rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s not really mad at you. “Alright, this sounds good then. Thank you.”

He nods, and you can tell he wants to say something, but then his attention shifts to something behind you, and you can’t help but follow his gaze. In the door of the room the team’s working in, there’s Spencer who’s watching the two of you with a deep frown, but the moment your eyes lock, he turns on his heels and walks away. Just like that, without saying as much as good night. 

You don’t miss the thoughtful hum Luke lets out at this, but he doesn’t comment on what just happened. 

On the second day of your stay, Tara and JJ offer to take you to the police station in the morning. They both have a pretty suspicious smile on their face whenever they look at you, and it takes every ounce of willpower to remain silent. 

But not five minutes into the trip, Tara turns in the passenger seat to look at you. “What’s your impression so far? This is the first time we brought you along after all,” she notes with a kind smile.

It’s hard to put the flurry of thoughts in your head into words, but after giving yourself a few seconds to think, you give it a try. “It’s a lot to take in, especially when you start brainstorming, but I’m everything but bored. I know I don’t do much to help, but I’m doing my best to absorb as much knowledge as I can. I’m glad Emily decided to bring me along, I’ll have to figure out how to thank her.”

There’s an exchange of glances between the two profilers in the front seats, one that you don’t understand. They looked surprised for a moment, but then they both had that same smile on their lips. 

“What is it?” you ask eventually as you put your hands on the backs of the seats to lean closer. 

JJ takes a deep breath, then looks at you through the rear view mirror. “It wasn’t her idea,” she admits, which draws a questioning hum out of you. “Penelope told Spence that you mentioned how good it would be if you could see us in the field once during your internship, and he convinced Emily to let you tag along.”

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips at this. “I’ll have to thank Penelope then,” you note, although you’re dying to add that Spencer deserves something too.

No, you have to ignore that voice that keeps reminding you of just how perfect he is. It’s kinda pathetic, really, how your mind has been thinking about him nonstop ever since you joined the team. 

Okay, no, it began back during his classes.

Damn it, you think, hoping your internal struggle isn’t that obvious from the outside.

To your luck, the conversation shifts back to the case, and the two profilers tell you trade secrets you usually wouldn’t hear. While you stayed behind with Penelope, she taught you things too, but you wanted to see what it’s like to be a profiler in case you ever wanted to choose this career, so being here was much more valuable. 

When Tara touches a topic you already heard a lot about, the words spill out from your lips before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, Luke mentioned that yesterday.” Her eyes narrow, and for a moment she glances over at JJ, who now has a knowing little smile on her face. “What?” you ask. 

“It’s just,” Tara begins slowly, carefully thinking about how to phrase what she wants to say. “Based on how much effort Spencer put into getting you this intern position, we thought he would be the one to teach you. But it seems like he’s barely talking to you, at least in front of us.”

Your brain momentarily short-circuits at this. “Yeah, he secured this position, but he has a lot of responsibilities, I guess he’s happy someone else takes the time to teach me,” you say hesitantly, and when JJ hums in a way you don’t really like, you can’t stop yourself. “What was that hum? I heard it, there must be a reason.”

She looks at you for a moment through the mirror before turning her attention back to the road ahead. “I’m not sure if happy is the right word, that’s all. Look, I’ve known him for a long time, he’s one of my closest friends, I can see if something’s bothering him. That’s all I’m saying, I don’t want to get too involved in this. You two will have to figure it out yourselves,” she says, closing this topic for now. 

It was too late by the time you noticed there was someone behind you. 

The unsub walked into the police station without any of the present cops noticing, and when he saw you sitting behind a desk, he decided to take you as hostage, so now you’re standing there with his arm around your chest and a knife held to your neck. It’s terrifying, there’s no better word to describe it, but within seconds he has several weapons aimed at him, and you can hear it in his voice that he’s losing hope that he could get out of this alive. 

To you, it doesn’t matter if he regrets coming here, it doesn’t matter if he dies, all you can think about is the possibility of him taking you down with him. He has nothing to lose, why would he leave you alive? 

What happens around you in the next few minutes is a blur. You close your eyes to fight your tears, and it turns out the darkness is almost soothing, especially after you tune out the voices too. But then you hear a gunshot right next to you, and in a moment you feel him let you go, to which you react by quickly taking a few steps away from him. 

When you look back, you can see Matt standing there beside the lifeless body of the unsub, gun in hand, and somehow the sight of a dead man is what makes you break down. The tears are flowing harder than before as you collapse onto the ground, your back resting against the desk you were sitting behind as you pull up your knees to your chest. 

“Hey, come with me.” 

You look up at the person who’s kneeling next to you, and you find Spencer there, watching you with a worried look on his face. There are so many things you want to say, but you simply can’t get yourself to speak up, so you just take his extended hand and let him help you up. He takes you to the small kitchen across the station, far from the unsub, far from the things you want to forget. 

The moment the two cops who are drinking coffee there leave, he closes the door and leans against it with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s defensive, building a distance for some reason, but in your current state of mind, you can’t bother to think about it. So, you just wait as you try to breathe, inhaling then exhaling over and over again. 

“I won’t ask if you’re okay, because it’s clear you’re shaken,” he suddenly speaks up. 

You nod, genuinely glad he doesn’t feel like interrogating you about your feelings. But despite all this, a part of you can’t stop thinking about the why. Why did he bring you here, away from the rest of the team? Or did he just plan to separate you from the body of the man who attacked you until they cleaned up the scene? 

Spencer takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair as he paces in front of you. “You should go back to the hotel and stay there until we go home. I’ll talk to Emily, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I stayed with you,” he goes on, and he finally looks at you–really looks at you–which makes your heart skip a beat. 

There’s so much pain and guilt in those hazel eyes, as if he assumed it was his fault this happened. How can he think that? What on Earth could possibly make him believe the unsub attacking you was his fault? 

Following your instincts, you step closer to him and gulp, still hesitating a little if you should do what you’re planning to do. His brows furrow as he looks down at you, but he doesn’t stop you when you put your hands on his shoulders to make sure he’s focusing on you in the next few seconds. 

