#WHEN NOBODY ELSE IS THERE YOU HAVE TO LOVE YOURSELF

[homunculus-argument]

Back when I first moved to the city I currently live in, that was the first time I had moved to live somewhere new truly on my own - I had lived in student housing with all my schoolmates, and then a shared apartment with a classmate as my roommate, and in work-adjanced housing in the same town where my family lived, but this was the first time I moved right into a completely new place where I knew nothing and nobody, all by myself.

So on my first weekend in a new city by myself I figured the best way to find friends is go out by myself to do something I would enjoy doing with buddies and see who else is there - packed a bunch of beers in my backpack and decided to go drink in the nearby park. Found a group of cool-looking punks, awkwardly introduced myself and pretty much had them go "oh huh, neat" and grab me in. So I now had a band of drinking buddies who were cool.

I have a tendency to unwittingly screw things up, and being an undiagnosed and unmedicated, pre-therapy ball of mess, I was a lot worse, and a lot worse at coping with it. So once a problem I hadn't noticed building up unexpectedly collapsed on me, I had no idea what had happened, or what to do, and one of my new friends found me literally sitting on her doorstep, sobbing. I had no idea what was wrong but I was 100% sure that I was doomed and that I Can't Fucking Do This Anymore.

So she calmly went "alright how about you calm down, and we're gonna sit down and have a cigarette and you can tell me what's wrong and we can see what we're gonna do about it." Troubleshooting everything, it turned out that the reason my phone had stopped working was because my internet contract had cut off, because I hadn't paid my phone bill for three months, because I hadn't received the bills in the mail, because I hadn't noticed I had put my new home address wrong in the registry. So she let me borrow her computer to get all of that fixed, and just like that, the problem that almost crushed me was gone, popped out of existence like a soap bubble.

I was so relieved that I was straight-up euphoric, she was downright embarrassed by my avalanche of thank you's for something that had been really no bother at all to her. On my way home I was still so happy that I even texted my mom about it - I didn't tell her in detail what stupid thing I had embarrassingly fucked up, but I wanted to let her know that I had had a problem I hadn't been able to fix on my own, but that I had already made friends here and one of them could help me fix it, and that I feel so loved and cared for here.

And I guess I expected her to reply something along the lines of "I'm glad to hear that. I'm relieved to know that even though you have your weaknesses in managing day-to-day life, you have the skill to befriend people and build yourself a social support network that you can turn to when you can't manage alone and family is out of reach." Echoing my own pride in being able to make friends, and having found such good friends already. Being glad to hear that I am safe, and that I can still find ways to get by even though I can't do it all on my own.

Instead she answered "wdm you didn't feel loved here, we have always cared for you."

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Ski Trip

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

❀ ━ word count: 4.8K

❀ ━ warnings: i don’t think any actually

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i lowkey hate this chapter and i feel like i didn’t make it meaningful enough but im not rewriting it so here yall go BIG STUFF COMING NEXT CHAP THO

IT’S DECEMBER 20TH, and Paige has been procrastinating on packing all day, though she’s hyper-aware of her flight to Maryland tomorrow evening after their game. The plan was simple. She’d spend Christmas with her dad and Drew like she always did when her mom’s side of the family had something else going on. This year, it was a beach trip to the Bahamas—Ryan and Lauren had begged for it after they didn’t get a summer vacation, and even though her mom had hated the idea of leaving Paige out, she’d caved.

“It’s just this one year,” her mom had told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago, sounding guilty. “Next year, we’ll all do something together, I promise.”

Paige had told her it was fine, and it had been. It wasn’t like her mom had planned it that way, and besides, Paige had been looking forward to some quality time with her dad and Drew.

But now, as she sits at the small table in her and Jo’s apartment, her phone pressed to her ear, that plan is crumbling right in front of her.

Her dad coughs—again—and Paige frowns at the sound of it. “I’m telling you, P, it’s bad,” he says, his voice raspy and hoarse. “It’s not like Drew and I have a cold, it’s bronchitis. We’re super contagious, and the last thing I want is for you to get sick, too. You’d bring it back to the team, and…” He trails off, but Paige knows exactly what he’s thinking.

If she brought bronchitis back to Storrs, it would be a disaster. Paige knows how quickly that would spread through them, because they’re always around each other. One sick player turns into three, and suddenly half the roster is on the bench. Which would be bad—because half their roster already is on the bench.

Still, it doesn’t make her feel any better. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces her voice to sound steady, even though the frustration is bubbling underneath. “I get it, Dad. It’s just…” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “It’s Christmas. I wanted to see you guys.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” her dad says, and he really does sound it. “If there was any way to make it work, I’d tell you to come, but I can’t let you risk it. You’re not just my kid—you’re, like, a national treasure. Even with a busted knee. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than hanging out with your sick old man and your germy little brother.” He tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit.

When it finally passes, he speaks again, softer this time. “Look, I hate this. You know I do. But maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want you here with me and Drew, bored out of your mind while we sit around coughing our lungs out. You should spend Christmas somewhere fun. I’m sure at least one of the girls will still be around campus, right?”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone is going home for the holidays. Azzi’s flight to Virginia is tomorrow, and Caroline’s driving back to Massachusetts the next day. Ice is already gone, Geno allowing it since she can’t even play in tomorrow’s game. And it’s not like Paige can crash at the homes of her coaches or staff, either. She’ll be here. Alone.

“Yeah, maybe,” she lies instead. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay Just take care of yourself and Drew. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Her dad sighs, and for a second time, the line goes quiet. “I’m sorry, P,” he says again, and there’s a tiredness in his voice that makes her feel guilty for even being upset. “We’ll FaceTime you on Christmas morning. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbles. “Tell Drew I said hi. And Merry Christmas.”

“I will.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before hanging up, and the moment the call disconnects, Paige puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand. Her dad is right—going to Maryland would be a bad idea. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. She’s supposed to be with her family for Christmas.

But now? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. It’s not like she can book a flight to the Bahamas to be with her mom’s family.

So what does that leave? Staying on campus by herself? Wandering around Storrs in the freezing cold while the rest of her teammates celebrate with their families?

The thought puts a pit in her stomach, and she presses her palms harder against her face, as if that’ll somehow stop the wave of sadness crashing against her. She knows it’s not the end of the world—she’s an adult; she’ll survive—but it’s been a hard year, and she wanted to end it with her family beside her.

Suddenly, pair of warm and familiar arms drape loosely around Paige’s neck, startling her. She exhales sharply, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. She can feel Jo’s chin resting lightly on her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s cheek. Jo doesn’t seem to notice the way Paige tenses under her touch or how Paige’s stomach twists itself into knots.

“What’s up? Why’re you all sad?” Jo asks, her voice soft but still edged with that usual playful lilt that makes it hard to tell if she’s being entirely serious.

Paige swallows hard and keeps her gaze forward. Her fingers drum nervously against the table. “My dad and Drew are sick, so they’re not letting me come home,” she admits quietly, her voice tighter than she means for it to be. “I’mma be here all alone for Christmas.”

Jo pulls away abruptly, and Paige instantly misses the warmth of her arms. When she looks up, Jo’s eyes are searching hers, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Wait, you’re not going to Maryland?” Jo asks, like she hasn’t just heard Paige say it.

Paige shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nope,” she confirms, a little bitterly, popping the p.

Jo stares at her, unblinking, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. Then something shifts in her expression, and Paige can see it—the exact moment Jo’s brain kicks into overdrive. A slow grin spreads across Jo’s face, and her eyes brighten like she’s just come up with the best idea in the world. Paige feels herself get curios, because she knows Jo well enough to know that this particular look means she’s about to be dragged into something.

“Wait, no,” Jo says, her voice rising in excitement as she straightens up. “It’s fine. You’re not gonna be here alone.”

Paige frowns, confused. “What?”

But Jo’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her excitement infectious even though Paige has no idea what she’s getting at. “Oh my god, wait! This is perfect. Peyton’s fiancée is sick, too, so he’s not coming on our ski trip like he was supposed to. Come with my family! It’ll be fun! We can snowboard together!”

