#because i have spent an entire week thinking about this

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SIX ━━ A Little Too Much

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

❀ ━ word count: 6.2K

❀ ━ warnings: like maybe an allusion to sex???

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: paige bro lock in

PAIGE SINKS deeper into the couch, the familiarity of the apartment wrapping around her like a hug. It’s nice being back, the familiar scent of vanilla (Jo’s candles) filling the space. The TV is tuned to some random college football game—an SEC game that Paige really couldn’t care less about.

Aubrey’s sitting at the other end of the couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, her arm resting on the back cushion. A bag of chips is balanced precariously on her knee as she scrolls through her phone, glancing up at the screen every now and then to half heartedly comment on a play.

“Nah, ain’t no way Tennessee gets this one,” Aubrey says, tossing a chip into her mouth. “Georgia, no debate.”

Paige snorts, squinting at the game for a moment. “Ion know, the Vols are up.”

“They won’t be,” Aubrey insists, waving the bag of chips for emphasis.

Paige hadn’t realized how much she missed all of this until now. She’s spent the last month in LA, focusing on her rehab at a state-of-the-art facility her team insisted on. The work has been grueling—hours of physical therapy every day, pushing her body to its limits, trying to rebuild what she’s lost.

But being away from her teammates has been harder.

It’s the first week of October now and she hadn’t seen any of them since early September, right before she flew out. Sure, there were texts and FaceTimes—especially with Jo, who’s practically made it her mission to keep Paige from feeling too disconnected. But it isn’t the same as this: sitting on the couch, arguing over nothing, being in one of her best friend’s presence.

“You said Jo was working out with Yanna and Caroline, right?” Paige asks, glancing over at Aubrey. She’d be lying if she said she isn’t anxiously waiting for Jo to get her ass home.

“Yeah, they been at it all day. Jo’s on this whole new grind—something about gettin’ faster footwork or whatever. I dunno, think she just wants to be really prepared for the season, cause—” Aubrey nods to Paige’s knee and Paige nods—Jo is certainly gonna have a huge role for the team this season.

After a moment, though, Aubrey sends her a look, asking, “Why, though? You impatient?”

Paige just rolls her eyes, saying, “It’s just been a minute.”

Aubrey hums, though she doesn’t sound entirely too convinced.

Paige doesn’t much care. She cares more about the fact that she has to sit through nearly the entirety of this football game before she hears the door click open, her head snapping up instinctively. She can hear Jo before she sees her—her sneakers squeaking against the floor, her laugh that’s as bright and familiar as sunlight as she mutters something to—presumably—Ayanna or Caroline, who must still be in the hallway. For a second, everything else washes away—the announcers on the TV, Aubrey scrolling lazily on her phone. Paige’s focus narrows completely, landing squarely on the figure stepping into the apartment.

When Jo finally comes into view, it’s like Paige can breathe again. Except, maybe not, because Jo looks exactly the same and yet somehow better then Paige remembers. Her ponytail is a little messy, strands clinging to her forehead, and her tank top is soaked through with sweat, outlining the lean strength of her frame. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes are sparkling with that post-workout adrenaline.

Paige feels her stomach plummet, a sudden, unwelcome realization inching into her mind. She thinks Jo looks beautiful like this.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” Jo’s voice breaks through Paige’s thoughts, light and high-pitched with excitement. Her smile is wide, open, and utterly disarming, like she’s been waiting for this moment for weeks. She drops her gym bag onto the floor without a second thought and breaks into a jog toward Paige, her arms already outstretched.

Paige stands automatically, her body moving before her brain catches up. And then Jo is there, colliding into her with so much force that Paige actually stumbles back half a step. Jo’s arms wrap around her shoulders, strong and unhesitating, and before Paige even knows what’s happening, she’s being pulling into the kind of hug that makes her feel like melting.

Jo smells like strawberry shampoo and a hint of sweat, a mix that should probably be unappealing but isn’t. Paige’s face ends up pressed against the side of Jo’s neck, and, for a moment, she lets herself completely sink into the embrace. Jo is warm and solid and so full of life, and Paige feels herself relax in a way she didn’t even realize she needed.

But there’s something else, too: a tangle of emotions she can’t—or maybe just doesn’t want—to name. Paige’s hands settle on Jo’s waist, and she pulls her closer, tighter, without even thinking. Her heartbeat picks up, thudding erratically in her chest. She tells herself it’s just the adrenaline of being nearly barreled into.

But then Jo’s laugh bubbles out, muffled against Paige’s shoulder, and Paige feels a little breathless.

“I missed you so much!” Jo squeals, her arms tightening around Paige like she’s never letting go.

Paige smiles, closing her eyes for just a second as her nose nudges Jo’s ponytail. “I missed you too,” she murmurs, and there’s a softness in her voice that surprises even her.

The warmth of Jo’s hug, the way her fingers curl slightly against Paige’s back, makes something twist low in Paige’s stomach. It’s almost too much, but at the same time, not enough. Paige doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to think about why this feels different than hugging Aubrey or Azzi earlier.

From behind them, Paige hears Aubrey mutter, “Yeah, maybe a little too much.”

Paige’s eyes snap open, heat rushing to her face. She freezes, her arms going stiff for just a second, but Jo doesn’t seem to notice. Paige’s heart pounds as she wills herself to stay calm, to keep her expression neutral as she pulls back, not too abruptly but enough to put some space between them.

Jo beams, her hands lingering on Paige’s shoulders as she grins up at her. Paige feels like she might die under the weight of it.

“Shit,” Jo says suddenly with realization, stepping back and gesturing to herself. “I’m disgusting right now. I should’ve warned you before jumping on you like that.”

“You’re fine,” Paige says quickly, and then, because she feels like she should say something normal, she adds, “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen you sweaty before.”

Jo laughs, the sound bubbling up effortlessly. “Still. Let me shower, and then we’re hanging out. No excuses. I missed you!”

Paige can’t help but smile back, even as her thoughts churn. Jo is grinning at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and Paige feels something warm and unsteady settle in her chest. She watches as Jo grabs her bag and heads toward the bathroom.

Once she’s out of view, Paige sits back down on the couch with a huff. She hates that her heart is still beating too fast.

Next to her, Aubrey hasn’t moved, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch as she watches Paige with a look that makes the blonde shift a little. The football game continues on, the last few minutes of the fourth quarter blaring, but Aubrey doesn’t seem the least bit interested in it anymore.

Paige finally breaks the silence, blurting out as she turns to Aubrey, “What did you mean by that?”

Aubrey raises an eyebrow. “By what?”

Paige frowns. “That comment you made. About me missin’ her too much.”

Aubrey doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans forward, grabbing the remote and lowering the volume on the TV. When she settles back into her seat, she gives Paige a look—a knowing look that immediately puts Paige on edge.

“She has a boyfriend, bro,” Aubrey says simply, as if that explains everything.

“I know that,” Paige snaps, the words leaving her mouth too quickly. She feels a flush creeping up her neck and shifts in her position, trying to look casual, unbothered. “Obviously I know that.”

Aubrey’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her voice sharper now. She crosses her arms over her chest, defensive without meaning to be. “’Course I do. What’s your point?”

Aubrey tilts her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. “My point is,” she says slowly, “you look at her like she’s the sun or sum. And don’t act like you don’t, ’cause I just saw it.”

Paige scoffs, but it’s weak, almost half-hearted. “That’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” she says, though her tone wavers. “She’s, like, my best friend. I’m just—” She falters, trying to find the right words “I’m just happy to see her. It’s been a month, bro. I’d be like that with anyone.”

“Really?” Aubrey asks, raising her eyebrows. “Uh, you didn’t act like that when I picked you up from the airport. Or when Az came by earlier.”

“That’s different,” Paige says defensively. “You and Azzi—she’s—” She stumbles over the words, annoyed that she can’t articulate why it is different without making it sound worse.

Aubrey doesn’t look convinced. In fact, she looks entirely unimpressed. “Uh-huh,” she says, drawing the syllables out. “P, I warned you about this when you two first moved in together.”

Paige remembers. She remembers when they were moving her bed during the summer and Aubrey had told her seriously, “You cannot fuck Jo Jacobson.”

At the time, Paige had laughed it off. The idea seemed absurd then. Sure, Jo was beautiful, but she was also a freshman and just getting her feet wet here, and Paige would never do that. She would never do that. She still would never do that. But then, Paige hadn’t ever thought of her in that way.

Now—

“I don’t like her like that,” Paige says, her voice firmer than she feels. “I don’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Aubrey says again, in the same tone as before. “Look, I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose. But, bro, if you do have feelings for her—and I’m not saying you do—don’t let ’em mess with your head. Or the team.”

Paige bristles at that. “I don’t have feelings for her,” she insists. “And even if I did—which I don’t—it wouldn’t affect the team. I’m not that stupid.”

Aubrey shrugs, unfazed. “I’m just saying. Jo’s solid with Asher. Like, really solid. You don’t wanna go down that road.”

Paige feels her chest tighten, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she hates how Aubrey is talking to her or because some small, traitorous part of her knows Aubrey might be right.

“I’m not goin’ down any road,” Paige says, forcing her voice to stay even. “You’re reading too much into this. I’m just happy to see my best friend again. That’s it.”

Aubrey doesn’t press further, but her silence is heavy, loaded with unspoken skepticism. Paige tries to focus on the last few minutes of the football game, but the TV screen practically blurs in her vision as her thoughts spiral.

She tells herself Aubrey’s wrong. That her excitement to see Jo is completely normal. That the way her heart has leapt when Jo walked in the door was nothing more than relief after a long time apart.

But deep down, she can’t shake the way her stomach had flipped when Jo smiled at her. Or the way her chest felt too tight when Jo hugged her, like her ribs were trying to contain something that didn’t want to be contained.

Paige doesn’t know what to call it. She doesn’t want to know.

JO’S EYES remain glued to the screen, but she doesn’t even notice what’s happening in the episode anymore. She missed this—missed the nights spent lying next to Paige, the “sleepovers” which are really just code for one of them being too lazy to walk back into their own rooms and crawl into their own beds.