“Please, tell me you’re not blaming yourself for what happened,” you say softly. Your heart clenches when he gulps and licks his lips, because you can tell that’s exactly what’s happening, just as you assumed. “Spencer, no one knew he would show up here. This place was supposed to be safe, you couldn’t have known.” 

His hands drop to his sides as he thinks about what to say. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. 

You shake your head a little at this. “It's not your fault.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Spencer points out with a sigh. 

Having no idea what he’s referring to, you give him a questioning look, but he chooses to act instead of speaking, and puts a hand on the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. You return it without hesitation, but it doesn’t last long, because he pulls away eventually to rest his forehead against yours. 

He remains silent for a few seconds, maybe waiting for you to say something, maybe trying to stall to think it through. Eventually, he kisses the tip of your nose and says, “Do you know what bothers me besides bringing you here and putting you in danger? That I don’t know if this kiss was a mistake or the right thing to do. Which one is it?” he wonders, as if you knew the answer. 

He’s right. This is a question even you don’t have the answer to. 

But with so many things going on in your head, from the unsub issue to the kiss, you don’t have the brain capacity to think about the consequences. Because there will be consequences, that’s guaranteed. 

[unreadablehandle]

I will probably repeat what was said by @theliteraryarchitect already. But maybe hearing it twice might help you, so... :)

I know the feeling you're describing very well. A few years back, I was at a point where I really enjoyed my creativity (meaning: what I could come up with in my mind), and then later having trouble with putting it on paper (because once I've read it, it felt like shit).

What helped me with that in a way that I can't press enough was fanfic.

Why?

Because firstly: it made me concentrate on the joy of creating as something that mattered the most.

And secondly: once I've read enough of fics ("well written" and "badly written"... while loving both for different reasons) and then even produced something myself (that I knew was not ideal AT ALL - but in the sake of "giving back" to the fandom in the best way I could, I felt like sharing it), I got people asking me to continue a started idea and voicing their excitement for it, which showed me that my silly tries to create could in fact brighten someone���s day, despite the fact that if I wasn't a validation seeking bitch, I would torture myself with polishing the first paragraph of an idea into like... Marcel Proust level of overdone and then I would give up, because it would not be exactly like Marcel Proust’s).

Fanfic helped me realize that it’s not discipline and high standards that get you through the finish line. No. These will only make you feel bad and trap you in a circle of begrudgingly loathing everything you do.

It’s in fact the love you give your work even when it’s shitty that makes you come back to it until it’s done.

So. The most important thing you have to have is not a whip upon yourself once you don't meet your standards - but joy from how you overcame that need for self punishment. Someone might say that I’m just saying something and that my writing isn't proceeding towards "the better" at all. However, I would dare to differ.

Maybe – as an exterior observer – you can't see any signs of it. That's a fair point. Nevertheless: I observe the bettering when I write!

Meaning: When you describe a person in whichever action for the first time, it's rather hard. You have to focus and (for a long time) think about all the movements, the body language, the speech... When you write it for the second time, it's still not flawless. You see the space you have to come up with something better, use more metaphors instead of plain descriptions... When you write for the third time, you analyse the mind of your hero more than what he’s doing, because you have already realized that the internal can reveal much more then the external... But only when you write it for the fifth time, that's when you really BEGIN to understand what you are writing. Phrases come easily to you and because you don't have to think about the obvious as before, that's when something good can be born!

In fact, I think that one cannot become good at writing without practice as a wader in his own shitty prose for some time.

Like. Every bad thing you write moves you forward. In fact, I believe that the best writers must have written the biggest amount of shitty things. The literary gems on their resumé are only the top of the iceberg, you see.

And that is a brutal fact.

DO NOT compare your level one to someone’s level ten.

DO NOT concentrate on your mistakes. Embrace and enjoy the phase of shitty writing. Create as much new things as you can before you know enough to get back to where you started. Because at the end of the day, it's the only ride you can take to the top of the hill.

PS: What I recommend (it works in my experience) is to start a notebook and when you read, write down phrases, expressions or words you liked and then later go back to them. Like that, you are expanding your range of expression by the way of love - not disdain. Honestly, I really think that's the only way it can work right. ;)

PPS: Being a writer is not a hundred meter race. It's a lifestyle in which you are working on growing into someone who can bend worlds with just a pen and paper - and that's hell of a work if you ask me. ...Worth every inconvenience, isn't it? :)

I don’t know if u still answer questions but I need some advice. My passion has always been writing simply because I have so many ideas and so many thoughts and I love creating stories (theoretically). Lately though I’ve hit this roadblock. I’ll never be able to write like the people I admire, because at the end of it all I feel like I’m not learning. I’ll reread my old stuff, point out and rework my mistakes, and still feel like I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t written anything for years because of this block and I feel like I’ll never improve and find the motivation to keep writing. I’ll never be like the greats with seemingly endless inspiration and talent. Ig my question is just… how do I improve? How do I finally feel satisfied with what I do? How do I love my writing again??

First off, I hear you. So many writers—especially the ones who care deeply—go through exactly this. You love storytelling in theory, but when it comes to writing, it feels like you’re stuck in a cycle of self-doubt and disappointment. That’s not a personal failing. That’s just what happens when your standards grow faster than your skills.

The mistake most writers make (and one I see repeated constantly) is thinking that learning = immediate improvement—as if you study the craft, tweak some mistakes, and suddenly level up. But writing doesn’t work like a skill tree in a video game. It’s messy, non-linear, and full of invisible growth. The work you put in today might not show results for months, or even years. And that’s frustrating as hell, but it’s also normal.

And the writers you admire? The ones who seem endlessly inspired and effortlessly talented? They aren’t immune to this feeling. The difference is, they write through it. They let themselves write badly. They embrace inefficiency. They trust that even their worst drafts are part of the process. AND (top secret info here)... frankly a lot of the big names have editors at their publishing houses that are practically doing ghostwriting work: fixing their mistakes, rewriting their stuff, or even composing sections for them so they can pump out the next bestseller in record time.

But here’s my advice: stop waiting to feel satisfied before you start writing again. You’re not going to think your way out of this. Improvement comes from doing. Let yourself write terribly, inconsistently, joyfully. Take the pressure off. And when your brain tells you it’s pointless, remind yourself: the only way to get better is to keep going.