Paige blinks, her mind spinning as she tries to process what Jo just said. A ski trip? With Jo’s family? The idea sounds… nice, but also terrifying. Sure, she’s met most of Jo’s family before, but that was before she realized she was completely, helplessly in love with her. Being around them now, with Jo acting all warm and familiar, feels like it might be too much.

“Jo,” Paige says slowly, trying to let the younger girl down gently. “I can’t. I don’t wanna intrude—”

Jo cuts her off with an exaggerated deadpan look. “I love you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the chest. Her brain freezes for a split second, and she knows she’s staring at Jo like an idiot. Of course, Jo doesn’t mean it like that—she never does—but it doesn’t stop Paige’s heart from stuttering in her chest.

“So my family loves you, too,” Jo continues like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun. You’re not intruding on anybody. Besides, if you wanna feel all guilty about it, then you can pay me back by driving us up there so I don’t have to.”

Paige narrows her eyes at that. “Wait. You were gonna drive up there?”

Jo shrugs casually, as if her driving isn’t an actual safety hazard. “Yeah.”

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, now I have to go,” she mutters, half to herself. Jo tilts her head in confusion, so Paige adds, “I can’t let you drive all the way up there. You’re, like, the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Jo gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, I’ve only almost killed us, like, twice.”

“Three times,” Paige corrects, unable to stop the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Whatever,” Jo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re coming, and we’re gonna have the best time ever. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Paige sighs, knowing she’s already lost this battle. The truth is, the idea of spending Christmas with Jo doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, it sounds kind of amazing, even if the thought of being around her family makes her a little nervous. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pretending to sound annoyed even though she’s not.

Jo grins triumphantly before squealing, planting a quick, friendly kiss on Paige’s temple.

Paige tries to ignore the way her heart skyrockets at that. This ski trip might be the death of her.

JO STRETCHES her legs out as much as she can in the passenger seat, knees knocking lightly against the glove compartment. Her fingers drum idly against the screen of her phone as she scrolls through her playlists, searching. It’s the 22nd, and they’re only about a half-hour into the three-hour trip to the ski resort in New York where she’ll spend Christmas with her family—and, now, with Paige too.

Paige is driving, looking entirely too focused on the road. Jo leans over just slightly, flipping through songs before finally landing on what feels like the obvious choice: Harry Styles. The opening notes of Golden start to play through the speakers, and Jo immediately starts singing along, drumming the rhythm against her thighs.

Paige groans from the driver’s seat, her tone exasperated. “Nooooo,” she complains like a child, scrunching her face at the sound of the music.

Jo rolls her eyes and lightly swats Paige’s arm. “Don’t disrespect him!” she scolds. “That’s my man.”

Paige glances over at her with one of those fond, half-annoyed smiles Jo’s grown so used to over the years. She rolls her eyes again, but at least she doesn’t change the song. Jo smirks to herself, victorious, as she turns up the volume a little.

The snow-covered scenery passes by in a blur, the outside world feeling far away and muted. It’s just her and Paige now, and Jo finds herself relaxing more and more as the car hums along the quiet highway. Eventually, Paige seems to stop pretending she hates the music. She starts humming softly under her breath—off-key, of course, but Jo thinks it’s charming.

As the minutes tick by, the conversation between them slows, and the silence stretches. But it’s not awkward—it rarely ever is with Paige. Jo lets herself sink into it, leaning her head against the window and watching the world go by. Snow blankets the ground and clings to the branches of trees, glittering under the pale sunlight. It’s all so pretty, and Jo feels a swell of contentment in her chest.

She’s excited about this trip, and not just because she loves Christmas or snowboarding or even the cozy cabin her family rents almost every year. No, this year is different. This year, Paige is coming, and that thought alone makes her feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Jo can’t quite explain it, but something about the idea of spending the holiday with Paige—and all of her favorite people at once—fills her with an almost overwhelming kind of joy.

She loves Paige. The words flash in her head so casually that it takes her a second to realize what she’s just thought. Jo blinks, staring out at the endless stretch of snow-covered ground, and suddenly feels… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought—or said—those words before. She’s told Paige she loves her plenty of times, always with that same casual confidence that comes with a close friendship. But for some reason, the words feel different now, like they’re tugging at something deeper inside her, a part of her brain she hadn’t noticed before. She frowns slightly, her breath fogging the window as she shifts in her seat.

Curious, almost cautious, Jo glances over at Paige. Paige looks good. The thought slips into Jo’s mind unbidden. Her gaze lingers—too long, maybe—on Paige’s profile. Her slicked-back bun reveals her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, and her skin glows softly under the light reflecting off the snow. Her blue eyes—they look so blue right now—stay locked on the road, narrowed ever so slightly in focus. Even her hands, gripping the steering wheel with casual ease, look… nice? The rings on her fingers catch the light, glinting softly, and Jo feels her stomach do this weird, fluttery thing she can’t quite explain.

Jesus, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her right now.

She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Paige shifts slightly in her seat, and Jo’s eyes dart back to the window like she’s been caught red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” Paige’s voice cuts through Jo’s thoughts, low and teasing, and Jo jerks her head back around.

Paige is smirking at her now, one brow raised as she steals a glance her way before refocusing on the road. Jo’s face flushes, heat prickling at the back of her neck, and she scrambles for something to say.

“Shut up,” Jo mutters instead, weakly, before lightly swatting Paige’s arm again. Paige just laughs, the sound low and easy and too pretty for Jo’s liking.

Jo turns back to the window, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this weird. This is Paige. She’s never felt strange like this around her before. So why is it happening now?

Her reflection stares back at her in the window, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t have an answer, but the question lingers in her mind, gnawing at her as the scenery blurs by.

THE CAR creaks to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and Paige cuts the engine. Her hands rest on the steering wheel for a second too long as she stares at the cabin in front of them. It’s huge, with rustic wooden beams and wide windows that glint in the soft afternoon sunlight. Against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and a looming mountain, the place looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Not for the first time, Paige wonders just how much money Jo’s family actually has. She exhales softly, glancing over at Jo, who’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and muttering something about how cold it looks outside.

“Ready?” Jo asks, grinning as she swings the passenger door open. She doesn’t wait for Paige to answer before stepping out, boots crunching in the snow.

Paige follows, shivering as the cold air hits her. They make their way to the trunk, pulling out their luggage and the carefully wrapped presents. Paige grabs her suitcase and Jo’s backpack, while Jo hefts a duffel bag and a stack of gifts precariously balanced in her arms.

As they start up the snow-dusted path to the cabin, Paige feels a knot of nerves twist low in her stomach. She’s been around Jo’s family before—met her parents briefly, spent an afternoon with her little sister Mia—but this is different. A whole four days with them, at Christmas no less, feels more a lot closer. It makes her jittery.

The knot tightens as they get closer to the door. Paige’s boots crunch loudly in the quiet, the sound almost distracting enough to drown out her thoughts. Almost. She glances at Jo, who seems completely at ease, her face lighting up as she takes in the cabin and the familiar setting. Jo doesn’t seem nervous at all. There’s no reason for her to be, really. Paige wishes she could say the same.

Before they even reach the porch, the front door bursts open.

“Mia—” comes a faint voice from inside, but it’s already too late.

Jo’s little sister Mia comes charging out of the cabin, her boots slipping slightly on the snow but her momentum unstoppable. “You guys took so long!” she yells, her voice high and dramatic in the way Paige remembers. “We thought you got into a car accident and died!”

Jo snorts, her face splitting into a grin. “That was your theory?” she asks incredulously.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a possibility!” Mia shouts back, skidding to a stop in front of them. She looks up at Paige, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi, Paige,” she says, her tone immediately softening into something warmer. “Do you remember me?”

Paige crouches slightly, balancing Jo’s backpack on her knee as she smiles at Mia. “Of course I remember you, Mimi,” she says. “How could I forget?”

Mia beams, and Paige can’t help but smile back. She liked Mia the first time she met her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because Mia immediately latches onto her hand like they’re best friends. Jo groans beside her.

“You’re not allowed to replace me with Paige,” Jo says, her voice dry. “I’m your sister, remember?”