Jo’s massaging Paige’s knee, the rhythm comforting and almost mechanical now. It’s just what they do; she’s done it a thousand times over since her surgery, though it’s been a month since she’s done it now. She knows how much it helps Paige, and it’s not like it’s anything weird—just a friend doing something nice for another friend, a friend that’s gone through this same thing before and knows what can help.

She’s not thinking about the way Paige’s leg feels under her palm, how soft the skin is, how warm. She’s not. She’s not thinking about how close they are, how the smooth skin of Paige’s thigh rests under her cheek, or how the way Paige moves so naturally beside her makes her chest feel tight in a way that doesn’t make sense.

Paige lets out a soft sigh, and Jo doesn’t quite know why it sends a little flutter through her. She shakes it off quickly, adjusting her position to be more comfortable, still massaging her knee.

They’re almost at the end of first season of The Vampire Diaries now, and Jo’s surprised that Paige has stuck with it. She thought, with all the complaining, that Paige would have tapped out after a few episodes, but here they are, still going strong. Jo knows her well enough that she can tell that Paige has actually started to get into it. Maybe not as much as Jo, but enough to make comments and roll her eyes at the sometimes ridiculous drama.

“You can’t actually be Team Damon, P,” Jo says, shaking her head against Paige’s thigh, letting her fingers glide over the tender muscle beneath Paige’s knee. “Like, come on, girl. Stefan is clearly the better choice.”

Paige shifts slightly, and Jo glances up to see the blonde smirking down at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed and Jo can understand why—it’s hot in here. Maybe they should turn the heat down. “Ion know, JoJo. Damon’s a lot more interesting.”

Jo huffs, “Yeah, well, interesting isn’t always the best option. You need someone who’s steady, who’s good for you.”

“Who’s ‘boring,’ you mean?” Paige’s voice is light, a teasing edge to it.

Jo shakes her head again, laughing a little. As she does so, her lips lightly graze the top of Paige’s thigh. She doesn’t think anything of it. But then she feels Paige’s leg tense up. Jo stills her hand on her knee, thinking she might’ve done something wrong. But then, maybe a second later, Paige is relaxed again, and she doesn’t say anything, so Jo cautiously resumes the massage.

“Yeah, boring’s fine. It’s good. It’s better than all the shit Damon brings,” Jo says.

She can feel the subtle shift in Paige’s posture—she’s looking at Jo, eyes soft, gaze steady—and Jo quickly glances back at the TV, avoiding it. She doesn’t know why. Because it’s because if she lets herself look at Paige for too long, she’ll start thinking about things she’s not supposed to.

“Whatever,” Paige says after a pause. “I still think Damon’s cooler.”

Jo just snorts as she finishes working on the blonde’s knee, feeling the tension slowly melt away as her fingers work the muscles. A final press of her thumb into the joint elicits a soft sigh from Paige, and Jo grins slightly, the satisfaction of helping her best friend making it worth it.

Her fingers ache slightly from the pressure, but it’s nothing really. She looks at Paige briefly before flopping down beside her, her legs splaying out on the bed as she turns onto her stomach. The weight of the day and the long workout is starting to press in on her, and the soft, quiet room feels soothing. “My turn,” she says with a little grin, throwing a look over at Paige as she gestures to her back. It’s a deal they became accustomed to before Paige went off to LA—Jo massages Paige’s knee, and Paige takes care of the horrendous knots in Jo’s back. Simple.

Paige stares at her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, before moving over to straddle Jo’s hips and starting to knead into her back. Jo tries to relax, exhaling deeply as Paige’s hands work their way over her tense muscles. It’s familiar and comfortable, and God, is Jo glad Paige is back in Storrs.

Paige’s fingers press into a particularly stubborn knot, right between Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo winces, just a little. It’s the one knot that never seems to go away, no matter how much she tries to stretch or work it out. It’s been there for years, a stubborn thing.

“Still there?” Paige’s voice is soft, but Jo can hear the hint of concern.

The younger girl nods into the pillows. “Mmm, yeah, it never goes away.”

Paige hums in acknowledgement, and Jo hears her shift slightly. For a moment, she wonders if Paige is just going to stay where she is and work the knot from the outside, but then, to her surprise, she feels Paige’s hands move to the bottom of her t-shirt, sliding under the fabric carefully.

“Lemme get in there,” Paige murmurs lowly.

The words and the cool air against her skin sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, but she doesn’t pull away. Paige’s touch is so familiar, so comforting, that even the shift in how they’ve positioned doesn’t feel strange—at least, it shouldn’t. She can feel Paige’s fingers move under the fabric, creeping up her spine near her shoulder blade, right where she can press deeper into the knot. The pressure is sudden but not unwelcome. It’s exactly what Jo needs.

“Mmm, that’s better,” Paige says softly, her voice closer now, almost against Jo’s back, as she works the knot precisely. Her fingertips press firmly into the spot, working the muscle, easing the tendon.

The warmth from Paige’s fingers against her skin sends a wave of heat through Jo’s body, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The knot is finally loosening, and for a brief moment, she’s too focused on the sensation to even process anything else. Paige’s hands move with ease, like she’s done this a thousand times. And she has. Or, well, at least a few.

“You good?” Paige asks, voice soft but steady, like she’s concerned, and Jo feels a strange pull in her chest.

Jo hums in response, though it comes out softer than she intended. “Yeah, that feels perfect.”

For a moment, there’s silence between them, and all Jo can focus on is the steady rhythm of Paige’s hands as they move over her back, the weight of her stomach settling into Jo’s muscles. The room is even warmer now—they really should turn down the heat. Even if it’s Connecticut, it’s only October. That, or maybe it’s just the proximity, the closeness of Paige’s body to here. Jo doesn’t know what it is, but her heart’s not beating the way it usually does.

Paige’s hands slide back up, pressing into the tender spots along Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo bites her lip, trying to ignore how good it feels.

And then, without thinking, Jo shifts slightly, a small motion that presses her chest just a little closer to the bed. With the movement, her body aligns a bit more with Paige’s, and suddenly the space between them feels too small, too close. She can feel Paige’s breath against her back, steady and warm, and Jo’s pulse quickens despite herself.

“God,” Jo mutters. “You’re good at this.”

Paige’s fingers stop their movements for a moment, as if processing the words. “It’s nothing,” she says, but there’s something different in her voice. Maybe it’s just how close they are, or maybe it’s the weight of the silence hanging between them, but Jo’s pretty sure she hears a shift in the way Paige speaks. A slight tension in her voice that Jo can’t explain.

Eventually, Paige finishes working the knot, her hands pulling away slowly. Jo almost feels a pang of disappointment, but she can’t place why. She’s just relaxing, just letting herself unwind. It’s nothing.

Paige lies back down next to her, the space between them still feeling a little smaller than it should be. Jo turns her head to meet Paige’s gaze, their faces just inches apart.

“Better?” Paige asks, her voice soft and almost too quiet. Her fingers trail lightly down Jo’s spine, slipping out from under her shirt with a gentle touch that sends a small shiver through Jo.

Jo smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

Paige nods, her lips lifting at the corners a little before Jo turns her gaze back to the TV. She tucks her hands under her cheek as she lays on her side, eyes lazily watching the screen. Damon and Elena are fighting over something—per usual.

She doesn’t even notice at first when Paige shifts, her leg brushing against Jo’s under the covers. And then she slides a little closer, her shoulder brushing against Jo’s arm. Her face is even closer now, and Jo’s aware of that. She can feel her breath against her skin. It catches her a little off guard, but it’s not weird. It’s just how they always seem to end up—close.

“I missed you, Joey.” Paige’s voice, so soft, echoes through the room.

Jo glances up, meeting her gaze. It makes her smile. “I missed you too.”

And she did—she got so used to being so close to her that it was terrible when she was gone for so long. So bad it felt like Jo was going through withdrawal or something. And it only makes it worse that she’s flying back out in a couple days and Jo is going to have the apartment to herself again.

Paige’s face is still close, her eyes searching Jo’s for something. They’re so blue, even in the dim lighting of the room, and they feel like an ocean Jo could easily drown in.

She doesn’t know why she does it, but she presses herself closer still, their chests touching now, Jo’s nose brushing against Paige’s neck. Their legs tangle more under the sheets, and Jo feels Paige wrap her arm around her waist gently, letting it rest there. Jo doesn’t mind.

It’s just them. It’s just how they are.

PAIGE WAKES slowly, the soft morning light streaming through the slats of the blinds casting stripes across the bed. Her body feels heavy, warm, and there’s a comforting weight against her arm. Blinking her eyes open, she shifts her head on the pillow and glances down. Jo is still asleep beside her, her face soft in the pale light, her features slack with peace.

Jo looks… pretty, Paige thinks, her thoughts still hazy with sleep. Her hair is tousled, sticking up slightly at the crown from no doubt a restless turn in the night, but it only makes her look softer, less put together in a way that feels intimate. Paige is half aware of the fact that her own arm is tucked under Jo’s, her hand resting near Jo’s waist. Their legs are tangled together, too, her calf brushing Jo’s under the covers.

Paige doesn’t move immediately. She doesn’t want to. It’s warm like this, comfortable, and even though the logical part of her brain tells her to pull away, to avoid making it weird, she stays where she is.

Her gaze lingers on Jo’s face, on the slight curve of her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose that are barely visible. There’s something unguarded about Jo in the morning, something vulnerable and even sweeter than she is when she’s awake.

Last night drifts back to Paige’s mind. The massages, the feel of Jo’s hands on her knee, the feel of Jo’s back under her hands. The way Jo told her she missed her, too. Paige had meant it when she told her—she’d missed Jo more then she thought she would during her time in LA. But it’s not just that. There had been something else in the air last night.

Maybe it’s just the shift of being apart for a month, she tells herself. That’s all. It’s just the way things feel different when you come back to someone after being away. Things will settle back into place eventually. They always do.

Jo stirs slightly in her sleep, her brow twitching, and Paige instinctively stills, not wanting to wake her. The younger girl murmurs something unintelligible and shifts closer, her head tilting toward Paige’s shoulder, and Paige’s breath catches for half a second.