You don’t need to be “one of the greats.” You just need to write.

Hope this helps, friend.

P.S. I get Asks like this so much that I'm actually working on a whole long book about it, since it's really more than I can handle in a short post. Stay tuned for details. xo

[christinesficrecs]

hihi! you’re my fav place for sterek fic recs as i try to devour as many as possible (i just got into teen wolf this year oof). surprisingly i’m having a hard time finding “meet-ugly” fics. anything that subverts the meet-cute trope but still ends in a relationship. do you have any that fit this? 💕

Hey! Maybe these ones. 🩷

hey asshole by  cryptomoon, everchanginginks | 15.6K

The Hales moved in next door more than a year ago and while Cora and Stiles became fast friends, Stiles has yet to meet his best friend’s big brother, Derek, who’s been attending college in New York. When Derek comes home for the summer he makes less than a stellar impression. And vice versa.

Left Turn at Albuquerque by yodasyoyo | 9K

“Oh no!” Stiles yelps, springing back in alarm, and then, once he gets a better look at who he’s just doused, he whines, “Nonononononooooooooo.”

Because he has just thrown coffee over the hottest guy he’s ever seen: Tall, muscular and dressed in what must have been, pre-coffee, a white tank-top, and what are still, coffee stains notwithstanding, excruciatingly tight jeans. The guy has dark hair, piercing eyes and the sort of scruff that Stiles just wants to rub all over himself.

We Can Work from Home by  samanthahirr | 5.2K

A rom com AU in which Stiles is a massage therapist, and Derek has the wrong idea….

Shower Boyfriends by  paintedrecs | 4.7K

Derek likes sticking to his routines: they give his days structure and keep his goals on track. His carefully maintained habits have never been more important than at college, and by his second year, he’s gotten everything exactly the way he wants it. He has the ideal roommate, the best dorm on campus, and a fascinating set of classes in a schedule that lets him sleep in.

But when mysterious messages start appearing on his dorm’s shower wall, Derek can’t seem to resist searching for answers.

Listen to the Beat by amazingpages | 5.5K | Mature

Of all the things Derek thought he’d have to deal with upon moving into his new apartment, a loudly masturbating neighbor wasn’t one of them.

A Blossoming Romance by Trelkez | 7,533

Stiles will just have to try harder next time. No one can ignore him forever.

latte dick by bleepobleep | 1.8K

It’s really Derek’s luck, though, to start developing a crush on someone who apparently hates him.

We’re Burning One Hell of a Something by calrissian18 | 6K | Mature

Derek’s roommate has already moved in by the time he shows up. And he’s taken up both sides of the room.

you love the hate that we share by bibliosexual | 5.7K

Maybe it’s petty — okay, it most definitely is — but it just irritates Stiles that the universe makes people like Derek Hale. He’s practically superhuman at lacrosse; he’s been blessed by the puberty gods with stubble and muscles on top of muscles and not a pimple in sight; he spouts off effortless monologues in Spanish class while Stiles is still struggling to remember how to say “Can you repeat that?”; he could probably make a killing as a male model; and when he asked Lydia to study with him, she said yes. Like, seriously, what the fuck.

I don’t know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 17.8K

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

[rivereverie]

My one major issue within Astarion's romance storyline (spoilers)

TLDR: player shouldn't have to sleep with him in act one to initiate the romance.

(also please correct me if I'm wrong about this being the way the romance triggers. All the information I found said that the act 1 intimacy scene is necessary)

First of all, this just locks you out of romancing him unless you’re a very particular kind of person. On my playthrough, my character is not at all the type to sleep with him casually, but I went through with it because I very badly wanted to see his romance storyline. 

So let’s examine what leads up to the scene. Astarion, upon meeting the player, recognizes power in them and thus someone who can help protect him. He comes up with his “nice, simple plan” to seduce the player in order to get them to trust and care for him. This makes complete sense for his character, as he sees his main and perhaps only source of value being what he can offer physically. It’s what he knows how to do, and so in this crisis situation, of course it’s what he defaults to. The fact that he propositions the player is not what I have a problem with. It’s the fact that they have to say yes in order to further the romance, or else they’re locked out of it. 

On a practical level, I can understand what the thought process behind this might have been. Having a character proposition the player, being turned down, and then coming onto them again in the future might make them come off as a pest, which can make a character majorly unlikable. However I would argue this can be worked around because it is made very clear that the first encounter with him is meant to be a purely casual intimacy. Having a confession scene later where he proposes something more sincere would feel completely different, offering something new rather than not taking no for an answer. 

But the game forces you to accept his offer if you want to further the romance. This leaves the player in an uncomfortable position no matter what. There are two intimacy scenes possible in act one, the first being his high approval scene that can trigger whenever, where he makes the offer and the player can choose. Skipping this one does not lock you out of the romance IF you do sleep with him at the Teifling party afterward (if I’m not mistaken). The Tiefling party version of the scene is much much better if you care about him as a person, in my opinion, because he keeps the fact that he sees it as a transaction to himself. In the high approval scene, he outright says, albeit flirtatiously, that this is a reward for letting him drink your blood. Him presenting the encounter that way feels very icky if you say yes. So while it’s very in-character and a very honest and raw portrayal of how his trauma has affected him, it leaves the player in a bad position. 

Now, this plot point is crucial to his overall story, yes. He needs to initiate this kind of pandering to the player character, trying to seduce them and get their trust and loyalty. My argument is that this can be done *without* the sex scene. If I were to rewrite this scene, I would have it that he invites the character to the woods after the party in a more ambiguous way unless you yourself bring up the topic of sex. Then, when you’re both there having your private conversation, you can choose to decline his advances. He could become puzzled and maybe a little annoyed and say something like “why did you come here, then?”. The player could then have the option to respond with “I wanted to get to know you better” or something. This could be a really sweet and heartbreaking moment to look back on after you learn more about him. Give him a genuine moment of confusion in this scene, because it challenges what he thought about himself and other people; someone doesn't want him just for his body, and they also want to get to know him as a person. This would probably be a confusing and difficult feeling for him. He’d mask it quickly, of course, but still. Then, there could be a nice moment between them where they just have a cute conversation about anything. Maybe they could even just make this scene into a slightly different version of his scars scene the morning after. He showed up shirtless after all, so the player could go on to ask him about that and it could be a wholesome bonding moment. This would allow the player to show interest in him without it being explicitly sexual, but also not locking you out of the romance route with him. Also it’s asexual friendly. On a narrative and emotional level, this serves basically the exact same purpose as the sex scene(s), with the exception of the regret and moral greyness, which I think the player should be able to avoid anyway if they choose. Especially upon replays, this forces the player to engage in something they know is not an enjoyable experience for him, in order to trigger his romance storyline, which I think is kind of wrong. 

