#like seriously I don’t think it’s ever happened

[gio-cosmo]

“Please stop uploading your dumbass tiktoks on here,” everyone begs in perfect unison. I click the post button and run away into the forest with the same whimsy and gracefulness of a deer

[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[neferaskingdom]

Best Valentine’s Day Ever | OP81

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: She thought Valentine’s Day couldn’t get any worse—then her ex showed up. Enter Oscar: best friend, unexpected fake boyfriend.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

She grumbled, kicking at a stray piece of gravel as she and Oscar wandered through the carnival. “I hate Valentine’s Day.”

Oscar hummed in response, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, it’s kind of a scam. But hey, at least we have each other.”

She snorted. “Romantic.”

“We could always hold hands and pretend,” he teased, wiggling his fingers at her.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smile. “I think I’ll pass.”

The two of them had made last-minute plans to hang out when they realized neither of them had anything—or anyone—special to do that night. A carnival seemed like the least offensive Valentine’s option: it wasn’t drowning in candlelit dinners or heart-shaped nonsense, and it had good food. They were both content with their choice, and after a few rounds of games (where Oscar had somehow won a stuffed koala and insisted on naming it after himself), they now found themselves in line for the Ferris wheel.

“I’m gonna grab us some cotton candy,” Oscar said, nodding toward the food stalls. “Hold our spot?”

She nodded, watching as he disappeared into the crowd. Left alone, she sighed and shuffled forward as the line moved. That was when a voice behind her made her stomach drop.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

She turned, and sure enough, it was him. Her ex. Mike. And standing beside him, practically glued to his side, was a girl who looked like she was styled straight out of an Instagram model’s lookbook.

Her shoulders tensed, but she refused to let him see her flinch. “Mike.”

He smirked, eyes flicking over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here. Alone. On Valentine’s Day.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not alone.”

His new girlfriend let out a soft, patronizing laugh. “Oh?”

Mike tilted his head, clearly relishing the moment. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just standing in line all by yourself. Waiting for a ride. Kind of sad, don’t you think?”

She took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm. “Not really.”

Mike shrugged, his smirk growing. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always a little—”

“Hey, is that—?” Mike’s eyes widened as he suddenly looked past her, his entire demeanor shifting. His smugness vanished, replaced with something that almost looked like excitement. “Holy shit, it is.”

Her stomach twisted as she realized what was happening. Mike wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He was looking at Oscar.

Oscar, who was now approaching with two sticks of cotton candy, his eyes locked onto her and Mike, his expression sharp, knowing.

Mike’s expression transformed into something eager, almost giddy. “Dude, I’m a huge fan. I mean, Oscar Piastri, right?”

Oscar didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

Mike let out a breathless chuckle. “Man, this is crazy. I watch all your races. You’re seriously talented.”

Oscar nodded, his grip on the cotton candy firm. “Thanks.”

Mike grinned, clearly relishing this moment—until Oscar’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into his side with casual ease.

“Babe, you okay?” Oscar murmured, his voice soft but laced with enough warmth to make her heart stutter.

Mike’s jaw practically unhinged. His eyes darted between her and Oscar like he was trying to solve an impossible equation. “Wait. Her?”

Oscar cocked his head. “Yeah. Why?”

Mike blinked, completely thrown. “You—you’re dating her?”

Oscar tightened his grip on her waist. “Mhm.”

Mike scoffed, regaining some of his smugness. “No offense, man, but—”

Oscar cut him off, voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Why is it any of your business?”

Mike hesitated. “Well, I’m just saying—”

Oscar tilted his head. “No, really. Why are you even talking to us? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just making my girl uncomfortable.”

Mike flushed. “I’m her ex, actually.”

Oscar let out a low chuckle, completely unimpressed. “Oh. So you’re the one she used to pay for.”

Mike’s face darkened. “Excuse me?”

Oscar’s grip on her waist tightened slightly. “Yeah. The one who used to live off her. Ringing any bells?”

Mike’s girlfriend shifted awkwardly, her smirk faltering. Mike, on the other hand, bristled and turned to her. “So you’ve been telling people shit about me?”

Before she could say anything, Oscar stepped in smoothly. “If it’s true, it’s not ‘shit,’ is it?” He tilted his head, his tone deceptively light. “Why don’t you take your ego and your Instagram girlfriend somewhere else? We’re busy.”

Mike didn’t move, lingering behind her with a glare. Oscar, as if sensing her discomfort, gently shifted, pulling her closer so that his arm fully wrapped around her. His chin rested lightly against her temple as he murmured, “Ignore him.” He shifted slightly, blocking her view so she couldn’t look back at Mike’s scowl. “You cold?”

Before she could answer, he was already draping his jacket over her shoulders, his fingers brushing over her arms in a lingering touch. She glanced up at him, still reeling from everything, but he just gave her a look—play along—so she did, silently munching on the cotton candy he had handed her.

Oscar exhaled as the Ferris wheel cart rocked gently, settling into its slow ascent. The city stretched out below in a blur of lights, but he was more focused on the girl sitting across from him, arms crossed, expression uncharacteristically serious.

“That guy was a nightmare,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She let out a small laugh, still feeling the warmth of his jacket draped over her shoulders. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Oscar shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, I did. He was treating you like crap, and you don’t deserve that.”

Her heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice. “Oscar…”

He huffed out a breath, staring out at the view like it might help him collect his thoughts. “I just don’t get it. He was acting like you weren’t good enough when it’s so obviously the other way around. Like—” He gestured vaguely, his words coming faster now. “He’s an idiot. Actually, no, he’s worse than that. He’s—he’s, like, some advanced level of idiot that I don’t even have a word for.”