The buzz of a phone breaks the quiet, cutting through the gentle hum of the morning. Paige blinks, her thoughts scattering, and she glances toward the nightstand. The phone buzzes again. She assumes its hers—she gets texts at odd hours from basically everyone. Without thinking, she reaches out, fumbling for the phone blindly without lifting her head.

Her fingers close around the cool device, and she squints at the screen as she opens it, not wearing her glasses yet. By the lockscreen, she immediately can tell that this is not her phone, though—it’s Jo’s. She’s about to close it and put it back when the name at the top of the screen makes her freeze. Ash.

Her stomach twists. She knows that name and she knows it well. Asher. Jo’s boyfriend.

Maybe she doesn’t mean to look, maybe she does. Either way, the messages are right there, impossible to ignore.

Ash 💓

Hi baby I know it’s early

Just wanted to say I miss you

and love you

And I can’t wait to see the media day flicks you better send me them all

Paige stares at the screen for a long moment, her chest tightening in a way she doesn’t—but also might—understand. She knows she should stop looking, that this is a complete violation of Jo’s privacy, but her eyes tracy the words again. Baby. I miss you. I love you. They feel like a slap.

She exhales sharply, locking the phone and setting it back on the nightstand. Her case flicks back to Jo, still fast asleep. Her face is serene and peaceful and Paige feels an overwhelming rush of emotions. It’s not jealousy. It’s not. She’s not jealous. She has no right to be jealous of two high school sweethearts that literally grew up next door together that are probably soulmates and are someday going to get married and have babies.

She’s not jealous of that.

But, nonetheless, the knot in her stomach doesn’t go away.

She unentangles herself carefully, shifting her leg and arm away from Jo’s, mindful not to wake her. Jo murmurs something again, soft and sleepy, and Paige pauses for a second before slipping off the bed entirely. She needs space. Air.

She pads to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. Her hands grip the edge of the sink, and she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, her face slightly puffy from sleep.

She shakes her head, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on her face. It doesn’t help much.

Paige forces herself to focus, to push away the strange feelings clawing at her. Jo is her roommate, her freshie, and, yeah, basically her best friend now. And that’s all this is. That’s all it will ever be. She needs to stop overthinking. She needs to get ready for the day.

But even as she brushes her teeth and begins to brush through her hair, her thoughts keep circling back to those texts. To Asher. To Jo. And to the way Jo’s body had felt so warm and close and right against hers just minutes ago.

PAIGE STANDS in front of the mirror in the locker room, adjusting her uniform and smoothing her jersey. The bold, navy #5 stitched on the front catches her eye, and for a moment, she lingers. It feels almost strange, wearing the jersey she won’t be able to play in this season.

Not that she hasn’t come to terms with it. Paige is good at keeping herself together now, even if the pang of frustration hasn’t entirely disappeared—and won’t, she knows, until she gets to play again. But she’s learned to deal with it, to channel her energy elsewhere. If she can’t be on the court, she can still be here—still lead, still help her team in every way she can.

Her hair is perfectly straightened, sleek and sharp, the way she likes it. Her makeup looks good, too—just enough to emphasize her sharp cheekbones and blue eyes, but nothing overdone. The uniform ties it all together, making her look just like the player she’s supposed to be, the one she still is even if she’s stuck on the sidelines.

She takes a couple mirror pics—her annual media day mirror pics. They come out well, and she posts them to Instagram with the caption “5’ll be back soon,” because it will. She will.

By the time the day is in full effect, Paige knows the drill: photos, videos, soundbites for promos. She takes a few solo shots first, her expression switching between serious and smiles for the camera. Then it’s duo photos—first with Azzi, then with Nika and Aaliyah, her classmates. They laugh and joke between snaps, Nika managing to pinch Paige and Aaliyah during one, probably getting a perfect reaction picture.

Whilst Jo is getting her photos done, Paige is off to the side, hyping her up. When she makes Jo laugh—loud and sudden, the kind that makes her throw her head back—Paige is the one who catches the photographer’s eye. He gestures for her to join Jo, saying how he likes their energy together. Paige does as he asks, coming into view of the camera.

They stand side by side, first posed with their arms crossed, meant to look tough and intimidating. Then, the photographer tells Jo to lean her arm casually on Paige’s shoulder. Jo does, and it feels so normal, so them, that Paige doesn’t even notice how close they are until the photos pop up on the photographer’s screen.

“Yo,” Paige says, leaning in closer to the preview image. “We look good.”

Jo grins, nudging the blonde with her elbow. “Yeah, we do.”

And they do. There’s something about the way they look together—Jo’s darker features contrasting with Paige’s lighter ones, their postures balanced between playful and powerful—that feels striking.

When the photographer tells them they’re done, Jo taps Paige on the back lightly, her touch lingering for a half-second too long. Paige pretends not to notice.

They continue on through a mix of photos, promo videos, and shorter interviews. Paige’s role as “Coach P,” as everyone’s begun calling her, doesn’t go unnoticed.

Nika, of course, has to chime in. “That girl ain’t my coach,” she mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, shaking her head while she stirs a few laughs from their teammates and some of the media coordinators.

Paige rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Jo cuts in, throwing her arms around Paige’s shoulders from behind and resting her chin right by Paige’s neck. “You’re right, Nik,” Jo says, her voice teasing as her arms tighten slightly around Paige. “She’s not your coach. She’s mine.”

Nika hisses at her in mock annoyance, making Jo laugh loudly as she lets go of Paige—though not before making sure to squeeze Paige’s shoulders fondly.

Paige hardly notices the way Nika flicks at Jo’s arm afterwards, or the way Jo sticks her tongue out at her. Instead, her brain replays the words—she’s mine.

Mine, mine, mine, mine.

It’s not like that, though. And, goddamn, she has to get herself together.

Luckily, she has an interview waiting for her, so she doesn’t have long to continue dwelling on it. Except, actually, she thinks she might be unlucky, because when she spots Celeste Sinclair waiting for her with that soft little smirk and a glint in her eyes, Paige almost groans aloud.

She supposes she did this to herself, though. It’s not like she didn’t know Celeste was one of their media girls when she started fucking her—it’s literally how they met.

As Paige approaches, Celeste’s eyes sweep over her, lingering just a fraction too long on the way her uniform fits. Paige notices it immediately, and begins to steel herself.

“Paige,” the redhead greets, her tone syrupy and professional, but there’s a flicker of something else underneath. Something Paige is very familiar with.

“Celeste,” Paige replies evenly, keeping her expression neutral. She folds her hands in front of her, trying not to let her irritation show. She doesn’t have time for this—doesn’t have the patience or willpower to handle another girl turned obsessed—but media day is about appearances, so she plasters on a polite smile and takes the mini mic Celeste offers her.

The questions start predictably enough. Celeste asks about her recovery, her plans for the future, how she’s adjusting. Paige answers each question with the kind of practiced ease she’s managed to master over the years. She talks about her rehab process, about staying focused, about how the comeback will be stronger than the setback. The words feel automatic now, almost rehearsed.

Still, it stings a little. Every time she’s reminded that she won’t touch the court this season, that she’ll have to watch from the bench while her teammates fight for another championship, there’s a flicker of frustration she can’t quite extinguish.

But she doesn’t let it show. Obviously.

Celeste presses on, asking something about how Paige is adapting to her new role as a leader from the bench, and Paige forces herself to smile through it. She talks about embracing the role of “Coach P,” about how it’s just as important to support the team off the court as it is on it. She doesn’t let her voice waver, doesn’t let any of the bitterness slip through.

When the interview finally wraps, Paige exhales quietly, ready to walk away—but Celeste steps closer, cutting her off.

“So,” Celeste says, her voice dropping just enough to make it clear this part isn’t for the cameras. “You’ve been busy out west, yeah? I—you haven’t been back at all lately.”

Paige sighs a little. “Yeah, well. Rehab and stuff. You know how it is.”

Celeste tilts her head. “I do. Still, I thought you might text or call or something. I left you a few messages, but you never answered.”

Paige resists the urge to roll her eyes. Celeste’s persistence is both flattering and annoying. Yeah, the sex had been good—but was it genuinely good enough for Celeste to continuously run after Paige when she’s made it more than obvious that she doesn’t really want her? Paige doesn’t think so.

But, then again, Paige is better with her tongue and fingers than Celeste is.

“Been busy,” Paige says again, brushing her off.

The red-haired girl doesn’t seem deterred, though. She leans in just slightly, murmuring, “Well, if you’re not too busy tonight or even later this week… ?”

Paige starts to shake her head, ready to shut it down. She has enough girls in her bed back in LA that she doesn’t need to make up for it here while she’s only back for a few days.

But then—her mind flashes to this morning. To Jo. To the messages from Asher. The pit that settles in her stomach when she saw the I love you and I miss you and the baby. Something about it still lingers, sharp and annoying, and Paige can’t quite shake it.

Before she really thinks about what she’s doing, she hears herself saying, “Actually, I am free tonight.”

Celeste’s face lights up, her smile widening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, her tone casual, like she isn’t committing to something she’s already dreading a little. “I fly back to LA in a couple days, so tonight works.”

Celeste doesn’t bother hiding her excitement. “Perfect. Come over later?”

Paige nods and Celeste looks almost giddy as she finally walks away.

As Paige rejoins her teammates, sitting next to Jo, the brunette smirks at her a little, judging her arm and asking, “Again?”

Paige feels heat rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. “Stop, it’s nothing,” she says quickly.

Jo doesn’t press or tease her much like anyone else would, just letting out a little laugh under her breath before getting up for one of her own interviews.

Paige can’t help but watch her during it. And think.

Jo, asleep in her bed this morning, soft and peaceful and pretty. Jo, laughing loudly during their photoshoot. Jo, whose phone had lit up with messages from a boyfriend that Paige can’t stand to think about.

Her jaw tightens slightly, and she shoves the thoughts aside. She’s going to Celeste’s tonight. At least she’ll be doing something.

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 4)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

part synopsis - you return to work, and a sudden revelation changes everything.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, r was with someone else, douchebag bf trope, pregnancy scare, angst & fluff, comfort, reader is female with female anatomy and feminine

warnings - pregnancy is the main theme, blood, menstrual cycle, crying, inaccuracies because i have never been pregnant/ever thought i could be pregnant, uneducated reference to abortion: 'stick something up there',

w/c - 2.1k

a/n - last part. im sorry for the long wait and the subpar writing, i lost motiviation for this series and wasnt as into the story as i was before. BUT! i kept going for you guys. thank you <3 if anyone catches my hamilton reference youre my best friend

You hadn’t shown up to work for the week, taking the precious sick leave you had been hoarding and spending it all on arguing and throwing things into cardboard boxes. Not your stuff, but Lloyd's. And Spencer had spent those days pulling at his hair, tapping his fingers on his desk, and watching the automatic glass doors of the bullpen open just to find somebody else.

To everyone else’s knowledge, you simply had a bad stomach bug, but to Spencer it was much more. His stress was just a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate if one more person asks him how you were. Because he didn’t know. Not only were you physically absent from Spencer’s life, but virtually as well. No texts, calls, online likes or tags. It made him think the of the worst possibilities.

That’s where he was now, sat at his desk, finger tapping, leg bouncing, eyes darting from glass doors to blank phone, before he grabbed his phone and started to Hotchner’s office. His steps echoed in the early morning office sepace, patting his sweaty hands down his pants. But he didn’t make it very far before he heard Garcia’s familiar squeal, and your own genuine giggle.

Six days had been the longest you went without seeing Spencer, let alone your entire group, since you got the job. But you couldn’t put such a burden on these people, especially not the one who had seen you break down in his own apartment. To you, this was something you needed to figure out slowly and alone. Alone. Thank god, you were single now.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, just a flu?” Garcia asked, slipping one of her arms into yours and walking you to your desk.

“Stomach bug.” You smiled, patting her hand and sitting down at your desk. You looked at all of your trinkets and photos, happy to see that you never actually put a couple photo on your desk, and happy to see a photo of your team all together instead.

Spencer spun on his heel and widened his eyes, a breath escaping him in relief.

“Y/n.”

You looked up and stared at the man, the bags under his eyes deepened and the creases between his brows appearing like scars.

“Spence, hey.” You smiled as Garcia took his hurried steps as her queue to leave.

“How are you-“

“He’s gone. Sorry you cut you off.” Your hands started fidgeting, you looked askance. Spencer’s eyes betrayed him in his shock, thankfully his lips didn’t betray him in his happiness.

“Oh. That’s great.” Spencer nodded and had to shake the sudden urge to grab your hands and squeeze them. He could feel the possibilities in his fingertips by the second, but he couldn’t lose sight of the bigger issue here. “Are you gonna work a case with us? Are you feeling… better?” He asked with full care in his warm brown eyes.

“Yeah, I’m better. I mean, I’m not great yet but I’m better. Still thinking about things.”

He nodded, but before he could ask anything more, the rest of the team emerged from the elevators.

“Eden Lim, missing for 9 hours after her mother left the front door open to let in fresh air. Power outage in the neighbourhood took out all the air conditionings. Neighbours are either elderly couples or other families.” JJ handed out manila folders and picked up the remote to the Tv screen, showing a photo of a sweet little girl with her mother in a slightly professional set up. Aaron nodded and started, “Wheels up in thirty, JJ organise a meeting with their sheriff and investigators.”

On the plane, you were surprised to say the least. You found out you were pregnant by a sudden sickness, and now, you felt fine. Even though you didn’t get plane sick often, you expected at least a little nausea or maybe a headache. But honestly? You felt fine. Maybe you were a superwoman, one of the rare lucky mothers that don’t get sick often.

That’s what starts to distract you, the thought of the future. You didn’t know anything about pregnancy, let alone parenting. The last time you babysat was for Emily’s cat. Your hands started sweating and you bit the inside of your lip to attempt a suppression of nerves, but you obviously weren’t slick enough.

Hotch sends a glance your way, “You okay, Y/n?”

You smile softly, “Yeah, just the plane is kinda waking up my stomach.”

He nodded, seemingly accepting of that answer, and you gave yourself a mental fist bump.

You try to refocus on the case, but another factor is making this specific one harder.

Eden.

The top name on your baby name list since you were 16, the one you sort of planned to use without much second thought. The one who belongs to a missing child.

A young man who had just lost his son stole Eden, took her to his house, and treated her well. He was a father who had suffered loss, and took from someone else in the same way so that he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

Something about that felt slightly relatable. If Lloyd knew how you were feeling, maybe he would understand the weight on your shoulders.

You walked with Spencer to your desk, the aura around you both feeling like it was going back to normal, just with another layer on top. The secret kept between you two, a bigger one than any of the others. You flicked your small, dark green scarf over your shoulder, the difference in temperature from the case hitting you harder than usual.

Spencer slipped his satchel over his shoulder and sent you a smile. You felt a spin in your stomach because of the sight, and looked down to hide your face discreetly. You heard a small clear of the throat and then Spencer’s voice,

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Every time the victims name was mentioned, you sniffled, you rubbed your arm, or took a harder breath. Why is that?”

You widened your eyes, nearly laughing at the question. You had no idea Spencer was paying that much attention to you. Honestly, you thought he was going out of his way to avoid you to lower the chances of the team getting suspicious.

“Oh, it’s just uh. Eden has been on my baby name list since I was a teenager.”

Spencer’s shoulders tensed slightly, and his mouth opened as he nodded. His heart broke a little more. And he realised this was the first time you two were having a conversation since the night you stayed at his apartment. Not only was it making it real for you, it was making it real for him. Although, he had already vowed to himself that he would help you out with anything you needed, he doubted his mental capacity to take care of a baby made from the women he loves and a man he despises.

You both started walking to the elevator, always the last two in the office before Hotch, and you subconsciously stayed close to him. A pang hit your lower stomach that you pushed down.

“How are you doing, physically and mentally?” Spencer pushed the button with the down arrow, and looked down at you. His hair was slightly ruffled, his tie askew, but his eyes were how they always were when they looked at you, full. Full of care, of adoration, of worry, of knowing. Full of… something that could ruin both of you if he made the wrong decisions.

You took a breath and had to tear your gaze off of his, “Well, like I said, I broke up with Lloyd. He didn’t want to be a father, and when I told him I didn’t know what to do with the… baby, he said… he said… he told me to ‘stick something up there’ if I couldn’t afford another way.”

Spencer felt a rush of rage wash over him, his cheeks reddening and his hands fidgeting harder by the second. How could he?

“Basically, the opposite of how you reacted,” you laughed but it didn’t last long.

“Y/n… why haven’t you told me about him before? I didn’t even know you had been talking to guys until you were already dating one of them. If you told me about him I could’ve… I don’t know.”

“Open my eyes?” You smile sadly, and nod. “If I told you about him, and about how he acted… it was kind of like complaining about a sapling to an oak tree. Complaining about a page to a library. Complaining about a dickhead to…” You shook your head, “I felt embarrassed. And, I want you to think highly of me. But I guess after all of this, I can’t really help it anymore.”

Spencer stopped you in front of the elevator and took your hands, he looked at you with concern, and a bit of anger.

“Y/n I don’t hate you, or think any lesser of you just because you’re… pregnant, or because you were with a bad guy. I think that, while it’s true I think Lloyd is a terrible guy and I don’t see a lot of logic in staying with him, it was your own decision. I’ll always respect that.” He glanced down to his hand holding yours and let go of it.

Your eyes widened, panic shot across your face.

“Y/n?” The elevator doors opened.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You turned and ran to the toilet, hearing Spencer’s steps behind yours a moment later. He called your name, asked you if you felt sick, and it made him feel guilty for making you stress in a time like this.

He hadn’t fully processed that you weren’t just his best friend, his love, but his pregnant best friend.

You pushed on the ladies bathroom door hard and darted for a toilet stall. There is no way I’m peeing my pants in front of Spencer Reid.

You closed the stall, and soon heard Spencer enter the bathroom with no hesitation to the fact it was a women’s room. “Do you need to hold your hair up?”

And even though the offer played with your heart, you quickly denied him, “No, Spencer, I’m not sick. I just needed to…”

You wiped, and suddenly you felt dizzy. Red.

Red?

“Blood…” you whispered to yourself. "Oh my... god."

“Blood!? Y/n, should you go to the hospital?” He stood closer to the door as his heart rate picked up.

You stood up, pulled up your pants and opened the door. Spencer nearly fell into you.

You screwed your eyebrows together in confusion, and all at once a million feelings hit you. Hatred, sadness, depression, heart break, hope, denial, acceptance… relief. You looked down, unable to look at Spencer as your heart quickened, and covered your mouth with your shaking hand.

“Spencer, I’m on my period.”

His big eyes searched yours, looking down and over your face and body and it was like watching him piece a puzzle together. “You’re not…”

You shook your head, and a wave of relief hit you all at once, tears hitting you like a tsunami, your arms wrapping around Spencer’s shoulders like unforgiving ropes. He stilled for a moment, before reciprocating the tight embrace, a breath of air leaving him in the contact. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripping at your work shirt causing wrinkles to appear between his fingers. His large palm warmed your back in soothing strokes before they laid tightly around your ribcage. Honestly, hugging you was a big thing he had been thinking about in your absense - they were always genuine.

You let go and smiled at Spencer widely, the first one you gave him genuinely in too long a time. Spencer placed a hand on your cheek and wiped a tear gently, smiling back at you.

“Oh, Spencer, I’m so… sorry.”

He stopped in his tracks and widened his eyes, “Why?”

“I made you worry for so long-“

“Hey, a false positive is not your fault. You had a less than 1 percent chance of getting one so it’s no wonder it didn’t cross your mind. My mind, as well.” His heart swelled as you two looked into each others eyes. Happy, relieved, suddenly aware of how close you two were to each other.

Spencer dropped his hand, and looked down with a cough. “I’m happy for you, Y/n.”

You nodded with a shy smile, and turned to look back at the toilet, “Well, I’m gonna… you know… take care of this and then… do you wanna get a drink? I need to... I need somewhere that's not my apartment to think about this.”

He blushed slightly, realising where he was, and picked up his satchel, “Yes, of course. Do you want to go to mine? We can pick up drinks on the way?”

"That would be amazing, thank you Spence." "Anything for you."

taglist - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner @yokaimoon @flow33didontsmoke @reidswifeyyyyyy @kitsunetori @yasmin12312 @softestqueeen @adoresami @hazza3000 @lov3-audz @issy25 @pleasantwitchgarden @upuntil6am

[anonity]

across the hall - chapter 2

you all have anon to thank for this LMFAO i must have written the first part in a fever dream because i genuinely had no recollection of making this

anyways sorry for the wait + i hope this lives up to your expectations! 

WC: 1500ish

you jiggled your door handle again with the hope that it would open by sheer force of will. evidently, your telekinesis skills needed work, because it didn’t even seem to consider unlocking. 

with a huff, your forehead came to land against the wood of your door with a soft thud. after contemplating the helplessness of your situation, you fish your phone out of your pocket and stare holes into the delivered sitting under your text to alyssa. 

she was supposed to be home by the time you got back, so originally it was “no problem” if you left your key in the room. 20 minutes prior, though, she’d texted to inform you that she would not in fact be home because her tinder date had decided to move the time up.

you hope he's a catfisher. 

it wouldn’t have been such an inconvenience if you hadn't already spent your entire day at the library. now you were exhausted, and had no clue when you would finally get to sink into your shitty mattress.

the floor was looking more enticing by the minute, and you were about to resign to sleeping on it when a voice rang out behind you. 

“locked out?” 

your heart stopped. this could not be a more humbling experience. every star in the sky has aligned just to screw you over at 9:45pm on this friday night, and paige bueckers is an active participant in your downfall. 

she’s going to think you’re an idiot, but what are you going to do, lie? oh, no, i just thought the wall looked comfy.

“yeah,”  you answer, turning to face the woman you’ve been avoiding for the last week. the instant eye contact has you fumbling for words a little. “i, uhhh.. well my roommate – well i left my key.. my key is in the room and my roommate is not,” you finally finish.

you’re waiting for the floor to swallow you.

paige tilts her head, nose wrinkling a little as she smiles at you. she looks amused. “so, whats your plan? teleport?”

you hum, glancing sideways at the door. “it crossed my mind.”

she’s still smiling when she gestures towards her own door. “well, if you don’t wanna sit out here all night, my roommates out. no superpowers required.”

your eyes widen – you think you’ve misheard her. “your room?”

paige laughs this time, opening her door. “well one of us has a key, and it’s not you.”

you hesitate. is paige morally obligated to let you into her room now that you’ve dragged her into your disarrayed state? are you morally obligated to decline?

she must be a mindreader, because she steps to the side and nods her head at the door. “i promise i’m literally just gonna watch game reruns tonight. you can hang out as long as you want.”

you finally nod appreciatively. “yeah, okay, thanks paige.”

you slip past her, politely taking your shoes off at the door when she shuts it behind the two of you, a glint in her eye. “you a fan?”

you eye her suspiciously. “i’ve seen some games.”

“i just find it interesting you know my name–”

“oh my god,” you roll your eyes, the smile pulling at your lips betraying you. “maybe i should’ve just stayed in the hallway.”

“oh, because the vending machine is so much better than me.”

“it’s got food,” you mumble, moreso trying to get on her nerves than make a suggestion. she takes the bait anyways, looking mock-offended.

“i have food!” she immediately reaches for her mini fridge. if you weren’t already in such an unbelievable situation, your jaw would’ve dropped at the contents.

“paige, this hardly counts as food.” the “food” in question is reminiscent of a teenage boy's “gym fuel”.  “everything in there has to taste like cardboard.”

“i play D1 basketball!” she scoffs, like she can’t believe you would suggest her chocolate chip cookie dough quest bar might be unappetizing. “you have a lot of attitude for somebody who locked herself out of her room a week into moving in.”

you sit down on someone's bed, (you can’t really tell, because both walls are lined with basketball posters) and grin, leaning forward onto your knees. “okay, you’re right, i’m sorry. but i’m still going to pass on,” you wrinkle your nose in distaste, squinting at the fridge. “legendary foods cake?”

“for legendary players,” she shoots back. you must’ve sat in the wrong spot, because paige throws herself down opposite of you and pats the space next to her. “KK’s kinda weird about people bein’ on her stuff, so..” “are all basketball players this high maintenance?” 

paige hums. “just us, i think.” “thank god.”

you move despite paige’s scowl, pressing yourself close to the edge of the bed. silence apparently never lasts long with paige, because she immediately drawls out, “sooo,” and then continues, “what are you doing alone on a friday night?”

you roll your eyes. “waiting for my roommate to get home, apparently.”

“you guys together or sum?”

you laugh. “uh, no, she’s on a date tonight. hence the locking out.” paige hums, eyes trained on the TV. “just haven’t been invited to any good parties recently.”

“i don’t think there are any – ion’ even know where KK went tonight.”

“it’s still early in the year.”

your mind drifts. you hate small talk. paige gestures towards the TV, a celtics v. bulls game from years ago rolling. “can you play 2k?”

much better.

you argue for a minute over who gets to play as the lynxes (paige finally relents, saying something about being drafted somewhere cooler and then choosing the wings of all teams) and then the first match starts.

right off the bat, she was bragging over a 2-pointer. “this games over already, y/n, you can put the controller down.”

“yeah okay, keep that energy when i drop 20 on you.”

after a flashy dunk you were particularly proud of in the second quarter, you grinned at paige. “you want me to clip that for you? you can start a highlight reel for me.”

she rolled her eyes, leaning closer to the TV. “doesn’t matter how good you look doin’ it if it’s still only two points.” 

you falter only slightly at her how good you look. 

by the fourth quarter, you were embarrassingly down 8 points. the last 6 minutes had been rough – not because you were bad at the game (because you weren’t) but because in the excitement of one of her riskiest plays following through, paige had shoved your shoulder and shouted “boom!”. unfortunately, she hadn’t moved away after that, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from her body. 

it didn’t take long for her to call you out. “bro, why is your defense so bad? do i needa show you where the buttons are?” she reaches over, mockingly gesturing at your controller. you stiffen a little at the contact. jesus, pull it together.

“touching the player in real life is totally a technical foul in 2k.” you laugh out instead, tilting the controller away.   

thankfully oblivious to your hesitation, paige laughs incredulously. “okay, now you’re just making shit up.”

at 12:00am, your phone buzzes between the two of you. paige glances down first.

“is that your roommate?”

your heart sank. after two rounds of bickering over 2k, you were beginning to hope alyssa would be out late. she wasn’t, though, and her contact photo was now bright on your screen. 

you’d abandoned her playstation after paiges second win (you’d stubbornly pointed out that it was her job to be good at basketball) and paige had turned on love and basketball instead, calling it tragic that you hadn’t seen it. the end credits had been playing for a hot minute now though, and you were really out of excuses to not go back to your dorm.

“yeah, it is. apparently her date was super hot.”

paige smiles. “good.”

theres a beat of silence (something you’ve discovered is rare with paige), before you finally shift in the bed. “thanks for letting me crash.”

she jolts a little, watching you get up. “oh, yeah, no problem, anytime.”

before you reach the door, though, paige is up with you. “hol’ on,” she starts, thrusting her phone towards you. “well, actually,” she doubles back, bringing it back to herself. “um,” she starts again, eloquently, and you raise an eyebrow at her fumbling. “give me your number – in case you get locked out again.”

“i gotta get locked out for you to play 2k with me?”

“no!” paiges eyes widen and you decide to have a little mercy on her.

“relax, i’m just messing with you.”

she gives you a bone-dry laugh in response. “ha, ha. give me your number, f’real.”

thank god for hot tinder dates.

[radiantmists]

For @charles-rowland-week Day 3: Bag of Tricks Backpack!

I have a lot of thoughts about the backpack (I love a bag of holding) so here's one scene from what will hopefully be a whole fic someday, set at some point before Charles has quite figured the bag out.

***

"I do wish you wouldn't do that in the office," Edwin says from his seat at the desk. He's been reading the same book for more than a day now, some thick alchemy tome that's apparently fascinating enough to hold his interest despite being written using Linear B, which even Edwin finds challenging.

Charles, setting the sparkly rock he's just pulled out of his backpack next to the pair of sunglasses and ornately painted saltshaker that had preceded it, grins up at him.

"You don't want me to bring the bag on cases, now you don't want me to mess with it in the office," he says. "Where am I meant to practice, on the roof?"

"I didn't want you to bring it on cases because I worried you would put case-relevant materials in by accident and not be able to retrieve them in time," Edwin replies primly. "Now that that ship has rather dramatically sailed, I don't want you to use it here because I worry that you will retrieve certain case-relevant materials."

"I told you, I'm pretty sure it ate the demon bats," Charles says. "I mean, digested and all. We're never gonna see them again."

He's only mostly joking about that. Nothing he did should have given the bag the ability to digest magical creatures, but he's got the strong feeling that it has a sense of humor, and if it can develop one of those on it's own, a stomach isn't much of a stretch, is it?

"For all your insistence on that point, you're very willing to put your arm inside of it," Edwin says, not sounding particularly concerned. "Do you not worry that it will gain a taste for ghost, next?"

"Mate," Charles gasps theatrically, "our backpack would never."

"That abomination is entirely yours, as far as I'm concerned."

This is somewhat fair, considering that the bag probably wouldn't have the audacity to withhold Edwin's books if he'd been the one to enchant it instead of letting Charles do it. However, the comment runs counter to Charles' current strategy: sweet-talking the bag into compliance.

"Don't worry," Charles tells it in a conciliatory tone, "he loves you really."

He glances up at Edwin, expecting a comment about misguided anthropomorphizing or something, but no, he's back to the book.

With a sigh, Charles reaches into the backpack again, focusing on his boomerang. It had been pretty cool, enchanted to return right to your hands when you threw it, even after it hit something. He and Edwin had spent weeks poking at the spell to figure out how to reproduce it for Charles' bat.

But at some point after that, it had occurred to Charles to wonder what would happen if he threw it into the backpack, and, well. Here he was a year later, groping around in the void.

(Chucking random magical objects in was probably not making the backpack's behavior more predictable, but Charles never managed to think about things like that until after he'd followed through on the impulse.)

