#lose cap permanently

[nazumichi]

that’s his dad that’s his dad that’s his fatherrrr 💥💥💥💥💥

[lonewolflink]

starting off a caps vs pens game with a tom wilson highlight reel shorthanded goal?

we love to see it

[willsimpforanyone]

Could you do a percy x nike!reader where the reader challenges percy to a sword fight and percy loses and the readers all cocky about it. And then percy decides to teach the reader a lesson and doesnt stop fucking her till she says hes a winner and like since reader is competitive she gets overstimulated? I need therapy what the hell is this ask

bestie we all need therapy here don't worry ur safe here

i'm gonna do an established relationship because it's just easier that way, and this is a she/her reader with feminine terms used

percy is a little bit of a mean dom, but he still checks in with the reader to make sure she's okay

-------------------------------------

The man at the end of my blade was glowering at me like it was his job.

Percy's green eyes were reflecting in the shine of my sword, but I didn't need a mirror to know my smile was even brighter. I tapped the flat of the sword against his jaw.

"Sorry, babe, look like you need a little more practice," I grin, nodding towards a pair of 8 year olds fighting with blunted blades. "Maybe you should ask them for help?"

He rolled his eyes, capping Riptide and knocking my sword away from him. "I went easy on you."

I sheathed my sword at my side, raising my eyebrows at him in disbelief and smirking. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," Percy hisses, and I laugh at the behaviour of a stroppy teenager coming from my boyfriend of 20 years old.

Walking over to the burning offering bowl at the entrance to the arena, I drop in a little something as a 'thank you' to Nike. "You're drenched in sweat, you put actual effort into that fight, you're just bitter that someone might be able to beat you."

Rolling his eyes again so far back in his head I'm sure he's about to give himself a headache, Percy slings his arm over my shoulders as we walk to his cabin. "You're my girlfriend, I had to let you win, I'm a gentleman like that."

"Bullshit!" I cackle at his obvious attempts to dismiss his loss, but that would mean dismissing my victory and I would never have allowed that. "I'm a child of Victory incarnate, did you really think you could win when I have the spirit of winning in my blood?"

"We get it, you won, the whole world gets it," he sighs, dragging his feet. "Can you shut up about this now?"

I shake my head, still grinning like the fattest cat that had the cream already and has just discovered the can of tuna. "Absolutely not, I think it would be basically blasphemy if I were to stop talking about my victory over the most powerful demigod of our generation, mother would strike me down where I stand."

"Sounds like I'll just have to make you shut up." Percy drags me inside his cabin, slamming the door behind us and shoving me against the wall. His hand comes behind my head so I don't smack it on the wall and the butterflies in my stomach go insane at the caring gesture even when I'm pissing him off.

I barely have time to open my mouth before his lips are on mine, stealing any words I was about to say. My hands fly to the back of his head, keeping him kissing me and tangling in his slightly sweaty black hair. He perpetually tastes like sea salt and I moan very quietly.

It takes a second for my brain to kick into gear again, but I smirk against his lips and whisper into his mouth. "You'll have to do better than that, loser."

Percy growls. "Oh, I plan to."

The wall is suddenly no longer behind me and I shriek in surprise and glee as he drags me to throw me onto the bed, immediately pouncing on me and pinning me to the bed. His fingers work deftly to undo my belt and he sets my belt and sword carefully on the floor, along with my shoes.

Now free to do as he pleases, he dips his head into the crook of my neck, yanking at my sweatpants and dragging his nails down my legs along with the waistband, throwing them off. Without hesitation, he strips me of my underwear and I moan, a permanent smile living on my face.

"This feels more like a reward than a punishment, I won't lie," I smirk, leaning up on my elbows and looking up at him.

"No one asked for your opinion," he sighs, promptly shoving two of his fingers in my mouth. "Use your tongue for something worthwhile, hm?"

Unable to do anything else, I wrap my lips around his fingers, sucking and covering them in saliva. I teasingly bob my head a little, looking him directly in the eyes and taking his fingers as deep into my mouth as I can.

He smirks, shaking his head at my obscene behaviour. "Dirty girl." He pulls his hand away, inspecting his spit-covered fingers. "Good enough."

Clearly determined to render me incapable of speech, he immediately swirls his middle finger over my clit. My whole body jerks, upper body almost thrown forward at the sudden sensation. "Shit-"

Percy grins, drawing delicate but deliberate circles and radiating smugness. "Nothing to say? Is that all it takes to make you shut your smart mouth?"

Well, I couldn't let him think he'd won this round. I swallow harshly, flicking my hair out my eyes and smirking. "I could suck your dick if you wanted," I breathe out, voice thick with condescension. "Sort of a participation prize."

He scowls, and pushes two fingers into my pussy. The sudden feeling shoots through my body like electricity and I gasp, one hand flying to grip at his wrist. My head gets thrown backwards and a low moan comes from low in my throat.

His digits pump in and out at a speed I wasn't expecting and for a good minute, there are no words in my head. Not a single thought, just pleasure vibrating my bones and removing my ability to think.

"There we go," he purrs, other hand rubbing gently over my hip and stomach. "The attitude was unnecessary, huh?"

I laugh breathlessly, one hand gripping the wrist of the hand abusing my now-soaking pussy, the other raking through my hair. "I... I still won..."

"For fucks' sake-" Percy shuffles down the bed until his head rests between my legs. No ceremony, no anticipation, just his tongue against my clit as his fingers crook and stroke at my velvety walls.

The sudden increase in stimulation drags me bodily into my climax, orgasm rocking through my body and rendering me speechless. I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my long, drawn out moans... and then my squeak of surprise as he doesn't stop.

"P-Percy?" I stutter, hips instinctively twitching away from him under his relentless attack.

Instead of answering, his eyes simply flick up to meet mine with a filthy smirk on his lips. His fingers don't stop, tongue lapping up my come as he scissors me open slightly. My thighs start trembling, and the hand that was over my mouth finds its home twisted into Percy's hair as he buries his face between my legs.

He doesn't let up, working his jaw and tongue over and into me. My sensitivity has every nerve on edge and it takes a slightly humiliatingly short length of time for my next orgasm to flood through me.

To his credit, Percy doesn't protest at the definitely painful grip I have on his head, withdrawing his fingers and cleaning me up with his tongue. Shakily, I lean back up on my elbows and look down at him, panting slightly.

"Whoa," I breathe, pulling him up from between my legs and pressing a messy, sloppy kiss to his lips. Then, because I really, truly do not know how to shut up... "Hell of a reward, baby, I'm glad you admitted I won."

The growl of frustration comes from low in his ribcage and with a delicious shiver, I realise I've fucked up.

"Admit I went easy on you." His voice is right in my ear, and without looking I know he's stripping down, the sound so familiar I instinctively part my legs like a Pavlov effect.

I shake my head, still panting and still trembling. "No, you didn't, I won fair and square, I beat you."

To his credit and my utter adoration, he pauses as he slips a condom on and looks directly at me. "Are you okay?" He asks, voice soft and sweet.

I kiss him quickly and nod. "Mhm, yeah, I'm okay."

The sudden switch back is unbearably attractive and he nudges his cock against my sensitive folds, the tip nestling just barely inside. "You're my girlfriend, I would feel bad if I won every single time we fought," he hisses. "I was being sweet and you're throwing it in my face." His cock slips in just an inch.

I'm already clenching down on him, feeling my own wetness trailing down over my ass. It's a struggle to be coherent when my whole body is poised to feel him. "N-No, you weren't, I won, you're just being a bitch."

Another inch inside and I gasp, every sense heightened and nails clinging into his shoulders desperately. "Say I let you win."

I shake my head, but I'm beginning to forget what this faux-fight was about. "Mm-mm, never."

Percy clamps a preemptive hand over my mouth and shoves himself completely inside me, my pussy swallowing him whole. My eyes roll back in my head and I cry out into his palm, feeling deliciously, perfectly full and I'm pretty sure my brain starts leaking out of my ears.

"Then I'll fuck the words out of you," he murmurs into my ear. His other hand pins my hips to the bed as he starts pounding into me. I couldn't stop my body moving if I had the presence of mind to try, forcibly being dragged through overstimulation into that place where nothing else exists but Percy and the feeling of him inside me.

"Come on, baby," he coos, voice slightly unsteady. "Say it, and I won't drag another three orgasms from you."

That... that would break me. I'm out of my mind with just the two, I can't imagine how little I would function after five.

I can already feel my third orgasm building shakily in my lower stomach, pussy fluttering and convulsing around Percy's cock as he keeps up his rhythm. My pride wars with my common sense, wanting to stick to my victory versus knowing how utterly dedicated Percy can be at wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my poor body.

Percy adjusts my hips slightly and the angle knocks my pride out of my head. My lips form the words against his palm still over my mouth and he smirks, moving the hand to tangle his fingers in my hair.

"Something to say, gorgeous?"

I mumble the words, eyes closed and voice shaking.

Percy shakes his head. "What was that? A little louder for me, baby."

"...you went easy on me," I moan out, cheeks bright red and hands coming to hide my face. I don't need to see the smug fucking grin on his stupid handsome face, I already know it's there.

"Oh, good girl," he purrs, hips unrelenting against mine and sneaking a hand in between our bodies to thumb over my clit. "Just give me one more, one more and I'll stop, can you do that?"

I nod, clinging to him and moaning against his shoulder. "Mhm, I can d-do that."

"Good girl, I know you can," he murmurs, voice soft and burying his head into my neck. "It's okay, I've got you."

His switch to sweetness and patience sends my head reeling and I fall apart under him, muffling my scream of his name by biting into his shoulder. It only takes a few more thrusts and his hips stutter and still, a low choked moan smothered into my neck as he comes, filling up the condom.

Coherency is a distant memory and I can only focus on breathing, senses swamped with Percy. He litters kisses over my neck and jaw, whispering praise into my skin that I can barely focus on.

I whine in discomfort as he pulls out of me and he kisses me hard as a distraction, only moving away from me for a moment as he discards the condom before returning. He lays on the bed with me, wrapping me up in his arms and snuggling both of us under the bedsheets.

"Hey, you," he whispers, kissing the crown of my head. "How're you feeling?"

I respond in mumbles and nuzzling my face into his neck. Percy laughs softly, nodding and stroking up and down my spine.

"It's okay, that was too hard of a question right now, my bad."

---------------------------------

god i hope this was good, thank you for requesting!

[silent-stories]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐑 - 𝟏

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Dustin convinces Eddie, who is always watching you from a distance, to talk to you.

Eddie hated the way his gaze was always looking for you in the school parking lot, hoping you'd arrived a few minutes early so he could watch you from afar.

He couldn't stop it, he could try to hold back but it was useless, he always found himself looking around hoping to hear your laugh at something stupid that Buckley, who you usually drove to school in your car, had said.