Interesting point here, though: If you’re playing as origin Karlach, then you can't sleep with him at first without, you know, burning him to a crisp. The romance plays out the same otherwise, PROVING MY POINT that it’s not necessary. In this version of events, they just “talk and fall asleep”. This would be exactly what I wanted. I just really wish this were an option in any other case.

I'm too demisexual for this.

[madbard]

Still thinking about the ISAT party seeing a performance of Epic the Musical and how Dangerous mentioning the North Star would make Siffrin and Loop feel some kinda way...

Imagine in this scenario if that was a line written before the Island got erased, but it was kept in despite many people not quite understanding what it means because something about it just Felt Right...

Oh my goodness, yes! That moment of recognition/realization as they’re watching the musical, that sense of familiarity when it finally clicks…

I love the idea of Epic being written by an islander and then continuing to be performed in Vaugarde even after the island was forgotten. Maybe the name of the island was changed in the scripts to an imaginary setting or a Vaugardian city, and there’s that trace of wrongness for those who saw the original musical whenever the actors will say the new name, because it just doesn’t feel right for some reason.

Epic also becomes such an interesting play in ISAT because certain elements of it just don’t seem to align that well with the Change belief. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person” stands out here, but there’s also the fact that our main character desperately clings to a single, unchanging purpose regardless of what the universe throws at him, remaining absolutely loyal to Penelope and Telemachus and trying to go home even as everything else is destroyed. For as much as Epic is a story about Odysseus’ transformation, the core of the story lies in the parts of Odysseus that he refuses to ever change - namely, his love for Penelope and identity as a husband and father. His transformation is more of a tragedy than anything - it’s not celebrated, or even really depicted as something natural. This feels less like a story written by someone raised to love and embrace change, and more like a story written by someone raised to believe in an overwhelming Universe that people must painfully navigate, doing all they can to help themselves and their loved ones even as they are dragged down paths they would never have chosen for themselves.

(I’m not saying that a Vaugardian author couldn’t write this story, but there are just so many elements that scream ‘forgotten island’ to me.)

Even better - what if the writer was from the forgotten island, and was living in Vaugarde while working on a script for this musical when the island was forgotten? Imagine them waking up, disoriented, surrounded by half-finished scripts for a story that make their head hurt, and slowly piecing it back together, rewriting it scene by scene until it no longer gives them a migraine, infusing every saga with this deep and inexplicable need to go home. Imagine them at the first performance, watching as Odysseus reunites with his family, and suddenly feeling like something has been ripped from their chest. Like they’ve forgotten something vital. But what?

[mjso-soupp]

Boys with a sahm! S/O

below are Shuu, Reiji, Subaru!

Shuu

-Wow. someone to take care of him (lol jk)

-Like most of the boys, he would not admit how much he loves coming home to his wife and getting to love her.

-If she was a traditional woman he would probably make her fulfill ‘traditional women duties’ (i think we know what this means. lol.)

-Loves cuddling with his wife at night in their shared cotton sheets.

-Wife prepares him steak? Be prepared to not walk tmrw.

-Speaking of, the children, he would be iffy.

-knowing how horny this man is, he probably would get his wife pregnant.

-Adores his pregnant wife though. Once she’s bedridden and too tired to function, he’s in bed with her laying all day with her and not complaining.

-Having a wife gives him some comfort and eventually he would want to step up and change for the better for his family.

Reiji

-Oh he’s ecstatic. I mean have you met this man?

-Finally fulfilled his dream of being a husband and having a wife that takes over the household duties.

-But yet sits down with his wife and folds clothes with her on his off days.

-Even writes downs recipes for her on days he’s really craving something. (she may have mastered carbonara).

-He takes this opportunity to spoil his wife. Valentine’s day? Anniversary’s? BIRTHDAYS? He’s taking her to restaurants and romantic dates.

-The whole BDSM may get taken down a notch, it’s his wife for gods sake! Not his play bride.

-He would rub his pregnant wife’s feet, back, spoon her a million different concoctions of medicine for morning sickness, heartburn, headaches, PICA cravings, etc.

-Just because you’re his wife doesn’t mean you’re totally off the hook from punishments.

Subaru

-Entirely new to him. How did he make it this far?

-Coming home to her, does he say ‘i missed you?’ ‘Honey i’m home?’ that’s entirely new to him.

-Yet he feels a sort of fondness, scared he’ll ruin this and tries his best.

-He’s used to having his clothes constantly in his dresser restocked by maids having practiced for ages, yet his wife’s simple folds make him happier.

-He never liked cooking, or eating. He couldn’t really taste but yet will always try his wife’s food just for her happiness. He enjoys it too don’t get me wrong.

-He’d rather decorate the bedroom rather than go to an overpriced restaurant, too many people and not safe.

-Still has trouble being gentle in the bedroom. He doesn’t understand sometimes she doesn’t want to be thrown around the room for hours after tending to the house all day.

-Pregnancy would scare him more than it would his wife. He’s not ready to be a father!

-Hearing his son’s heartbeat from her stomach made him impatient in the long run and more ready to be a father.

-He would be so gentle (as far as gentle Subaru gets) with them. It’s his family, he has to protect them now!

~all done!

