eddie diaz growing up with no one to speak to, his dad was absent and he was looking after his pregnant mother and then he sees this girl at the lake and she talks to him, and he wasn’t who she was looking for but she was kind and listened to him anyway…and now he thinks he’s in love with her because no friend has ever laughed at his silly jokes or his listened to his problems
buck comes along and he’s kind and he does more than laugh at his jokes, he goes along with every insane idea he has, and he listens and he shows up every time but he’s man so they’re just really good friends who could never be in love…
oh eddie this is gonna hit you so hard, you’ll grow a moustache just to cope
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contrary to what you may think “I Won’t Say I’m In Love” from Hercules is not the Disney love song for prinxiety. the titular track from Beauty and the Beast is. not only because the lyrics hit:
“barely even friends/then somebody bends/unexpectedly/just a little change/small to say the least/both a little scared/neither one prepared”
“bittersweet and strange/finding you can change/learning you were wrong”
but also because Virgil is initially perceived by the other sides as a villain, as monstrous, and his arc is all about acceptance both from them and from himself, learning both to love and to be loved. Just like Adam/Beast. and because Roman is Belle coded—head in the clouds and obsessed with stories, craving adventure and desperately looking for something more than this provincial life. you get it.
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michael sheen tweeting that somewhere from west side story is basically The s2 song did immeasurable damage to my psyche like he really said “the song about a love that can’t exist in the world as it is, but will exist someday, somewhere because they have willed it so from the overwhelming amount of hope within their hearts, from the romeo and juliet musical except it’s somehow even more tragic, is sooooo them 🥰”
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always thinking about girldad spencer reid. official bedtime story reader. always remembers her nightlight. matching a rainbow of tutus with leotards because did you know that pink and green are called complementary colors? that means they go together. halloween costume extraordinaire. wants to see the world through her eyes. always curious. answers her questions about everything. the only one she lets do her hair because well, if you think about it, braids are actually just a mathematical pattern. girldad spencer reid!!!
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Details that make me think Spencer Reid could be the Gold Star unsub for Criminal Minds: Evolution
An agent was listed as one of the primary options for where Gold Star got their start;
Gold Star has been trained to think of everything - much like the youngest BAU agent was trained to think of everything to catch the killers while training under both Gideon and Rossi;
“Trained killer, national security threat, but not an assassin” - all three labels fit Spencer;
Social Contagion - sounds like a theory Spencer could have gotten so wrapped up in he lost sight of what he likely started researching it for;
Conspiracy theorist is a bit harder since we’re only two episodes in, but I could see Spencer thinking he’s uncovering something massive and getting trapped in a web of lies and conspiracy. We’ve seen it before in Bones with Zach Addy and Gormogon - even geniuses can be wrong;
The BAU being assigned to investigate a National Security Threat is strange - maybe it’s because they’ll have the best chance at tracking down one of their own even if they don’t realize it yet;
Clearly something massive set Luke off and caused him to scream “That’s not true” - what would be more damaging than Voit telling him that Gold Star is one of their own?
The sheer amount of trauma they put Spencer through throughout the show is frankly the perfect setup for an agent snapping and turning into an unsub;
The absences Spencer had were excused away, but it could have been a cover for him going through specialized training and then on missions;
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kirishima has always been looked at as strong and commanding—always larger than life and in control—so he has no idea what to do when he’s pined underneath you and at the mercy of the way you play his body like a well-tuned instrument.
he’s out of his depth and feels half out of his mind as the tip of your tongue drags over his hip bone. you’re touching him everywhere—fingers bruising against his waist, his thighs, his calves—he knows that you are taking from him in a way that no one has ever, and he’s giving all of it to you willingly.
“b-baby,” and it’s stuttered and breathless as he feels your teeth sink into the skin of his inner thigh—he fights the urge to harden his skin subconsciously over the pain because it’s so good and he wants to feel all of it—
“so good, Eij—“ you coo into his skin, dragging the plush of your lips over the trails of raised, reddened skin your nails leave behind as you move down his body, “you’re so good, letting me play with you like this.”
to his shock, his hips kick at your works, completely enthralled by the notion of being a play thing for you—of giving in, of going soft for the first time in his life—
he feels your fingers dig into the muscle of his calves and has to shut his eyes so you don’t see them roll back into his head. the foreignness of his own submission is wearing off now—replaced by the heavy, slippery feeling of needing you, of leaning into this space where he can just be worshipped by you and know that you will be there to hold him through it.
you climb back up his body and he savors the feeling of your weight on him—pressing him into the sheets, the tension in him bleeding out from where your skin meets his—and he lets out a pitiful whine when your nails scrape over the taut muscles of his belly. can’t help it when his hips buck into yours, but feels the need to apologize anyway, because what’s happening right now feels so far removed from his own base desire to be buried inside you. this feels too refined, like more luxury than he deserves, and he feels like a neanderthal.
“it’s okay Eij,” you reassure him, and something inside him goes molten at the way you forgive him, love him— “i know it feels good. you can take what you need to, my love.”
and he shakes his head at that, frantically, because he doesn’t want to take. he doesn’t want control of this—he wants you to hold his pride in your hands and turn it into something malleable and fluid. he can’t trust himself to speak—he presses his palms into the bed and tips his head back, baring his throat to you, just hoping, begging you to understand—
he feels you take one of his hands in yours, feels you bring it to your face and press your smile into the inside of his wrist, nipping at the sensitive skin, sucking it into your mouth gently and laving your tongue over it.
“i see,” you murmur, and it sends a shudder up his spine so violent he feels his toes curl. your eyes rake over his body as you drag your free hand up his chest. he has to remember how to breathe when your fingers circle around the base of his throat.
“you’re such a good boy, Eijiro.”
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