Eddie wasn't the shy type: he walked the cafeteria tables making speeches and always said what he thought. But with you?

All he could do was watch you from afar.

"Dude, you're doing it again." Dustin's voice distracted Eddie from his usual search.

"Doing what?" he asked, sounding a lot more guilty than he intended.

He had been caught.

"You are looking for Y/N." The boy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why would I?" Eddie shrugged as if to dismiss the conversation before leaning back against his van.

"Because you like her."

"What? No, absolutely not. We're…I don't even know if she considers me a friend. We're acquaintances. We just know each other. We only have one class together and we've only talked a few times so-"

Three times.

It had been exactly three times you had spoken to Eddie, he remembered them all very well, as well as the way his heart started beating so much faster than usual.

The first time you bumped into him in the hallway. Eddie had initially thought it was someone who did it on purpose, as it usually happened with jogs, but when he heard your immediate apology and from the way you said it was your fault, he understood that you would never do it on purpose.

He quickly realized that you weren't like most of the others at school and that you didn't see him as someone to stay away from and that had only made Eddie fall for you even more.

The second time was during history class, the only one Eddie had with you, that day you arrived five minutes late, having to sit in the only seat left free: the one next to Eddie.

After a few minutes that he had spent sketching in his only notebook trying not to go crazy because of your proximity, you spoke, or rather, whispered.

"I like dragons."

Eddie raised his head as a shy smile appeared on his lips to find your gaze on the dragon he had drawn in his notebook.

He mumbled a "yeah, I like them too" before the teacher turned to you and glared at him.

He didn't say anything for the rest of the lesson but since that day he had always hoped you'd be a few minutes late so you would sit next to him.

It had never happened.

The third time was the only time you really had a conversation with him. You picked up Dustin after a D&D campaign and you spent ten minutes talking to Eddie before you left.

To Eddie's amazement, you two started talking about Metallica. You mentioned that your dad occasionally listened to them and you started the conversation by talking about which songs you knew and which ones you liked more.

Before you left, you talked about how boring math was and how much you enjoyed art class and during all the time you had spent talking a faint smile was permanent on Eddie's lips.

That was all. Only ten minutes.

It had been the shortest ten minutes of his life and Eddie wished you'd stay there and talk to him for hours.

Dustin laughed at the way his friend seemed to lose the ability to form meaningful sentences whenever you were involved.

"Holy shit, you're in love with her."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Eddie sighed, he couldn't deny it anymore. "Henderson, if you tell anyone, consider yourself expelled from the Hellfire Club for the rest of your life."

Dustin adjusted the cap on his head. "Your secret is safe with me. Anyway, Y/N is cool. You should tell her."

Eddie let out a bitter laugh. "For what? To hear her say she wouldn't be with Eddie "the freak" Munson even if I were the last person on the face of the earth? No thanks, I'd rather keep watching her from afar."

"You know she's not like that." Dustin said. "She doesn't judge. Trust me, she was my babysitter for almost three years when I was in middle school, I know her well enough to know that she's a good person, she would never laugh at you and she's a completely badass."

And Eddie knew it. He knew you were kind and funny and so fucking pretty. And that was why the chances he had with you were almost inexistent.

Just as he was about to answer, he saw you.

You walked in his direction, wearing a leather jacket that was a few sizes larger but still looked perfectly on and Eddie nearly felt his heart leap out of his chest.

"Uuh... do you want me to leave you two alone?" Dustin asked with a smirk.

"Don't even try." He retorted, nudging the boy before you reached them.

"Hi" You smiled. "Have you seen Mike by any chance?"

Eddie shook his head. Why were you looking for Wheeler?

"He got into class early, he had to get something." Dustin said.

You rummaged in your bag and pulled out a book. "Nancy was at my house yesterday and she forgot this, could you give it to Mike so he can give it back to her?"

Dustin grabbed the book. "Sure."

"Great. Thank you." You said before a voice called you from behind.

"Y/N, we'll be late for art class!"

Art, right. It was your favorite subject, Eddie remembered that.

But it wasn't Robin who had spoken.

He was a tall boy, with dark blond hair long enough to show his soft curls. His eyes were green and glittered in the morning sun and he was wearing a clean, light blue jacket. His boy-next-door face annoyed Eddie, or maybe it was just the way he was interrupting a moment when he would have a chance to talk to you.

"See you guys." You said before walking towards him.

He put his arm around your shoulders as you walked side by side.

He was your boyfriend.

You had a boyfriend.

Suddenly Eddie was finding it hard to breathe. Of course you had a boyfriend, he'd been a stupid not to think of it before: a girl like you had to have a boyfriend.

And that guy seemed to be the complete opposite of Eddie.

He was also probably rich and had great grades in school. Because those were the kind of guys you liked, right? Certainly not the ones like Eddie. Those who were lucky if they didn't find the words "freak" or "devil" engraved on their locker. Those who had to park further away from school hoping that no one punctured their wheels. The ones who lived in a trailer and had to sell drugs to make ends meet.

"No." Dustin said.

"No what?" He raised his eyebrows, trying to hide his hurt expression.

"He's not her boyfriend, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't thinking about anything at all."

Thank God.

"His name is Aaron Turner. He just moved to Hawkings and he's not Y/N's boyfriend. But he could soon be if you don't talk to her."

"What fool moves to Hawkings?" Eddie asked as his gaze followed your figure walking to school.

You were laughing.

You seemed happy with him.

"What fool doesn't ask the girl he likes out?" Dustin retorted.

Eddie glared at him.

"You said it yourself. 86, your year. Then make it your fucking year and ask her out. Or at least start talking to her and stop looking at her from afar. And try to say things that make sense when she's around."

"I say things that make sense."

Dustin raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, okay."

Since when did he take advice from a fourteen-year-old boy?

But he was going to talk to you.

He had to do it without looking like a complete idiot but he felt he could do it.

Eddie could feel it: 1986 was going to be his year.

Part 2

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat

[gladiatorcunt]

Literally begging you to please write more Patrick Zweig x Reader fics 🥵🥵

cw: 18+ MDNI, afab reader, hints of patrick x art / patrick x reader x art, consensual and accidental somno, gross patrick, hint of breeding kink, college era ish, mention of ass play, unedited

Tired Loser Bf!Patrick who hikes one of your thighs over his, pressing up against you and sinking back into your already wet pussy. It’s so early in the morning, but sometimes he gets in a mood where he just needs to go lose himself in your cunt even if you’re not contributing. You hum and snuggle further into the silk pillowcase, relishing in the too tight grip of your plush love handles and the sloppy sounds his balls make against your ass. You hardly spend any time together due to his career rhat’s been on a bit of a decline, so you’re more than happy to be his toy if that’s what makes him feel like he’s worth anything. Like he can only find meaning in the warm walls of your pussy, and ass, on occasion.

It’s either this or quick fucks on the counter or kitchen table, both of you nearly clawing at each other in desperation to all but consume the other. Sometimes it’s softer, slow thrusts angled to perfectly hit the right spot every time as he trails open mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Patrick offers to take a shower after coming home sweaty and disgusting but you always say that you prefer him like that anyway. He whines pathetically for a kiss for you and for him from a best friend you’ve never met into your neck and pounds you harder. Your eyes flutter half open at the impact, the grunts behind you and the thick weight moving in and out of you being the only things you can comprehend.

“Glided right in, didn’t even have to finger you or anything.” He moans too loudly for sleepy sex at 5 in the monring. “Always so ready for me, just how i like you.”

“Uh! Uh huh-“

You sigh and nod into the pillow, lazily throwing your ass back on his cock as he fucks you. His pace is so fast that you’re worried he might throw his back out, it’s so frantic and desperate, like he’s trying to stab your guts and leave a permanent mark on you from the inside. You zone in on his heavy breathing, he grinds his length deeper inside and lifts one of your ass cheeks just to watch it fall and jiggle back into place. It’s almost like he’s on the court, eyes watching the ball like a hawk and giving you the most toe curling punched out sounds when he hits it. His precision and raw enthusiasm has you gasping.

The sun’s not far off from rising, so you give up on getting anymore meaningful rest and drown in the intense smell around you. Sweat, slick, old almost acidic cum from when he bred you in his sleep, take out containers from last night that haven’t been thrown away, sharp and piercing autumn air, Patrick’s horrific axe body spray, your much more pleasant cherry blossom body wash. His thrusts send you rocking up the bed, tits swaying back and forth in the mess of tangled thin sheets. Your still half concious but he fucks you like he’s been awake for hours, eyes wide and crazed and brow furrowed like he needs so much more of you than he thought. He moans two names after quick sucks to both of your nipples, one for each. Yours and that same best friend’s.

The red cap Patrick has stashed away in the nighstand collects dust like a skeleton in a closet. There are sessions where he won’t, or maybe can’t, cum unless you cry and whine for that best friend too. You don’t even know who you’re begging for another cock to steal your voice and ravage your throat, but you do it and take note of the euphoric shout that rattles all the way out of Patrick’s chest, the all too pleased sigh into the valley of your breasts. You don’t ask in the shower or in bed, the buried sadness he carries like a chain gives the impression that the abscence is not his choice. Might be a nice birthday present, a reunion.

You wake up more as he goes insane with his fucking, his arm restrains your thigh and pulls it up so high you can feel the muscle stretching. He doesn’t communicate beyond feral grunts and something primal between a growl and a whimper, making sure you can really feel his thick cock bullying your poor pussy beyond repair. You never mind, in fact some days it’s you who wakes Patrick up by bouncing on him like a cock starved slut. You like when you can’t forget what he’s done to you, when you can raise your head to admire the new necklace of bruises. It’s not like he’s never gentle with you, but you don’t feel ashamed for loving him how he is. The jagged edges and aching need to belong somewhere, to someone.

Sometimes all a relationship needs to work is for the people involved to be the same, deep down or surface level. You take whiffs of his pubes that are too deep to be normal apprection for your partner’s body and he eats his own tangy cum out of your puffy pussy like it’s God’s gift to humanity, spitting the left over jizz and additional saliva into your ass hole and slurping that up too. But in the here and now, he’s fucking you without a goal or an end in sight, heavy balls wetly kissing your lower body with no assurance of being emptied. It could be hours before Patrick lets either of you cum, like it’s one of his games that more closely resembles a heated battle to something that looks and acts like death. Evenly matched, no one being stronger than the other.

So you give him the point and drift off, messily tongue kissing him back and lulling yourself to the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts. Outside, it starts to softly rain, the ambience of the moment softening both of your hearts. You put effort in a real kiss, only for a second, whisper an ‘I love you’ and wait for a resounding ‘I love you too’ before shutting off your brain for the time being.

[meanbossart]

Omg omg Meanboss i saw ur Patreon Post rn aaaaand now i can't stop thinking about how Astarion and Drow would react and grieve, if one of them died. Do u have any thoughts to that?