She laughed softly. “Oscar—”

“I’m serious!” He turned to her, expression frustrated but earnest. “I just—God, it made me so mad. The way he was talking to you, like he thought he still had some kind of power over you? He doesn’t. He never did. He’s just some loser who couldn’t appreciate what he had.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the emotion in his voice. “You really mean that?”

Oscar scoffed. “Obviously. Anyone with half a brain would see that. I mean—” He stopped abruptly, as if realizing he had said too much. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Uh.”

She tilted her head. “Oscar?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking very interested in the cotton candy he still had clutched in one hand. “So, um. The whole fake-dating thing just now—that was mostly to get him to go away, but also… not? I guess?”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not?”

His ears were turning red now. He shifted in his seat, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor. “I mean—okay, so—” He exhaled sharply, ruffling his hair with his free hand. “God, I suck at this.”

She smiled, charmed by his rare nervousness. “You’re doing fine.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

Then, he took a deep breath and finally said it.

“I like you.”

It was simple. No grand declaration, no poetic speech—just honest words, spoken with the quiet certainty that only Oscar could manage.

She stared at him, her brain short-circuiting for a second. “…You what?”

Oscar groaned, tipping his head back against the seat. “Come on, don’t make me say it again. My ego can only take so much.”

She blinked, still processing. “But—you never—”

“I didn’t think I had a chance,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re friends, and you’ve never given any sign that you’d want more, so I just… left it. But then tonight happened, and that guy was acting like a complete tool, and I realized I couldn’t stand the idea of you thinking he was right. Because he’s not.”

Her heart was doing something ridiculous in her chest, an embarrassing mix of fluttering and pounding. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.

Oscar watched her carefully, his fingers gripping the edge of the seat like he was bracing for impact. “Look, you don’t have to say anything. If this is weird, I can pretend I never said it—”

“It’s not weird,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Oscar froze. “It’s not?”

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling very warm despite the cool night air. “No. I just—this is a lot to process.”

He nodded slowly, his expression carefully neutral, but she could see the flicker of hope behind his eyes. “Take your time.”

She exhaled, glancing down at her lap. “I mean, I’ve always felt comfortable with you. You’re… easy to be around. But I never really let myself think about it like that.”

“Fair,” Oscar said, nodding. “I wasn’t exactly throwing out obvious signals.”

She snorted. “Understatement of the year.”

Oscar grinned, a little more relaxed now. “Well, if it helps, I am very open to helping you think about it like that.”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re such a dork.”

“And yet, you’re still sitting here with me.”

She hummed, pretending to consider. “I guess I am.”

He shifted in his seat, “I mean—okay, so—” He exhaled sharply

She smiled, trying to urge him to speak “You’re doing great.”

“Again, Debatable,” he muttered before taking a deep breath. “Alright, look. What I’m trying to say—very, very badly—is that I like you. A lot. And I have for a while now. And maybe I should’ve said something sooner, but I didn’t want to screw things up, and I didn’t know if you felt the same, and then tonight happened, and I just—” He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Wow, this is awful. I’m so bad at this.”

Her heart swelled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Oscar.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She grinned. “You’re an idiot.”

His face fell comically. “Okay, rude—”

She cut him off by leaning forward and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. He went still, utterly frozen for a second before melting into it, his hand instinctively reaching out to cup her cheek. When she finally pulled away, his eyes were wide, his lips parted like he had forgotten how to speak.

She smiled. “I like you too.”

It took a solid three seconds for her words to register. When they did, his entire face lit up. “Wait. Really?”

She laughed. “Yeah.”

His expression flickered between disbelief and joy. “Like—actually? You’re not just saying that because you feel bad for me?”

She rolled her eyes, nudging his knee with hers. “Yes, actually. And I don’t feel bad for you, idiot.”

Oscar let out a breathless laugh, looking down at his lap as if trying to process what had just happened. Then he grinned, bright and boyish. “Huh.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Huh?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Just… didn’t think this would be how today turned out.”

She leaned against his shoulder, sighing contently. “Me neither.”

After a moment, he hesitantly intertwined his fingers with hers, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Still the worst Valentine’s Day ever?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Well… I mean, my ex did show up, so that sucked.”

Oscar nodded. “Fair point.”

“But,” she continued, shifting so she could look him in the eye, “on the other hand, my best friend—who I just found out likes me back—totally defended my honor in the most badass way.” She grinned. “Which was, honestly, kind of hot.”

Oscar choked on air. “What?”

She laughed, watching as his face turned an alarming shade of red. “I’m just saying, watching you shut him down was…” She bit her lip, enjoying his flustered expression. “Attractive.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed, “I—I was just stating facts.”

She smirked. “Uh-huh.”

Oscar groaned, covering his face with his free hand. “God, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

She leaned in, pressing a teasing kiss to his cheek. “Absolutely.”

He sighed but smiled, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.”

She squeezed his hand again, feeling the warmth of it settle in her chest. “Still. This was actually the best Valentine’s Day ever, though.”

Oscar chuckled. “Yeah. Definitely.”

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

HEAR ME OUTTTTT:

Mc who has no fear (Mc calling Barbatos cute).

I need to see his and the other's eaction PUHLEASEEEEEEEEE

You can do this however you like!! (Just please include the part of where mc calls Barbatos cute and the other's reactionnnnnnnn)

I'm hearing you out! Loud and clear! >:)))

Enjoy!

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

---

The grand dining hall in the Demon Lord’s Castle, where tea time is in full swing. The atmosphere is unusually calm...

Diavolo: cheerfully pouring tea into everyone's cups Ah, tea time! It’s always so nice to gather like this and just enjoy some peace.

Lucifer: grumbling, trying to maintain his composure I can think of better ways to spend my time, but of course, Diavolo insisted so I had no choice...

Mammon: eyeing the teapot suspiciously It's a bit too proper for my taste. Where's the beer?

Leviathan: mumbling, eyes glued to his phone Seriously, I can’t even play my game with all this “classy” nonsense happening... Ughhh I just wanna dig myself a hole and die in it!!!!! This is sooo awkwaarddddd

Asmodeus: beaming Oh, but look at Barbatos! His tea setup is always sooo perfect. He makes it look effortless, like everything he touches turns to gold. glances over at Barbatos with a fond smile

Barbatos: gracefully pouring tea for everyone, a quiet, unshakable calm radiating from him It’s always a pleasure to serve.

MC: sips their tea, looking at Barbatos with an amused expression You know, Barbatos... you’re kinda cute.

Barbatos: mid-pour, freezes for a split second, eyes widening slightly …Pardon?

Lucifer: immediately chokes on his tea, sputtering

Mammon: slams his hands on the table WAIT, WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!

Leviathan: eyes bulging DID YOU JUST CALL BARBATOS CUTE?!

Asmodeus: leaning forward, eyes gleaming Oh my... MC. You did not. You actually did!! This is soo juicyy~

Satan: staring in disbelief That... is not something I thought I’d ever hear in my lifetime.

Beelzebub: pauses mid-bite, blinking What did I just hear?

Belphegor: raises an eyebrow, half-awake Did I hear that right? MC just called Barbatos cute?

Diavolo: laughing uncontrollably, holding his stomach This is absolutely priceless. I don’t think anyone has ever dared to call Barbatos cute!

Barbatos: composes himself, smiling as always, but there’s a small hint of confusion in his eyes Well… that is certainly a new way to describe me. his voice softens a little I’m flattered, I suppose.

MC: grinning, clearly unfazed What? You’ve got this whole “too perfect” thing going on. Calm, polite, always in control… It’s honestly kind of adorable.

Lucifer: facepalming MC, please. You can’t just say things like that.

Mammon: panicking Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Do you even know what he can do to you? He could destroy you with a thought!

Leviathan: clutching his phone, wide-eyed Dude. You just signed your own death certificate. You called Barbatos cute. He probably already knows at least fifty ways to make you regret that.

Asmodeus: laughing so hard he almost spills his tea I can’t breathe, this is amazing. I’m living for this moment right now.

Satan: smirking I think this might be the first time anyone has ever thrown Barbatos off his game.

Beelzebub: still eating So… do they get a free pass for calling Barbatos cute, or is that a one-way ticket to the afterlife?

Belphegor: grinning I’m pretty sure MC just gave Barbatos a mini heart attack.

Diavolo: wiping a tear from his eye from laughing This is honestly the best thing I’ve heard all week. I never thought I’d hear that.

Barbatos: gently places his cup down, eyes softening, though his voice remains calm I see. Well, I suppose I can take that as a compliment, then. pauses, then adds with a slightly teasing smile You certainly are bold, MC.

MC: leaning back, completely unfazed You should know by now, Barbatos. I’ve got a lot of charm.

Lucifer: rubbing his temples Oh no, this is going to be a nightmare.

Mammon: still flailing Does anyone else think that Barbatos is gonna get revenge for this? Like, in fifty different ways?!

Leviathan: whispering I swear, this could be the start of something dangerous...

MC: grinning widely Let’s see if he’s cute enough to let me live, huh?

Barbatos: smiling, though there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and see. gives them a wink But I do appreciate your boldness, MC.

Diavolo: laughing, wiping his eyes You really do keep things interesting around here, MC. I’m actually impressed!

---

The End…? (Or maybe just the beginning of MC’s new favorite hobby: calling Barbatos cute and seeing how far they can push it.)

[come-as-you-are-111]

can u make like a depressed reader x dae ho where he finds her at a bridge or smth and then the rest is history

Crossing The Edge

Warnings: suicide attempt? Reader is abt to jump off a bridge b4 Dae-Ho saves her, fluff, blurb not a full fic

The city stretched out below, alive and indifferent. Cars moved in a blur of red and white, distant voices carried on the wind, but none of it reached you. Not really.

You curled your fingers around the cold metal railing, knuckles aching from how tightly you gripped it. The wind whipped through your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but you barely noticed. The water below was dark, endless, calling in a way that was too easy to listen to.

Then—

“Hey.”

A voice, warm and careful, like someone trying not to startle a wounded animal.

You inhaled sharply, stiffening, but you didn’t turn right away. Footsteps—soft, measured—until he stopped a few feet away.

“You shouldn’t be here alone.”

You exhaled harshly, your breath visible in the cold air. “I am alone.”

A pause. Then, quietly—“Not anymore.”

That made you glance back, just for a second. He stood there, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, damp from the drizzle. His dark eyes weren’t full of pity or panic—just something softer. Something that settled deep in your chest, unwelcome and unfamiliar.

Kang Dae-Ho.

You knew him. Not well, but enough. A man who’d been dealt too many losing hands in life and yet still found a way to laugh through it. Someone who, by all accounts, shouldn’t care about a stranger on a bridge.

So why was he here?

“What do you want?” you muttered, your grip tightening on the railing.

Dae-Ho exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to your hands before meeting your eyes again. “To make sure you’re okay.”

You huffed, looking back at the water. “That’s a lost cause.”

“I don’t believe that.” His voice was steady, too gentle for the weight in your chest. “And I don’t think you do, either. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Something about that made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “You don’t even know me.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“Does that matter?”

That made you look at him again, brows furrowed.

Dae-Ho shifted slightly, then—slowly, like he was afraid to scare you—he shrugged off his hoodie. Before you could react, he stepped forward and carefully draped it over your shoulders.

You flinched. Not because you didn’t want it, but because it had been so long since someone had done something like this for you.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, adjusting it gently before stepping back. “Just—take it, okay? It’s warm.”

You stared at him, thrown off by how earnest he was. By how much care he put into something so simple. The hoodie smelled like him—faintly like cigarettes, but mostly something warm, like vanilla and the lingering scent of rain.

It felt… safe.

You exhaled shakily, gripping the fabric. “…Why do you care?”

Dae-Ho smiled, small and lopsided. “Because I know what it’s like to feel alone.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “And because I’d really hate myself if I walked away from this and something happened to you.”

You swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs.

He rocked back on his heels, then, with forced casualness, said, “There’s this diner a few blocks from here. The food’s kinda shit, but the dumplings aren’t bad. And they make the worst coffee I’ve ever had in my life.” He shot you a look, like he was sharing some grand secret. “Wanna go judge it with me?”

You blinked. “You’re seriously inviting me to get bad coffee right now?”

“Well, yeah.” His lips twitched into something soft, teasing. “What, you got better plans?”

You let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, and Dae-Ho beamed like you’d just given him the biggest win of his life.

And maybe—just maybe—that was what made you step back. Away from the edge.

He didn’t react right away, just waited, patient and steady, as if he would’ve stood there all night if he had to.

Then, when you finally turned toward him, he gave you a nod, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon. I’ll even let you steal my dumplings.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t say yes.”

Dae-Ho grinned, nudging your arm as you started walking. “Yeah, but you didn’t say no either.”

And just like that, the rest was history.

A/n: Hi my lil monsters!! How we likey? This request was so adorableee!!! Hope this was exactly as anon wanted and always feel free to request if you have any!

Love ya, Twilight

Squid game taglist:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

tainted love

pairing: javier peña x steve murphy

cws/tags: only one bed, when you gotta jerk off ur partner bc he can't sleep but it's just a platonic thing dw #totallynotgay, use of f-slur, frottage, watching porn together briefly, mutual masturbation, technically infidelity ig but what connie doesn't know can't hurt her

summary: steve can't sleep and he's keeping javi up, so they have to jerk off ???

a/n: homosexual activities return to my blog

thank you to @almostempty for your help w this ! i could not have done this w/o you

wc: 3k

It’s not the first time Javi’s ended up with Steve’s name on his lips and his own hand wrapped around his cock. It’s not an everyday occurrence – Javi has tons of masturbation-worthy images in his collection of sacred memories. He’s got dalliances with hookers, something more and simultaneously less with that one communist girl, even Lorraine, back when she was something other than a blurry, ever-present mistake in his periphery. But, these thoughts are finite. In desperation, he’ll search for more. 

Sometimes more is his partner, partner in work, not in sex, not really, not yet. It comes down to the way Steve looks when he’s pissed off, the way anger forces him into physical contact despite the fact that he’s not a touchy-feely guy. It’s the time he had Javi pressed up against the wall in the hallway of the DEA office in Medellin – it felt like deja vu, he’d seen that moment on an x-rated videotape that no one would ever know he rented. Fuck government secrets, it’d take a harsh interrogation to get Javi to reveal the fact that he watched gay porn by his own volition. More than once. 

It’s a sleepless night like any other except Javi’s not in his own bed or anyone else’s, he’s in a hotel room he’s sharing with Murphy. It’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened – he could’ve gotten stuck with Stechner, but Messina decided to pair up with him for a reason Javi doesn’t want to hear about. 

There’s alcohol somewhere, but not in his overnight bag – maybe in the minibar, but that’s on the far side of the room and whether it comes out of his pocket or not, the prices make him feel sicker than a hangover would.  

Though he and Steve are facing away from each other, he can tell that he’s not sleeping either. It needles at him in the dark. Steve’s wakefulness bleeding onto Javi’s side of the bed, his body heat threatening to burn through the ever present wall of masculinity that keeps him at a distance. 

Murphy tosses and turns to the point where Javi wonders if he’s doing it for attention – he’s doing a great job if so. Javi rolls over to tell him to cool it. 

“Would you cut that shit out?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I. Because of you.”

Steve shrugs as best one can in his position. 

“What do you want? A bedtime story?”

“Might be kinda nice.”

“Alright,” Javi says, like he’s really committed to the idea. “One night, there was a DEA agent who killed his partner–”

“Okay. I get it.”

“How the fuck does Connie sleep in the same bed as you?”

“I guess I don’t really toss and turn when I’m with her.” He pauses.

“She usually holds me – or I hold her. Not like a baby or anything, but you know…”

“You need to be cuddled to sleep? Seriously?”

He really seems to think about it. “No.”

“‘Cause the only way I’m holding you is in a headlock.”

“How do women sleep with you, huh? You’re wide awake and pissy about it.”

“When I said women sleep with me, I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So, you kick ‘em out of bed? Sounds about right,” Murphy says it with a smirk, like he’s gotten one over on Javi, but he hasn’t. 

“No, they know to leave. Or, I do. It’s bedroom etiquette. You wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve got something better – a wife. She sleeps with me for free.”

“God knows why.”

“She loves me. I’m loveable, Javi.”

That one strikes a nerve, but Javi doesn’t dare let it show.

“Maybe by her standards.”

“You saying she has low standards?”

“She could do better. She’s a very nice woman.”

“What does that mean?”

“Relax, man. I’m not trying to fuck your wife. I’m not that much of a scumbag.”

“Good. Not that I think she’d be into you anyway.”

“Plus, I can get laid without traveling to Miami.”

Steve huffs. It was a low blow, Javi’s willing to admit that.

“Okay, listen. We gotta be up in the morning, so let’s get practical here. You with me, Murphy?”

“Aye aye, cap,” he says with the least enthusiasm. 

“So, she’s been gone for a while, and I don’t see you coming to work looking like complete shit – at least, not any worse than you used to — so how are you getting to sleep?”

“I mean, I usually, you know…”

When Javi gestures to say go on, though he’s pretty sure he knows, Steve says much quieter, “Jerk off.”

“Was it that hard to say it?”

“I mean, it’s a little awkward.”

“What are you? 12? Everyone jerks off.”

“So, what? You want me to just jerk off?”

“Not here,” he says incredulously at the notion despite the fact that it does excite him. “In the shower if you have to.”

“I don’t usually do it in the shower.”

“You get to try something new then.”

“If I have to get up, then dry off, get dressed again, I think it’ll just start the whole process over.”

“So what? You want me to go stand outside and wait for you to finish?”

“The idea doesn’t sound unappealing…”

“No way am I doing that.”

Pissed off and admittedly aroused by the thought, he suggests, “You know what? Fuck it – put up a pillow barrier between us, and go ahead. Find something on pay-per-view so I don’t have to hear anything from you.”

“You serious?”

“If it’ll help you sleep.”

They fight over pillows and that’s only half the battle.

“Do you think they’ll know we’re buying–”

“Yes, so get something normal, will you? I don’t want anything weird showing up on the bill.”

“Relax. What’d you think I was gonna pick?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really think about your porn habits.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“What?”

“What do you like, Javi? We should find something we agree on.”

“So, now I’m a part of this?”

“I was trying to be nice.”

Javi stays silent while Steve rattles off possibilities. “We’ve got lesbians, mature women, threesomes…”

Javi gives him an unenthusiastic ‘sure’ to each option. 

“Oh, here’s the gay section,” Murphy says with a laugh.

And to avoid an awkward silence, Javi jokes - or tries to, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

And Steve’s head turns around faster than you’d think was possible. “Oh, so you’ve tried it?”

“I was making a joke.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Why do you even care? Just stop stalling and pick something.”

Though he’s clearly still considering prying, he settles on whatever the most basic shit is – some blonde girl getting railed by some dude with a cock big enough to distract from his lackluster face. 

It’s about a minute of fake moaning that somehow makes things worse before Steve asks, “Do you think if we change the channel, they won’t charge us since we barely watched it?”

“Might as well try. Turn on PBS or something. That shit’s always free.”

It’s free but it’s a science documentary. Slimy jellyfish and the old men who know a concerning amount about them flood the screen. 

“Just turn off the TV,” Javi says, unable to hide his disgust.

Murphy spits into his hand, takes his cock out, and Javi is listening intently to it all. It makes him uncomfortably hard. He won’t sleep if he doesn’t get off, and at this point there’s no real shame in it. 

They breathe in tandem, each strangled sound egging the other one on, until Steve dares to ask, “So, you said you’ve watched gay porn before?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say you haven’t.”

“Fine. Yes, I have. Can we go back to not talking right now?”

“But I’m curious.”

“Keep your curiosity to yourself.”

“Have you ever done anything with a guy?”

“Why? Do you want me to tell you a story about me getting a handjob from some guy outside a bar when I was hammered? You really wanna get off to that?”

“Maybe. If you can jazz it up a little.”

“I barely even remember it.”

That’s not entirely true. 

Sure, the memory’s faded a little over time, but he wasn’t blackout drunk like he wants Steve to believe. He was young, and a little bit desperate due to a recent breakup. It was hard to put on a face that said ‘I’m approachable and you’d have a good time if I took you home,” so the only attention he got that night was from a guy only a bit older than him, he’d guess. It was the kind of thing where he should’ve known it wasn’t friendly banter from the beginning, and maybe he did – he just didn’t want to believe that he was letting this happen, that he was engaging in it, that he was enjoying it. 

It got a little touchy-feely in a way real Texan men aren’t supposed to, unless they’re faggots. The word rings in Javi’s ear, and it’s the only thing louder than Murphy’s heavy breathing, which is far closer in time and space. 

The guy – whose name he’ll likely never know – led him outside and whatever ‘it’ was went down in an alley.

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it enough.”

Enough to cum from a handjob alone, and enough to try to give one back, and the only reason he didn’t really get to was because his hands shook, and it was summertime. 

‘You’re not used to this are you?’.

‘No, I’ve never…’

‘It’s okay,’ he said, removing Javi’s hand, gingerly, almost apologetic.

The goodbye kiss was anything but – it was tongue and teeth, indulgent. You could say it was self-indulgent on the other guys’ part, but you’d be wrong. It felt like it lasted longer than the handjob, and maybe it did, but god, that’d be too embarrassing to admit even in his own mind. It was the kind of kiss that dared Javi’s cock to spring back to life and he fought it desperately. 

‘See you around.’

But the pair never did. Javi convinced himself it never happened and during drinking games or friendly teasing he insisted that he’d never touched another man, just like every other friend of his. 

So, why would he tell Steve?

Before Murphy can ask another goddamn question, he turns it on the fucker, “Why don’t you tell me about your sex life?”

“I mean, besides Connie, there hasn’t been anyone since I was, fuck, I don’t know…”

“Is Connie any good?”

“Of course she’s good.”

Javi waits for the ‘but’ with a raised eyebrow, and it comes. 

“It just gets boring, alright? I love her, though.”

And Javi knows he does. He knows he does because Murphy can’t sleep without her in bed beside him. 

It doesn’t miss Javi that Steve’s breath falters more when Javi’s name leaves his mouth. 

“Javi…” He’s been stroking himself the entire time, but he’s not close, it’s not a plea to cum. It’s a hesitant question. 

“Yes, Murphy?”

“Why do you always call me by my last name?”

“I don’t know, Steve.”

It’s just to get a reaction out of him, which it does, subtle enough that another person might not catch on, but Javi’s waiting for it. 

And the reason is probably somewhere between the fact that he calls everyone by last name - and, come to think of it, it’s actually kinda weird that Murphy calls him by his first name - and because he feels like exchanging first names equals real friendship and somehow, that’s too intimate for Javi.

“Is that better?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“You want this, right?”

“If you do.”

“You gotta tell me. ‘Cause I’m not doing anything if you’re not into it.”

The distance between them dissipates. It doesn’t matter who closes the gap – if one didn’t, the other would. 

Javi looks back and forth between Steve’s cock and his mouth and tries to decide what’s right. Because he wants both, he has to find another metric to measure, to make his choices for him. 

Dive right in and take Steve’s cock in his hand to avoid the intimacy that locking lips requires? Kiss him to quiet everything including his own mind? 

He’s dumbfounded for a moment and you’d think he’s the one who’s never touched a man before if you didn’t know any better. The thing is: Javi can jerk another man off, even give a likely mediocre drunken blowjob. The difference is, this is Steve, naked in bed beside him. The difference is, he’s thought about this. The decision to do this shouldn’t be this easy when he’s sober. But his inhibitions are dangerously low because he’s dreamed about this. 

He’s played out fantasies before that he knows wouldn’t - shouldn’t – become reality. There are countless reasons not to do this - Steve is married, this could ruin both of their careers, this could compromise the most important case in DEA history. 

There is only one reason this should happen: desire.

Javi leads with his heart not his head (admittedly, his dick has influenced this specific decision to a significant degree).

His contemplation is cut off by Murphy’s lips pressed to his. The kiss is hesitant only until Javi reciprocates. Then it leans more towards animalistic than sweet but it’s needier than anything. Between the two of them desperation has only ever led to tension that boils over into fighting, but somehow insomnia is all it took to get them here. 

His brain has one thought playing on loop - the simple fact that he is actively kissing Steve Murphy. Until his mind is free of thoughts. Sex usually works like that for him, particularly with women ‘cause he doesn’t have to worry about the persistent guilt and fear of getting caught in the back of his mind, but his stress rarely fades at just kissing. Maybe they’re not just kissing. It feels like something more. Javi can’t think, but he sure as hell can feel, and he’ll feel this for days, weeks, months, maybe years if he’s really unlucky and there’s no feeling strong enough to replace this one.

The pillows that stood between them are now strewn across the floor as are the pretences. This isn’t one coworker tolerating another’s nighttime routine – at the very least, this is a friend helping a friend in a time of need. But that sounds too innocuous – too generous, even sacrificial. What they’re doing is fumbling around in the dark (even though Javi aches to turn on the lamp, to see, to savor) trying to find out how to get this over with the quickest, what will make the other cum first while learning how to drag this out, how to tease, how to get the other to the edge and no further. How to do this together. 

It starts with the kiss, with Javi lazily stroking his own cock until he dares to place his hand on Steve’s inner thigh. It’s a hesitant question and a final warning, and in response Steve’s breath hitches. They lock eyes for a moment before Javi removes Steve’s hand from his cock and replaces it with his own. There is no protest, only a low groan before he takes Javi’s cock in his hand with a firm grip that makes it feel more like retaliation than returned favor. It also feels way too fucking good. Javi takes it as an invitation for competition, his right hand is more dedicated and focused, moving faster while his left grabs Steve’s jaw and brings him into a kiss fueled by a passion that feels closer to rage than love. 

Javi takes Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it slightly, as if a gentle pull in the right direction would bring Steve into Javi’s lap. It elicits a startled jump in his ragged breath - and they were long overdue to pull back for a breath - Javi takes the opportune moment to tell Steve to come closer in a voice that one uses to discipline an unruly soldier. 

Javi has to maintain a certain amount of control through aggression lest he let the mask slip and reveal his own nervousness, his curiosity, how little he really knows about how this is supposed to go, and how much he wants to press Steve flat on the mattress and take this slow. 

He finds himself moving hastily to shift himself and his partner - now in work and in sex - into a position where he can jerk them both off simultaneously, cocks loosely held together in his fist. Javi’s thrusts lead and Steve’s follow. 

Neither of them last very long. 

There’s a collective initial sigh of physical relief and a subsequent realization of what had just occurred between the two of them. 

What is he supposed to say? ‘Thanks’? ‘Sleep tight’? Is he supposed to say anything at all?

Murphy gets out of bed disturbing the relative peace in the air. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Javi asks.

“Shower,” Murphy says, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. “Ever heard of one?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna take a shower ‘cause it would make it harder to sleep.”

And that’s how we ended up here. 

“I’m not going to bed like this,” he says, gesturing to the mess he and Javi had both left on his stomach. 

“I don’t wanna go to bed like this either, but it’s four in the goddamn morning.” They’re back to whisper yelling and somehow it feels nice to have that sense of normalcy. 

Murphy stands there waiting for a better argument, but instead he gets Javi storming out of bed straight towards him and dragging him into the shower. 

It’s not romantic, not in the slightest - they argue over the water temperature and who’s taking up too much room. They don’t wash each other’s hair or look at each other with stars in their eyes. But, they leave their clothes on the floor and slip into bed naked, not holding each other, but not wincing when their shoulders touch. 

“Did that really happen last night?” Murphy asks with a yawn, forcing Javi to confront reality after he’s pressed snooze more than once. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.” He sounds more confident with every word. 

“Okay. Then, I think so too.” 

[elpeadro]

I diagnose the Jentry Chau vs. The Underworld gang with QPR (queer-platonic relationship). It is so blatant and I love them so much.

Jentry-Michael: childhood best friends who haven't seen each other for half their lives after one of them accidentally burned down half the town (including her best friend’s home) with her magical fire powers and got sent away to Korea. Hit it off like nothing ever happened the day Jentry gets back in town. Gugu teases her about him because Jentry is not subtle at all. Protagonist girl x stereotypical love interest boy. Get to bond over being pressured to be someone they’re not by parental figures and being lied to about their powers. He dreams about her at night. (Don’t worry it’s not creepy.) She nearly kills him while he’s at work. Dating life stop-starts like 5 times because of shenanigans and poor communication and also maybe because their relationship isn’t meant to be romantic in nature.

Jentry-Kit: shapeshifter-adjacent demon who stalks, flirts with, seduces, lies to, threatens, and makes and wears a skin-suit of his mark only to fold after one (1) conversation, when she suggests he already has a soul, because he is that desperate for love and validation. Oh, and he’s working for the main villain who killed her parents, her great-aunt, and is actively trying to kill her. Protagonist girl x cool aloof bad boy love interest. Get to bond over being manipulated into fighting their authority figures’ feud/war. Lowkey is responsible for her almost killing stereotypical love interest boy. One kiss is enough to make him crash out when she rejects his advances afterwards. He falls for the oldest trick in the book, which is falling for your mark. He nearly dies distracting Cheng so that she can save the day (fuck you canon; you can’t take him away from me). He does this by wearing his Jentry skin-suit. They share the most homoerotically-charged scene in a TV-PG show while he’s building and putting on said skin-suit. Him nearly stealing her qi is so intimate and also please don’t do that without her consent sir 💀.

Michael-Kit: did you not SEE episode 5? They’re the nastiest parallels to ever parallel, to the point that their narrative energy warps reality and makes the lunch lady go on a comically direct lecture about how they need to choose for themselves what they want. This lecture is somehow about their identity issues and entire life’s course, and also about what they want for lunch. It is entirely unprompted. Kit nearly got him killed at work. They’re two-thirds of a love triangle, and a triangle can only be a triangle if it has 3 sides. (You get what I’m saying?) They were brothers-in-arms at the Alamo. They’re both incapable of not lying. Michael dreams about him the same number of times he dreams about Jentry. (Don’t worry it’s still not creepy.) They somehow avoid the stereotypical “high school love triangle drama” plot points between the two of them only because they’re busy fucking up their relationships in even bigger ways. Oh, and he prom-posed to Kit.

Michael-Stella: walking cliche of the high school “it” couple that was doomed the moment they set foot on the show. They were going to go to college together ffs. They dodge love triangle cliches regarding Jentry because they both think she’s that cool. She makes him protein bars. (Which suck, but it’s the thought that counts.) Football player x comphet lesbian. No seriously, she’s the most comphet lesbian to ever comphet lesbian.  They have cliche “romantic chemistry”, but then they break up because he lies to her about wanting to be a shitty flute player over a superstar wide receiver recruit (except it’s not really a lie, but also it is), and they move over the “awkward exes” period and are much better characters and friends. He dreams about her at night as well. (Again, still not creepy.)

Jentry-Stella: the girliest girl friend duo in the world. Stella helps her adjust to a new school in a way that is so nice and sweet that it’s one of the more unrealistic parts of the show. They have a scene in Jentry’s bedroom. Their male love interests fumble them at roughly the same time, and then they do spirit week together and are having the time of their lives. She braids Jentry’s hair. They’re both so cool, but also so lame in their own ways. Also there’s no way Stella doesn’t have somewhat of a crush on her because 1) Jentry is that cool and pretty and awesome, and 2) Stella is a certified girl lover.

Kit-Stella: look they didn’t really interact in canon, but he’s on her shit list. She’s got her eye on him at all times, because Jentry may have forgiven him, but she’s watching out for her friend. She 100% gave him the shovel talk. Things get REALLY awkward if Jentry and/or Michael aren’t there, because these two are easily the weak link of the QPR.

Also all four of them are some form of queer.

[ezrasxfics]

(sorry if i’m requesting too many fics-)

*slams a cup of “beer” on the counter (it’s actually apple juice)* hhhh…your “language barriers” fic absolutely ruined me /pos…

so mayest i request a sequel fic where caine (being very awkward, because he’s never had to make a genuine apology before), try to comfort and make amends after what he said. zooble would obviously be giving him the cold shoulder since the wounds are still fresh but maybe a few of the things he says actually works just a little…? a smidge…? who knows? ;3

language barriers part 2

-

zooble + caine (platonic) angst

-

zooble pov

honestly, i never expected that from caine. yeah, he’s an idiot, i cant stand him, but he’s well meaning. not even i can deny that. after the whole incident, i ended up in my room, refusing to let anyone comfort me. i don’t want people seeing me like this. i hate being vulnerable. it’s not me, it’s not right.

i take a few deep breaths, inhaling through my ‘nose’ and exhaling through my ‘mouth’. it only helps a little, as salty tears continue to fall down my stupid, triangular face. the source of my discomfort.

eventually, there’s a knock on the door. from quite low down. hell, is that an elf?? either that or pomni. no.. it’s too short to be pomni. “go away-“ i mumble, not wanting the individual behind the door to hear my sobs, or any voicecracks. after a few moments, the door opens regardless, and in comes caine. caine. couldn’t he just teleport..? he has his hat off, holding it close to his chest, a look of remorse on his face. he couldn’t seriously feel bad. he’s never felt bad a day in his life.

“zooble.. can i talk to you? it’ll only take a few minutes.” without even asking permission, he sits next to me, not looking me directly in the eyes. “i just wanted to.. apologise. i upset you, and i was wrong for that. i’m sorry.”

i stare at him, entirely incredulously. “you’re.. sorry? you gotta be f**king kidding me. you can’t be serious-“

“but i am, zooble. you didn’t choose your avatar, and i know you aren’t exactly fond of it. i shouldn’t have used that against you, even if your body doesn’t define you as a person, i was wrong.”

“damn right you were, that sh*t stung.” i snap, turning away a little. he’s the last person i want to talk to right now, i almost wish it was an elf. anything’s better than him.

“can you please hear me out? i don’t want this incident to impact anything in the future - i dont want you to hold any grudges. that wouldn’t be good for either of us.” he says, and there’s an almost genuine look in his eyes - one that i've never seen before.

“wouldn’t be good for either of us? or just you?” i retort, not quite willing to forgive him get. sure, he’s being a decent ‘person’ right now, but who knows when that might change? by tomorrow, he’ll be back to normal, he’ll just forget that this conversation ever happened. i cant let myself get my hopes up that things will change. that just sets me up for feeling like sh*t. and i don’t need to feel like that any more than i already do.

“i understand if you don’t want to listen to me, but you should know that i am sorry. i’m not just saying things like i know you think i do, i’m not as disingenuous as you might think. sure, i struggle understanding human feelings, but i do want to try. and maybe you could help me some time, if you’re willing.”

and with that. he leaves. i think something in me changed today, too. maybe things can really start to change..?

ah, who am i kidding.

-

never too many requests, don’t worry!!! i love this dynamic!!

reblogs appreciated!!

[lunastryinc]

i’m struggling a lot with this group because of cliques/bubble rping and i don’t feel comfortable talking to the mods off anon because i don’t feel like i’ll be heard or taken seriously. it’s really disheartening joining and constantly being ignored no matter how many times i try to reach out to other writers. i really want to love this place and feel comfortable posting on the dash because i see its potential and the amount of admin work that gets put into it but i really wish something could be addressed about this issue going forward

Thank you for reaching out to us.

Firstly, I do want to apologize if we've ever given the impression that we don't take member issues seriously. Truly, if you think something is worth being brought up, we want to hear about it and do whatever we can to help, no matter what it is. Sometimes the mod team is busy, so we won't get back to you right away, but I promise we want to do whatever we can to make this group as comfortable and inviting as possible.

To properly address the issue, we do feel like it's imperative to reach out to us off anon. We've been posting reminders about branching out and making new connections, or even just being more mindful of interacting with the posts on dash. Personally, I know whenever I'm on one of my characters, I try to like and/or comment on all the original posts I see. However, there are almost 200 characters in the group and a little over 80 individual writers, so we can only do so much to reinforce this. The mod team tries to get online throughout the day, but there are going to be moments where none of us are online. We can't know everything that's happening in group all the time and so in these cases, we do rely on you guys coming to us so we can do what we can to make this a welcoming space.

The mod team is working on solutions to increase activity and interactions because we don't want anyone feeling left out. We are very much open to suggestions though and would love to hear any feedback from you guys- again, we want to do what we can, but we need you guys to communicate with us on how we can best help you.

If everyone could take a moment to fill out this very short and 100% anonymous questionnaire for us, that would be super helpful!

Thank you angels x

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

stan: how can you be polyamorous and aroace, or…whatever mabel called it?

ford: in my case, i have my family and i have my platonic polycule. i would prefer to never have to interact with anyone outside these two groups

stan: what about soos and wendy? they’re not in either of those groups

ford: first of all, i am soos’ uncle, second of all, are you saying you don’t believe i would both die and kill for wendy?

stan: you’ve got a weird way of defining family, six

ford: it’s my favorite way

[sunkissedliterarylightofchrist]

Wake up babe when I say I am begging Tyler and Josh to even release just a single song like this to finally commit to Christ openly and publicly directly in their music I mean it

[ravenkings]

i have to say, this isn’t my first rodeo, but the hotd stans on twitter are some of the dumbest motherfuckers i’ve seen in fandom

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[nonsensechemicals]

crying whenever i talk about Cookie9 because all my friends have these interesting and unique theories on them while i take everything too literally and they all just stare at me like “dude… uuugh we r TIRED” <-they dont actually say this they are very kind to me but i can Feel It

[teddyreblogslotf]

genuine question because i’ve been thinking about it for a while. do you guys think jack is genuinely deranged and completely out of his mind, or do you think that he is sane and the island did horrible things to him?

[foreverppl]

Moodboard for Amais Rena (he/they), lead singer of alt rock band Way Way Downers @infamous-if

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