[traincat]

hello traincat!!!! just recently gone through my spideytorch rabbit hole again. only now it is worse. and i’m actually considering writing fics about those two losers…

i LOVE your villain!peter fic, and i have seen a few other premise where peter is the Spider. but now its got me thinking and now i have brainworms of villian!johnny. i think of johnny and he will always be that sincere idiot that always puts others needs before his own. maybe if i break him enough mentally….. hmm decisions decisions….

thoughts?

also ur the bestest ever and i spent valentines giggling and reading your fics… i hate those stupid losers(i am obsessed with them…)

Thank you for reading my fics! I hope you had a good Valentine's Day. 💖

So it's my opinion that you can push pretty much any character into villain territory, you just need to figure out the right buttons to push. Some are admittedly easier than others. With Peter, for The Spider and the Last Spark, I had a very definite breaking point in mind. Spoilers for my own fic but the Spider's universe is a canon divergent version of 616 where, during Civil War, the Kingpin's assassin succeeds and murders both Mary Jane and Aunt May before Peter reaches the motel room.

This wasn't a totally original idea or anything. What If? Back in Black goes in a similar direction, killing off MJ, although its Peter is ultimately less successful than mine. I decided to kill off Aunt May too to completely strip Peter of any positive influence, including his own universe's Johnny, who died as a result of the attack he suffers at the beginning of Civil War.

I also took a lot of inspiration from What If? Grim Hunt, where Peter ultimately doesn't back down and decides to kill Kraven. (Notably my inspiration for his costume -- the black suit sans the mask -- was from Grim Hunt, and also his regular collection of slutty, slutty bathrobes.) The regular Grim Hunt makes a prediction via Madame Web that if Peter did kill Kraven, it would set him on a path where he wouldn't be able to stop killing, which is something Peter himself muses on in Spider-Man: Friends and Enemies. So I had a lot of canon information to use as a foundation.

(What If? Grim Hunt) "You killed someone." "I did that for you too!" Haha. Love him. What a freak. The other big thing I was considering with Peter was his personality flaws and how I could magnify those. Peter's big thing is responsibility, which on the flipside means he often assumes responsibility for other people. The ugly flipside here is control. Peter loves to be in control of a situation, and why wouldn't he? He's the strongest, fastest, and usually the smartest person in any civilian room he walks into. That's a big power rush. So take someone who is angry and grieving, who had that control stripped away from along with any positive influence in his life all in one night -- that's a powder keg.

(ASM #542)

Regret was a big factor for my Spider, too. Regret that he couldn't protect MJ, Aunt May, Johnny. Regret over his dead child. Regret that he didn't provide a better life for MJ when she was alive. My goal was to work from a place of pain and transform it into this little kingdom of control. Peter's not powerful enough to take over, say, the world, but he could take over New York and hold it as his own sovereign territory, especially with how broken the community was during Civil War, and especially with a big show of power, which was why I had him kill the Hulk. (Whether or not Peter could kill the Hulk in canon is a debate I'm not interested in. What's important is that Peter does canonically state that he's figured out a method to kill the Hulk, and I absolutely believe that he believes he could do it.)

So how do we apply this method to Johnny? It's a little bit trickier, because I don't have a clear breaking point in canon where I'm like, okay, if we shifted X, Y, and Z, I could see this being a springboard into supervillainy. Johnny is, at heart, an extremely kind and moral character. He's also not self-motivated the way Peter is -- Johnny functions as part of a team, and when he explores things on his own they tend to be hobby related, like racing and pop stardom. He's not usually an independent actor.

On the other hand, we can use that to our advantage. "If you break him enough mentally" sure, that works, but how are we going to do that? My first thought again is to strip the support system. I think Ben in particular has to go -- we see how Johnny spirals when he and Ben aren't on good terms. (Take "has to go" however you want for your individual context. I don't think it strictly has to mean killing characters off. I had to separate Flash from Peter in The Spider and the Last Spark and I had him lead the rebel army.) Reed and Sue, I think there's wiggle room. Is either of them a villain? Johnny's easily influenced by his loved ones, especially when he's young. If you want to play into his naivete, I think there's the beginnings of a villain route there.

Alternatively, we can play into the destructive nature of Johnny's powers. I talked a little about Claremont's take on the origin story recently, where Johnny absorbs the heat from the shuttle crash and then immediately goes Nova. The only reason Sue and Reed survive is that Ben covers them. But traditionally, Ben isn't rocky until a few moments after the crash. What if his own transformation hadn't taken place yet? Ben still covers Reed and Sue, but it's not enough, and Johnny accidentally kills his family. Add in the more modern Fantastic Four origin approach where the Four are held, at least temporarily, by the military, and you've got an isolated, guilt stricken Johnny who is facing his worst fear: being alone.

(Fantastic Four #214)

(Fantastic Four: First Family)

That's easily enough to break him. I think you could write a villain!Johnny based solely on this. But again, Johnny's not a very independent actor. So some kind of outside influence is immensely helpful. Another supervillain? Someone with other motivations who sees a deeply lonely, emotionally scarred young man with enormous power, and recognizes someone easy to manipulate? Would Johnny even care if he was being manipulated at that point?

Which brings me to the big thing with Johnny for me. What does Johnny want most in the world? He wants to be loved. And while I think a solo Johnny villain story is interesting, part of me is always a little bit committed to the idea of villain couple Peter and Johnny. (Which is what the Spider was clearly trying to swing in The Spider and the Last Spark.) Johnny, lost, directionless, craving the affection that Peter has to give in spades, and Peter, with the capability to be protective and devoted, but who also becomes infatuated at the drop of a hat. Peter, obsessive. Johnny, yearning. A huge hole in both of their hearts that's never quite filled. So yeah, why not take over the criminal underground? It's not like they have anything else to do on a Saturday night.

[cakerybakery]

“That was a good movie.” Adam nodded approvingly. “I wasn’t too sure about it being a musical, but the songs were good and I liked that they weren’t just to pad things out. They helped the story and characterization. I like the plot and the ending. It’s was good, Lucifer. Good job picking that out. Thanks, man.”

He went to get up, but one of Lucifer’s small hands grasped his pyjama bottoms and Adam looked at Lucifer in surprise.

Lucifer’s eyes were wide and confused. “I— I must have misheard you. What did you say?”

Adam paused and tried to summarize what he’d said. “Just, I liked the movie. You did a good job picking it out?”

His big eyes started to tear up, and Lucifer let Adam go.

He barely heard the small squeak of, “thank you,” before Lucifer turned his head away and pulled the hood of his ducky onesie down to cover his face.