Mia rolls her eyes, an action so similar to Jo’s that it makes Paige laugh. Before Jo can retaliate, another voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Mia, you are such a menace,” says a woman stepping out onto the porch, pulling a jacket on. She’s tall and thin, with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Paige recognizes her immediately—Peyton, Jo’s older sister. The one who dances in New York.

Mia gives Peyton a look, saying, “No, you.”

Peyton doesn’t respond, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the porch railing. She smiles at Jo, saying, “Hey, Joey,” before her eyes land on Paige. She nods toward her, her smirk softening into something friendlier. “Hi, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s stomach flips slightly at the wording. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she says, sending Jo a look before turning back to Peyton. “Nice to meet you.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jo like she’s amused by something. Jo pointedly ignores her, busying herself with readjusting the presents in her arms. Before Paige can think too much about it, Jo’s parents appear in the doorway, their voices warm and welcoming as they call out greetings.

The knot in Paige’s stomach starts to loosen as Jo’s mom pulls her into a quick, affectionate hug, and her dad shakes her hand firmly. They’re warm, easygoing, and clearly thrilled to have her here. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and by the time they’re all inside the cabin, surrounded by the crackle of a fire and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, Paige feels the last of her nerves melt away.

She might have been nervous about intruding, but now, as Jo’s family laughs and chatters around her, Paige thinks this is exactly what Christmas is supposed to feel like.

IT’S LATE, and the house is quiet now. Jo likes it—the silent hum of her family settling into their rooms, the muffled crackle of the fireplace in the living room below. But mostly, she likes the way it feels to be here, with Paige.

The bathroom is small and warm, steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. Jo leans over the counter, squeezing a dollop of black face mask onto her fingers. Paige mirrors her on the other side of the sink, her blonde hair still pulled back in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Jo’s been hyper-aware of her all day. It’s not like anything new has even happened, so she doesn’t know why things suddenly feel different. But it does. It’s like everything Paige does—the way she laughs, the way her blue eyes catch the light, the way her fingers brushed Jo’s earlier while stealing a cookie from the baking tray—feels sharper, louder, harder to ignore. Almost like a switch has been turned on in Jo’s head.

“Okay, hold still,” Jo says, stepping closer. Paige tilts her head downward slightly, her blue eyes locking on Jo’s, and Jo tries not to notice how close they are. She smears a stripe of the black mask across Paige’s cheekbone, biting back a grin when Paige wrinkles her nose.

“You’re being so aggressive about it,” Paige says, her voice teasing. She dips her fingers into her own little bowl of the mask and smears a line down Jo’s nose in retaliation.

Jo huffs, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a grin. She swipes another streak across Paige’s forehead, her fingers lingering against her skin. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels like electricity sparking up Jo’s arm. She pulls her hand back quickly, hoping Paige doesn’t notice how her breath catches.

Paige’s lips quirk, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smears another bit of the mask across Jo’s jaw, her hand steady and confident like she always is. “You’re a terrible client,” Paige mutters, her voice dry but soft, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Jo’s. And Jo, again, feels that strange, sharp awareness settle over her. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t new. It’s not like she hasn’t been this close to Paige before—hell, she and Paige cuddle in the same bed nearly every night.

But today, it’s like her brain has decided that Paige is a little too much. Too pretty. Too funny. Too… Paige. Jo doesn’t know what to do with it, so she keeps quiet, keeps working on the mask, hoping the feeling will pass. It doesn’t.

She steps back slightly, assessing her work, and Paige tilts her head again, clearly trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror behind Jo. Her smile is gummy, and Jo’s chest squeezes in a way that feels alarmingly foreign. It’s fine. This is fine.

“You look kinda funny,” Paige tells her.

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, you look funny.”

“You both look funny,” a new voice says.

Jo looks toward the bathroom door and nearly groans out loud. Mia is standing there, leaning against the frame with her hands on her hips. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing pink pajamas with unicorns on them. Jo loves her sister, but Mia has the uncanny ability to show up at the exact wrong time. Every time.

Jo watches as Paige grins at Mia, her eyes sparkling under the harsh bathroom lights. Paige’s hand reaches out, steady and sure, wrapping easily around Mia’s small wrist as she pulls her closer. “Come look funny with us,” Paige says, her voice teasing but warm, and somehow, Mia lets her. Mia—who has never warmed up to anyone outside of their family as quickly as she has with Paige—lets her.

Jo leans against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, observing the way Paige lifts Mia effortlessly onto the counter. It shouldn’t be surprising by now—Paige’s knack for fitting in, for making herself comfortable in any room, any space. But it is surprising. Jo doesn’t understand how Paige has done it, how she’s managed to turn Mia into a giggling puddle of affection when Jo can barely get her little sister to listen most days.

It shouldn’t bug her. It shouldn’t make her chest ache the way it does, seeing Paige there, standing so close to her family, fitting into the picture like she belongs in it. Like she’s been in it all along. Jo feels something twist in her stomach as Paige dips her fingers into the little bowl of face mask and dabs some of the black paste onto Mia’s nose, grinning when Mia squeals. It’s like watching someone carve their name into a tree that’s already been there for years. Permanent. Unshakable.

Jo’s heart stutters, and she doesn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” Paige says, laughing as Mia squirms. Jo’s still leaning against the counter, arms crossed a little too tight against her chest, trying to ignore how soft Paige’s voice is, how easy she makes it look—being good with kids, being good with Mia.

Paige looks over her shoulder at Jo and grins. “You gonna stand there the whole time, or are you gonna help me?”

Jo doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not with the way her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She pushes off the counter and grabs the bowl from Paige’s hand, stepping closer. The three of them are a little crowded now, Paige and Jo standing shoulder to shoulder, Mia giggling in the middle of it all. Jo’s hyper-aware of how Paige’s arm brushes against hers every time she moves, how Paige’s perfume—subtle and familiar—lingers in the small space between them.

Jo focuses on the task, smearing the face mask carefully across Mia’s cheeks. “Stay still, Mimi,” she mutters, but her voice is softer than usual, her irritation dulled. Mia grins at her, like she knows Jo can’t ever stay mad at her for long. Paige snickers next to her, and Jo doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Aight, done,” Paige says, stepping back slightly to admire their work. Mia beams at her reflection in the mirror, her face covered in streaky black paste. Jo sets the bowl down, already turning back to the sink, when she catches it—the look Paige and Mia share. Mischievous. Almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t,” Jo says, narrowing her eyes at them, but it’s too late. Mia’s already scooping some of the mask onto her tiny fingers, and Paige follows suit, dipping her own hand back into the bowl. Before Jo can move, they both strike.

“Guys!” Jo exclaims as they swipe the cold, sticky paste across her lips, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. She wipes at her mouth furiously, glaring at them both. “It’s not supposed to go on the lips!”

“Sorry, Joey,” Mia giggles, and Jo groans at the sound of it. She hates when Mia calls her that, hates when most of her family does. Though, she has to admit, it is better than JoJo.

But then Paige says it. “Yeah, sorry, Joey,” Paige echoes, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, her lips curled into a grin. And it’s different. It hits Jo differently, like a warm gust of wind cutting through the chill. The way Paige says hasn’t ever made her cringe. It’s never annoyed her. Instead, it makes her heart trip over itself, stumbling into something that feels suspiciously like want.

Jo stills, her hand still pressed against her lips, her brain suddenly moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Paige’s grin softens slightly as she steps back, wiping her own fingers clean on a towel, completely oblivious to the way Jo’s entire world is starting to tilt off its axis.

Jo can’t stop the thought that rises, unbidden and unwelcome. I like the way she says my name.

And then, like a sudden slap to the face, the truth hits her. It doesn’t creep in. It doesn’t build slowly. It slams into her all at once, leaving no room for doubt or denial.

She likes Paige.

Her chest tightens, and she almost feels like she can’t breathe. Oh my God. She likes Paige. Not just as a friend. Not just as her teammate or her roommate. She likes her in a way she never, ever thought she would.

It’s the kind of realization that knocks everything out of focus, that makes her head spin. Because this isn’t just some fleeting, surface-level thing. It’s not a crush she can shrug off. It’s Paige. And it feels like the ground under her feet has cracked wide open.