He'd realized (again, shortly after doing it) that the problem with enchanting a bag to be infinite inside was that it now contained infinite amounts of empty space. It's taken him years just to consistently find something when he reaches in. Now he just has to work out how to find what he's actually looking for.

After a few seconds of grasping blindly, his fingers brush against something. It's small, flat and thin like a piece of paper, but a little sturdier-- maybe one of the cards he'd put in as a test a few months back? He'd been pretty sure the whole deck would stay together, but maybe if something else he put in had bumped it…

As far as he can tell by touch, there's nothing else 'nearby' in the void, so he pulls the object out and finds that it's not a card but a bookmark, one of the celluloid ones that Edwin prefers. It's in the shape of a train car, with a little advert for the rail company on the back; Charles thinks he remembers Edwin saying he used to collect these, as a child.

"Think it's trying to tell you something, mate," Charles says, holding it up for Edwin to see.

"Charles, the bag doesn't have ears," Edwin says, but he does finally look away from the book. He cocks his head as he recognizes the bookmark, expression going thoughtful. "If anything, I would say this is an indication that it's responding to your desires."

"Feel like it would be a bit easier to use if it were doing that," Charles grumbles, and Edwin's mouth quirks a bit.

"I suppose I will take the hint, wherever it originates," he says, rising and coming around the desk to retrieve the bookmark. "I admit I could use a change of scenery."

"Brills," says Charles, climbing to his feet. "Wanna take the bag to the roof and see what happens if I turn it inside out?"

"Absolutely not."

[skdjrhaejdhst-cat]

NOBODY PRIORITISES HISTORY AS A SCHOOL SUBJECT AND IT'S PISSING ME OFF

MY SCHOOL IS IN POSSESSION OF AN ACTUAL, I'M ASSUMING ORIGINAL, BRITISH WW1 HELMET. AND GUESS WHERE IT'S SITTING. IN THE ART CUPBOARD. FOR NONCES MY AGE TO DRAW WITHOUT ANY REGARD FOR ITS HISTORY OR ORIGIN.

MY SCHOOL RUNS ON A 2-WEEK TIMETABLE (WHICH IS ALSO STUPID BUT THAT'S NOT THIS PROBLEM) AND OVER THOSE TWO WEEKS, I HAVE 3 HISTORY LESSONS. T-H-R-E-E THREE. OVER THOSE SAME TWO WEEKS I HAVE 6 PE LESSONS. TWICE AS MUCH PE AS HISTORY. WHY.

I'M CURRENTLY IN THE PROCESS OF PICKING MY GCSE OPTIONS (STANDARDISED EXAMS YOU TAKE WHEN YOU'RE 16) AND YOU ARE REQUIRED TO DO 2 KINDS OF SCIENCE, 2 KINDS OF ENGLISH AND 2 KINDS OF PHILOSOPHY (ONE YOU TAKE AN EXAM FOR AND ONE YOU DON'T BUT I DIGRESS). AND THE ENTIRE HISTORY COURSE IS AN OPTION. I UNDERSTAND IT'S A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL BUT COME ON.

ON TOP OF ALL THAT, EVERYONE ELSE IN MY CLASS HATES HISTORY. THEY SAY IT'S "BORING" OR "NOT WORTH LEARNING" AND THAT'S MAINLY BECAUSE THE CURRICULUM IS SHIT. THE ENTIRE THING IS SO HEAVILY BRITISH-BIASED THEY MAY AS WELL JUST PULL A BHUTAN AND REFUSE TO ACKNOWLEDGE RUSSIA'S EXISTENCE. SO FAR THE ONLY NON-BRITISH HISTORY I'VE LEARNED IN THIS SCHOOL WAS THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, WHICH WE SPENT ONE WEEK ON AND DIDN'T EVEN DO A TEST.

ADDING TO THE PREVIOUS PARAGRAPH, WE PRETTY MUCH JUST FINISHED UP THE WW1 TOPIC AND WE NEVER ONCE TALKED ABOUT AN INDIVIDUAL BATTLE. NEVER ONCE DID MY TEACHER MENTION THE BATTLE OF PASSCHENDAELE OR THE ZEPPELIN RAIDS ON LONDON. NEVER ONCE DID MY TEACHER SAY THE WORDS "EASTERN FRONT", "BOLSHEVIK REVOLUTION" OR "U-BOAT". YOU PROBABLY GUESSED HISTORY IS MY FAVOURITE SUBJECT AND I AM BORED OUT OF MY MIND IN SCHOOL BECAUSE THE LEARNING IS SO BLAND AND SURFACE LEVEL. MY TEACHER TOOK THE 2 OR 3 WEEKS OF LESSONS WE HAD (WE NORMALLY TAKE A COUPLE OF MONTHS FOR A TOPIC) AND SPENT 70% OF IT SHOWING US TRENCH LAYOUTS AND EXPLAINING DUGOUTS. DO YOU NOT THINK THE INVENTION OF THE TANK, THE WEAPON THAT REVOLUTIONISED WARFARE RIGHT UP UNTIL TODAY, IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN TELLING US THAT THE LEG WRAP THINGS ARE CALLED PUTTEES.

TEACH PEOPLE HISTORY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

[slaaverin]

To hell and back

This post is very difficult to make for me. This is not about BTS, or about fandom, but about mental health, and my personal story. I never really opened up about it anywhere except in a few facebook groups. But today is the day I decided to speak about my story.

It is surely more for me than for you.

Very few people in my friends and family can really understand what I have been going through, because it is a topic so complex that even I have trouble understanding it sometimes.

Well, firstly, I am schizophrenic. At least according to science. If you asked me though, it would be a different answer.

The truth is, I became spiritual again when I was 25, not long after discovering BTS. I took on a meditation practice and grew my consciousness very quickly.

Someday, I had an idea on how I would be able to help the collective, and I thought about becoming clairaudient (hearing the other side). So, I "hear voices". I followed my intuition on how to achieve this, and after some time it actually worked, I could hear.

So this ability to hear was totally consented on my part, I wanted this from the start.

But yeah, according to science, when you can hear anything, they put a schizophrenic label on you. I think it's mostly that they are in over their head with this kind of subject, and they simply don't understand everything enough to really be able to help anyone, except with medication.

Unfortunately, the universe is bigger and more nuanced than a label, so I never really got help from psychiatrists. I had to navigate through this on my own.

Everything was going fine at first, I was learning how to use this ability, and things were going well.

But someday, everything went to shit.

I won't go into that much details, I'll spare you, because it is pretty horrific. But long story short, I made a trip to "hell". Literally.

Of course, I myself do not believe in the christian hell. I've studied spirituality enough to understand it is not that literal, and there are many realms with different purposes.

But there are some dimensions that are close enough of what we would imagine hell to be like. And I have gone there.

I spent 2 weeks in 2 dimensions at once. In my physical body, but also in this dark dimension.

It's not really important to believe in this, or to argue whether it was real or not, because the thing is, my experience, impressions, feelings, all of it, were real to me. It felt real. It felt tangible. The mechanics does not matter, what matters is that I experienced it, and the trauma from it was real.

It was the most horrific, the darkest, the most twisted, so terrible that words cannot even give it justice. It is an experience that I felt somehow was a glitch in the matrix. Like we should not be able to experience something like this, it should not be allowed.

But it was. And no matter how much I cried for help, prayed all the gods, begged, no one came to save me. I could not sleep, did not eat, and barely functioned during those 2 weeks.

I felt left there, abandoned, alone, helpless, in total despair and horror, and with a pain that was so profound that I thought it would kill me. I was patiently waiting for death to take me, in how much my heart was broken into a million pieces.

I got annihilated entirely by the end. No emotions, no thoughts, no personality, no beliefs, nothing that made me me, was left.

I was gone, an empty shell. I had been entirely destroyed. A metaphorical death.

But something was left. A tiny flicker.

It was the light of my consciousness, my divine spark.

I understood then that even the worst darkness that exist would not be able to destroy my light, and that I was eternal.

So all of my fears vanished. I began clinging to that light and use a strength I didn't even know I posessed to crawl back from the pit of my own hell.

I had PTSD for years after this experience. And it was not truly over. I was still plagued by many interferences, trickster energies, evil things.

But over time, I healed, and brought back the pieces of myself that were scattered, and my psyche, even with PTSD, began to mend.

But now I had to learn how to play "the game". How to not get tricked, how to keep my internal balance despite being surrounded by nothing but darkness.

Some day the darkness put so much pressure on my being that I thought of ending my life. And that's not really like me, because I'm really pro-life.

But it's like I've been through some fucking intense internal military-like training, with no rest, with no pause, and no mercy. Ever.

It pushed me to my limits.

So of course I transformed. I became stronger mentally, I learned discernement, I took my power back, literally my entire being was totally refined.

I mastered "the game" of darkness, outsmarted them, mended every breach of my psyche, moved past all my fears, and my mind became as cutting and sharp as a knife. It took me years, but I learned the lesson. And I can say that darkness was my greatest teacher. The wisdom I gained, there is really no price for it. In the end I saved myself.

Today, I am good. I work very hard to keep my internal balance, to remain optimistic, to keep spreading love around me.

If you saw me you wouldn't tell I have any particularity lol

But to say this whole process has been hard is a understatement. It is SO FUCKING HARD like it's so hard and complex and layered that's it's really a bit ridiculous?

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a very bad movie, so I guess the universe and my higher self really have a weird sense of humour. But I laugh it off too because it's better than crying about it.

I know we are never alone, and that everything supports us, but the illusion that we are is really strong sometimes. Almost no one would be able to understand my experience, without having lived it, so I feel like I'm bearing this cross on my own.

But you know, all of this really puts things into perspective. The fact I have been in a place such as this, survived, and came back, makes every other little problems in life feel truly trivial.

I don't know what your faith is, it is not really important. What I learned in my studies is that most people who actually go to those places had things to learn, it's never "some punishement". It's clearly not because I deserved it.

But I did my share of learning indeed. Today I feel like I am a better version of myself thanks to this experience.

I believe it was for my highest benefit, because I can't reconcile senseless pain and hurt in my mind with a loving god. I know things aren't random.

It all began because I wanted to help. So in sharing my story, I want you to share a message of hope.

The deepest pain, the darkest fear, nothing that is abyssal and scary and any emotion you might feel, none of it will actually hurt you. You cannot be hurt. You cannot be destroyed by anything, ever. We just think that some emotions will kill us, so we avoid to feel them. We fear, so we flee.

If you actually embrace your fears, it won't kill you. It will liberate you. Nothing else will happen.

You know why we come to earth to have crazy experiences and we don't mind the trauma and the pain that come with it? Because our souls know that we are not taking any real risk in the first place.

Your light is deeper than the deepest fear, largest than the most painful hurt, and you are safe at all time, even if it doesn't feel like it.

So please, rest easy, don't take life so seriously, it's all going to be ok. We will all wake up from this dream someday and go back to love, and it will only be a memory, a blip in our eternity.

We are safe & loved.

I think I needed to get all this out of my chest.

(Please don't feel the need to psychoanalyze me or feed me religious doctrines, I had years to process and really understand the mechanics of everything that happened to me so far, but obviously I didn't want to turn this post into a million words so many aspects are left out.)

Thank you for reading my post and take care💜

[bitterbareface]

Im so glad at least one other person is discussing the fact thomas is also arguably a victim of sexual assault, if not rape, because i think its key to understanding his turn once he gets back to fully accepting ellen's beliefs that something terrible is after them. What he experienced for weeks is what shes experienced for at least a decade, and its kinda criminal a lot of discussion of the film has been flattened into whether its moral to ship ellen and orlock

Tbh I get very emotional if I think about Thomas' story too long. I relate to him the most out of anyone in the movie, I think, because I've spent almost my entire life as a very passive people pleaser who ended up in bad situations because I can't say no and can't trust my gut. And I remember having the worldview shattering realization that oh my God some people are just evil. Politeness and societal rules won't protect me. Watching him go through that is just *insert key smashing*

[chiarrara]

PART THR33 (finallyyyyyyyy):

so after all THAT nobara and megumi are, predictably, avoiding the subject... basically, they were both like "that's crazy, he's crazy right? that's crazy" and focused harder on the obvious distraction of liking yuuji. the whole thing seemed to calm down yuuji a bit though! he's being less cagey with them, and after a few days, the initial weirdness mostly calms down and things fall into a (three-way denial fueled) equilibrium

SCENE - INT. DINING HALL, MORNING

they're grabbing breakfast (again)(as you do) but nobara splits off to eat with the upperclassmen (N: "I don't wanna eat with you assholes today"; she already had plans to eat with maki)((she may also be avoiding one or the both of them))(((any reason honeslty, everyday is a new minefield with these losers)))

SIDE NOTE: for some reason in this, nobara developed a really contentious one-sided feud with yuuta. maki and yuuta might be a thing, or just besties, idrc because that has nothing to do with nobara's dislike of him (really, what it comes down to is in first year she didn't get to go to kyoto because "he won the exchange event last year" and she's held a grudge against him ever since) of course, he's very nice and welcoming to her at all times, which gives her lots of opportunites to snap back at him and roll her eyes and ignore him to talk to maki. he has no idea what's going on.

Things are awkward between yuuji and megumi. things have mostly gone back to normal but this is still the first time anyone's been alone with yuuji since the incident. they're pretty much just sitting in silence until yuuji breaks the tension.

Y: I can't believe gojo-sensei actually assigned us a reading this week. he's never done that before has he?

M: technically, he's supposed to assign readings every week. it just never matters if we actually read them or not.

Y: wait, really? but...didn't he say he was gonna quiz us?

M: it's probably just because he's going out of town all week. he has to pretend he's still teaching while he's gone.

Y: oh…so you think he's gonna forget by the time he gets back?

M: probably. but even if he doesn't-- you know, right after I graduated middle school gojo told me all of sudden there was an entrance exam for jujutsu tech.

Y: really!? but all I had to do was--

M: trust me I'm getting to that. he gave me like 700 pages of reading and told me I was gonna get tested on all of it. I spent the entire break pulling all-nighters, reading everything, reviewing it over and over, running practice exams and everything. Then I showed up on the first day.

Y: and?

M: Yaga-sensei beat the shit out of me.

Yuuji laughs. Megumi smiles.

Y: was anything in the reading helpful at least?

M: not even a little bit.

It's the first time Yuuji's laughed so easily around him since stuff got weird.

Y: what did Gojo say?

M: "I never said it would be a written exam"

Y: you're kidding

Across the room, Maki's glancing over Nobara's shoulder

Maki: looks like they're finally getting along again. shit's been weird with you three lately. (N: mm.)

Yuuta: the two of them would be cute together, don't you think? (N: glares)

Maki: How would Nobara feel about getting third wheeled in her little trio though?

Nobara peeks over her shoulder to see Megumi smiling softly at a grinning and laughing Yuuji, the two of them looking realllll cozy together.

Nobara: Whatever. I just don't want Yuuji to get a boyfriend before I do.

((((Maki: what about megumi? Nobara: couldn't care less))))

SCENE - EXT. TRAINING GROUNDS, AFTERNOON

that same afternoon, they're out getting ready for the afternoon training session. it's independently lead today. megumi's planning on training with his shikigami getting ready to do another subjugation ritual. he's warming up by himself a ways away from the other two. nobara gets her hammer and nails and approaches yuuji streching on the ground and asks him to spar with her

yuuji: I mean....okay, but are you sure? you're more of a ranged fighter, right? how well you can fight kinda depends on how well you can take advantage of your environment, especially one-on-one against a hand-to-hand fighter. and...well, we're in an open field.

nobara smirks (she's secretly always impressed by yuuji's fight sense, but she's also the most competitive person she knows): you scared?

yuuji looks back up at her, blinks at the challenge, then a smile slowly grows across his face. holding eye contact, he cocks his head and says: no way

they set up about 10 yards (meters) apart. yuuji's bouncing on his toes, rolling his shoulders ready to close the distance. he drops his chin and locks eyes with nobara. she slots three nails between her fingers on her left hand, adjusts her grip on her hammer and locks in.

nobara has to keep her heart from beating out of her chest

yuuji takes off, a huge burst of speed that kicks up the turf behind him. in practiced motions, nobara slams three nails in a spread pattern into the ground between them. the earth explodes in front of yuuji, breaking and shooting up into jagged crags of earth in his path. he skids, taken aback by a technique he didn't know she had. he quickly changes direction

nobara takes advantage of the moment when yuuji has lost the line of sight and quickly scales one of the new formations jutting out of the ground, pulling as many nails as she can hold at once out of her hip pack. the moment she sees yuuji veering around the obstruction, she shoots a nail directly at his head

he catches sight of her just before the nail whizzes past his face. he has to halt his movement and pull his head back to barely miss being hit. He uses the sudden stop to change directions again, and start bounding up the broken earth toward nobara

she shoots another, he dodges to the left. she shoots one more, and it catches him on the cheek. he doesn't even flinch, bounding forward until he's just a step away from catching up to her

nobara jumps backward off her perch and slides down another chunk of jutting turf, turning as yuuji jumps across to follow her. the moment he touches down, she shoots a nail into the ground right below his feet, destroying it.

she takes the opportunity to gain some distance, running away from the destroyed turf back into the open field. she'll only have a moment to do what she needs to do.

the ground explodes behind her in a crack followed by a blast that blows her hair around her and sends debris flying past. he'll be on her in seconds. if she's lucky

nobara pulls six nails out of her pack and floats five around her with cursed energy. she spins around, kneels down in the center and slams the last one into the ground, bringing all the others down with it and shooting cursed energy deep into the earth

immediately the ground beneath her shoots up into the sky carrying her up with it

the sudden upward momentum knocks the air out of her for a moment. she stabilizes herself on her hands and knees as the acceleration slows near the peak. she brings her eyes to the ground below her. yuuji is locked onto her, just below bouncing on his toes waiting for the moment she lands.

she reaches the peak and her stomach lurches as she comes to a stop. she takes a deep breath.

the moment the ground begins to fall she stands, reaches out with her cursed energy, and takes aim

one shot to the right. he dodges and rolls. but as he moves to pop back up, he's jerked back by his left arm, stuck to the ground. his head flicks over to see what's holding him back, but the nail she shot is feet away from him. nobara smirks.

three more shots. his right arm is pinned down. then his right leg. and his left.

she launches herself off the chunk of land just before it crashes back into the ground and lands kneeled over yuuji, a nail to his head, hammer over her head

"i win"

yuuji's shocked face pulls into a wide smile as his eyes light up and his body relaxes

"how'd you do that?"

she smiles, and pokes him in the cheek where the nail grazed him at the start of the fight.

"that tiny bit of blood?"

she nods

"on one nail?"

she nods again and smiles

"no way....when did you learn all this?"

"maybe i've been practicing when you weren't paying attention"

"you're amazing, kugisaki"

the praise shoots electricity straight down her spine and sets her skin on fire.

"yeah. i am." she tries to maintain an air of confidence, turning away as her face heats up. she drops her cursed technique freeing yuuji from being pinned to the ground and moves to stand up.

the moment the curse drops he hooks his leg around hers, one hand presses into her shoulder and the other wraps around her waist. before she can process, he's flipped her onto her back, pinning her down by her wrist, immobilizing the hand that holds her hammer. he smirks down at her.

"I win"

nobara's heart is going to kill her. yuuji's face, inches from hers, self-satisfied grin and sparkling eyes is going to kill her.

"get off me, loser" she pushes him off with one foot. He falls off easily laughing.

"let's call it a draw!"

"no way!"

he laughs harder. megumi watches them from across the destroyed landscape. nobara is pushing herself off the ground flicking dirt and grass off her uniform while yuuji is laid out on the ground beside her. she's frowning, but her face is flushed. he knows it's not from effort.

"other people have to train here you know" he mumbles to himself. he's definitely mad about the damage. only the damage. he's not getting anything done today.