Adam watched as Lucifer’s shoulders shook, the hand in his lap twisted around the fabric of his pyjamas and turned grey. There was a tiny shuttery sob and sharp inhale of breath.

“Lucifer?” He reached out, but Lucifer turned further away.

His voice even and measured spoke out, “I’m fine.”

He clearly wasn’t.

Taking Lucifer by the shoulders, Adam forced Lucifer to look at him.

Tears were streaming down his face and Lucifer was biting his lip to keep himself quiet. He tried to wipe away the tears, as if Adam hadn’t already seen them.

Adam wrapped his arms around Lucifer and pulled him into his lap automatically.

In that moment, Lucifer reminded Adam of Eve. Of her trying to be strong, to not add problems onto Adam’s shoulders. Her trying to hide the pain of her legs cramping at night during a pregnancy. The hand she broke wrangling a sheep before it could kick Seth to death. Finding her crying at night because sudden bad weather had killed some of their meager crops, and the kids had been going to bed still hungry for the last few days.

He held and soothed Lucifer. Telling the man it was going to be okay.

Lucifer broke down and started crying harder.

When at last Lucifer ran out of tears, he sat up and in a hiccupy, gasping voice apologized.

“Lucifer—“ Adam wasn’t fully sure what to say. What did he used to do with Eve? To help her feel better?

… Well, he couldn’t make Lucifer feel better that way. They were just friends.

Adam always tried to fix things for Eve. Rubbing her legs, he did his best to set the bone in place, got up early and hunted until his fingers threatened to freeze off.

But he didn’t know why Lucifer was crying or how to fix this.

“I’m fine.” Lucifer said, trying to smile. “Just… something in my eye.”

Adam scoffed. “Don’t lie to me.”

Lucifer stiffened in his lap, and Adam figured, he’d come this far.

“You were crying. Why? Cause of what I said about the movie?”

“N— no.” Lucifer tried to get off Adam’s lap, but Adam wasn’t going to let Lucifer teleport his ass out of the hotel and back to his dark little castle like the depressed, sad little duck—

Lucifer’s sad song from a few weeks ago when he stayed over at the hotel and they went out came back to Adam.

Sad little ducky all alone. Cold little ducky without a home. Lost little ducky sitting on a throne. Crying little ducky left to roam.

It was obvious that the ducky in the song was Lucifer. The man was painfully lonely. Kicked out of his only home and no one in the one he made for himself. When was the last time someone other than Charlie praised Lucifer?

Adam knew it was great for your kids to look up to you. But Lucifer, was constantly being reminded of his mistakes, heaven will never let him live it down or welcome a sad, lonely duckling back among the swans. Her one voice might not be enough to battle eons of others.

He couldn’t fix this any normal way. There was no one to kill or physical wound to tend to. Only a little broken heart.

Lucifer wasn’t struggling, but Adam pinned the man to the couch cushion to kept him from being able to easily leave anyway. Lucifer’s breath hitched and the already golden flush brightened. “A—Adam!”

“Listen to me.” Adam spoke firmly. “We’re friends, so take what I say seriously.”

Nodding, Lucifer whimpered.

“You did a good job picking out the movie. You do lots of good work and shit.” Adam shifted to hug Lucifer. “You don’t have to be a lonely little duckling. You don’t have to hide your feelings and crap. It’s, you know, okay to cry or whatever.”

Lucifer’s hands grabbed onto his sides and held on to him. Adam settled his weight onto Lucifer, knowing the guy could handle it. He was kind of small, but hit like a freight train. Settling down so their cheeks touched. Sharing the wetness feom Lucifer’s fresh tears.

Pressing their cheeks together, Lucifer hiccuped and spoke as though Adam weighed no more than a butterfly, trying to be light and teasing but Adam could still hear strain on his voice from crying. “Been going to Charlie’s therapy sessions?”

“Yeah.” He had been. Adam was basically just repeating shit Charlie told Angel the other day. It seemed to work for him. “Is this shit it working?”

Lucifer’s hands slid up his back and Adam felt Lucifer return the hug. “Yeah.” Lucifer murmured with a little content sigh.

“Good.” Adam would stay like this as long as Lucifer needed.

[philsmeatylegss]

To be absolutely real, even if there was no science proving it, no people testifying to how important it is, I still would 100% support trans people. One of my core beliefs is that if someone is doing something that isn’t harmful to others or themselves, there is no reason to intervene. I don’t have to understand trans people even to support them. I believe so heavily in bodily autonomy that even if someone wanted to change their gender just to fuck around, I’d still support it. You cannot be for freedom of expression or pro bodily autonomy and be transphobic. Those ideologies literally contradict the other at its core. There has never been any proof that being trans causes someone to harm themselves, in fact, there’s an abundance of truth showing that not allowing a person to transition makes a person a fuck ton more likely to harm themselves. And I’ve never seen any proof that being trans directly correlates to hurting others. You see terfs pull news stories where (mostly) trans women commit horrific crimes, but don’t seem to realize there’s no connection between the gender and the crime. Like you can be trans and commit awful crimes. The two can coexist. And cases where men dress as women to commit crimes doesn’t count because they’re no trans women. They’re predators.

If you literally took away every single piece of medical and anecdotal evidence supporting being trans as a real thing, I still would support it unconditionally because I believe freedom of expression and complete bodily autonomy is a human right. Simple as that. Person wants to be a different gender and the process doesn’t involve harm to themselves or others, I genuinely cannot understand what argument there is left.

That’s why I always found it so interesting that most, if not all, terfs are pro choice. An opinion rooted in bodily autonomy and a process that causes harm to no one.

Idk. I just always think about how the first time I even heard of a trans person, i had no issue about it because of this very reason. Even at my young age of like 11, 12 maybe, before I understood anything behind it, I thought it was okay because I believe people have the right to exist as they want. I’ll be real. I’m cis. I believe it’s impossible for me to every fully grasp what a trans person even feels. To fully understand their experience that justifies transitioning. A lot of times I see shit about gender and whatnot and it makes no fucking sense to me. But I cannot find any logical reason for me, as someone who believes so heavily in bodily autonomy and freedom of expression, to deny their right to exist. It doesn’t matter if I understand or not. Because it has nothing to do with me. A person transitioning literally has no impact on me or my well-being. And if it’s safe and a person feels better, I just don’t see why it’s so hard to understand.