It doesn’t make any sense to her. She’s always thought she’s straight. She’s never even entertained the idea of liking girls. She always had Asher, and even though they’re broken up now, that wound is still fresh.

But the realization is there, and it’s as real as anything else. She likes Paige.

Jo glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye, half hoping that maybe she’ll catch on, that she’ll notice something’s wrong and say something stupid or reassuring or Paige-like. But Paige is just there, wiping Mia’s hands with a towel, laughing softly at whatever Mia just said, completely unaware that Jo is facing one of the most startling realizations of her life.

And Jo? Jo is completely, utterly fucked.

[windixie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ BESITOS ୧˚ | gojo x emo! reader college au

in which gojo is totally obsessed with his cute emo girlfriend who is so excited on getting tickets to her favorite band. so excited his dick gets needy and you need to take care of it!

authors note : just wanted to say thank you all sm for 140 followers omg I was just at 30 not long ago and I’m so happy to know that people actually enjoy my fics hello? anyways love u all sm !

wc : 1.0k

ⓘ warning this fic will have : size! kink, jealousy, h! job, satoru being a perv, lmk if I miss any !

you’ve been a big fan of ptv for years. your whole room had posters of their albums, you own 27 shirts plus 5 signed by the vic fuentes himself and not to mention the guitar you won at one of their concerts when you were in middle school. you thought they stopped doing shows altogether after coming out that they will no longer be putting out new music so it was a surprise to see that they will be performing one last time.

in your state. not too far from your college just a 2 hour drive you could definitely afford. your fingers immediately pressed the ‘pay for ticket’. which you bought with your boyfriends money because he absolutely refused to let you buy things with your own.

“seat 17B..” you mumbled to yourself excitedly. you were so deep into your excitement you failed to notice your white haired boyfriend walking up to you. “baby”

your head shot up. “toru!” you smiled up brightly at him. his eyes narrowed at your smile slightly confused at what you were previously smiling at. “what’re you all giggly at angel?” he leaned in closer to you to see what you were staring at. “y/n who are you texting?” he said his face turned serious.

“s’ nobody” you simply answered. you weren’t lying but satoru didn’t know that. you could be texting some other boy and he wouldn’t even know! “cmon spill it.” he said straightening out. you showed him your phone which showed the receipt to your awaiting concert.

he let out a sigh of relief. “ah it’s that band you like, should’ve just told me that from the start.” his smile soon returned as he sat down on the bed with you making your way over to his thigh sitting on it. “am so happy, it’s their last show”

satorus hand met your waist holding them lovingly as your lips found his. he hummed before pulling away. “so you’re gonna dress in your casual emo attire?” he asked in which he received a nod from you which made him chuckle.

he pulled you closer a smirk making his way onto his lips. “can I expect to see you in a certain pair of see through thighs?” you hummed knowing how much he loved that combo you wore sometimes. see through black thighs with the cutest short shorts you got at a swamp meet for only 25$. that was a steal. you tugged the collar of his compression shirt. his biceps so big they were just begging to be released. “maybe” you answered.

he chuckled showing off those pearly whites you loved as he found your little motion adorable. satoru couldn’t help but flex a bit more. “should I be concerned about other guys checking you out at the concert?”

“no way, I’ll tell them about my amazing boyfriend and how cool and smart he is and how much I love him and his scary blue eyes” you giggled. “oh yeah baby?” his fingers slipped underneath your shirt meeting your bare back. his cold fingers tracing your sensitive skin. “what else are you gonna tell em”

“that you’ve got a big cock”

he immediately laughed out at your bluntness that sent chills down your spine. “you think it’s big angel? you sure?” his eyebrow rose up. “it barely fits in toru! and when it does it makes me struggle to walk for a full week!” you whined.

He raised an eyebrow at you, his ego inflating further after your words. Satoru grabbed your chin with one of his hands, turning your face upwards so you were looking at him. “Care to describe it, baby?”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “as if you aren’t the one with it, you see it every day you don’t need me describing it for you.”

his face leaned forward. “I know but I wanna hear what you think of it, please love?” you thought for a moment. “it’s pretty”

“what else?”

you looked down shyly. “I like the veins on it” Hearing your words made his chest feel a little tight as well as his pants.

“And what about the size, angel? You said it’s big yeah? ” He chuckled softly, his hot breath fanning against your neck again. you nodded before your eyes widened at the sight of his hand reaching into his sonic pj pants you got for him on your anniversary. he pulled out his hard leaking length. some of his juices already sinking down onto the pretty white hair that was surrounding his heavy balls.

“go on baby wrap your hand around it. wanna see how big it is compared to you”

you whined and obliged rubbing his tip teasingly before wrapping your hand around the base going up and down. you’ve always hated how ugly dicks we’re but seeing his pretty pink tip just made you wanna moan. you were also thankful he didn’t have foreskin

“yeah that’s rights baby. look at how small your hand is, guess you were right. it is too big for ya” he cood.

his dick twitched in your hand as he spat on it so you could use it as lube. “am close baby just keep doing what you’re doing” he grunted “talking a bout my dick like that huh.. yeah better tell those assholes how good I make you feel.. how I make you cum and cry when I stuff this big fuckin cock in your holes. fuckin shit baby.” he moaned as hot springs of cum shot out landing on both you and his matching sonic shirt that goes along with his pants.

he sighed kissing you softly. you cleaned up before cuddling up next to him. “I think you should tell them that yourself, I also got you a ticket.”

you were soon to be surprised to see your boyfriend who you originally thought hated your music taste from how much he complained about it, know every single lyrics to every song played at the concert.

[spideyhexx]

in the jailhouse now - billy bonney

Saccharine!Billy Bonney x Female!Reader

mdni!!! wc; 3k cw; guns, blood, grinding, exhibitionism-ish

saccharine masterlist (this can be read standalone!)

a/n; this was long overdo from kinktober!!! Very happy you guys can have this now :)))))))) um. enjoy >:)

If you could punch Billy in the face right now you would. But you can’t. Why? Cause he’s in fucking jail. Again. Granted, it was not his fault but also maybe it was his fault for sneaking into Lincoln and trusting a new player in the game.

Maybe if he told you, but he didn’t. 

He never mentioned he was leaving to meet with him and Governor Wallace. He’s been telling you most things lately so why the fuck didn’t he tell you this?

Your emotions are all over. Fuck him. But also fuck, he’s in jail and they’re saying he’ll have a trial, but by god, everyone saw him shoot Sheriff Brady among all the other crimes he's committed since. He’ll hang in no time and you cannot bear that thought. 

Charlie tried to calm you down. Everyone did, but you were close to pulling out your own goddamn hair. This might’ve been the stupidest thing Billy has ever done and he was going to meet your wrath before they could wrap that noose around his neck.

You’ll be his demise, not a rope. 

When those thoughts settle, tears prick your eyes and you’re barking orders to the rest of the regulators about a jail escape. None of the men showed an ounce of hesitation. Billy’s laid his life on the line for everyone here, so they’d do the same for him. Even when he made an idiotic choice. You make sure to throw that in there when you speak. Multiple times. 

Billy’s lucky because he has to sit in jail only one night before the plan is enacted. There was a benefit to the way you dressed and how you kept your hair tucked beneath your hat. When you wore a dress and wore your hair like a proper lady, you became almost unrecognizable. 

And thanks to Billy’s smothering over you, not letting you be directly involved with his little missions (p.s. fuck you for that Billy) and Pat’s disinterest in you since like, forever, it was easy to play the role of Billy’s lover. A sweet woman who just wants to see her love before he’s sent to death. 

When you are dolled up, Manuela smoothing down the skirt of the dress and then fixing the hat atop your head, your body is stiff and awkward, she pokes your side, “you need to act like you wear this everyday.”

You resist an eyeroll. You’re sure this will work. Almost positive, but there’s always the slight chance Pat looks too long. Recognizes you. The fact you cannot remember the last time you’ve been that close to Pat gives you some semblance of optimism. Manuela even adds the smallest bit of rouge to your cheeks, indicating it does wonders. 