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh boy. I'm almost reluctant to answer this because I feel like this is absolutely DU drow's ugliest side, LOL.

So let me put off the inevitable and start with Astarion: the unlikely more well-adjusted half when it comes to this - if you can call total desensitization being "well adjusted", at least.

Astarion has led hundreds of people to their deaths after supposedly earning their trust, care and attention - I'm not saying every single one of his outings ended in heart-break, in fact the vast majority were probably completely impersonal one-night stands, but at SOME POINT in Astarion's life he must have held some care for people or at least an aversion to the idea of manipulating them into death's maw - until he had to do it over, and over, and over, and over again.

It's very clear to me that Astarion managed to completely shut his empathy out, as well as his sense of attachment especially in the short-term. Those things still exist within him but are like a weak flame he has to keep feeding with kindling if he wants it to stick around; and it would be far easier to just extinguish it at once. If someone close to him were to die, especially unexpectedly, he'd just stomp it out for good and move on as if nothing had happened, probably unable to form another relationship like it for at the very least a couple of years but otherwise remain perfectly functional, and, by all intends and purposes, have gotten over the loss exceptionally quickly.

Obviously, if we're talking about DU drow's death, this would change over time and depend on how long they remained together for. I can't tell you how 500-year-old Astarion would react to the loss of his loved one (too many variables to consider) but one can expect the concept to become harder to accept the more used he grows to someone's permanence.

Now, the drow. He does not deal well with losing, and that applies to people just as well as it applies to concepts and objects. I think he can wrap his mind around the idea of someone dying of old-age, but anything short of that is akin to being stolen from.

Which brings us to Astarion's immortality, and the false sense of security that that brings DU drow. In his mind, if he is immortal, that simply means he won't ever die. This is, to him, is a certain fact the vast majority of the time,save for the rare and brief occasion where he has to face a different reality. This also means that if Astarion ever dies, that is obviously due to a tremendous failure in DU drow's part.

I simply do not think he would get over it. Much like the scenario with Villain DU drow where Orin's death basically begins the countdown for his own, his ambitions from that point forward would cap at revenge, and done that, he would either become something profoundly ugly or just let himself rot. I think this is just... Something inherit to him and the way he functions, making the former memory loss a blessing in even more ways than it already is.

He'd probably also try to resurrect him, but for all his desperation I can at least tell you that he wouldn't fall for/settle for anything lesser than his beloved with their cognizance fully intact, nor do anything that could destroy their corpse. He, uh, Is gonna need that.

[dcoasis]

Usually the reactions to this comic are “lmao this is so weird” and I’m so used to comic books deaths that I accept it as such and then you just-

“Today, live as though you have no enemies.”

“Call your loved ones.”

“What can any of us do when forced to confront the fact that death is random and cruel and sudden?”

“Sometimes being brave is knowing when the fight's been enough.”

I’m never looking at this comic the same again

And they talked. For hours. And I wonder what they said. We know Batroc didn't reform but I think...I think he made a promise to Steve, even if only in his own mind. Batroc has both feet over the line. He's a villain. But he can see the light without straining, and he will go no further. No action he will take will do harm to those who do no wrong, no blood shall he spill or heartache shall he spread. That's the promise Batroc made, I think. He swears to only ever be the villain of a better world, a kinder world. The kind of enemy Captain America deserves. Captain America 443

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

wonder why the writers are suddenly afraid about making decisive decisions when it comes to the plot. If they were able to portray the death of human!Ortho as an unchanging fact and barrier Idia would be forced to overcome, I never understood why a little bit of harshness couldn’t be addressed on the likes of Malleus and his story.

Although the death of Lilia may not be feasible, one of the interesting ways the writing team (I am very sure that these decisions aren’t made by Yana alone, but could originate from a larger group of writers) could elaborate on the consequences of Malleus’s actions is to have a permanent cap on his current skills and abilities. Now, he finally has a real incentive to connect to his peers.

Another theme that occasionally appears to be touched upon by the writers are the dangers of power and how it is fundamentally harmful when it is in excess. We have seen how it takes place through Leona’s unique magic, the death of Rollo’s brother, human!Ortho’s demise at the hands of Tartarus, the war of human vs fae, and much more. By placing a limit on Malleus’s powers and presenting it as a positive aspect of his life, (e.g., allowing him to connect with his peers), many of us can be exposed to a refreshing perspective about the consequences of power and how losing it isn’t necessarily to the detriment Malleus’s life.

In a parallel universe where Malleus can no longer hide behind his power, I am very sure he would be forced to learn about politics and diplomacy to a greater extent than he currently does. The loss of Malleus’s powers could be a blessing in disguise as it could allow him to become a more well-rounded person.

There’s a lot of missed opportunities here. I wonder what is going to happen in the future where the consequences of the story’s mechanics could have permanent implications.

asdhbbasldiidlia Um, not sure why Tumblr did this but I received like 10 copies of the same ask 😭

Mmm... In hindsight, I get the sense that book 7 has some of the skeletal components of book 6 but goes with a different execution of those same ideas. Like we have the characters splitting up into groups and forced into situations where they have to get along + achieve a common goal, as well as the White Void + heavily foreshadowed character death (Ortho in 6, Lilia in 7).

I'd imagine that there's certain limitations the writing team is working with for the medium (mobile gacha game) and the associated properties (Disney ones). I think book 6 could get away with killing Ortho since we... technically also kept Ortho in the cast; they ended up being treated like two separate entities in the end. One Ortho dies, but we still get to keep the Ortho we know and love around. Book 7 was never going to commit to killing off a character in the main cast because then uh-oh, suddenly significantly less content for Lilia fans. I think Lilia's (permanent) death would have been a really strong impetus to force Malleus to self-reflect and grow as a person... Realizing the weight of his actions, accepting responsibility, and learning to cope with that tragedy and how he can prevent it in the future--it'd be a really interesting arc to see.

Since Twst didn't take the Lilia death route (or even the Lilia coma route, which would have at least given time to show us him processing what he has done), I'm hoping that Malleus has a permanent cap placed on his powers moving forward. I believe that's what his broken horn implies, but with Twst's noncommittal-to-fallout writing, we can never be too sure. That could be another way to make him grow as an individual, which I bring up in my book 7 rewrite. Malleus so often relies on his magical abilities to fix his problems--but if he's humbled and lowered to a more "normal" level, then he's put in a position where he has to get used to relying on others and connecting with them more intimately. If his terrible might previously isolated him, then the opposite can also be true: he's capable of forming bonds with his classmates once his god-like power level has eased. Not only that, but he may also have to pick up new skills or enhance preexisting ones in order to compensate for the magic he's now lacking. For example, Malleus can't only rely on his brute strength to defend his small kingdom anymore--maybe he has to also sharpen his diplomacy and negotiation skills to make peace with neighboring countries.

Considering that Malleus's black and white trauma flashback was all about how his immense magical power isolated him and made him unable to share his emotions with peers, having that same magical power revoked could ultimately liberate him. It really depends on how Twst proceeds with his character writing.

[haruhey]

Wish I Never Met You

check out my masterlist!

Word count: 4k

Fluff | Angst | Thank you @weretheones and @normanplusdaryl for betaing <3

You’re part of Daryl’s past, but you could also be his future.

or

A bad day leads the two of you to each other.

or

Whoever said it’s better to love and lose Never loved and lost you

Daryl barely made it through sophomore year.

In all honesty, he was impressed he even got to junior year. When Merle left at the tail end of spring, he - in all of his younger brother naïveté - thought he would come back before the semester ended, taking him from the dump they called a house and from that asshole they had the unfortunate pleasure of calling their old man.

But July came and went, then August, and by the time the new school year rolled around, Daryl stopped waiting for him - just shouldered his backpack and went to school because where the fuck else was he supposed to go?

He gave the whole school thing two weeks. It was enough time to mark off attendance - to lay low before he traded his backpack for his crossbow and started hunting for that weird butcher shop three blocks down to make some money - and he had intended on following it.

Intended, being the right word, because the plan went to shit the second Mr. American History started pairing people up for those dumb, mandatory, biweekly collaborative projects.

Intended, because it just had to be you he was paired with, didn't it? His stupid classroom crush he tried so hard to stop thinking about?

He remembers seeing you for the first time in some math class in sophomore year, and he’d, in his hormone-ruled, bored-out-of-his-mind teenage brain, spent the better half of the period just looking at you. He never worked up the courage to say anything about it to anyone, but you were the prettiest thing he’d seen in his 16 years on Earth, and he hated the way you made his hands all clammy.

Even years later, he looks back on the months he spent being your friend, and he still feels that crushingly familiar clench of his chest.

Maybe it wormed its way almost permanently into him those weeks he first sat next to you in American History. It was a compulory course and both you and he hated it. The teacher - Durand, but Daryl took to calling him Dickhead and Deranged just to see which would make you roll your eyes the hardest - was a notorious douchebag, round glasses over a nose that was entirely too big to stay on his face and three strands of gray hair that seemed to be holding onto his head by spite alone.

He never seemed to take Daryl seriously, even though Daryl knew more than double the amount of history you did. You could pick his brain for hours about the pirates and the Sumerians and the Cherokee and their legends, and he’d let you, despite the glare that marked over his face for anyone else.

In exchange, you let him pick your brain, too. Over the piece of apple pie the two of you would share on the rare occasion you’d both scraped together enough to figure it would be worth buying, he asked about your future. He tried picturing himself with you through it all despite knowing there was nothing for him outside of this shithole town, and he listened to you talk.

He could listen to you talk for hours.

You had big dreams, considering you came from the same place he did, but he had faith you could do it. He knew you could, and even looped his pinky with yours, your thumb pressed up against his while he promised to make it to graduation. He had to watch you toss your cap and flip the bird at 4 years of hell, didn’t he?

But then winter came, and with the Christmas break rounding the corner, Merle came back too, peeling into the dirt road in front of the Dixon dump and taking Daryl along with him. You remember coming back when the second semester started, the same room that had once been used for History now a Government class, and you had hoped to suffer through it together.

You made it through one school week until you’d started asking around.

Nobody got themselves involved with the Dixons - with their surly tempers and their permanent scowls, but you’d gotten into the habit of ignoring those words when you were with Daryl - so when no answers turned up, you weren’t really surprised.

You figured he must have finally gotten his out from his old man.

It was only at graduation that you’d found out what happened to him, overhearing one of the principals talking about how both of Will Dixon’s sons had run away from home and how he’d drunkenly bragged about finally beating sense into them, and, though you knew it was selfish, as the ceremony ticked on, you still hoped Daryl would come back in time to watch your cap toss.

He never did.

When he finally did come back to Georgia, it was a little over a full year later. The old lady that ran the diner the two of you hung around after school had told him that you got a scholarship offer in May - some bigshot school out west - and that you’d packed your bags and left in August.

You weren’t set to come back until the year ended in April, and he wasn’t planning on staying.

He wasn’t planning on making staying anywhere a habit, and, in the blink of an eye, twenty years passed.

A second blink and the world fell.

Everything changed so quickly that it truly did feel like an instant as minuscule as a blink - the dinosaurs had the meteor, and life before them had the ice age - and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a breath before a new age flooded in.

It seems like everything he thought about was about the future. Some of it he would have considered trivial before - when the next meal would come, when the next time he’s going to fill his canteen is and where the next source of freshwater is - but, in this blip of time, he hesitates to call it that.

Sometimes, when he went out on his bike or shouldered his crossbow and slipped his knives into his holsters, he thought about how Li’l Asskicker and Carl would grow up - how they would never really get to be kids in the same way Rick probably wanted them to be - and almost nothing he did felt trivial anymore.

It scared him, he guesses - how much he cared about those kids and how much everyone else did, too.

He wished someone cared about him like that when he was younger.

It was good, though, this pressure. Daryl was never really one to half-ass anything in the first place, but with the intake of Woodbury and the Council’s decision to start bringing people in, there was a new drive to care. It rippled through the prison, and he liked it, being a part of something bigger than himself.

He felt like someone new.

Someone that mattered - that did good - instead of being some asshole with a bigger asshole for a brother.

At least, he did until he saw you.

Two weeks after taking in the people of Woodbury - with one week spent out recruiting and another spent in the infirmary because they’d met some less than friendly people who definitely did not fit the recruitment criteria - he saw you from around the corner, an all too familiar face helping Carol with meal prep in the courtyard.

He didn’t eat lunch that day, and to say he avoided you was an understatement.

There was something about you that brought back feelings he would have rather left in the past. You reminded him of when he was a teenager, stuck in his shitty hometown with his piece of shit old man and no way out. But at the same time, you reminded him of those nights spent down at the creek, skipping stones and staring at the stars, that comforting lack of second-guessing because he knew he was, for the first time in his life, in the company of someone who actually wanted to spend time with him.

You reminded him of that diner with the warm apple pie, and he never could forget the first time his heart ever beat against his ribs like it was too big for his chest.

But, most of all, you reminded him of first love and his broken promise - of a future he could never have had.

Daryl hated it, being confronted with his past like that.

So yeah, maybe he did revert back to his old ways of hiding and just trying not to think about his problems, and yeah, maybe he did take one too many runs back to back so he wouldn’t have to keep fighting the urge to look for you despite simultaneously being scared shitless at the thought of talking to you, but it was successful in staying away from you, and that’s all he cared about.

Or, well, he thought it was.

Because, though it’s been nearly two decades since you’d thought about high school - with it long since becoming college, and college into adulthood - it’s crossed your mind more than you’d liked to admit lately. It’s an odd feeling, an ill-fitting nostalgia creeping through the holes of your blanket-covered cell bars, but it was oddly comforting. You never thought you’d ever think of that place as comforting, but maybe it wasn’t high school that you found yourself chasing in the dead of night.

It was him.

Daryl never really knew how popular he was - here, and back then, when those minutes before and after gym class divulged into shushed remarks about his looks and half-serious confessions of crushes muttered to the secrecy of the changeroom’s four walls - but you did. You were always on the other side of it, silent in your agreement.

Woodbury - or, well, ex-Woodbury - was no different.

He’s a far cry from that scrawny little kid you split your lunch with all those years ago, but there's still the linger of boyish handsomeness to him that made your cheeks heat when you thought about him too long. There was no mistaking him for anyone else, but that subdued, ultraviolet warmth you’d grown familiar with was gone from his eyes.

He’s not seventeen anymore, flipping his uncut hair from his face as he taught you how to skip stones and catch fireflies, but you wanted to talk to him all the same. There’s not much left from the old world - let alone much that you could have considered good, or wanted to remember - but he’s one of the few things you’d cared enough about to keep safe from the pulling tide that faded your memories.

He made that shitty town more bearable, even if it was for those few months. Gritting your teeth and enduring had become tiring until he’d grimaced at that first History Inquiry project and made you laugh with the annoyed upturn of his lip. 

You’d planned on thanking him at graduation, but he’d left months before then. 

You’d planned on a lot of things to be frank, but there’s no reason to linger in the past when now is a shell of what then was.

There’s even less of a reason when now feels heavier than then ever was.

Today would have marked ten days without incident, a first foray into the monumental double digits until the sun had set behind the return of the run crew’s RV and Beth was forced to flip the number back to zero.

It’s been four hours since they came back - a quarter of the group gone from the unfriendlies they’d met, another dealing with the aftermaths of the encounter and one more made up from those the crew’s recruited - and it’s the first time in those four hours that you’ve left the dingy wing of the infirmary.

You didn’t hate it in there. Far from it, actually, with Hershel and the others being half-decent company and seeing the work you did benefiting people, but the infirmary, especially on days when the crews rounded back, meant the stinging smell of blood and death lingered no matter how much you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. It stuck to every crevice on your body, and it permeated. Guilted you for not trying hard enough and not knowing enough.

On days like this, everywhere you went seemed too small and too unforgiving, and you’re not sure if you can stand tossing and turning in your bunk. The night sky is a friendlier sight than your ceiling, and the view from the abandoned watchtower is a hell of a lot better than the tiny, barred-up window at the corner of your cell.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe sleep will steal you for a couple of hours before the sun comes up. At least enough to make it through the next day.

You have faith it will - you can already feel the first wave of exhaustion pull at your bones.

Taking a breath, you press your hands into your pockets after pushing the door to the Prison open and slipping out. Autumn is beginning to seep through the cracks of summer and the nights are starting to get colder, but your jacket should be enough until you climb up and find sanctuary in the sleeping bag you’d left there three days ago.

It doesn’t take long to reach the door - if you jig the knob to the right before twisting and skip the third step from the top, the trek upwards is close to silent - but when you open it, the creak yields, at first, an expletive before the annoyed voice tears through the quiet.

“I already told ya I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout-”

The volume of him makes you take a step back, the sound of a man making your body lock up for just a second before you recognize the mess of hair atop his head and the wings stitched on the back of his vest, and you make quick work getting to him, crossing the platform in a single stride.

“Daryl?”

And he’s quick to realize the person speaking to him isn’t Carol like he’d thought. Though he really really really hopes it’s not you, the familiarity of your voice leaves little room for speculation, even before he turns his head and - for the first time in a long time - really, really looks at you.

“Oh.”

His heart beats in his ears and locks his throat before he can muster up anything else to say, and for a second, you wonder if you should introduce yourself to him. 

“Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t expectin’ no one to be here.”

But the knowing upturn of his eyebrows - his apology, and the way he scoots himself over to make room for you the same way he did in those library reading nooks - tells you you don’t need to, and your shoes slide against the concrete as you drop down to a sit.

He remembers you, too, the sweat of his hands too obvious with the fact, even though he wishes he didn’t.

He wishes there wasn’t a familiarity in the way you sidle your body against his, swinging your legs underneath the railing and over the balcony, and he wishes he couldn’t feel the heat coming off of you.

He wishes it didn’t wrap him up like the warm rays of sun, and he fights down a smile at the fact that you always were so bright. He wishes he didn’t remember you like that - glossed over in a blinding, yellow hue.

Daryl wishes he never remembered you like sunshine - he wishes he didn’t still.

Picking up the glass next to him - just to occupy himself and bide the time until his nervousness hopefully washes away into general apathy - he takes a sip before setting it down and taking a pull of the cigarette in his other hand.

The smoke is slow to fill his lungs, but he welcomes it anyways, holding it there as the nicotine-drawn buzz settles in his brain, and then he breathes it out, angling his head up and away from you.

You never liked it, the Malboros he’d swiped from his old man that he’d keep tucked in the smallest pocket of his worn-down backpack, but you’d told him one night, not unlike the one you’re both trying to find solace in right now, that you were scared of what his father might do if he found out.

Then you slipped in the obviousness of his health, just to break the tension of vulnerability, but it hit Daryl like a truck, the fact that he’d never had someone think about him like that before - like they actually cared.

“Heard your brain cells can rot if you do that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you only to be met with a small smile playing at your lips and the slightest bit of a sparkle in your eye, and the taste still lingering on his tongue reminds him of what he’s been doing. The glass is half full with the room-temperature whiskey he’d tried to make himself feel better with after stitching up his own wounds, and there’s ash from his smoking gathered beside one of the railing's poles, and despite the knowing you’re probably right, he sighs, waving your concern away.

“Ain’t worried. Don’t got a lotta them anyways.”

The cigarette between his fingers is lit still, and he takes another drag before the grayed end of it crumbles to the floor, fighting the upward tug of his cheeks at the sound of your amused huff and your quick response.

“That’s why you gotta take care of the ones you still have, Daryl.”

Scoffing, he tilts the edge of the glass towards you, holding it out for you until you take it from him, and he tries not to think about how the tips of his fingers burn when they brush up against yours. It’s not as sweet, the innocence of a teenage crush long since faded into the dull pang of expired love and loss, but it rushes through him all the same.

He would have offered you a cigarette, too, but you’ve never been one to pick up habits that bad.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you then, the sky offering a serenity the two of you are less than strangers to, and you wince from the liquor when you finally take a sip. It’s nothing like the moonshine he’d smuggled from his dad’s stash - it went down a hell of a lot smoother than you remember that shit going - but your tolerance has taken a nosedive since weekends unwinding and inter-departmental parties had ended.

Besides, the only places you could get alcohol back in Woodbury were way above your paygrade.

Placing the cup back onto the concrete, you steal a glance at Daryl, spending just a second studying the curve of his nose and the jut of his cheekbone. He’s more handsome than he’s ever been, and you can feel the heat rush up your neck before you blink away the thought.

Get a hold of yourself.

But you can’t, not when he’s so close, and you’re not sure if it’s wholly unselfish, what makes you drop your eyes down from his face, but you do, and you realize why he was so on edge when he heard the door open.

He’s fidgeting. Ever since he put out his cigarette, he’s restless and can’t quite figure out what to do with his hands in the same way he was when you’d asked him why he never wanted to go home back in the school library, and it sends you back, too, a familiar pit growing in your stomach. It’s like he’s that kid again, scared of telling you - or, well, people - things that hurt because his stupid brother and dad drilled into him that he’s less of a man for even feeling hurt in the first place, and it’s equal parts infuriating and concerning.

You can tell that the gears are turning in your head as you try to piece him together; a run crew came back just today, and you haven't seen him in a little while. It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection - especially with everyone’s propensity to talk about how Daryl brought them in - and though you might regret it, you decide to pry.

Not pry, just ask.

Conversation used to flow so easily between the two of you. Were you naïve to hope it would again?

“Bad day?”