SCENE - INT. DORM HALLWAY, EVENING

that night, nobara knocks on megumi's door again for the first time since the incident. she slips in quietly and shuts the door with a soft click. they hold tense eye contact from across the room before nobara finally speaks

n: you think you're slick?

m: what?

n: i saw you flirting up a storm with yuuji at breakfast.

megumi slams his book closed

n: "oh yuuji, you're so funny, yuuuji. let me bat my eyes at you some more yuuuuuji!"

m: I was flirting?? (he gets up from his bed) "spar with me yuuji-kun! let me show my moves yuuji-kuuun! oops i'm straddling you yuuji-kuuuun!"

he's halfway across the room taunting her

n: i don't know who the fuck you think you're talking about, cause I know it's not me

she's halfway across the room up in his face

n: sounds like you're jealous

m: i'm not jealous

n: so you're a liar too

m: (softer this time) not a liar...

megumi's looking down into her eyes, she's glaring up into his. his eyes drop to her lips. nobara just deflates like we're doing this again, huh? megumi just shrugs like can't help it. in moments, they're all over each other again, falling back onto his bed, wrinkling the sheets, and rolling awkwardly over the book he deposited there earlier.

nobara slides her hands into megumi's hair and pulls, he gasps and bites her lip. she pulls her lip through his teeth and sits back breathing heavily. megumi catches her eye and they pause.

he shakes his head and pulls her back in.

"let's not talk about it yet"

she nods and crashes back into him.

once they've worked off the initial burst of energy, slowing down until nobara's forehead is pressed against megumi's, breathing evenly, his hands holding her lower back and waist, neither of them making direct eye contact, she falls to the side and burys her face in the bedding.

m: soooo....

n: (groans)

m: we should probably talk about it now

nobara turns her head to look at him, her face still half squished against the mattress, pouting

m: nobara...what are we?

END OF PART 3, PART 4 GONNA BE WILD GET READY

new itfskg based on a hc post i saw on here in my fugue state rbing last night i'll add a screenshot or link or smth later maybe idk. okay so baskially how it goes:

megumi and nobara both have a crush on yuuji. this is especially hard for nobara bc she spent the whole first let's say year of their friendship being extremely vocal about how she'd never be into either of them but oops! she got too comfy and caught feelings

nobara eventually breaks down and goes to fushiguro to lament her plight and ask for advice. she's dramatically revealing the source of her suffering when his face gives him away (a big ol "oh no" written on his forehead) (N: what's that face? M: what face... N: oh my god... do you like him too???) (Megumi doesn't say shit cause he's a repressed loser embarrassed of having feelings)

Turns out meg's had a crush on yuuji basically since he met him. he didn't realize it at first of course cause he's way too good at lying to himself. not that good though. he's been silently fostering a deep deep crush for months.

having learned all this, for the next few weeks, nobara starts visiting fushiguro in his dorm anytime she's too overwhelmed by annoying feelings, or pulling him aside during downtime to let off steam, sharing knowing glances and silent communications across rooms. megu's surprisingly glad to have someone to confide in, especially in a way where he's not the center of attention. Since they're both pathetic losers with a crush, he finds it's easier to talk about his feelings than with anything before.

regularly commiserating about how down bad they both are leads nobara and megumi to spend more time separated from yuuji. it's really good for their friendship actually. previously they were both a bit closer to yuuji than to each other, but having a crush to bond over gives them a lot to talk about. yuuji does notice they're spending more time together. and without him. wonder how he feels about that..

one night, nobara barges into megumi's room to complain about yuuji being way too cute and funny at dinner or something while megumi's laying in bed reading. she just plops down half on top of him and starts in. He reluctantly puts his book down but he doesn't object. they've gotten pretty used to each other. so she's going off, grumbling into his shoulder, gripping his sweatshirt out of frustration, and when she looks up, fushiguro looks down at her. their faces less than a foot apart as she's leaning into him, lying together in his bed and...

N: what's that face

M: what face?

he looks away. nobara turns his face back to hers

N: that face

M: (without breaking *very intense* eye contact) I dont' know what you're talking about

they make out

it's very much teenagers with a lot of pent up energy that needs to go somewhere fooling around like teenagers with pent up energy that needs to go somewhere. they kind of crash together, they're grabbing at arms and shoulders and faces, pulling each other as close as they can without ever breaking the kiss. At one point, nobara in readjusting to keep from falling off the bed ends up on top of megumi, knees on either side of his hips, one hand propping herself up and one gripped in the fabric of his sweatshirt. he pulls her into him and rolls them over so they're chest to chest with him on top. he's pushes his hands into her hair, she wraps her arms around his back and twists her leg around h--

two knocks and the door opens

"Hey Fushiguro, I wanted to see if you..."

Yuuji's halfway through the doorway and his face is morphing into the picture of absolute despair

megumi and nobara are...like this

(they're not naked, they're just microsoft paint stick people)

"Oh, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I'll just..." Yuuji sputters and stumbles out the door.

(simultaneously) M: Shit.. N: Fuck!

so the mood's kiiinda dead.... megumi ends up leaned up against the wall with his head in his hands. nobara's staring blankly at the ceiling. Eventually, nobara says, "did you see his face?" M: "mm" N: "so...which one of us do you think he likes?"

---END OF PART ONE---

(I'll continue it in like... 5 minutes probably)

[nnnn99999]

I want to share my interpretation of FadelStyle's sex scenes in the storage room, but before I get to the actual scene I need to establish FadelStyle's relationship arc so far. I won't go into detail about their attitude towards each other in episode 1 and 2 because @airenyah did such a great job of explaining Style's journey in this post and I wholeheartedly agree with everything she said.

To summarize, by the end of episode 2 Style is starting to sense something is off about Fadel and he is starting to want to connect to him, whereas Style manages to make past Fadel's defenses and enter his mind, albeit as a sexual fantasy. At this point neither of the two actively dislike each other as they used to before. Fadel still finds Style very annoying, but he is already starting to get used to it. Style still thinks Fadel is grumpy and rude, but he is intrigued by what lays under Fadel's mask. They don't really like each other, but they don't exactly hate each other either.

This dynamics continue in episode 3. As they meet each other more and more, Fadel softens up to Style as sees more of him. It's hard for Fadel to completely ignore the genuine care, concern and sincerity Style throws at him again and again. Style also starts to become even more intrigued by Fadel as he realizes just how deep the man is hiding himself. Not to mention the physical attraction between the two that very much exists and makes its presence known in the form of sexual fantasies.

When they actually hook up for the first time, there is only physical attraction that is driving their actions. As I mentioned before, they don't dislike each other, but they don't really like each other either. There is an emotional disconnect between the two. And I believe this is the reason this experience was not very fulfilling for either of them. Both of them seem to be the type to believe in having proper relationships instead of casual hookups, so sex without any sort of meaningful connection might be pleasant because of the physical attraction, but it's far from being able to make either of them feel content.

Comparing FadelStyle's first time to KantBison's first time makes this more evident. KantBison didn't even know each other's names when they jumped into bed together. But that didn't stop them from having a great time. They have no problems in finding sexual satisfaction without any emotional attachment. FadelStyle on the other hand seem to be unable to do that. It's a matter of preference, neither is right or wrong. The lighting choices in the two scenes also reflect the mood of the couples. For KantBison, it's a bright red-glaring, intense and passionate. The lighting is not warm, it's burning hot actually. Whereas for FadelStyle, the lighting is a cold blue, with no hint of warmth to be found.

In Fadel's fantasy, Fadel thinks about Style's interest in himself (his name and his tattoo). In Style's fantasy, Style imagines Fadel serving him with direct eye contact maintained at all times. Both of these fantasies further indicate to me that both of them crave a deeper connection with the other. And it's only when they find that connection that they can truly find sexual contentment.

I don't think Fadel meant to be that tender and worshipful with Style. I think he just couldn't help himself. Now that Style has had a taste of what it could feel like being with Fadel, he is not going to give up trying to make Fadel his. And Fadel has no way to defend against that kind of Style.

[benevolenterrancy]

("Always. Continuously. With increasing apprehension, and decreasing hope. I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this." -- paraphrased from The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket)

[rutadales]

people who participate in hate-fandoms need to get an actual hobby I'm so serious 😭 not to be a hater but for the love of God log off. genuinely humiliating to be spending that much time caring about something that makes you so miserable that is ultimately so meaningless

[sparkly-skies]

@reserved-fruit thank you for the link to this video with Kris' heart ring (goes perfectly with Keep Me Grounded, Keep Me Calm, just saying 👀 do you like friends (Bojan and Kris) comforting each other and jokingly proposing while still being deeply serious about how important their friendship is? Go read this!).

Here's some screenshots to look at with me, why? Because I'm a touchstarved bitch and scream and cry at any sighting of physical affection. Thank you Bojan for providing enrichment in my enclosure.

Also this one. Because I see a mention of friends spending time together because they love each other and love spending time together, I scream and screech in missing my friends noises.

[auphelia]

-

[did-you-fall-for-a-shooting-star]

In what world is it considered okay to go and complain to someone about how much you miss a co-worker that died, MONTHS ago, when you werent too too extremely close. When the person you are complaining to about how you still struggle to do your job, had a really bad week this week missing him, etc. IS HIS CHILD??

Like Im sorry, I didnt realize I was supposed to be consoling YOU.

And to top it all off, HE WANTS TO HAVE AN EMPTY CHAIR AT THE DJ TABLE FOR HIS WEDDING TO HONOR MY DAD. Like look bro, Im sorry that he cant be at your wedding as your bestie or DJ. But ya know. I’m not gonna have him at my wedding either to WALK ME DOWN THE AILSE. SO MAYBE FUCK OFF.

[fingertipsmp3]

People find out about shit I’ve put up with in the past and are like “how did you not punch this person omg” and I just need to explain one thing to you about me. I can store up things indefinitely if I have to. I am capable of rational thought in even the most insane of circumstances and if I decide it’ll be infinitely more satisfying to get back at someone at a later date when I’m more coherent than to yell at them now, by God I’ll do it

[kohakhearts]

cons of going to a “good schoolTM”: insane workload, unbearable classmates, next to no support when you have any kind of extenuating circumstances Including literal hospitalization, etc

pros of going to a “good schoolTM”: the 9-5 lifestyle is genuinely a major improvement