You ignore the teasing glances from the regulators when you all congregate to go over the plan. It doesn’t matter what they say. What they think. What you feel in this getup because the only thing that matters is getting Billy, and everyone else, out alive. And it all hinders on you. For the most part. It was your plan. If it fails, there’s nobody to blame but yourself and you’ll hope to God that you don’t survive to hear Billy chastise you for it. Or maybe you’d like to hear the timbre of his voice slightly angry, slightly amused. And his intense eyes glimmering, staring right into your soul in-

Deep breaths. 

You separate from the rest. Time is of the essence. The sun has fallen out of the sky and the dark of the night wisps at your cheeks as you make the walk to the sheriff’s office. You go over in your head what you’ve prepared to say, your heart beating incessantly. Soon enough you’ll (hopefully) be able to see your Billy and smack him.

A man, one of Garret’s deputies, stands up from his chair on the porch as you approach. He holds his hand out as if to ask you to stop. Lets you state your business. 

The man studies you for a quick few seconds, then opens the door, peeking his head inside, “Sheriff, a lady is here to talk to you,” he says and you can vaguely hear Pat mumble something. 

You steel yourself, thinking about Billy’s typical words of encouragement to the gang. To you. 

Steady on. You’re better than you think. Now get the fuck outta my face. That last part being just for you and no one else.

The smile that spreads on your face at the sight of Garret is tight and polite. The kind you would see women give men in passing. An ounce of kindness. A way to say, I am not an outlaw but a humble woman. It feels ridiculous. 

“Ma’am. To what do I owe this visit?” He asks and your chest soars. A win. He doesn’t recognize you. 

“Well, first I oughta say, I think…I think the way you’ve been handlin’ the…war in this town is quite…well. Bad,” you say, easing your voice into a soft one that’s reserved only for times like these. 

It strikes a nerve with Pat, but the man is good at keeping himself in check. He gives a nod and sighs, “We’re all doing are best, ma’am.”

“Mm,” you wring your gloved hands together then say, “Supposedly, I need your permission to enter the jail and visit a prisoner here.” 

His brow raises, then he glances to his deputy. Pat tilts his head at you, “Are you talking ‘bout Billy the Kid?”

You nod, “I am, sir.”

“Knew he’d have a sweetheart,” Pat chuckles, shaking his head and rubbing a hand pensively over his face, “I see no harm. Unfortunately, I will need to check if you’re not taking anything to him that…might be useful.”

Charlie mentioned Pat might want to check you so this doesn’t come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still makes your blood boil and your nerves tick. 

Pat stands up, rounding off to the front of his desk, “Do I have your permission?” His eyes are light. Amused, almost. Like he expects you to fold. Or to definitely have something on you. He would not be wrong about the second thing, but you’re too good to let his have the satisfaction. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. Steady on.

Once you nod, Pat gestures for you to hold your arms out. He pats them down first, a thorough check that you block out. When he gets to your middle, you even out your breaths to keep them as calm as possible. Pat leans down to pat down your legs over the thick dress, and you take the moment of not having his gaze on you to roll your eyes. However as his hands raise higher, he hesitates. 

He clears his throat, then stands up, “Okay. You can go.”

Thank fuck! You give that sweet-fake smile to him and follow after the deputy. The pounding in your chest tightens and you squeeze your hands together to ease the shakiness which is a mixture of the cold and excitement to see Billy. Would he look bad? Probably not. You’ve seen him downright filthy and still look good. A treachery upon life, he is. 

Would he be mad? Surely. That’s the good part. 

The door opens to the jailhouse and you step inside, first making eye contact with the jailer, then to your Billy, sitting on the bench in the cell. 

He stands immediately, his mouth parting and uttering your name. Not cowgirl. Not some other miscellaneous nickname him or one of the regulators has given you over the months, years you’ve been around them. He says your fucking name. 

“Hello, Billy,” you respond, as calm as you can, though every inch of your body is on fire. The prickling starts in your fingertips and your toes and at the bottom of your spine, circulating to every other nook and cranny within you. 

“You got two minutes,” the jailer says as he pushes the key into the lock and turns it, opening the cell door for you. 

Billy’s furrowed brow and parted mouth are almost frozen in time, but your feet are moving. 

“What are you-”

Your lips lock onto his, your hands finding his face, pushing yourself up to meet him with more force. He moves his face to the side for only a second before you’re on his mouth again. With how he doesn’t kiss back, it makes you want to scream. It takes one nip at his bottom lip for something to snap into him and Billy’s holding to your waist, kissing you with so much need that it breaks your heart. 

You’re not sure if you’re leaning into him too much or if he’s walking backwards on his own accord, but your heart leaps when he sits back on the bench, your mouth never leaving his as you straddle his lap. 

You break the kiss to study his face. No cuts. No bruises. Your thumb swipes at his cheekbone in a soothing gesture, a silent, I’m rescuing you now.

His eyes, full of unadulterated feeling, break from you to look towards the jailer. You turn too, and the jailer shakes his head in an amused chuckle, “oh,” he says, setting the keys down on his desk and turning away so as to not watch the two of you. 

When you find his eyes once more, Billy’s mouth breaks into an easy smile. The easiest smile you think you’ve ever seen from him and in immediate response, you rock your hips down on him. 

Billy captures your mouth with his to hide his moan, his hand snaking to your lower back. It’s big, pressing you forward, chest to chest with him. His kiss is all desperation. Lips catching yours whenever you almost miss his. Tongue licking out to caress your lips or feel your tongue for himself. Teeth making a home in the skin of your lip before departing. Quick. Incessant. Fucking needy, is your Billy. 

He’s hard under you, pushing you down against him enough that you feel right where you need it. It almost makes you forget your mission. Almost. Hell, what if you abandon the plan right now and ride his dick for one last hoorah before you’re both whisked away from one another? Or you refuse to leave and become tragic lovers in a cell, set to hang together while holding hands?

Billy must sense your pondering because he’s whispering ever so softly, “you’re crazy.”

“You, my dear cowboy, are an idiot,” you mumble, before kissing him with so much force his head knocks against the wooded wall and he pushes his hips up like it’s pure instinct. What you would give to feel the full effect of it. The jailer being in the room does nothing to stop the heat in your belly. If anything, you feel a sense to prove your devotion. You feel the result of that devotion poking up at you.

Deep breaths.

You take his wrist, moving his hand to your knee and Billy smiles into the kiss. You’re going to make fun of him for this later. For how quick he got hard. For how happy he seems to take you right here in this cell with the jailer no doubt sneaking glances. 

You slide his hand up your thigh until it reaches its destination. The kiss breaks, but your noses stay together. It's impossible to be further from one another. 

His brow knits and slowly, he pulls out the gun from under your dress, holding it between the two of you. 

The look he gives, you can’t decipher at first. His jaw tightens and his eyes are boring into your soul in that excruciating way he does, when you know he’s thinking. Billy’s mind is working over every little thing he ever knows about you. All you get is the faintest shake of his head and he’s surging forward to kiss you again.

This one feels different. The need is still there. Palpable. Hard and pulsing under you. But this kiss overwhelms you. It gives you relief. Whispers it into your mouth so your ears can know it. The warmth you feel is not something solely for you, but for him too. 

“Be ready,” you tell him, taking every inch of energy left in your body to pull yourself away from him. “Jailer, I’m ready to leave.”

Billy stays seated, leaning his forearms on his legs, either to get ready or to hide his erection. You bite your cheek to not snort out a laugh. 

“True love, huh?” The jailer smirks at you and you step out of the cell, watching him lock Billy right up just as the guards outside can be heard speaking in distress. 

The jailer looks towards the door, pulling the key out of the lock and the moment the noise outside ramps up, you’re pulling the gun, shooting at the man. It’s a rush of adrenaline so quick, you’re not sure where you shot, but your fingers are finding the keys and unlocking Billy. 

He smothers you in a hug, his hand holding your head to his shoulder and he gives the top of your head a kiss, “‘M so happy to see you, cowgirl,” he mutters into your hair, his breath invigorating as much life into you as he can give. 

Billy leans down and grabs the jailer’s gun, his body never straying far from you, like he’s refusing to not be touching you. It sends you ablaze, explosions ricocheting outside. That’s the cue but you find yourself frozen, watching him cock the gun. 

“You in there?” 