It’s small, your voice, teetering in the air with its uncertainty, but Daryl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he glances down at the space between you, wrapping his fingers around the highball before meeting your gaze, and he bites the inside of his cheek, weighing the option of telling you or not.

“Jus’ tired is all.”

And though he hesitates those first few words, your eyes are so kind - so genuinely caring - that he can’t stop himself from saying more.

That was what he was scared of.

Why hasn’t he let you go? 

“Sick’a fuckin’ losin’ people.”

The frustration when he speaks is palpable, and you’re not sure if it’s bravery or stupidity that makes you move - maybe it’s both, culminating in your own desire that someone would finally see through your crippling bravado and offer you a hug or something - but your hand snakes out to grab his before you even think, shaking it slightly in the strength of your squeeze.

Then he freezes, and for a second, you think you must have overstepped - that he’s going to push you away and yell at you and leave - but he doesn’t. He just takes a breath, the heft of it rising his shoulders then dropping it as he squeezes your hand back harder, a silent thank you in the press of his fingers against yours.

But still, he lets go, afraid the warmth in his chest might make him do something he regrets, and you chew at the dried skin of your lip, thinking about the right thing to say.

Fuck, you could never navigate things like this - it got better as you got older, sure, but words always seemed to fall short when it came to you and him - and when you finally settle on something, half of you wonders if it was just because you thought it better than nothing.

“I feel you.”

Because what else are you supposed to say? That it’s going to be alright and that he shouldn’t blame himself because it's so blatant he is? It’s thin ice you’re walking on, the fear of sounding patronizing drowning out the spark of hope you want to light him with, because you remember the man he was. He’s never had anyone fighting in his corner, and you’re not callow enough to think he thinks of you as something - someone - different.

But he does. He does think of you as someone different, and he wants to say more, but he doesn't know where he stands with you, or with himself. If he says what he’s thinking - that he feels like it is his fault and that he’s not sure if he could ever stop feeling like that. That he’s scared shitless and like it’s some big joke that people actually look up to him for things - wouldn’t that make it feel too real?

So he doesn’t. He just tips the lip of the glass against his and takes another sip to make sure his mouth is occupied, staring down at the bottom ridge of it until you speak again, and he’s helpless to do anything but look at you.

“At least it’s beautiful out tonight.”

He’s sent back to twenty years ago then - the scrawny redneck you’d somehow deemed good enough to be your friend forcing his old habits back to the him of the present - and he can’t help the squeaked little noise of a response. Words have always been hard for him, too. They’re hard for him to think of and even harder for him to form, and it’s made worse by the fact it’s almost like he’s back at 16, convinced that you’re too pretty to talk to.

“Yeah.”

And though you hear his hum of agreement, he never looks away from you, admiring the curve of your familiar smile and the rise of your cheekbones.

The lurch of his heart comes back then - the same beat against his ribs that he hated all those decades ago - and it’s stark then, the realization you’ve never really left him.

“Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

Pressing his lip to the edge of the glass once more, he welcomes the burn of whiskey when you smile at the moonlit horizon, and he watches as you lean your chin against your arms.

You’re beautiful - more beautiful than all the colours in the star-speckled sky - and he could stare for hours.

[starstruckbyacomet]

Why Are We Losing Buck's Loft NOW?

There's a speculation that Ryan Guzman's contract is under re-negotiation. Thus, his future in 9-1-1 OG is uncertain.

If that's so, why didn't they lease Eddie's house to a stranger? Thus, if Ryan stayed, Eddie could be back to his own house.

Letting Buck's loft go seems permanent, like burning Bathena's house down.

There are several possibilities floating around:

1)) It has been decided that Ryan is leaving the OG show.

Either he will join the Nashville spin-off or will cut ties off with 9-1-1 entirely.

If that's so, why didn't they wait until the end of the season to let Buck's loft go? They could sublet Eddie's house to a stranger until the end of the season before making Buck move into it. Why NOW? Letting the loft go NOW only fuels speculations about Eddie leaving permanently. This could upset Eddie's fans. Logically, the show wants to avoid that.

2)) As a leverage against Ryan in the contract re-negotiation.

Some people think it's a bluff from ABC in the contract negotiation. People in ABC are giving Ryan a signal that he would be let go if he didn't agree with their term.

I doubt it. That move is more likely to have the opposite effect. Since they HAVE let Buck's loft go, Eddie would be Buck's roommate if he returned to LA. It will perpetuate the Buddie stans' delusion that Eddie is gay. Ryan's work to portray a heterosexual man with a bisexual best friend would be undermined. Ryan's insistence that Eddie and himself are both straight (which he has said again and again in multiple interviews, lol) would be futile. If anything, the prospect of Eddie as Buck's roommate would push Ryan further from renewing his contract.

There's another thing that might dampen Ryan's willingness to stay: Tim Minear's apparent insistence to bait the Buddie fans. In ep. 8x05, Eddie's "I am stright" statement is countered with a talk about beard within the same conversation. In ep. 8x09, Buck said, "I didn’t mean to OUT YOU in front of Cap and everyone else." That sentence could be easily replaced with "I didn’t mean to tell everyone that you're leaving," which feels more natural to be said. Regardless what Tim has said in interviews, the baiting game is on, lmfao.

3)) To make Buddie canon.

If you put a pair of Buddie goggles on, you can see how it works: Eddie returns to LA with Christopher -> become Buck's roommate -> feelings realization -> Buddie canon.

Now, put the goggles off and consider these:

Buck's only male partner who has been proven to be liked by A BIG PART of the General Audience is Tommy. If they didn't reunite Bucktommy, it's most probably because they assume that the MAJORITY of GA doesn't like to see Buck with a man. If they chickened out from reuniting Bucktommy, despite the support from a part of the GA, how on earth they would have the gut to make Buddie, whom GA knows nothing about, canon?

There is almost no benefit for ABC to make Buddie canon. GA doesn't know about Buddie. Even if Buddie never canon, Buddie fans keep watching the show and Buddie writers keep bringing Buddie up in every article for clicks and engagements. Making Buddie canon might increase the exposure to the show for a while. However, if ABC and Tim Minear assumed that most of the GA didn't like to see Buck with a boyfriend (and they had broken Bucktommy up because of it), I don't think they would take the risk of losing their existing audience for online engagements.

Here's another prove that the GA doesn't care about Buddie. Ep. 8x09 "Sob Stories" is about Eddie leaving, possibly permanently (he put a down payment on a house in Texas!). Have you seen GA complained about Eddie's leaving the way they did when Tommy's leaving? No? That's how you know that Eddie is NOT a big draw for GA (no offense to Ryan Guzman). I'm sure people in ABC also notice that.

EDIT: Someone mentioned that GA might complain if Ryan did 'exit' interviews, like Lou did before. I don't think so. GA didn't read Lou's exit interview. While writing this edit, the Fangirlish interview only has 7 comments, while the Decider interview has an invitation to "Be the first to comment", lol. If GA read those exit interviews, there would be a lot of complaints on the articles, similar like the ones on the ABC's IG and FB accounts. ABC has known those interviewers are biased towards Buddie. Those interviews are directed to fans, not to GA.

4)) Budget constraint.

ABC knows that there will be a significant cost increase in the near future:

Season 8 is the time for Jennifer Love-Hewitt and Ryan Guzman's contracts renewal.

JLH's involvement in the second sequeal of I Know What You Did Last Summer proves that people in the industry still consider her as a big draw for audience worldwide. She could demand a significant raise based on it.

Ep. 8x09 has the highest rating of the season so far (5.3). It's even higher than the airplane disaster (5.1). Why? Because the Scream Queen was screaming, and the GA wanted to see that. JLH might add this fact to her ammo in her contract negotiation.

A significant raise for JLH could mean budget cut in other areas:

a) Ryan might not get a raise with the amount he expected.

This has happened in Grey's Anatomy. Renewing Ellen Pompeo's contract for $20 million a year allegedly has prompted Jessica Chapshaw and Sarah Drew to leave the show, because they didn't get their expected raise. It also happened in Inside Out 2. Amy Pohler's $5 million pay took a big portion of the budget. Thus, Pixar decided to cheap out the other cast members, prompting Bill Hader and Mindy Kalling's refusal to return.

b) They have to scale down the production.

There have been rumors that budget cut is the reason behind the reduced appearance of recurring characters in this season. There's also the fact that Bathena's house has been burnt down. So far, there is no sign of their new house, but I guess it would be a scale down. It's also probably why they decided to let Buck's loft go.

5)) To push Buck to live with Tommy if Eddie returns.

This is mostly a joke among Bucktommy nations. However, let's think about it seriously to cover all the bases. Is it possible? Very unlikely. Tommy has a car lift and a Muay Thai ring. That kind of place is not cheap. There's a reason why we never saw Tommy's house during Season 7. Assuming Buck and Tommy get back together, if the show had to let Bathena's house go for budget reason, I doubt Buck would move to Tommy's house anytime soon.

6)) To bait the Buddie fans

Although they don't have the gut to give Buck a permanent boyfriend, they could still drive online engagements by making Buck and Eddie roommates. Will they do that? We'll know when we see Bathena's new house. If it is an expensive house, then we know that budget is not an issue. Thus, there's no reason for the roommate situation other than Buddiebaiting. For the sake of non-toxic Buddie fans who still believe Buddie will be canon, I sincerely hope they won't go there. It'll be too cruel.

EDIT: Someone pointed out to me that Tim might have planned to bait Buddie fans with Buck's moving into Eddie's house, based on his interview with Decider:

DECIDER: Did it cross your mind when you were writing that twist that Buck also lived in Abby’s (Connie Britton) apartment when she left in Season 1?  TM: Yes! It did, and I had even made reference to it later, but that ended up falling out. I think it just got a little confusing for the network. But there was a reference to that fact. For Buck, it’s different, because he’s not Eddie’s lover, for one thing. He was pining for Abby when she left. But he didn’t think he was living in her place. He thought he was waiting for her to come back.

Apparently, Tim wanted to put a Buddie bait with Buck's moving, but ABC stopped him, lol. That's interesting. I thought ABC didn't mind with baiting because they allowed Tim did it with Bucktommy: hyping Bucktommy up then breaking them apart 🤔.

From all the above, I think Buddiebaiting budget constraint is the most possible reason why we are losing Buck's loft NOW, instead of at the end of this season. If the decision is permanent, regardless Eddie would return or not, having Buck move to Eddie's house NOW while Eddie is still in LA is more practical than having Buck fly to Texas to sign a sublease contract. If Eddie returns, he has to share his house with Buck. It might be good to drive online engagements anyway, regardless what Ryan feels about it.

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: returned from me depressive episode for a professor reid fic BARK BARK ANG ANG ANG GO MY TEETH ON THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE daddy issues? gottem! 🤠 pls lmk if you guys think a part two’s needed for this one bc I’m honestly torn??

warnings: age gap baby we out here fr (but it’s all wholesome bc Spencer isn’t a creep x)

Someday

Graduating from university was a bittersweet experience for you. On the one hand, you achieved exactly what you set out to, exceeding your own expectations in your capabilities as a student and working towards your dream career; you had dedicated years of your life to your course and earned a sense of pride in yourself that you had only previously hoped for; you had made friends you hoped to keep in touch with for the rest of your life, but even if you didn’t, they were established pillars to you, memories you would never lose, wrapped up in the campus of your university. On the other hand, one lingering thought was enough to sour the joy you felt. One isolated thought, as you celebrated with your friends with graduation caps flying overhead and cheers erupting all around you. Because while everyone was lost in the celebration, you were distracted from it, pulled by a gravity that others appeared to be immune to. Through the crowds, you locked eyes with a man who had made the last year of your course the most important of all. The smile on your face softened, and his matched yours, the same thought floating from your gaze to his: this was to be the last time the two of you could ever hope to cross paths. You were no longer part of the campus, instead, you were to be on your way to your dream career, while he stayed put, watching you fly away like a dove against a perfect landscape.

To you, Doctor Spencer Reid had singlehandedly revived the joy and drive you felt when, by the last year of your university course, those aspects of you had begun to dwindle. He was the best professor you had ever had, becoming your favourite from his first guest lecture. It had been so profoundly impactful to you that when he waved off the other students in the hall as they left, you stayed behind to personally thank him. You divulged the length of your course, how strenuous the workload had begun to feel, but how his passion for profiling had given you a second wind. To Spencer, you were the first spark of light he’d seen since getting out of prison; you looked at him like he was something special, something good, and while he couldn’t thank you for that without becoming far too emotionally intimate with you, you became the reason he sought out a permanent position at your university. If he could make the difference in one person’s life, encourage someone into the career he loved while trying his best to prepare them for the hardships he hadn’t been ready for prior to joining the BAU, perhaps that could play a part in him redeeming himself. Viewing himself as worthy of the way you had looked at him, the day you had met.

Truthfully, Spencer’s intentions with you had been nothing but sincere. He knew you were an attractive young woman, but that was an observation he would make had he only passed you in the street in a fleeting moment; it neither added nor subtracted to his motivations, his existing desire to teach, to help, to inspire - if he dared wish he was capable of such a thing. When you returned to your campus after a weekend barricaded in your dorm, studying in a heap of your own making, to find Doctor Spencer Reid had taken over the majority of lecture slots on your course, to say you were overjoyed would have been an understatement. The grin you gave him when you entered the lecture hall, and the smile he returned, felt like the world’s most wholesome secret; both of you aware you’d played a part in each other’s being there that neither of you understood the scale of. 

From then, the two of you became as friendly as two adults in your positions as a professor and student could, within the bounds of what was appropriate. You would share smiles at the beginning end of every lecture, he would praise your constant ability to hand essays in early, you would retort by praising his continual skill at holding your attention in the topics he delivered and thus being the reason you felt inspired to hand in said essays early. Outside of the lecture hall, you would smile at each other across campus in the event you crossed paths. While it was true that it did seem the two of you were more aware of each other’s presences than you perhaps should be - like a sixth sense for the arrival of the other, looking around until your eyes or his found the other, knowing you would be somewhere close by, somehow - it was not something either of you acknowledged. The tether was as invisible as it was deliberately ignored.

Naturally, your friends would often joke that you were no more than a silly girl with a crush, but even they knew that was not the case. There was nothing immature about the way you felt, or the way you handled it. Yes, it was inappropriate of you to feel as giddy as you did before each of his lectures, daydream of him in between said lectures, and spend far too long swooning at the memory of the one occasion in which his fingertips brushed yours when you handed him an essay you’d completed early, but you were sensible enough to keep those things to yourself. The alternative timeline you dreamt of, where the two of you had met in different circumstances and thus been allowed to pursue whatever it was in the societal norm of two consenting adults, where you shared walks in the park hand in hand, cooked dinner together, discussed baby names - that was entirely fictional and safe in your own head. While you acknowledged they were inappropriate, you allowed yourself to enjoy the pleasant feelings, knowing you could never act on them, and that the time you had together was counting to a definitive end. That is what made the feelings harmless; you knew they couldn’t last.

In Spencer’s mind, things were quite different. He thought he had a knowledge on love and its many forms, though his own experiences were limited, his eidetic memory was painfully keen to remind him of the tales of unrequited love he had read and applied to himself throughout his life. He remembers well, what it was like to be a boy and feel like a particular girl in his class was the center of his solar system, but he had been laboring under the misapprehension that such feelings were restricted to when he had been a boy. Of course, Spencer repressed every trace of feeling he felt for you with an efficiency like you would not believe; not only because love had burned him in the past, but because he knew, as you did, this couldn’t develop or last in any conceivable way. It was doomed. A tragedy already written. He had accepted that as you had, and for the most part, he lived in a peaceful sense of denial about any feelings existing between the two of you. It was only in isolated moments, his resolve crumbled. Every single time you had smiled at him, something had fluttered in his stomach, a palpable skip of his heart was felt in his chest; physical symptoms such as that, he couldn’t deny. He was a man of science, who existed to deny every detail of you that enamored him, until your fingertips brushed his when you passed him another essay you’d completed early, and suddenly the universe around him fell back into place. Every star flickered in the sky above him, an eclipse over his heart that allowed a momentary lapse of judgment, just a microsecond in which he was defenseless to the montage of you that played in his mind of an entirely hypothetical future that could never be. 

That day, and that last shared gaze, you knew you had no choice. You were powerless to the pull of him, and you pushed through the crowds at the same time as he was already turning to you, knowing you were on your way before you’d even decided it for yourself. 

“Professor Reid.” You greeted him, as professionally as ever, and his smile widened into a chuckle, your own smile growing at the sound. 

“(Y/N).” He nodded at you in a polite gesture of respect. “Congratulations. You earned every second of today’s celebrations.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you avoided Spencer’s eyes shyly, glancing at the grass beneath your shoes and his. 

“Thank you, Professor, I…I just wanted to thank you, again, for everything. I can’t wait to brag to every profiler I meet that I was lectured by THE Doctor Spencer Reid!” You couldn’t resist teasing him just a little, even in the midst of your sincere gratitude.

That earned another quiet laugh from Spencer, as you’d predicted it would.

“I’m hardly deserving of being your bragging right, or subject to your gratitude. You got yourself here, I was just lucky enough to be a part of it. I hope to see your name appearing in solved cases before long.” He beamed at you.

“I’ll make sure they only ever put my name in with credits to you in brackets right next to it.” You joked, rolling your eyes playfully at Spencer’s implication of you being on your way to cracking criminal cases in no time. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for that, too, then.” He amended, his smile softening at the same rate yours did with the subtext of his words sinking in: he’d be watching out for you and your successes, wishing you the best all the way. 

“Don’t go retiring early now, I’m counting on seeing you in the field someday!” You raised an eyebrow at Spencer, and the slightest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry, I’ve got my reasons for sticking around for a while.” He nodded to you, then looked over your shoulder and nodded at your friends. “I think your presence is being requested elsewhere.”

Glancing back over your shoulder, following his gaze, you saw your friends waving you over, and you sighed. If only you could freeze the world around you. But, there was a countdown with every moment spent in Spencer’s company, as there had always been.

“Yeah.” You breathed, turning to face him again. “See…your name someday, I guess.” Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what the correct terminology for a goodbye such as that was.

But Spencer snickered, so whatever words you’d chosen were the right ones.

“Yes. See your name, someday.”

With that, you headed back over to your friends, casting one last look over your shoulder to find Spencer still watching after you with a softness in his eyes that you’d not seen before, because usually he had enough time to compose himself before you caught him. You waved at him like it was just another instance of crossing paths on campus, and he returned it, before your shared gaze was swallowed by the crowds, and you were whisked away by your friends.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but you would be the first to argue that time also flies when you are going through rigorous training and extreme stress almost everyday for over a year. There were moments of fun during it, of course, but for the most part, the mental and physical strain was an endurance test that you were far too stubborn to allow to get the best of you. Nobody ever gave you the impression that the FBI academy was an easy avenue, and your favorite professor had warned you of the most challenging aspects of the training in advance. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him during the most difficult points of the past year; the advice he’d bestowed upon you had proven to be infinitely valuable already, and whenever you happened to mention him to others, the expressions of shock and awe you’d receive were testament to the fact he very much had been worthy of being your bragging right - if you could see him once more just to say “I told you so”, you’d take the chance in a heartbeat.

You hadn’t expected to be effectively scouted as quickly as you were, following university. Originally, you had your heart set on some local police work, hoping to climb the rankings and edge your way towards the FBI that way, to have some experience in the field to assist you going forward. Fate had been on your side when you were given the opportunity to showcase your skills on a particularly challenging case that the local police force you worked with were not equipped to handle. A couple of FBI agents had been sent to assist with the case, and by the end of it, the two of them gave you a recommendation to the academy. 

In the year that’s passed since, you have done everything in your power to prove yourself to be exceptional, and now, you are taking the elevator to the floor dedicated to the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Everything you have been working towards has built up to this moment, and while it is only an introduction to the team, you were the only one amongst your peers to be offered this opportunity. There are no vacancies on the team, as far as you’re aware, so they aren’t urgently in need of anyone, meaning you are likely being recommended to shadow them, which could lead to a permanent role if you play your cards right. Once that is secured, all of your hard work will have paid off, the years of your life you have thrown into this will have been worth every second, every tear, every drop of sweat. 

The elevator dings, and you take a deep breath. The second the doors open, you step out of them, only to be greeted by a dark haired woman who has an intimidating stance until she sees you, and then she’s smiling, holding her hand out for you to shake.

“(Y/N), I assume? Great to meet you, I’m Emily Prentiss, the Unit Chief.” She introduces herself, and your eyes very nearly fall right out of your head as you nod, shaking her hand.

“Oh, wow, it’s amazing to meet you! My whole class has heard so much about you!” It’s an exclamation you try your best to deliver as calmly as you can, but you are substantially awestruck.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Emily’s smile warms as she lets go of your hand. “-I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about you, too - your training coordinator’s been singing your praises.” She expresses, gesturing for you to walk with her.

You scoff, feeling a little bashful, but still proud of how far you’ve come. 

“He’s not been annoyingly insistent about passing me off to you guys, has he?” You joke with a cringing expression, causing Emily to laugh as she holds the glass doors to the bullpen open for you, shaking her head.

“No, no, not at all! I actually requested you come up here; given how well you’re doing, and this is where you’ve stated your goal is, I figured it’d be good for you to learn what you can while the team’s in a stable position.” She explains, and you nod along, keeping your eyes fixed on her as she talks, wanting to take in her every word.

You know what she’s trying to say; you’d been right that the team don’t necessarily need you right now, but that’s a good thing - it means you’re safe to learn at your own pace, without any pressure of being expected to take on the role right away, you’re just here to learn. 

“That’s reassuring, thank you.” You smile at Emily, and she returns it. 

Walking through the bullpen, Emily takes the time to introduce you to the different members of the team, and you use that as an opportunity to profile what you can about them. Emily has evidently always been a natural leader, but she’s not quite comfortable in her position yet. Luke is the epitome of the golden retriever personality, Tara is total badass but still a sweetheart, Rossi seems to be the father figure of the group but begrudgingly, JJ is a very protective mother figure despite being around the same age as a few members of the team, and Penelope is the sweetest woman to ever exist - not too difficult to suss them out. 

“It’s such an honor to meet all of you!” You’re gushing unabashedly, but you can’t help it; the thought of working with these people is literally a dream come true for you.

“She says that, and she hasn’t even met our genius yet!” Luke laughs, waving the file in his hands before setting it down on a very neatly organized desk. But, something on that folder catches your eye.

It couldn’t be. It absolutely couldn’t be.

“Sorry, can I see that?” Your heart is already pounding.

Frowning in confusion, Luke passes you the folder he’d just set down, and you take it with clammy, shaking hands. Your eyes scan over the printed text at the top of the brown folder, not opening it to view the contents within, because the front was enough to make your stomach flip.

See your name, someday.

The team of profilers that surround you are exchanging glances, and it doesn’t take them long - considering their unique skill set - to come to a conclusion.

“Have you…heard of Spencer?” JJ poses the question to you as gently and vaguely as she can, and you nod unsteadily.

Do you-? In the alternative timeline you entertain inside your own head, you are happily married to that man with three kids and a house with a wraparound porch. Do you know him?

It takes a few seconds for you to regulate yourself enough to look up from the folder and place it back on the desk that you now recognise has to be Spencer’s. Clearing your throat, you laugh at yourself awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh, he was actually a professor at my university, just over a year ago.” You elaborate, feeling like you almost have no choice, given the way your own reaction outed yourself.

In the adrenaline rush that hasn’t left you since being sent to the BAU floor, you’d failed to connect the dots in your own mind, or maybe you didn’t want to get your hopes up in believing that he’s still part of this specific team. That today, he happened to be in the office, not away on a case, or lecturing somewhere, or literally anywhere other than right where you were due to be today.

The team exchange glances again, a silent conversation, but this time it’s one of understanding rather than confusion. All at once, they’re starting to smile at you.

It isn’t your business, so they don’t go into detail, only divulging to you that Spencer hasn’t been himself lately because his mother has been unwell and that it shouldn’t be fatal, but because that’s the only family he really has, he’s been worrying himself exponentially. Regularly stepping out of whatever room the team are in to call the hospital, or talk to his mother directly, and barely talking to the team about it whenever they ask about it. The reason they tell you this is because, knowing Spencer as well as they do, your presence can most definitely serve as the perfect pick-me-up to his presently busy and anxious mind - so, you and the team quickly form a plan.

Twenty minutes or so later, Spencer steps back into the bullpen with a forlorn expression; the vision of a man with every ounce of life pulled from him, drained beyond belief. He barely acknowledges Emily or JJ - the rest of the team being in Penelope’s office, watching via the security cameras and her monitors - instead moving past them, towards his desk.

“How is she, Spence?” JJ asks softly, patting his back in an effort to reassure him.

“Mom refused to pass the phone to the doctors and couldn’t even tell me if she’d taken her antibiotics for today.” He all but collapses into his chair, eyes closing in a pained blink.

Phone calls with his mother have often been difficult, but when she’s sick, her schizophrenia and consequential lack of trust makes them especially so; convinced the government are listening, she won’t relay what medicine she’s taken or when, and without confirmation from a doctor, Spencer has no way of knowing whether his mother is actually recovering from any other sickness that ails her. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” Emily sighs, looking at him with sympathetic eyes, and Spencer can only nod his thanks.

Opening his eyes, he looks for something - anything - to distract himself. His gaze lands on the folder on his desk, and he picks it up absentmindedly. It’s then, Emily and JJ take their cue to leave, pretending they have a very good reason to head into Emily’s office and close the door behind them; pretending they aren’t discretely peeking through the closed blinds.

Vision not entirely focussed, Spencer flips the folder over with a sigh, barely glancing over the front of it, until something sparks to life in the mess of his mind. He pauses, frowns, and looks back over the front of the folder. His chest feels tight. 

“Folder contents to be provided to: Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N) - (with credits to Doctor Spencer Reid).”

Spencer stands from his desk like he’s been electrocuted, looking around the now empty bullpen and immediately realizing that his team, his beloved friends, his family have helped plan something just for him, and his heart is already racing. 

His lips part to call your name, but no sound comes. It doesn’t need to; his heart has been singing it in a secret mantra, everyday since he last saw you. Summoning you, but taking its sweet time. 

On the other side of the bullpen, you rise from where you’d been hiding under one of the other desks, out of Spencer’s line of sight, now appearing before him. Your gaze locks with his from across the room, a desk’s distance separating you, but it doesn’t obstruct the tether even remotely. Nothing ever has.

Spencer watches as time slows to reveal a smile spreading across your face, one that is so beautifully familiar he has to catch his breath before remembering his own smile. Every detail  of you, he recognises. The color of your eyes, your lips, your hair - each and every one, his favorite shades to ever exist. He notices every minuscule detail of you that has changed in the time that has passed, and immediately finds himself listing praise after praise towards each and every one, in the confines of the mind you have enchanted to emptiness. While his conscious mind has continued to deny the power you hold over him, his subconscious mind has been plagued by dreams of the way he’d hold your hand, the kisses he’d leave on your cheeks, should you ever be so gracious as to bestow the honor upon him. He was foolish to even try and convince himself that your beauty was a passing observation; should he ever dare think such a blasphemous thought again, he’ll request a psych eval on himself. 

“Hi.” He breathes, too lost for words to say anything else.

“Hi, Professor.” You answer, the sound of your voice that of his favorite song returning to him after far too long. 

“You aren’t required to call me that now, you realize.” Spencer clarifies, an almost imperceptibly playful tone laced into his words.

“Should I call you Doctor Reid, then?” You offer, raising your eyebrow at him, as though challenging him.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he’s walking towards you, closing every inch of space he can’t allow to exist for another second, until only the desk separates you. 

“Just Spencer, would be preferable.” His own voice is softer than he’s ever heard it.

“In that case, I look forward to working with you, Spencer.” You beam, placing deliberate emphasis on his name and holding your hand out to him.

Every thought he has ever had about every germ that has ever existed, erases itself from his mind. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Likewise. It would seem my list of reasons to delay retirement has just grown exponentially.” Spencer’s hand reaches for yours, shaking it so gently - his hand very nearly swallowing yours and not letting go for anything - crossing the only barrier and turning the tether into something tangible, for the very first time. The spark that previously only existed between your eyes, bursts to life in a warmth that blossoms between your hands now, but not just there. It lingers everywhere. It’s in your cheeks, already aching from how hard you’ve been smiling at each other, and it’s in your chests, your hearts fighting with equal strength to forego your ribcages and fly away; a pair of doves into a perfect landscape.

[cappuccinoandglitter]

Whatever This Is - Stefan Morina/Miguel Alfaro

"Hey kid, you doin' okay?"

Alfaro looks up and sees Rocker, who must've come in very quietly because out of nowhere he's in the fridge pulling out a bottled smoothie drink. Alfaro has been sitting on the couch in the kitchen for a while, thinking too much. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

Rocker twists off the cap, takes a swig. Alfaro watches him drink, the way his Adam's apple bobs with each swallow. Little details that he's not supposed to be noticing, like how the man's temples are going grey a little prematurely but somehow it really works for him. How his chest always strains the buttons on his shirt to their absolute limit.

There's something about Rocker that reminds him of Stefan, the shape of the jaw, a little bit in the eyes. Maybe it's all connected in his mind somehow, maybe it isn't. Maybe Alfaro's just confused.

"I didn't let you switch to 20-Squad for them to lose you," Rocker says, hand on his hip. "I had words."

Alfaro smiles. "You did?"

"Of course. You know you can switch back any time you want."

Alfaro chuckles. "Nah, at least, not at the moment."

"Let me know when you change your mind," Rocker says. It's not like he really means it, it's just part of the natural competitiveness between the two teams. "Did your friend get his deal? WitSec, everything?"

Alfaro nods, hands linked together, elbows on knees. "Yeah." Probably not Miami, but somewhere. Somewhere out of reach? Again? Alfaro's chest tightens, but he looks steadily up at Rocker. Tamp that down along with everything else. But Rocker's still there, eyes narrowed, looking down at Alfaro.

"You've done UC work, right?" Alfaro asks.

Rocker nods. "Few times."

"You ever…" He's not sure how to ask this without opening up floodgates he's kept tightly shut. "You ever manage to—" He clicks his tongue and looks away. There's no subtle, hypothetical way to phrase any of this. "Do the relationships ever survive?"

Rocker gets this thoughtful look on his face, and he moves to sit on the coffee table. "I'm not gonna lie to you, kid. In many ways it's worse than starting from scratch. But you already did with this guy once already, didn't you?"

Alfaro must look surprised because Rocker adds, "I saw the file. I saw how you tried to save him five years ago."

Does Rocker know? Does he understand? "I just didn't think he belonged in that life, just because he was born into it."

Rocker gives him a look that almost screams 'don't bullshit me, kid'. "If he doesn't hate your guts right now, I think you have a good chance."

"I don't think he hates my guts right now, or at least, not permanently." Alfaro thinks of the last time he saw Stefan, the way Stefan reached out and Alfaro for a split second thought he was going in for a kiss. No, he didn't think that, he knew exactly what Stefan was doing, but for a second Alfaro hoped. He wanted. And that want was the scary part. Under other circumstances, if Stefan had tried to kiss him, Alfaro would've gently let him down. Flattered, but straight. And they'd chuckle nervously, live with the awkwardness for a while, then be over it.

Alfaro isn't over it.

Rocker smiles. "Then go get your guy," he says, scrunching his nose up momentarily, as if sharing a secret. They are sharing a secret, and Alfaro's heart stops when he realizes it's not just him that knows anymore.

What secrets is Rocker holding that he can suss out Alfaro's so easily? Maybe Alfaro made it easy for him.

He just nods, rubs his palms along his knees, wiping moisture on his pants, and stands up. "Thanks, Rocker."

"Anytime, kid," Rocker says.

Alfaro tries not to run back to holding, not wanting anyone to ask him why he's in a rush. Running at SWAT HQ without workout clothes is almost never seen as a good sign. His heart in his throat, he asks the guard to let him in.

Stefan is sitting where Alfaro left him, against the wall, head tilted back, waiting for the hand of fate to decide his future. Resigned. Seeing Alfaro, Stefan lifts his head and looks at him, an unspoken question in his eyes.

Alfaro steps around to the corner. He knows there are cameras, but at least in the corner the guard outside won't see. "I meant it, when I said this was real," he says quietly. "Whatever this is."

Stefan sits up a little straighter, following Alfaro with his eyes. There's bemusement there, maybe a little fear of the unknown. He takes Stefan's hand, shoves the piece of paper he grabbed on the way into it. "Memorize my number in case they take this from you," he says. "And you call if you need anything. If you need me." Alfaro doesn't blink, staring into Stefan's eyes, willing him to understand what he's saying. "It's not going to be another five years before we see each other again."

Stefan finally smiles. "I'm going to hold you to that."

[gabriels-golden-kazoo]

If I have to read one more avengers fic that basically just goes “-Hey guys I fixed it all so that they still live at the compound together by just having Steve sign the accords” I will lose my shit.

How many people have actually taken the time to research what the Sokovia Accords actually entail? Or the regulations it put on enhanced people such as Wanda and Steve? Because by their own definition Steve would come under that whether or not he remained Captain America.

Do you know who wouldn’t come under it if they simply gave up their technology? Tony Stark.

Whereas people like Wanda and Peter Parker would have to permanently wear a tracking monitor and could potentially be detained if they are suddenly decided to be a threat. There is also no specification on what a threat is, just that if they are seen to have the potential to cause harm then the government is permitted to hold them indefinitely without trial.

It is actually terrifying how similar the Sokovia Accords are to the Mutant Registration Act from the X-Men movies. But of course when it comes to down to it people are only choosing ‘Team Cap’ because of the Winter Soldier, not because they actually see how problematic the Accords are (which by the way if you search it up in the Marvel Universe was supported by Trump).

I understand why Tony signed it, he needed to relieve himself of the guilt, of the deaths that were on his shoulders. But at no point does the Accords offer to help or support those caught in the crossfire of an attack, just that the Avengers have to been approved to join the fight.

But also Tony can at any point get rid of his suit and no longer be considered as enhanced, whereas people like Steve, Bucky, Wanda and Peter (who he dragged into the situation) will forever have to be monitored as a danger of society and potentially be thrown into prison without so much as a fair trial if they so much as stepped one toe out of line just because it is a part of their biology.

What do you think they will do to people like Bruce Banner? Matt Murdock?

A big well done to Clint Barton and Sam Wilson, they saw issue in the Accords and knew the affect it wouldn’t just have on the world but on the people in their team.

[centrally-unplanned]

This was a good thread walking through the probably most "forward thinking" decent DOGE/OMB EO, generally outlining hard caps on hiring, demands for staff reductions, and veto power assigned to DOGE on new hires.

My thoughts generally are you should be skeptical of the things like "you must fire 4 people for every 1 hire" or calls to lay off mass parts of the workforce. They add all the weaselwords you would expect like "assuming they are not statutorily required" but, shocker, most of them are. These organizations do in fact have to do the jobs Congress set out for them and do not have a lot of filler around that. They have their stupid stuff, don't get me wrong - you may have heard of the filing of government employee retirements by hand in a mine - but those typically exist because of congressional requirements! (Like this one, which had two separate digitization attempts that failed due to compliance issues).

Now ofc there is this whole "how much will they ignore Congress & the courts", and that is gonna happen I am betting, but it isn't gonna be total. They just aren't targeting all that much, and in particular don't have any coherent "small government" philosophy to implement. The Admin wants a larger government on net. Again, you will see the contractors vs permanent staff thing, I agree you will lose permanent employees to be replaced by companies. But that is pretty small bore (and almost certainly a net decline in efficiency and increase in costs)

The much bigger point is giving DOGE veto power over every hire, even at the professional level. That is new, something previous admins did not do, and I think is the real point of this effort as I have mentioned. They want to churn the staff to create a new cadre of government officers with a new ideology. You can see it in other articles for example that groups like the Heritage Foundation have a list of ~50,000 pre-vetted hires for these slots. Thus I think this is the load-bearing part of what this plan is aiming to achieve.

Though they will also do efficiency improvements and such, every admin does and by ignoring some compliance requirements you definitely can cut some fat. I bet they will throw a few things through Congress too, Congress is terribly slow but it does pass the occasional bill. Things are more than one thing after all.

[frameacloud]

A Masterpost About Long-Acting Reversible Contraceptives (LARCs)

During the upcoming presidency, it is likely that people in the US will lose many options that keep them from getting pregnant (contraceptives). The right-wing Project 2025 is against birth control pills, abortion, emergency contraception, and the government-provided health insurance ("Obamacare," Medicaid, and Medicare) that helps people afford these.

If you or your partner are concerned about the possibility of losing access to those options soon, you can ask your doctor or Planned Parenthood about getting a Long-Acting Reversible Contraceptive (LARC). The two kinds of LARCs are IUDs and the implant. If you get a LARC right now, it can protect you for years, without you having to do anything to maintain it. A LARC isn't permanent, so you can get rid of it if you later decide that you're ready to have a baby.

Hormonal Intrauterine Device: 3, 5, or 8 years of protection, depending on brand

An IUD is a T-shaped object that a nurse or doctor puts into your uterus. It's tiny, just a little more than an inch. The procedure for getting an IUD isn't surgery, it lasts just a few minutes, and it goes much better if you ask for an anti-anxiety medicine and the right type of painkiller.

Hormonal IUDs work because they slowly release progestin. That's the main hormone in birth control pills. Like pills, they can make your periods get lighter or stop, which is helpful for people who need to get rid of cramps and PMS.

Of the brands of them in the US, the FDA currently approves of using Kyleena for up to five years, Liletta for eight, Mirena for eight, and Skyla for three. Kyleena and Skyla are smallest and therefore easiest to insert.

I have more info in my tags about IUDs.

Copper IUDs: 12 years of protection

The other type of IUD is a copper IUD. Instead of changing your hormones, it works because copper makes the place unfriendly to sperm. Another difference is that this kind can make your periods heavier. Its brand name is Paragard. The FDA approves of using it for ten years, but studies show it's still good at twelve or longer. More info in my tags.

The birth control implant: 5 years of protection

It's a rod the size of a matchstick. A nurse or doctor uses an applicator to put it under your skin in your arm. There, it will slowly release progestin to protect you from getting pregnant. It can make your periods get lighter or stop. The FDA approves of using it for three years, but a study shows it's still 100% effective five years later, and so does another study. Its brand name is Nexplanon, which has improvements over the older Implanon, such as being visible on X-ray. More info in my tags.

Some honorable mentions

There are some other contraceptives that last a long time but aren't considered LARCs. The diaphragm and the cervical cap are two kinds of plastic cap that you put on your cervix each time before sex, and you can keep using the same one for two years. The birth control ring, Annovera, lasts one year. Each injection of the birth control shot, Depo-Provera, lasts three months.

Only barrier methods such as condoms, internal condoms, and dental dams can protect against sexually transmitted infections. The right wing wants to stop people from getting condoms, too. That's another problem, but LARCs can help us get through the next four years without unplanned pregnancies.

[rikosseen]

Triplet Eugene x Reader: Irreparable damage

Platonic | Anon ask | Slight angst

Ryuhei is agitated at the Chairman's demand. They were so close to catching Gun, yet the priority was securing the health of Eugene’s closest subordinates; you, Mandeok, and Yuseong.

“I’ll handle the rest. So please Ryuhei.”

The blonde ends the call, sighing with aggravation as he hits the killswitch on his bike. He sits on the wet asphalt before calling for a clean up and medical crew. While bitterness pricks his skin to listen to the Chairman, Ryuhei couldn’t help but feel pity towards the 3 unconscious bodies lying beside him. Couldn’t help to feel pitiful at the graveness in Eugene’s tone of voice when he desperately asked to bring the three of you back safely.

.

.

Manager Kim glances at the Chairman through the rearview mirror of the car. The boy’s head hung low, and his fingers were vigorously shaking. At times like this, it’s easy to forget that Eugene isn’t some evil mastermind, but instead, a vulnerable, young teen who doesn’t want to lose those important to him. Manager Kim can see the boy muffling his cries at the back, and tries to mouth words of reassurance to him. However, none of them get through to Eugene. His head swirls with images of broken body parts, open wounds, and perhaps a soon to be dead body. The last thought makes his breath hitch, and the young Chairman tries to direct the energy from his pent up worry to taking down Gun and Charles Choi. The quicker he does so, the sooner he can check up on you three. But is it truly worth it? Just how badly hurt is everyone?

.

.

The air is thick, with the scent of rusting iron circling it.

“I told you.”

Yuseong quietly fiddles with his cap, crouching beside Eugene to look at your battered body. He leans into your arm, trying to seek physical reassurance. Reassurance you can’t give.

“I told you this would happen,” Eugene continues, gripping his hair. His voice laces anger, and it cracks. He wasn’t mad at you, of course. How could he ever be? You were just as precious to him as Yuseong and Mandeok were. Rather, he was infuriated with himself for letting things turn out how they did. Mandeok lay on the bed beside you, breathing irregularly. His eyes slowly open, but for the meantime, he doesn’t want to make his consciousness known to Eugene so as to not make him worry even more.

They all stare blankly at you, scanning the several twisted limbs and cuts that Gun had induced. Bits of flesh stick out, and there’s puss build up everywhere. Your face is all swollen, unrecognisable. The sight makes their throats constrict. Gun Park.

Mandeok clenches his eyes tight, silently apologising for not protecting you when you were right there, just barely out of reach. Maybe if he’d been faster- Maybe if he had tried harder-

“I’m sorry,” Mandeok tries to sit up, but winces as pain courses throughout his body. Eugene’s attention turns to him, but the chairman can do nothing except shake his head.

He didn't want to cry in front of Yuseong. He didn’t want his brother to feel as if you wouldn’t ever wake up again. No. You’re just resting. That’s right.

So please. Please, please, please.

Please open your eyes.

I won’t be so foolish as to put you in danger ever again.

Eugene grabs hold of one of your hands, and uses the back of it to cover his face. They’re so cold. As if no life possessed your body anymore.

He silently mutters into them, hoping, praying that you’d miraculously be all better. However, Jinyoung already warned that your recovery would be a long and lengthy one. That even after treatment, the damage Gun Park had done would permanently scar and cause a hindrance to even the most minute of tasks to you.

Please, a miracle. Please, I'll do good from now on. Just please.

Tears stream down your hand, and Eugene suppresses his cries once more, turning around so Yuseong doesn’t see him.

“I’ll fix you, no matter what it takes. I’ll make sure you recover. We can’t live in this dream without you. I can’t”