Idk, people like to say they’re for shit like freedom of expression until it comes to something they don’t understand or wouldn’t personally do. And that’s because they aren’t actually for freedom of expression. Same when it comes to bodily autonomy. It’s just one of those things that I don’t even understand why it is a big deal. Why it upsets so many people. You literally could not be less impacted personally by something than when it comes to a person transitioning. The only person that impacts is the person transitioning. It requires no involvement from you unless you force yourselves in. Idk, I just will never understand being against trans people as it just seems so logical to me

[emma23]

You keep being my problem :

Jake lockley x reader

The night had been quiet. Too quiet, actually. You couldn’t place your finger on what felt so wrong, but Jake hadn’t called. Not even once. It was a rare thing—almost unsettling—when Jake Lockley wasn’t blowing up your phone with a random excuse to talk to you or to complain about someone else getting on his nerves.

You were used to his quirks by now. His constant sarcasm, his unfiltered thoughts, and the way he always found trouble even when he wasn’t looking for it. It was part of why you loved him, though sometimes it also made you want to strangle him.

Tonight, though, the silence was deafening.

Until your phone finally buzzed on the coffee table.

You grabbed it with relief, half expecting to see his name. Instead, it was a text from Layla.

"Have you heard from him? He’s acting weird."

Weird? Jake acting weird wasn’t exactly groundbreaking news. It was almost his default state. But something about Layla’s tone felt... off. You sighed, typing back quickly:

"Nope, not yet. But I'll check on him."

You hit "send," grabbed your jacket, and slipped on your shoes. Jake’s place wasn’t far, and you knew better than to wait for him to reach out when things felt this strange.

The bar he was haunting wasn’t a surprise. Jake had his usual places, and you’d learned all of them in the months you’d been together. You walked in, spotting him immediately in the corner booth, hunched over a whiskey glass like it owed him money.

“Jake,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady.

His head lifted lazily, those dark eyes locking on yours. A slow grin spread across his face. “There’s my girl.”

You sighed. He was drunk. Obviously.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” you muttered under your breath, walking over to him.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, tilting his head.

“Playing babysitter,” you shot back.

Jake laughed, the sound rich and carefree, though there was a slight slur to it. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes. “What the hell are you doing here, Jake? And why is Layla texting me like you’re on the verge of imploding?”

“Layla’s dramatic,” he said dismissively, taking another sip of his drink.

“Jake,” you said firmly, placing a hand on the table. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You,” he said finally. “You’re what’s going on.”

You frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You keep being my problem.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious. “You. You’re my problem. You keep being my problem, Y/N.”

“Are you drunk?” you asked, folding your arms.

“A bit,” he admitted with a shrug.

“And why are you calling me your ‘problem’ exactly?”

“Because,” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “No matter how many times I tell myself I don’t need anyone, you keep proving me wrong. And I hate it.”

You stared at him, your heart doing a weird little flip. “Jake…”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “You make me feel like I don’t have to be the guy I’ve always been. And it scares the shit out of me.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Jake Lockley, the man who faced danger without a second thought, was scared of you?

“You’re drunk,” you said again, mostly because you didn’t know how else to respond.

“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Come on, Jake. Let’s get you home.”

“Only if you’re coming with me,” he said, standing up.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And you love it,” he shot back.

Back at his apartment, Jake was quieter. The usual sharp edges of his personality seemed softer, dulled by the alcohol but also by something else.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” he said as you helped him onto the couch.

“Yes, I did,” you replied, sitting down next to him.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you, you idiot.”

Jake blinked, like he wasn’t used to hearing those words. Slowly, a smirk curved his lips. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there was no bite to your words.

He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“Probably,” you said with a teasing smile.

Jake laughed, leaning closer until his forehead was resting against yours. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Lockley didn’t have a smart-ass response.

[verafranks]

Relationships I would’ve preferred to see in Veilguard; {warning, there will be spoilers for the game} [also note that I haven’t finished veilguard yet, Elgar’nan just resurrected his dragon in my playthrough] <also, also note that I don’t necessarily think there should be non-rook relationships for all of these characters, but these are the ones I like better than what we got> {also, also, also note that as I play more of the game, I’m starting to prefer the idea that the Veilguard companions are just one big polycule with Rook in the center and their own complex interactions around that primary relationship}

Bellara and Neve; (I only just got to the funeral part, so Bellara calling them sisters might make this weird, but meh, it’s been in my brain for more than 80 hours, so one line isn’t going to change it any time soon). I think Bellara’s happy go lucky and optimistic personality would be good for Neve, while Neve’s more down to earth and realistic personality would help keep Bellara grounded. I also think it would be easier for Bellara to relocate to Minrathous and still be able to do the things she loves because we all know Neve can’t be pried out of that city for anything short of the end of the world (and even that won’t be enough to impress her a second time).

Lucanis and Emmrich; I love their banter and I hate who they end up with in game if not with Rook. I think Lucanis would do a great job helping Emmrich come to terms with his fear of death and Emmrich is already doing, but could do so much more, with helping Lucanis come to terms with his feelings and what happened to him. Plus, they’d both romance the hell out of each other, and that’s what they both need. Their in game partners are the easy way out for both of them. Neve and Lucanis would never truly open up to each other and neither could leave their city, so their relationship would fizzle out from too much time away and not enough connection (lovers to roommates to nothing). Strife is too hard for Emmrich and wouldn’t be able to be the emotional safe space he needs.

Taash and Davrin (or Lace and Taash and Davrin); I know I’m going to get a lot of heat for this one (no pun intended), but I’m kind of sick of every AFAB non binary or FTM person ending up with a woman because it all boils down to the idea that masculine energy needs feminine energy, which is bullshit. (I also get that someone who is AFAB ending up with a man doesn’t feel like good representation) Don’t get me wrong, Lace and Taash’s relationship is growing on me, but I kind of love Taash and Davrin’s dynamic more. He’s always treated Taash as capable and equal and, as far as I’ve seen, hasn’t had any hang ups about their gender expression. I like that they have monster/dragon hunting in common. I like that they’re similar in personality but different in how the express themselves. I always feel like Taash and Lace are one argument away from crashing out, while I think Davrin would take Taash’s anger in stride, be there while they feel their feelings, and then help them through the other side. NGL though, I’m starting to think the three of them together might be a pretty good relationship dynamic too.