His voice. That low timbre is not full of any anger like you may have expected. Selfishly wanted. He knocks his knuckles to your head and gives your collar a tug, “I ain’t never seein’ you in that again,” he says, taking a purposeful look over your body and you take that moment to snap out of your thoughts, striking your hand on his shoulder. 

Billy’s expecting it. He laughs, then catches your arm, pulling you right up against him, “later, okay? Later you can do that all you want,” he murmurs, nose nudging to yours. Is he trying to soothe you? Amuse you? Anger you more?

“Bonney-”

“Stay right behind me, ‘kay?” Billy turns to the door but you keep a firm grip on the sleeve of his coat to pull him back.

“Bonney.”

He stops, giving you a pointed look. Smackable face. Kissable lips. Lovable for eternity eyes. You realize you’re not sure why you have stopped him. The words are on the tip of your tongue. Something unheard of in your vocabulary. Something you can only remember saying jokingly, but as it tastes itself on your taste buds, you know it isn’t a joke. It’s real. The feeling is real and it’s right there and-

“You’re very hard.” Your voice cracks on the last word and your resolve almost spirals. He knows it. You’re sure he knows it. Do you mean his erection or something else? There’s a passing sense of recognition floating into his eyes before it disperses from him the way it did you.

Billy’s lips do their little side quirk and he shakes his head, “Yes. Stay behind me?”

You nod. 

The adrenaline you felt before is no match for what’s waiting for you outside. Guns firing. Flames blocking your view. Screaming and yelling men, both yours and ones against you, it’s difficult to tell who is who. You know Billy’s though. His voice is always distinct, always pulling you to him. His eyes glance to you after every shot he takes. You hold your own, shooting when Billy is occupied, staying close enough to him to feel the weight of each of his actions. 

It’s a flurry. A blur, almost. Pushing through the snow in your (annoying) dress to get to the horses. You hear Billy yell, “Over here! Over here!”

You laugh in both exasperation and relief as you hear the hooves of the horses and catch a glimpse of Charlie and the others. 

“Boy, am I happy to see you,” Billy says to him, laughing himself. A sound you’d like to burrow your head into. You’ve saved your Billy. His words of later echo in your mind and the heart in your chest spikes its beating. Your blood is pumping, dancing at the chance that yes, you’ve fucking done it. With no hesitation, he grabs your waist to help hoist you up to the horse. Billy gets up on the same one without a thought. 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Billy says, right at your ear as your horse gallops off into the trees. 

Every part of your body is buzzing. Is it the fact Billy’s right up against you from behind? Or the fact you’ve managed to narrowly escape from a jailbreak? Both, you reckon. 

An overwhelming urge overtakes you. It tells you to sink back into Billy. It tells you to loosen your grip on the saddle, only to feel Billy’s arm hold you in a more secure manner. Yes, we're safe, you think. I've done what I needed to. You feel the tip of his nose edge down on your skin as he looks at you, a slight mutter of your name, but it’s a question. 

Your head swims. Your fingers go numb under the warm gloves. Your breath labors and your eyes barely catch the sight of Billy pulling his hand up and seeing the red coating his fingertips. 

“Fuck! Charlie!”  You hear him curse out, but he sounds distant. There’s a distaste for that in your mind, and you sink back further into him, suddenly frightened at the idea of being so far from him. Limbs are feeling useless but needy for Billy and he holds onto you even tighter, a warm sting of something hitting your neck. Tears? Can’t be. 

“Fuck, you’ll be fine, cowgirl, okay? Just…no,” he almost yells as your eyes droop, “Don’t close your eyes, you’ll be fine, it’s not so bad, I promise, fuck,” his breath hits in quick pants your ear and his hand presses to the sensitive spot on your side. 

Your Billy is holding you. And Your Billy whispers, “I love you,” before your vision goes out.

[wintergrofyuri]

@itsonlypolite

@wrathful-banette

TEEHEE OK

so. i forgot to say. skeptic IS a detective. a pi. a gumshoe. a dick, if you will. but i guess thats sort of implied already. i just wanted to state it clearly.

but anyways.

this whole thing was made bc im so fucking insane about the cage chapter. the themes about being a slave to fate and how our actions are not our own and losing control of yourself and your life. just. ugh. it speaks to me a lot. and ofc skeptic being an old timey detective is so universal. i joke about hating him but i Do like him and find him interesting. i want to put him in situations.

and thats what this whole au is. putting skeptic in situations. hearing new perspectives, having his theories proven wrong, dealing with uncooperative suspects, red herrings. i love when hes wrong or ignored or otherwise slighted. he seems very. sure of himself? not an arrogant fool, but more. a guy who hasnt been wrong before. ykno. and i think ur typical film noir (with slay the princess elements like cycles and fate) is just a really natural fit to explore all that.

but its Also about playing with the whole "perception based creature" thing that the princess has going on. i Love "character nobody really knows" and the princess, with her multiple forms and fluid personality, works Rlly rlly well with this concept. i love the princess and i think she deserves to be a mysterious "haunting the narrative" type character. shes like a spy with multiple disguises. or someone in witness protection.

and also bartender hero lives in my mind like a parasite. oh my god that reminds me i need to talk about the others ok.

hero is the bartender (as stated before) of "the long quiet" bc i think its funny theyre still in tlq even in this silly film noir au.

stubborn is the bouncer/bodyguard/whatever the fuck you call it. he kicks ppl out when they get too rowdy.

cheated is The regular there. he either sits at a table and mopes or gets roped into a card game with opportunist that results in both of them being kicked out (theres always blood drawn).

opportunist is a conman/snake oil salesman whos only still allowed bc hero is too nice and opp is too good at buttering ppl up.

smitten is a tortured artist, lamenting to anyone who will listen about his lost love and muse. he is never paying his damn tab, but again, hero is too nice.

cold is a mysterious figure who only visits the bar like. once a month. he barely talks to anyone and only drinks water. (hes an assassin LOL)

broken is the local priest (the god is shifty btw) who only visits bc hero told him to get out more. he doesnt drink either. he just looks vaguely haunted.

contrarian is a guy whos hard to pin down. you cant find him, you just have to pray he appears ykno. the only people who Know him are hero and cold, but hero refuses to divulge anything abt him and cold is just. Cold. ykno.

paranoid is skeptic's partner (lol) and secretary. he does half the work around the office (maybe more) and lives with skeptic. he complains and protests and threatens to quit, but its all bark. hes very loyal. to his own frustration.

now im going to be honest. hunted is Super difficult to put in this au. given his role as a fight or flight, base animal instinct type, he cant be fit into an au like this very easily. ive considered a hunter, but that doesnt fit him at all. so. im a hack and i should delete my tumblr.

but no seriously hunted is very difficult. ALSO. THE NARRATOR. ive been thinking if i should add him and how prevelant he should be and what he would be like. if he should be in the bar or if skeptic would need to meet him somewhere else. maybe hes the villain ykno. but im. not sure and i dont wanna make the whole thing Too big ykno. i swear its not just bc i dont like him (joke (hes fun to hate (but also i hate him), i genuinely am stuck on what to do with him.

anyways. thats pretty much it. i dont wanna derail this post with. yaoi ramblings. so ill keep it close to my chest. also b4 u ask, im. not going to make this a fic or anything. i dont have the energy for something like this and im not very. good at writing longform anyway. i much prefer tiny drabbles. and anyways, its kinda. rlly unfinished cuz ive been too busy thinking too hard about minor details.

listen to 3 time tony winner, broadway classic, city of angels with music by cy coleman, lyrics by david zippel, and book by larry gelbart. thanks.

I ALMOST FORGOT. theyre still birds 💜. yayyyy 💞

[bloodgulchblog]

You are so so correct, I've thought about this so I hope you don't mind my expanding:

I think the key thing, the key thing to Chief vs therapy is that you can't therapy the unwilling. There is always some work you're going to have to do yourself to receive therapeutic benefit.

John would:

Have to acknowledge that there is a problem within himself that is a.) possible to fix AND b.) worth the time/effort required to fix.

Let someone he does not know well in on enough detail to be able to offer some kind of help.

Do the work instead of just going back to trying to lock all his emotions down, which is a core survival reflex he's been honing for his entire life.

Like yeah, the S-IIs could all benefit from it, but it's a horse and water problem. It has to be something they decide and believe in. Even if someone genuinely well-intentioned somewhere in the inner guts of the horrible imperialist space military said "hey, maybe we should do something considering we ruined these people way more than usual," it's Just Another Thing mandated from on high. They would be just as hostile to assessment as at any other time. We have canonical examples of Spartans being interviewed by ONI and having to lie through their teeth about their thoughts/feelings in situations to avoid consequences for themselves or others they care about. That's their experience with being asked about themselves. They are always on their guard.

And on the inside, Spartans generally don't believe they're broken. (Or, at the very least, they don't believe they're broken enough for maintenance to be worth the time/effort.) They hate being told not to do their job, or that something they don't care about (some nebulous idea of personal wellbeing, feeling bad) should stop them from doing their job when the things that matter (arms, legs, shooting) are working fine.

Treating an up-and-moving Spartan in a way that makes them feel like a casualty threatens the way they see themselves too much, makes them feel like they're visibly failing the people around them (unacceptable!), and evaporates trust in a flash. It is so, so difficult to get genuinely close to them.

After Reach, Halsey herself tried to get through to the Master Chief and to get him to see that what was done to him was wrong. She was someone he trusted, and she was the architect of what was done to him. And she failed.

Cortana, who he trusted and fought for, who loved him more than anyone else ever has, tried to get through to him and she only managed to make a dent he's still busy trying to smooth out.

Nobody can fix him. John has to fix John, and John has to somehow come to believe he's worth it first.

Master Chief is definitely the kind of character who I think would hate most forms of therapy if he were to ever actually receive it, especially if mandated by a superior.

Like, he'd get through it like anything else in his life, comparatively having to deal with a bunch of shrinks trying to fix you isn't as bad as getting shot at by the covenant, but sometimes shooting an alien in the face is easier than talking about your emotions.

Spartans are tough nuts to crack as it is, even an experienced shrink would struggle under a lifetimes worth of emotional suppression and indoctrination, so they'd probably have to special train and brief a team of therapists in dealing with Spartans. That also means anyone assigned to John would know about his past so they can try and help him with it.

So I think the thing Chief would hate most about therapy is that is that look of pity and sorrow the shrinks give him behind their glasses and smiles. He doesn't like being looked at like a kicked dog.

[crumbleclub]

What if Michael met ghost Mike?

I feel your confusion, but hear me out.

There's no time travel involved. A part of Michael died with his brother, and that concept is taken literally.

A result of trauma? Penance? A supernatural fluke? You decide.

Michael Afton's life continues. He gets older, he starts trying to figure out his father's crimes, he gets involved with trying to save the souls that are trapped.

He never questions the crying he sometimes hears, never questions the cold hand he's felt on his wrist when his life was in danger. It could have been anyone. One of the kids didn't quite leave, maybe, or his brother or sister came around from time to time. He grew accustomed to it.

Once, though, in the mirror, he sees another version of himself standing nearby. That sort of thing is hard to write off.

[yarrow-leaf]

A kindling of a swordless bloodshed,

The creaking of a voiceless door —

Another piece inspired by something @mincemeat-the-warforged said that absolutely altered my brain chemistry (the same 1 am conversation that sparked this in fact!)

[icarrymany]

the mh comics open up such an interesting narrative for our few surviving characters. to them, what happened in the videos was real, but to everyone else its a cool creative web series. when all of that is viewed as fiction, fans have a freedom to speculate about and invade the lives and privacy of real people. and that would be so uncomfortable and terrifying. imagine someone irl having headcanons about YOU. writing fan fiction about you and your real friends. assuming things about you PUBLICLY ! IN MASS!

wouldnt it be so cool to see a character grapple with that in like a self-reflective way? fans asking questions the muse is too afraid to ask themselves. of course, theyre the only person the answer matters to.

[sufferu]

Okay, so — there are a lot of things here that I fundamentally disagree with. Namely: BTZ is a very specific kind of story with a very specific set of thematic elements that are woven together, and within those elements Julimilia plays a couple of very specific roles both within the story and within the meta surrounding it, in a way that basically nothing else would be able to do.

1) The stated premise of BTZ (+ Knights if the Roundtable comparison)

BTZ is not actually about everyone suddenly becoming an idiot; it’s a commentary on common Re:Zero fanfiction tropes, a comedy of errors about just how badly a very specific situation can spiral out of control, and a what-if about Subaru getting booted from his role in the main storyline. Key themes include the dangers of the refusal to communicate (whether it be out of guilt or out of pride), the messiness of second chances, and where to go if all of your worst fears about yourself really do come true (which I’ll come back to later). These specific (and rather unconventional) themes are pretty important, here, because they mean that what I am intending to do with this story is very, VERY different from stories like the Arthurian mythos, “It’s A Wonderful Life,” or even the original canon Re:Zero story.

I never really got into the mythos about the Arthurian Knights, but I think it’s safe to say that what those stories are trying to accomplish is in a completely different ballpark than BTZ. Trying to map those characters onto the characters in BTZ isn’t really…fair, lol: they have different narrative contexts and are being positioned in service of particular goals both within the story and within the meta. Giving him Excalibur or the power to surpass Julius or whatever — that would make BTZ a different story entirely, with a different narrative, different themes, and different conclusions.

And speaking of Julius—

2) Julius being Subaru’s “traditionally manly superior” is actually the point

Julius IS faster, stronger, more handsome, more traditionally masculine than Subaru. Subaru isn’t wrong about that part. Sometimes people win the genetic lottery, that’s just a fact of life. What Subaru is wrong about is how much that fact actually matters, because he’s convinced himself that it matters a LOT — when as far as everyone else is concerned it’s almost completely irrelevant.

A really big part of what Subaru and Julius’ dynamic represents in this story is the following: even if all of your fears really DO come true, it is nowhere near the end of the world. To put it simply, Subaru is terrified that Julius is everything he will never be — and in a lot of ways, he’s right. He never beats Julius in a fight, he never surpasses Julius in terms of adherence to this image of traditional masculinity, and Emilia ends up in a relationship with Julius instead of in a relationship with Subaru.

But where he’s dead wrong is with how much any of that superficial bullshit actually matters. Sure, Julius is a more traditionally masculine man than he is, and is capable of feats that he will never be able to achieve on his own, and gets the girl instead of him. And yeah, it hurts, at least at first. But NONE of that crap reflects on how much Subaru is valued by other people, or on his worth as a person, or even on how much Emilia truly, genuinely loves him (even if it’s not quite in the same way he thought he wanted). All his more specific fears about being “inadequate” in comparison to Julius come true and yet here he is, and he’s not inferior, and nobody thinks he’s worthless, and he still gets a truly happy ending.

I tend to find this sort of conclusion a lot more emotionally satisfying than the usual “You have nothing to fear because your insecurities are simply wrong” conclusion that most stories come to, frankly. Because you know what? Sometimes you really DON’T get first place, and that’s FINE. I think it’s comforting to be told that it’s okay if you don’t achieve everything that you think you’re supposed to, and that everything will still turn out well for you even if all you can really do is the best that you can. Most stories have the main character actually succeed in becoming the best of the best, especially in anime, and I get it but — I think that this sort of conclusion can honestly be even more impactful, if done correctly.

(And without spoiling things: Subaru actually does surpass Julius in several areas, and everyone but Subaru knows it. He just doesn’t value these areas, and it is precisely BECAUSE they come so easily to him that he doesn’t recognize them as anything of any real worth. And that, too — more than almost anything else, arguably — is something that he needs to learn to overcome.)

The Julimilia subplot is largely an extension of this, because the idea of “getting the girl” in order to prove oneself as a man — and the idea of unrequited love marking you a failure — I HATE that cultural narrative.

3) In which Subaru does not get the girl

I’ve mentioned previously that the Julimilia subplot was largely fueled by me reacting to the BNHA Cuck Porn Frenzy, in which BNHA’s ending absolutely FLOODED my dash with angry Deku Cuck Porn for several weeks in response to him not explicitly ending up in a romantic relationship with Ochako. And the thing is, there were several underlying themes in that whole incident that I really, really hated: entitlement about how Deku “deserved” Ochako and how she was some sort of “gold digging bitch” for not chasing after him, this incredibly mean-spirited attitude about how Deku was apparently now this total washed-out loser, this idea about how all of his former classmates were suddenly superior to him to the point where they completely stopped wanting such a “useless nobody” around anymore (plus some serious classism about fast food workers being inherently less worthy of respect, too) — it was a lot.

And then pretty soon after that, there was that incident where a bunch of cuck fics all got posted in the Re:Zero space at the same time, and I saw a number of the same themes playing out there: Emilia being a selfish asshole who treated Subaru like dirt, the third party being this unquestioningly superior source of humiliation, Subaru being an inferior man who nobody would treat with respect… It was a lot. And look, I’m not gonna bash anyone who gets something out of that sort of thing, lol — but I found myself really put off by a lot of those very specific themes, and that got me thinking about WHY I felt so put off by it.

It wasn’t that I disliked the concept of the main love interest ending up with someone else: that basically never bothers me. So, I started thinking about what elements of these stories I was actually responding negatively towards, and then about how I, personally, would construct a similar scene: what elements I would keep, what I would get rid of, and what I might add in order to enhance the vibes that I thought could make such a prompt valuable (because there had to be SOMETHING: I wouldn’t be thinking about it so much if there wasn’t anything there, after all). And that got me thinking about a scenario where Emilia wasn’t treated like she was evil for liking someone else, where that third party genuinely respected and valued Subaru as an individual, and where Emilia still loved Subaru very, very much — even if it wasn’t romantic. And I…really liked that idea. And then I realized that it actually really, REALLY fit with the broader themes of BTZ, especially the themes about insecurities and second chances.

Julimilia also completely fits within the meta of the narrative. In BTZ I, it — to be completely honest, it’s probably the most obvious thing I could do in a fanfiction literally called “Natsuki Subaru’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Or Week) (Or Month).” I don’t think there’s anything more on-brand for that title that I could write than a Julimilia endgame. It also completely fits with BTZ I and II being a commentary on “edgier” Re:Zero fics. A large part of that commentary is “What would need to happen for these characters to act in this very specific manner?” and adding a scenario like a Julimilia endgame only heightens that part of the narrative. To be frank, it gets to the point where not committing to the bit is nothing short of a missed opportunity, lol.

Finally, just coming back to this: there’s nothing wrong with being rejected. Yeah, it hurts, but it’s not the end of the world. Subaru gets his heart crushed, and he feels like shit for a while, but eventually he heals and he moves on and everything is okay again — BETTER than okay, because by the end of BTZ III he’s got both Julius and Emilia as these incredible friends who he deeply treasures from the bottom of his heart. This “Forever Alone” thing where your romantic feelings being unrequited means that you’re a total loser who will never truly be happy — that’s just not it. That sort of mentality reduces men to being dependent on romance for self-worth and it reduces women to trophies that need to be won, and I just never really liked it from either of those angles. The Julimilia subplot of BTZ is largely me expressing my discontent with that very mindset, even, in that Subaru really DOES see himself that way for the first part of the story and has to unlearn it in order to be truly happy.

—And if the way that got resolved was just him ending up with Emilia, then…I mean, what does that say about his worth? That he really is only worth something if he manages to get with the girl he likes? That he really can’t get a happy ending unless it’s with Emilia?

Anyway — those are my thoughts about the themes of BTZ, Julius’s role in BTZ, and why exactly I feel like a Julimilia endgame is such a good fit for the wider BTZ narrative.

i don't have the energy for a second essay, so I'll just cheat by using preexisting media. it was better in my head at work sorry.

the reason why you get complaints about Julimilia is that it is a betrayal of the stated premise of Back to Zero.

"Everyone finds out about Subaru's bs and crit fails everything."

vs what you are writing

"Everyone finds out about Subaru's bs, crit fails everything, and Emilia forms a romantic relationship with Julius in the background."

or to quote a writer about a space demon clown:

"Why does no one complain about the child gore in the story about kids facing a space demon, but always complains about the child orgy that I shoved in?"

I came across the term 'Bishonen' (Beautiful Boy) a while back as one of the beauty standards for Japanese teenage boys and young men, because they loved a 70s actor whose name I forgot.

*wikis it*

ah, so ancient asian asthetic instead of the glamrock era.

anyways, I firmly believe that Julius fits this mold. see the reverse harem members of classic shoujo manga and anime "Ouran Highschool Host Club"

this is half of the reason why Subaru is so annoyed at him in arc 3. because the literal beauty standard was given flesh.

secondly we have to go back a few centuries to a land of knights.

do the names of King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, and Lancelot mean anything to you?

i mean it's not a perfecting mapping, but the vibes are the same.

Subaru doesn't have the adventuring experience of being a knight prince. no caliburn (the actual Sword in the Stone/Sword of Selection), his merlin actively hates him to the point of trying to mold him into a living weapon.'

sure Rem is on his side (oh wait, this is Back to zero). sure Subaru can hel- oh wait they are putting him on the bottom of a massive cuddle pile.

it is true that Subaru and Emilia aren't married yet. however Julius can map to Lancelot excellently. being the superior model of subaru/.

Subaru being a spirit knight with the ability to only support one spirit vs julius six.

Subaru being unable to fight without his spirit (at this point in time) vs Julius being able to hold his own.

Subaru being uneducated in knightly manners vs Julius basically MAKING those standards.

Subaru being unable to protect others.

Subaru has no backup.

so, you've inadvertently made Subaru part of the Forever Alone club. not the sexist assholes that push everyone away,

I mean the people who just fall short of the very real competition that everyone and everything existing takes part in.

the mentally and physically disabled that can't work and can only subsist off the help and charity of others.

it's not the post to detail how Subaru can be argued to be disabled compared to everyone else.

...ugh I need more sleep because this feels incoherent. guess Im expanding the King Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot in the EssayTM. say what's that word count?

1986 and it's no where done. ughhhh why must I be the coherent/wordy one of my side of the debates?

…I believe that I fundamentally disagree with a lot of what you are saying, but I don’t really feel that I can say anything until you finish the point that you are trying to make, lol.

[carry-the-sky]

.

[laniidae-passerine]

decided that in my own personal canon, Santiago’s maker looked similar to Louis, simply because Ben Daniels stated that Santiago was very likely in love with his maker. and wouldn’t it be some kind of torture to fall in love with the man who murdered your first vampiric love? to then watch him fall in love with another, who bears an eerie resemblance to that first love? to be witness to something tender and affectionate blooming, every moment a memory of how none of those you’ve adored have ever wanted you back? it would be agony. it would be torture. god, you would just hate them to pieces, loathing even as you loved them. and you wouldn’t know peace - not until the whole pack of them learnt the horror of love, just as you have.

[galacticlamps]

I just wanted to apologize to my classic whotuals for all the dead boy detectives spamming, but it's also important to me that you guys know two things:

a) I've become aware that a lot of what appeals to me about dead boy detectives is, on a kind of conceptual/thematic level, the same stuff that I love about my favorite eras of dr who, and 6b in particular

And I tell you this not as an advertising tactic but as a genuine PSA for anyone following me because:

b) Being me & having realized this, I know I'm definitely gonna wind up posting some unnecessarily long-winded analysis/comparison, pop it in the main tags for the sake of organization on my own blog, and subsequently confuse a hell of a lot of people there who either have no idea what I'm talking about or simply don't view either piece of media in the same light as I do to begin with

So I just wanted to reassure everyone that at least you're not suffering alone, as I will soon be inflicting the reverse bait-and-switch upon others!

That's all! continue w ur scrolling <3

[boyczar]

please remember that it is a compliment to be disliked by people. most people don’t even like themselves. think about why you even want to be liked by somebody. why do YOU like YOURSELF?? why give a fuck about whether or not somebody with so much work to do on themselves doesn’t like you? they literally do not even like themselves. they can’t genuinely “like” you.

[aly-s0ares]

it’s really hard to have “it all” with people nowadays isn’t it?

[serial-designation-v-41001100]

"just put yourself out there" really doesnt feel like helpful advice