Lace and someone from the Inquisition; I don’t actually have anyone in mind here, but our poor girl Lace misses home. I think she would do well with someone from the Inquisition who can commiserate with her about what happened but still have her experiences be unique. Maybe they came up with the Inquisitor and that’s how it all starts.

Lace and Stalgard; she wants a deeper connection with the dwarves…need I say more? They’d also make the cutest ginger babies!

[ariemfox]

ASK FOR YOU: for my story i’ve been considering this, but you’re way better at these characters than me so i’d love your insights:

What kind of relationship do you think Chase and Adam’s have? I feel like Chase and Park’s friendship is pretty easy to see and understand and gets a lot of focus, but Chase and Adams to me seem weirdly disconnected — we’re told by House and Park they flirt and are kind of into one another, but I’m not sure we really see it from them. I’m ultimately not sure if I’d call them friends or colleagues or what, but I could also be completely wrong and missing a whole dynamic. What do you think?

oof so this is something that my penpal friend/mutual (an all-round absolute legend) have discussed a whole lot, so these ideas are kinda of our conflated thoughts.

the thing about chase & adams is that though they are distant, they understand each other almost intrinsically. so to understand their relationship, we need to look at their similarities and differences.

they both have exes and know what it's like to be divorced and abandoned by them. they also have similar backgrounds: adams is from a rich & old american family (implying related to the presidents with the last names of adams), and chase is also from a rich family with his famous dad. they both have priveleged lives in that sense, but have hugeee guilt complexes to go along with that. whilst chase's guilt complex tends to surround catholic themes bc of the way he was raised, adams' guilt is focused upon her rich privelege (and how she feels she doesn't deserve it compared to other people) and crucially, her parents.

this brings us on to another similarity, their families. we all know that chase's family was a shithole, end of discussion. but with adams, it's a little more complicated. now, this is where it gets v meta so hold on to me here, bc it does make an insane amount of sense.

in the 'parents' episode, house is on a miasion to find out what adams' parents did to Fuck Her Up. she reveals she ran away at 16, and adams insists that it was not because her parents were abusive or 'screwed her up' like house says, it was because when compared to her friends' neglectful/abusive parents, she 'envied their dysfunction' bc she thought 'it made them deeper somehow'. she moved in with an older guy at SIXTEEN (might i add that chase also fucked the groundskeepers wife in his weird english priest boarding school too, another dodgy similarity). and apparently, her parents never got over her running away.

first of all, what normal, well-adjusted person thinks this. second of all, it definitely speaks to some kind of some kind of wmotional gaslighting on her parents side. the amount of excuses she makes for her parents, and the shows emphasis on making the emotionally-abused patient in 'runaways' adams' mirror, this is adams' character episode where she gets personally involved and constantly tries to excuse the patient's mother's behaviour. my lovely friend/mutual @x-birdsong-x explains this beautifully in this tumblr post if u want more details:

there is an almost innate sadness to adams that's only ever implicity shown. her life feels very... empty - we know almost nothing about her background bc she's so evasive about it, particularly when compared to park. take the scene in parents where chase asks what her parents did to fuck her up, and she evades the question by joking they did white-collar crime & human trafficking. whilst chase is honest when he tells her his mother locked him in his father's study as a child, but disconnected; all clinical facts and no feelings, adams lies/evades and gets snappy and defensive whenever someone brings it up. we see this multiple times throughout parents.

she's crafted her persona into a rich kid who doesn't deserve her privelege, who gives back to others/save lives to help those less fortunste to her. she feels like she has to balance the scales, ig. she heals out of guilt, as a way to wallow in her misery and martyrdom. contrast this to chase, who heals and gives back for a personal distraction ("Only so many hours you can cry and bang on the door before you give up, find something to read. We all have family dysfunction. That's why we're successful. To fill that hole."). they have similar pasts, but different responses. in a way, adams is like who chase would be if he went down a different road.

there is an almost innate sadness to adams that's never explicitly shown but very much implied. whenever chase and adams have conversations one-on-one, there's frail, tentative empathy between them. their similarities mean that they understand each other on a deep, personal level (quite similar to chase & thirteen, but with less friendship involved) however, bc chase is so factual, and emotionally-distanced from his childhood and his divorce - they only ever hit him when he's looking at either his dad or cameron in the face - and adams is so evasive, reactive, tempremental and snappy when confronted with her side of things... they've never truly connected. they have the same roots but have branched off to opposing sides of the tree, they are like ghosts, alternate versions of the deepest untouched parts of each other. i think that's how i'd describe their relationship.

i think house clocked on to the fact that it's intimate, particularly in 'we need the eggs', bc they are so alike. adams obviously felt this vague sort of empathy between them too in this episode, seeing as she asks chase out for drinks 'for a change' - she wants to get over her issues - but chase declines because he's not over cameron. whether this was romantic though? it wasn't for chase, but i don't think adams really knew; she doesn't show romantic/sexual attraction to him, all i think she knew is what house noticed. that they had some sort of connection, and adams wanted to explore that, to find someone who understands.

i think ur right in that they're disconnected. they could connect but they won't, and it's also a different kind of intimate than to what house inferred. they are like long-lost siblings who shared a childhood, but time has changed them so much that they struggle to face each other honestly. they are a reminder to each others' pasts, and i don't think chase completely likes that (in s8 anyway), he doesn't like the idea of what he could've become. but adams - who has felt alone her whole life, disconnected from her peers, disadvantaged patients (who had it worse in her mind), and colleagues prior to s8 - wants to connect with someone who gets what it's like. even if she doesn't completely get it, bc although she's come to terms with the divorce, she hasn't yet accepted how her parents impacted her by s8.

sorry for how long this reply is!! they are so interesting to me. i hope it kinda helped tho? lmk ur thoughts if u like (: