#extended mind

[azeutreciathewicked]

I never got a smartphone, and some days are rough. I can't use a lot of apps that are only available through smartphones, I can't do some convenient things. and I keep misplacing my dumb phone when I need to do phone verification for a few things. I definitely feel like a cranky old anti-tech person, which is ironic since I have a background in technology theory and ethics (so I know what it does to me). I'm also so scared that such a device can be so easily stolen, hacked, or otherwise compromised, and I would not be able to live with that level of stress constantly. I knew it would suck my attention and soul away like nothing else. And I still manage to spend too much time online thanks to wifi. So I've been actively limiting how I access social media, and it's helped my brain so much. The cyborging / extended mind is super easy to slip into (see: Andy Clark and extended mind theory). And there are some great things that come of this phenomenon, but it's also insidious when the end result is about distraction, hypersocializing, and never giving our brains time to rest. (Also see: The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt) Between the data/privacy issues and how it's rewiring your brain, it's a really good idea to try to do a reset and reflect on what you are using your smartphone for and make deliberate choices about how you use it going forward.

I know millennials are getting the traditional generational luddite reputation at this point for sneering at smart devices and banging on about privacy and not needing all those fancy functions etc. but I am speaking to you right now as an experienced activist: you have to start seeing your smartphone as your big red glowing weak point. it is a repository of all the information someone could conceivably use to ruin your life, and you carry it around with you all day every day guarded by maybe a 6 digit PIN (or a photo of your face, seriously turn off face unlock right fucking now).

[lotus-pear]

horrendously late entry for @luneariann’s dtiys!! congrats on one million ely i’m so proud of you <3

[russellmoreton]

Camera Obscura : Reflections and the dark room. by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: pictify.com/user/russellmoreton

[asavt]

Once upon a time a small rat walked into my web...

[paper-mario-wiki]

here's a slightly longer version of my Olimar/Dandadan rap

[wolfchans]

뭘해도 난 괜찮아 'Cause we are wild and free!

HAVEN ♡ SKZ 5'CLOCK (250214) © immiks

[the-old-man-has-the-phonebox]

[nyoomerr]

Shen Yuan entered Luo Binghe’s life like any other good thing he’s ever had: with great difficulty, and accompanied by copious amounts of sex.

The difficult parts don’t bear talking about. Luo Binghe still feels his stomach drop at the reminders of those first few mercurial months of knowing Shen Yuan, at the way Shen Yuan had unintentionally dismantled most notions of what Luo Binghe thought a happy ending should be like. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite enjoy thinking about that time: it had been, in some ways, a more miserable challenge to overcome than his time in the Abyss had been. 

(It had been, in many ways, the only challenge Luo Binghe had ever had to face that was directed inwards. There was no straightforward evil to banish or monster to slay. There was hardly even a wife to seduce, given the fact that Shen Yuan had let himself be seduced by Luo Binghe’s image long before Luo Binghe himself had ever arrived in Shen Yuan’s world to begin with. 

There was only this: in order to grasp the incandescent happiness that Shen Yuan presented - that Luo Binghe deserved - he had to admit that every moment of so-called happiness he had experienced for the last century had been a fool’s imitation of it. In order to be happy with Shen Yuan, he had to admit to being miserable without him. 

It was humiliating, and it was nauseating, and it had even made Luo Binghe cry once, where he thought Shen Yuan wouldn’t be able to see him. 

He’d been so, so glad when it turned out Shen Yuan wouldn’t even look away from that - from Luo Binghe at his least lovable.)

No, the difficult parts of Luo Binghe’s conquest of Shen Yuan are best kept carefully out of mind. The other, better parts of that conquest - the parts involving hot skin against skin, as close as Luo Binghe could get to fitting Shen Yuan within his own flesh where he could never part from him - those parts are far more pleasant to remember, and Luo Binghe works to make new memories of that sort every day. 

Despite its pleasantness, however, the sex is not Luo Binghe’s favorite part of his courtship with Shen Yuan. 

“Bing-ge,” Shen Yuan calls, voice just an octave shy of a proper whine, “surely we can spend summers in my world? You can’t really think this heat is more pleasant than modern AC, ah?”

Luo Binghe hums, leaning in to run his mouth across the plane of Shen Yuan’s neck, savoring the smell of Shen Yuan’s sweat. His skin is tacky from the heat; Luo Binghe briefly fantasizes about being able to stick himself to it permanently. 

“Wasn’t it Yuan-er who begged to see the Fire-Driven Herons’ migration? It only happens once every decade, after all.”

“I know that,” Shen Yuan says, scowling. “I was the one who told you that.”

“Yuan-er is the most knowledgeable about this world,” Luo Binghe agrees. 

Shen Yuan sighs, squirming half-heartedly in Luo Binghe’s lap - a wordless threat to get up. Obediently, Luo Binghe waves the fan in his free hand a bit quicker in Shen Yuan’s direction, threading delicate veins of qi into the generated wind to ensure it’s pleasantly cool. Satisfied, Shen Yuan settles back in, starting up one of his charming lectures about the fauna of Luo Binghe’s world. 

Luo Binghe listens more to the cadence of Shen Yuan’s voice than to the words themselves. He doesn’t often find it necessary to know the ecological features of a beast in order to slay it, or to capture it for Shen Yuan’s zoo, or to cook it into a proper meal. 

Still, this is what Luo Binghe likes best - what he likes even more than sex, which he’d thought to be his favorite activity from the ages of 17 to 132. 

Lounging on the ground, Shen Yuan sat snugly in his lap and held close by Luo Binghe’s free arm, allowing himself to be pet and cuddled as if it were a natural part of a trip to see some ugly birds migrate - 

Pressing his nose into the nape of Shen Yuan’s neck, left bare by Luo Binghe’s own hands that had been responsible for putting Shen Yuan’s hair up in its current complicated hairstyle - 

Idly fanning Shen Yuan to keep him cool even even while Luo Binghe himself is the greatest source of heat when pressed so close in the summer sun like this -

Over a century into his so-called happy ending, Luo Binghe has rediscovered his greatest pleasure to be physical affection of a non-sexual sort, and Shen Yuan gives it as freely as he breathes.

Oh, he fusses and complains and acts as if he must be coaxed into loving Luo Binghe, but it is such a poor act that Luo Binghe can’t help feeling nothing but warm indulgence towards it. 

“Don’t be so bold,” Shen Yuan will scold when Luo Binghe buys lube without hiding his identity, and yet in the next moment he’ll casually thread his fingers between Luo Binghe’s to hold his hand all the way through their walk down the main street of town.

“Who taught you to act like this, ah?!” Shen Yuan will complain when Luo Binghe ensures his subordinates know what an honor it is to be allowed to look at Shen Yuan, but then it will be Shen Yuan himself who will seat himself directly at Luo Binghe’s side instead of any more appropriate location for a Lord’s wife.

“There’s no need to be so sticky,” Shen Yuan will sigh when he catches Luo Binghe practically running back from the kitchens with breakfast, eager to return to his sweetheart’s side, but then Shen Yuan will happily eat from Luo Binghe’s own chopsticks, even during meals taken in the main dining hall.

Despite all his aired grievances, Shen Yuan himself breaks countless social boundaries a day without even blinking. He truly thinks nothing of it, believing these gifts he presses into Luo Binghe’s heart to be nothing but normal for a couple. Normal! As if Luo Binghe has not heard tavern songs about the Demon Emperor’s shameless new male wife, spun by every servant and enemy alike that has visited the palace and been struck to flustered embarrassment at the way Shen Yuan acts!

Luo Binghe wants to roll Shen Yuan up in one hand and eat him. He dared to say as much to Shen Yuan, once; Shen Yuan had merely rolled his eyes and told him that he wasn’t into “vore.”

(Luo Binghe had made a note to research this “vore” when they next returned to Shen Yuan’s world. He’s learned that he can coax Shen Yuan into a great many number of things, if he does it slowly and lovingly enough. The delay will give Luo Binghe time to figure out a way to both take Shen Yuan’s flesh and blood into his own without then being left without a Shen Yuan to hold in his arms.)

Certainly, some part of Luo Binghe knows this quirk in Shen Yuan’s behavior to be a byproduct of the world Luo Binghe had stolen him from. The standards for modesty are warped in that place, and Shen Yuan had been gently raised by the hand of that world to not notice anything odd about it. 

A god is no less sacred for having come from the heavens where more gods reside, though. Nor does a man feel faith to any of those supposed unseen gods when one presently sits in their lap, free to worship with prayer and touch alike. None of the other people of Shen Yuan’s world had offered Luo Binghe something so precious as the free flowing love that Shen Yuan shows him. None of them had been so foolish, and so sweet, and so carelessly thoughtful despite a cute mean streak hidden within, and -

“Bing-ge,” Shen Yuan calls, and Luo Binghe bites at Shen Yuan’s neck to prove he’s listening. Shen Yuan sighs. “Bing-ge, you aren’t listening to a word I say.”

“I am,” Luo Binghe says, “I just bit you to prove it.”

“Wha - how does that prove - oh, you’re hopeless!” Shen Yuan cries, squirming again, this time with a stronger intention.

Displeased, Luo Binghe casts aside the fan he’d been using to cool Shen Yuan, moving instead to curl both arms around Shen Yuan’s middle. When Shen Yuan keeps squirming, he trails one hand down to rub at Shen Yuan’s thigh, listening for Shen Yuan’s indignant protests. Luo Binghe may have grown drunk on the simple act of holding Shen Yuan without the need for it to be sexually pleasurable, but he isn’t above using sex to keep Shen Yuan close if he must. He refuses to give up even a millimeter of contact with this precious person unless there is no other option. 

“You’re insufferable,” Shen Yuan complains, slapping at Luo Binghe’s creeping hand several times. “We’ll miss the migration we came all this way to see if you keep this up!”

“I’ll miss Yuan-er’s closeness the most,” Luo Binghe says gravely, and Shen Yuan snorts.

“Insufferable,” he repeats, and then gives his most put-upon sigh. “Can’t you just settle for holding my hand for at least until the birds leave?”

Happily, Luo Binghe stops feeling Shen Yuan up and intertwines their hands instead. Shen Yuan praises him for his patience, as if the simple feeling of their palms pressed together isn’t more pleasurable than the greatest heights of ecstasy found in any bed. 

One day, Luo Binghe will confess this to Shen Yuan: that he’s truly deviated far too much from the erotic character Shen Yuan had read all about in that other world. That somehow, when it’s Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe feels so overwhelmed with simple affection that his greatest desires are as chaste as a young boy’s. Oh, he still enjoys the sex, but -

But ah, what he really loves most is this.

[lesbikyuu]

promise

[phinnking]

"that wasn't love sam, that was grief." "but once someone's gone, what's the difference?"

HEY UH JONNY. ALEX. WHAT THE FUCK.

[ccccallsigns-au]

PUZZLE WEEK - CONCLUSION

[I WILL FINALLY ADMIT: YOU ALL ARE A LITTLE SMARTER THAN I THOUGHT. I SUPPOSE I HAVE TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING AS A REWARD FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK OTHER THAN MY SHALLOW CONGRATULATIONS....]

[AH! I'M SURE THERE IS SOMETHING PREVIOUSLY HIDDEN I CAN BRING FULLY TO LIGHT. THOSE OF YOU I AM PROUDEST OF HAVE SEEN THIS ALREADY.]

[THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING.] [LEAVE ME ALONE NOW.]

[fiona-fififi]

You're not saying you're in love with me (but you're going to)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: 9-1-1

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Summary: Eddie's seeking joy, and he just wants to suck dick about it. Buck might be having a crisis. 8x06 extended scene.

Notes: First buddie smut fic for me. So, uh. I don't know. Enjoy! And mind the tags. Also, please let me know if I forgot any, as I am not accustomed to writing or tagging smut.

Title from Taylor Swift's “Slut!” because it felt appropriate in all the ways.

8x06 Extended Scene, PWP, Getting Together, First Time, Emotional Sex, Playful Sex, Couch Sex, Smut, First Time Blowjobs, Hand Jobs, Come Swallowing, Unsafe Sex, Mentioned Tommy Kinard (though he's really not very important to this beyond being the reason Buck is at Eddie's house)

—

Ao3 Link

—

“We broke up,” Buck announces, near out of the blue, Eddie's eyes on him too much to bear after a bit. He feels the flat disinterest in his own voice; the way he's maybe jumped too far too fast into acceptance.

Maybe it really was for the best that Tommy had walked out.

“Ah, man,” Eddie says, and it's sincere, Buck knows it is, but there's a hint of something else there that Buck's not sure about—an undertone of happiness that could maybe just be the remnants of whatever he'd walked in on when he'd shown up at Eddie's door or could maybe be a reaction to something else Buck's not ready to examine. 

Buck grunts out an acknowledgment of Eddie's words. His body stiffens a little. At the possibility Eddie will push him to talk about it, Buck's mind insists. He keeps his eyes trained forward, too afraid to look at the man beside him for fear of breaking. How, though, he's not sure.

“I'm sorry, Buck,” Eddie voices, genuine and sincere, and there's something about the way his name lingers on Eddie's lips that has Buck's breath catching. “I know you liked him,” Eddie adds, hand coming down heavy on Buck's thigh.

They haven't moved, though. Not really. So with Eddie leaned back in the cushions and Buck sitting stiff at the edge of the couch, Eddie's palm falls high, so close to the juncture of his thigh that Buck thinks he stops breathing, heart hammering hard in his chest. He expects Eddie to pull away, to sit forward and shift the touch up toward his knee, to clap that spot a couple of times and pretend he hadn't lingered.

But he doesn't.

Instead, his fingers roll, a careful squeeze to the meat of Buck's thigh, dancing there in a lingering massage and shifting just a breath higher, slipping into the dip of his groin.

Buck's breath stutters out, catches with a choked sound, hand gripping too tight around the glass in his palm as he freezes—too afraid to move for fear of breaking the moment, of giving Eddie a reason to draw back and pretend like nothing of substance had happened. Feels his heart hammering in his chest, corner of his gaze caught on the sweet little smirk on Eddie's face that looks some combination of proud and fond, and Buck chokes again, falls back into the cushions behind him in an uncoordinated slouch that has Eddie chuckling aloud, a soft, sweet sound Buck wants to bottle for his own ears only forever.

He blinks hard, eyes focusing on Eddie from the new angle, Eddie's fingers creeping that much closer, and Buck can feel his body reacting—some desperate heat he knows he shouldn't feel licking over every part of his skin, radiating out from that one focal point of Eddie's fingers clasped around his thigh. “Eddie,” he grunts. Intends it to be chastising. Feels the desperation instead.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums in response, and Buck can't tell if it's a question or just an acknowledgment. Can't bring himself to care as Eddie reaches with his free hand to take the near empty bottle from Buck's. Murmurs something about tucking it away before someone gets hurt that Buck doesn't actually hear, not really, as he turns his gaze to the sweet, easy joy that crinkles Eddie's eyes and tugs at his lips in the prettiest picture of happiness Buck has ever seen. 

It's infectious, and suddenly Buck can't quite feel anything other than want. The electric of Eddie's touch leaving him a squirming mess in seconds.

And Buck knows they should talk about it. Thinks, at least, he shouldn't be so eager to give in, considering. But he can't bring himself to care about anything other than the feel of Eddie's fingers burning into his skin.

“God, you're pretty like this,” Eddie breathes, taking in the sight Buck makes against the cushions. And Buck thinks he must make quite the sight—feels wrecked over nothing more than the squeeze of Eddie's fingers and the heat in Eddie's eyes. “Take this off, yeah?” Eddie demands, tugging at the sleeve of Buck's jacket.

Buck obeys. Doesn't even consider denying Eddie as he scrambles forward just enough to dislodge the offending material and drop it over the back of the couch. Eddie's free hand finds its way up under Buck's t-shirt then, making clear his intention to strip Buck down to nothing, even as his other palm remains firmly planted on Buck's thigh. Buck doesn't argue—drags the shirt up over his head and discards it with his jacket, catches Eddie's eye with heat in his own.

“We shouldn't,” Buck breathes, unconvincing, voice catching as he shifts back further into the couch cushions, hips pushing forward as he settles. At the movement, Eddie's fingers brush over the hardness beneath his fly, just a little too firm to pretend it's an accident, and Buck chokes on a whine as his eyes fall closed.

Eddie shifts then—away, away, away—Buck can feel it in the way the couch moves beside him, even as the burning imprint of Eddie's palm remains, and Buck can't help the desperate whimper that bubbles from his lips when Eddie's movement turns into a deliberate caress, fingers playing gently over the bulge of Buck's erection in his jeans, and Buck thinks he might die for it. “Please,” Buck gasps, squirming against the cushions beneath him and pressing up into Eddie's touch.

Eddie shushes him quietly, and Buck forces his eyes open to follow the sound, and when he does, they find Eddie there, kneeling between his legs, eyes transfixed on Buck's as he lets his fingers play, hands splaying over the thick muscle of Buck's thigh. “Why shouldn't we?”

“Eddie ” Buck gasps out again. It's not a sob, but it's a near thing.

“Are you upset over it?” Eddie asks, all honest curiosity, fingers stilling just long enough to make Buck squirm for his touch. “Too much to drink to make sound decisions?”

Buck shakes his head, eyes falling closed again. “You know I've only had one.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums in agreement, fingers curling to pop the button of Buck's jeans, “broken up, then?”

Buck gives him his best approximation of a glare at that one, finds those warm brown eyes dancing with mirth, even as Buck can feel the pause—the way he's refusing to allow himself to give into the want until he's sure Buck's with him.

Buck wants to be, so desperately. Thinks maybe he is.

Eddie's mouth tilts into a fond smirk, eyes falling to where his fingers work as he drags down the zipper of Buck's jeans.

And he's working slowly—slowly enough to give Buck time to voice a real protest, but Buck would be lying if he pretended not to want everything Eddie's offering.

Still, there's a stinging behind his eyes and a sharp twinge of fear as Eddie shimmies his pants down his legs. A hint of tension settling over him because he wants, but he also doesn't know what he'd do if this all meant losing Eddie, and he can't help but fear exactly that because everyone always leaves, and why would Eddie be different, really? Why would sex make Eddie stay when it's only ever ended badly before?

Eddie clocks him then, Buck too in his head to notice that Eddie's slowed, settled back between his legs, but is gazing up at him with worried eyes, hands sweeping delicate patterns over the skin of Buck's thighs. Less deliberate now in his worry. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, quiet and delicate, and Buck feels stupid, sitting there stripped nearly bare as Eddie shifts so completely from confident sex kitten to concerned best friend. Buck's eyes swell with tears he tries to blink away. “We can stop,” Eddie promises, a sweet sincerity in his tone that makes Buck's heart clench. “Nothing has to happen here if you don't want it to.”

“I don't—I don't think I want to stop,” Buck chokes out, all damp eyes and worry.

“Then what's wrong, sweetheart?” Eddie's voice is so, so quiet and careful, and something swells in Buck's chest and makes him feel like he might break.

He hesitates, sucks in a shaky breath as his eyes roam Eddie's concerned face, a fragile attempt at avoiding Eddie's own eyes. Then, finally, “sex is like a death knell for me,” Buck admits, all quiet vulnerability  “And I don't want to lose you.”

“Buck,” Eddie breathes. And it's a quiet, delicate thing that feels like something Buck's not sure he deserves. Reaches up to stroke soothing fingers along Buck's hairline, over the wetness clinging at the corners of his eyes, along the cut of his cheekbones. “Let me show you what it feels like when someone stays.”

It feels like a promise Eddie intends to keep.

Buck lets out a shaky breath, thighs falling open with the gentlest touch of Eddie's fingers as he moves to massage the sensitive skin there. And having Eddie there, beautiful and bright, taking up the space between Buck's spread thighs, settled comfortably on his knees as he takes in the sight before him, has Buck transfixed.

“Eddie,” Buck murmurs, a quiet desperation coloring his tone. He's not sure, really, what he needs, but he knows what he wants, and he can't bring himself to deny Eddie when he's begging Buck to let him have him. 

Buck reaches out, gentle fingers curling around Eddie's neck, thumb petting delicately over the cut of Eddie's jaw. 

Eddie smiles. Fits his fingers around Buck's wrist, thumb pressing gently to the rapid pulse under his touch, and then shifts until he can press a kiss to that same spot. And it feels monumental—it shouldn't; it's just a small gesture, a sweet connection serving to ground them both, but Buck feels like his heart might burst at just how much adoration he finds in Eddie's touch.

“Can I?” Eddie whispers then, soft and sweet and sharp with want, his eyes wide and pleading as his lashes flutter up toward Buck, and Buck can't help the way his hips hitch just a bit—the slightest movement, but enough to tense Buck's thighs and turn Eddie's eyes dark with want. The nervous hope still there, but edged out by a desperate need Buck's never seen on Eddie before.

He thinks he likes it.

“Yeah,” Buck chokes out, eyes transfixed on Eddie, breath heaving as he tries to calm the molten heat running through his veins at the depth of desire in Eddie's eyes.

Eddie's gaze shifts, then, fingers hooking securely into Buck's boxers, giving a little tap with his thumb to get Buck lifting his hips enough for Eddie to drag them down his strong thighs and past his knees. They fumble a little along the way, Buck's too long legs interfering with the angle when Eddie refuses to move from where he's planted, too eager to get his hands on Buck. In the end, they manage, Eddie taking a poorly coordinated kick to the shoulder and Buck nearly rolling himself off the couch in his haste to shimmy out of the offending garment. Eddie grins and maybe giggles a little at the whole ordeal, and Buck does, too, laughter overtaking as Eddie reaches out to steady himself on Buck's bare knees while he resituates between them.

As their laughter subsides, Eddie's eyes still dance with adoration, and Buck is surprised with it when Eddie leverages himself up with hands firmly planted on Buck's knees, leaning in until Buck gets the picture and ducks down, catching Eddie's lips with his own.

They're not close enough to make it a proper kiss—just a sweet press of their open mouths, Eddie's tongue dipping forward for just the slightest taste before they're separating. But it's the kind of first kiss that leaves Buck trembling all the same. When Eddie pulls back, they're both grinning wide, and Eddie presses one more peck to Buck's lips just as he lets his fingers drag up the length of Buck's cock, delicate and teasing and tentative, and Buck can't help but break the kiss as his head falls back against the couch, desperate whine ripping out of him as Eddie's grin shifts into a joyful smirk, cocky with it as Buck ruts into his touch, seeking a pressure Eddie's not yet ready to give him.

“Shh,” Eddie hushes then, shifting back down to settle between Buck's legs. Buck whimpers again and Eddie shifts his touch to the insides of Buck's thighs, tickling the sensitive skin there with gentle fingers. “I wanna play for a minute, huh? Promise I'll make it worth the wait.”

Buck chokes on something that sounds vaguely like Eddie's name, then. Eyes pressing closed and breath stuttering as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His whole body feels tight, balanced on some precarious peak he's not sure how to navigate, but he wants. Doesn't think he's ever wanted anything as much as Eddie's touch now that he's had a taste of it.

For his part, Eddie's true to his word, fingers playing delicately over Buck's skin, a hint of curiosity beneath the confidence rolling off him. He's fascinated by every move Buck makes, every sounds that falls from his lips. 

Buck reaches out, runs his fingers over Eddie's cheek, just to feel the pull of his smile, and then Eddie's turning into him, pressing a kiss to Buck's fingertips as his hands slip up along the length of Buck's thighs, thumbs caressing the delicate skin closest where Buck needs him most only to skate higher to explore his chest. And Buck hates him a little bit for a moment, whining his displeasure as Eddie's hands splay wide across his ribs, pet over the muscle of his pecs, and then slide back down to skim over his sides, squeezing just enough to pinch when they settle on Buck's hips again, and he pouts—bottom lip protruding in the most obnoxiously childish way—and Eddie can't help but laugh. Can't reach Buck's lips again without more effort than he's willing, so instead, presses a wet kiss to the juncture of Buck's groin, hot breath ghosting over the length of him, and Buck's hips would be hitching up if not for the steady grip Eddie has on him. 

“Fuck,” Buck murmurs, mesmerized by Eddie's playful curiosity. The way he oozes confidence, even though Buck's not sure he's ever done anything like this before, and Buck's own curiosity gets the best of him, finds him forcing his eyes open wide and stuttering out “have you, uh, h-have you ever—” as he reaches to comb careful fingers through the mess of Eddie's hair.

“Never,” Eddie confirms, confidence holding in his tone. A hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

Buck blinks at that, something like awe blooming in his chest as he watches Eddie's eyes. Feels Eddie's fingers slide closer to slip around the length of him,  playing again for just a moment—touch too light to do much more than tease—until he's tightening his grip and stroking slow but firm.

Buck shudders with it, forces a breath through his nose as he tries to breathe through it without losing control. “Are you sure, Eddie?” Buck asks, all quiet concern, even with every nerve ending in his body drawn taught as he pets at Eddie's hair, lets his fingers linger. “I-I don't want to push you into anything you're not ready for.”

Eddie smiles at that—something bright and sweet and genuine, and Buck thinks he might die here beneath Eddie's capable hands. Thinks it might be the only way he wants to go when Eddie presses another kiss to the skin of his abs and then murmurs “think I've been ready for you since that first day.”

Buck's breath catches again. Damp tears suddenly clinging along the edges of his lashes. Buck chokes on a sob, lets his head fall back again just as Eddie dips back, that same sweet smile playing across his lips as he goes back to peppering kisses along the dips of Buck's abs and the skin of his belly, firm grip slowing with the distraction but keeping up enough rhythm to have Buck gasping his praise on a broken breath, a quiet “Eddie” forcing its way out of him as Eddie plays.

“I want to taste,” Eddie murmurs then, like he’s talking to himself, before he turns his eyes up at Buck and asks, all confidence and sweet curiosity, “Can I taste?” before dropping a kiss so close to the head of Buck's cock that his cheek drags gentle over the length of him.

Buck sobs. A desperate, drawn out thing, as he chokes out Eddie's name over and over, broken with awe and adoration. “Eddie. Eddie. E-eddie.”

Eddie grins, big and cocky, and Buck hates the way his dick jumps at that predatory smile. “Gotta tell me, bud,” Eddie tsks, fingers teasing along Buck's length. Circling him to stroke firm and steady. Mouth pressing wet kisses to the cut of Buck's groin.

“Y-yes,” Buck chokes, voice failing enough that he nods hard in affirmation, fingers dragging along Eddie's jaw to draw his attention, “please.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, almost to himself, and Buck whimpers. Lifts his hips just a touch, and he feels Eddie grin against his skin. 

Eddie shifts, ghosts his lips over Buck's skin, then presses a delicate kiss just below the head of him. Lifts the heft of Buck's cock away from where it rests on his belly, just enough to get his mouth on him properly, and then he's suckling at the head, tongue dipping into the slit, and Buck can feel the way Eddie's saliva pools around him.

Buck whines at the wet heat of it. Fingers scrambling for something to hold, but he doesn’t dare touch. Tries so hard to keep his hips from hitching. Remembers this is Eddie's first time—can feel it in the curious way Eddie's tongue twists around him, in the careful way he tries to dip lower, taking just the smallest bit at a time, keeping his fist wrapped loosely around Buck's length to help guide him.

But it's so fucking good, and Buck sobs with desperation as he tries to keep himself still. 

Feels Eddie smirk around his mouthful, and then pull off, pressing a kiss to Buck's belly with wet lips, before resting his chin there, eyes turning up to gaze at Buck, as he strokes his length, grip firm and sure. 

He makes the prettiest contrast—all sweet and quiet in the delicate look he turns up at Buck and absolutely obscene in the way he fists Buck's cock—and Buck can't help the way he chokes out Eddie's name again in a desperate plea, shaking with the effort to keep his hands to himself for fear of pushing.

Eddie's having none of it, though. Sees the tension in the way Buck's holding himself back. 

“You can touch,” Eddie assures him, confident and gentle—a tone he uses so easily with Buck that it makes his heart stutter sometimes.

“Don't—” Buck tries, breaks off on a gasp as Eddie twists his wrist just right “—don't wanna force you.”

Eddie lets out a breath that sounds like a chuckle, air ghosting over the most sensitive parts of Buck and making him shiver. “You're not forcing anything, sweetheart.”

Buck shakes his head, tries to regain some semblance of rational thought. “Don't wanna get carried away. Want you to be in control.”

“I'm not gonna break,” Eddie insists.

And Buck blinks hard. Tries to form words. Notices the way Eddie slows his strokes and loosens his grip to give Buck a moment of relief. Buck loves him and hates it all the same. Thrusts carefully into Eddie's fist and notices the fond smile that calls to Eddie's mouth. Like he’s trying not to burst with joy at catching Buck so sweetly vulnerable.

“It's your first time,” Buck pleads, because he wants so badly to touch, but he's also so afraid of pushing Eddie too far too fast.

“You can touch,” Eddie repeats, all gentle voice and delicate smile. “You're not gonna break me, Buck. I trust you. With all of me.”

Buck swallows hard at that. Breathes out through his nose to try to keep his emotion in check. “Yeah?” Buck confirms again, all big eyes he knows Eddie can't resist.

Eddie smiles again, fond and adoring, as he uses his free hand to twine his fingers with Buck's. Drags Buck's hand close and then gives it a squeeze and lets him go. Gets a hand back on his hip and pets at his waist, digs his fingers in just a little to stake his claim, and Buck thinks he might die for it.

Buck, tentative as he is, reaches out to twine his fingers through Eddie's hair. Lets one hand fall to the curve of Eddie's neck, thumb tracing the cut of Eddie's jaw and the swell of his lips. Holds on as Eddie smiles again, a little predatory this time, and then shifts to get his mouth back around Buck. Moans low as the taste of precome that hits his tongue and squeezes Buck's hip in encouragement when Buck lets them lift in desperation. 

Buck doesn't let himself get carried away, but god, he's never felt anything quite like what Eddie's giving him. Tugs just a little at Eddie's hair, an experiment that earns another groan from Eddie and has him forcing himself down a little too far, until his throat spasms and he's pulling back to where he can breathe through it. Eddie keeps the tip in his mouth, suckles at it and keeps his tongue moving even as he recovers.

“God, you're beautiful.” The words slip out, full of a kind of reverence Buck's not sure he's ever felt before, and they have Eddie tilting his eyes up, letting loose a shivering breath that Buck can see is all a response to his words—a moment of vulnerability that maybe shouldn't be so impactful, considering, but it is, and Buck feels a little like he’s flying and also maybe like he’s dying from it. Doesn't understand this feeling or the way it centers around Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. It's not the sex. Not the moments of prolonged pleasure or the heat of their bodies or even the feel of Eddie's mouth around him. It's the delicate look of adoration in those eyes, the sweet way Eddie's taking control and guiding them because he knows Buck can't. It feels something like love in a way Buck's never known it, and he thinks he might die to keep it.

Eddie takes Buck deeper again, moans around Buck's length when Buck's fingers tighten just a hint in his hair at the feel of him. Eddie's a little more careful this time, strokes firmly at what he can't take and swallows around what he can as Buck leaks on his tongue. 

“Eddie,” Buck gasps, tugging a little at his hair, and letting a hand fall lower to grip at Eddie's shoulder just to touch because he's so fucking overwhelmed with it. Eddie hums around him, and Buck's choking on his breath. Warns, “I'm so close, Eddie. Eddie. E-eddie, I'm gonna come. Eddie.”

Buck's orgasm takes Eddie by surprise, even with the warning. He sputters for a moment, pulls back until just the tip of Buck's cock remains closed between his lips, and swallows around him, dragging a desperate groan out of Buck as his fingers scramble out of Eddie's hair, hands drifting to frame his cheeks.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck gasps, breath coming hard as he strokes at Eddie's jaw, presses at the hinge of it until Eddie gets the message. Meets Buck's gaze with his own, eyes tearing with the effort as he lets his mouth fall open, just enough that Buck can watch the rest of his release pool across Eddie's tongue. 

Eddie stays still for him. Lets Buck drag exploring fingers over his skin, his hair, his lips. And Buck can't help the way he whimpers when Eddie smiles, open mouthed, kitten licks at the head of Buck's cock, careful not to spill the mess on his tongue, and then closes his lips around the head, suckles gently, and swallows.

Buck moans, low and loud, and squirms at the overstimulation. Tugs gently at Eddie's hair.

Eddie lets him go, strokes gently once, twice more, just to hear the shuddering breath it forces out of Buck, and then lets Buck's softening cock rest against the cut of his groin. Lets his hands stray to massage at Buck's hips and thighs as they come down from the high.

When Eddie looks up at him again, eyes big and sweet and wet, Buck nearly loses his breath all over again. There's a bit of white clinging to the corner of Eddie's mouth, remnants of Buck's release offering a stark reminder that this was anything—everything—but a dream, and Buck can't help the way his breath stutters to a stop as he reaches down to cup Eddie's chin in his palm, Eddie nuzzling into him. Buck's thumb strokes absent-mindedly over Eddie's cheek for a moment as Eddie lets his eyes fall closed, and Buck—still transfixed on that streak of white—finds himself skating his thumb closer, catching the milky substance and pushing it past Eddie's lips. For his part, Eddie opens his eyes, meets Buck's own, a little smirk of mischief dancing in his gaze as he parts his lips just enough to suck Buck's thumb into his mouth, tongue twisting delicately around the soft flesh of Buck's fingertip as he cleans away any remnants of Buck's release, moaning low in his throat as he swallows around him.

“Fuck, Eddie, come here,” Buck murmurs desperately, tugging gently at Eddie's chin, thumb still trapped between Eddie's lips. 

Buck fumbles a bit hauling Eddie up and over him, shifting until they both fit onto the couch, Buck's leg hiked up against the couch back, other foot planted firmly on the floor, so he can drag Eddie between his spread thighs. Before they're even settled, Eddie's grabbing harshly at Buck's chin, so he can get his lips on Buck's, and Buck is reduced to desperate whimpers that Eddie swallows down around a smile.

It's fucking intoxicating.

“Off,” Buck begs, muffled against Eddie's mouth, as he shoves at Eddie's shirt, tucking one hand up underneath it to get to Eddie's bare skin as the other dips below the waistband of Eddie's underwear, just enough to tease. Eddie grins, desperate and wild, teeth catching Buck's lip as he shoves into Buck's touch, Buck's mouth open and pliant as he groans low and holds tight to Eddie. In answer, Eddie tugs at the material of his shirt one handed, too preoccupied with Buck's mouth to dip back and unbutton properly. He doesn't get far, the buttons refusing to give in his haste, much to Buck's dismay. Buck huffs in frustration, shoving the material up Eddie's chest, another irritated “off” growled out into Eddie's mouth, teeth catching sharp on Eddie's bottom lip. 

Eddie smiles, lets a happy laugh slip as he reaches up to drag a teasing finger down Buck's cheek before pulling his mouth away just long enough to tug the offending fabric up over his head. Buck latches onto Eddie's throat the moment it's bared, purring out his satisfaction at the newly exposed skin as he sucks a mark into a spot that makes Eddie squirm.

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, a hot rush of breath tickling Buck's curls as Eddie sinks his fingers in and holds him tight, elbows pressing into Buck's shoulders.

Buck grins against his neck and slides an arm around Eddie's back, the fingers still tucked in Eddie's waistband petting teasingly over the soft skin at his hip. Tugs back and away just far enough to break Eddie's hold and shift up, breath whisper-quiet at Eddie's ear as he murmurs “tell me what you want, Eddie,” all confident swagger, even as his belly fills with butterflies—a delicate mix of nerves and desperation at the thought of getting his hands on Eddie, maybe even a little more eager than he was to have Eddie's hands on him.

Eddie whimpers. A needy little sound that Eddie tucks into Buck's neck, ghosting a delicate kiss there. “Touch me,” he begs, hips shifting just right to have Buck's fingertips slipping just a little lower.

Buck smirks at that, tugging Eddie close enough to feel the hard ridge of him pressed to Buck's belly, and Buck shivers at the all too real reminder that they're actually here. That Eddie's open and willing and wanting Buck. And for a moment it gives him pause—has him catching his breath with the reality of it all.

And when Eddie tilts his chin back, eyes finding Buck's as he smiles—all joy and adoration—and then presses another kiss to the corner of Buck's mouth, murmured devotion lost in its wake, Buck can't help but claim Eddie's mouth for his. Kisses Eddie sweet and slow as he shifts to shimmy Eddie's briefs down, just enough to get a hand on him, and then Eddie's mouth is falling open against Buck's, a sweet whine pitched high as Buck starts to tease, touch featherlight as he drags his fingertips up Eddie's shaft.

“Tease,” Eddie accuses, tugging away from Buck's mouth just the slightest bit, breath harsh as he presses into Buck's touch, begging with all he has when words fail him.

Buck lets a slow smirk slip over his mouth, kisses at Eddie's jaw. “So desperate for me,” almost a whisper, but cocky enough to have Eddie whining in answer again. “You want more, baby?”

Eddie blinks hard, breath stuttering as he tucks his face into Buck's neck and sobs when Buck, instead of waiting for an answer, wraps his fingers tight around Eddie's cock and strokes slow. The pressure just right to have Eddie squirming and thrusting up into Buck's fist, trying to gain some kind of control over Buck's pace. Buck stills him, wrapping his free arm tight around Eddie's waist and pressing him down against Buck's thighs to immobilize him as best he can. Kisses the shell of Eddie's ear when he hears Eddie whimper a quiet “please,” and squeezes at Eddie's hip to calm him.

“Wanna take my time with you,” Buck admits, the cocky swagger in his tone faltering and falling into something a little sweeter and a little softer that gives away the edge of fear that this is all he'll have. 

He hates himself a little bit for letting the facade fall when he feels Eddie still, body shaking with the effort, as he shifts back, hands reaching to frame Buck's face, fingers gentle as they fan over his cheeks. Buck feels his eyes dampen with emotion again as Eddie studies his features, taking in the worried downturn of his mouth and the furrow of his brow.

And then Eddie's leaning in, pressing a delicate kiss to the pink of Buck's birthmark, and Buck can't stop the lone tear that tracks down his cheek. Eddie, breath still calming, gives him another sweet smile and wipes away the evidence with a gentle sweep of his thumb. “Next time,” he murmurs, all full of promise, shifting to peck at Buck's lips, “you can take your time with me next time.”

Buck's breath catches at that, eyes big and hopeful. “Y-yeah?”

Eddie smiles, bright and happy and kisses Buck hard and sweet. “Yeah,” he promises, all fond joy. Buck nods his acceptance, squeezing Eddie's hip and refocusing on the job at hand, giving Eddie another experimental stroke just to tease him, and Eddie shakes in his arms and whimpers, letting his forehead fall against Buck's.

“Yeah?” Buck asks again, tone shifting, cocky smirk finding its way back onto his lips.

“Yes,” Eddie hisses, arms falling back to frame Buck's shoulders, hands sinking up into his curls. “Now, can you please make me come? I'm so fucking close and you're so good. Just. Please. Buck.”

Buck doesn't make him wait. Swipes his thumb over the head of Eddie's cock, just to tease, and then picks up a steady rhythm, stroking with a firm grip. Eddie groans, tugs at Buck's hair, and drags Buck's mouth down to the crook of his neck. Buck takes the hint, mouth turning up into a grin against Eddie's skin as he bites gently at the muscle there and then soothes the sting with his tongue. Sucks at Eddie's skin until Eddie's choking on a moan, crushing Buck closer and clutching hard at his curls, a broken “Bu-uck” ripping from his lips as Buck twists his wrist just right.

“Yeah,” Buck mumbles, prying his mouth away against the force of Eddie's grip. Kisses the shell of his ear, the hinge of his jaw, the corner of his lips. “Eddie. Come for me.”

Eddie chokes on a groan, leans in to catch Buck's mouth in a desperate kiss as he loses control, body thrusting up into Buck's touch as his orgasm crashes through him. Leaves him panting and whining against Buck's lips as Buck works him through it, touch shifting from firm to gentle as Eddie shakes in his arms.

As Eddie comes down from the high of it all, he shifts until he's resting against Buck, face tucked into Buck's neck as his breathing evens out and his heartbeat returns to some semblance of normal.

Buck smiles, pressing delicate kisses to Eddie's temple and petting a hand through his hair, gentle touch soothing in the afterglow.

“Made a mess of you,” Eddie murmurs after long moments of quiet, eyes transfixed on the pool of come on Buck's bare chest, fingers reaching to slide through the remnants of his release. Buck's eyes track the movement, watching, transfixed, as Eddie scrapes what he can onto two long fingers.

When Eddie draws his hand away, Buck can't help himself from reaching out to catch his wrist. Draws Eddie’s fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. Leaves Eddie blinking in surprise and breathing a little heavier at the twist of Buck's tongue.

“Fuck,” Eddie murmurs, all awe and heat, as Buck pulls away.

Buck smirks up at him, laves his tongue around the tips of Eddie's fingers one last time. “Needed a taste,” Buck flirts, voice pitched low, “till I can get my mouth on you properly. Next time.”

Eddie can't hold back the laugh that bursts from his chest at that, joy overflowing as he dips down to lick the taste of himself from Buck's mouth, Buck smiling against his lips the whole way.

“Keep it up,” Eddie threatens, all sexy playful swagger as he draws back just a breath, “and next time might come sooner than you think.”

“Mmm,” Buck hums, pressing another sweet kiss to Eddie's lips, drawing Eddie down tighter against his chest, “promises, promises.”

Eddie's eyes soften, take on that sweet quality Buck's seen for years but never really noticed like he is in this moment. Feels his breath catch as Eddie reaches up to push the sweaty curls back away from Buck's eyes and holds his gaze.

“Have lots of promises for you,” Eddie entrusts, delicate smile betraying an adoration Buck's not sure he's worthy of. “Plan to keep ‘em all.”

Buck's breath catches again, eyes shining with emotion at just how big all of this feels. At just how deep his feelings for Eddie run.

He nods. A quiet affirmation that he plans to let Eddie offer them all. That he understands the weight of everything they are and everything he thinks they will be.

But he can't speak the words yet—everything too deep and too raw and too fresh. His mind a mess of adoration and joy, but also a tangle of confusion and fear alongside the hope.

So he doesn't speak it yet.

Instead, tucks Eddie against his chest. Takes his weight. Wraps him tight in his arms and holds on.

Eddie clings just as tight.

—

[canine-economy]

On Swansea’s (often understated) role in Mouthwashing

I say this as a big swansea fan but I don’t rlly understand why ppl are acting like he’s not also complicit in what happened to Anya? AUs where “Anya tells Swansea” and he jumps to violently defend her don’t make sense to me because canonically she does tell him, as he admits to Jimmy. But swansea represents another way of interacting with the capitalist heteropatriarchy that ALSO harms victims: holistic jadedness and resignation.

Swansea is across the board unkind to the Tulpar crew. We can’t forget that he calls anya a “so-called nurse”

and says this to Jimmy, which (if unintentionally) reiterates Jimmy’s own warped perception of Anya’s usefulness and competence. This allows Jimmy to feel justified in his imagination of the nurse’s inferiority. Swansea’s clear lack of respect for Jimmy does less to hurt Jimmy than his lack of respect for Anya harms Anya, because at the end of the day, Swansea’s attitude is contextualized by the violent culture it exists in and he does nothing to reconcile with that when Jimmy becomes the captain. His resignation can thus be weaponized even by Jimmy, a man who Swansea disrespects but whose power he doesn’t try to meaningfully jeopardize, because his across-the-board disdain punches people already marginalized by the environment twice as hard as it does those with power.

Swansea doesn’t position himself as an ally, he positions himself as willfully uninvolved in everything, an observer to the shitshow ride to hell. Just because he dislikes Jimmy doesn’t mean he aligns with Anya. He makes it clear that he’s not on her side, either. After a life of doing what he felt was expected of him, Swansea on the Tulpar looks out for Swansea and Swansea’s comfort. In trying to situate himself outside of the politics of it all as an older white man, he simply allows them to play out. The toxic culture keeps existing, playing out in the microcosm that is this freighter, and Swansea in all his experience recognizes that shit has hit the fan and elects to coast through it, even explicitly numbing himself to it by breaking his sobriety. It is, of course, hard to force yourself to be sober—to see clearly. But had Swansea forced himself to get involved sooner, he might have set a precedent for Daisuke to recognize Jimmy’s abuse, which could have saved Daisuke’s life as well as created a safe space for Anya. But Swansea’s inaction forces both victims to confront an abuser on their own, unable to reap benefits from his privilege and experience.

Jimmy is clearly intimidated by swansea in a way he is not by Anya, Daisuke, or a post-crash Curly (Swansea, for example, physically manifests as an aggressor in Jimmy’s “responsibility sequences”, and Jimmy ties Swansea up to avoid what he sees as the real possibility of pushback that he doesn’t conceive of Anya being able to do). Swansea has a power he does not act on or with until it is far, far too late. In fact, he acknowledges in his final monologue that he was dissatisfied with the discomfort with opening his eyes and living an exemplary “good man”s life. The best days of his life are ones in which he’s belligerently drunk—days in which he didn’t have to hold himself accountable. He regrets the life he spent performing for higher-ups and we watch him reject it by scorning Captain Jimmy, but he also doesn’t want to be held responsible for helping other people when it’s their turn to endure the expectations and violence from similar (if not the same) higher powers. Tragically, he possesses the hindsight to recognize that how he acted on the Tulpar consequently wasn’t what Daisuke needed out of a role model, leading to Daisuke becoming a victim. His hands-off approach to emotional engagement with his young male intern (another symptom of patriarchal gender norms) may have been to avoid Daisuke turning out miserable and jaded like himself, but it doesn’t actually indicate to an already-confused Daisuke what the dangers of that attitude are. Swansea never admits his own shortcomings in a tangible way which, had they come from a man with experience and prestige like himself, may have shifted that culture that failed Anya. She comes to him with the story not because he has situated himself as any earnest friend, but likely out of desperation on a ship Jimmy now controls.

When we allow “the machine” (Swansea’s own words) to beat us down to the point that we don’t find it productive to challenge unjust power dynamics, we become complicit. I think too many people get hung up on his disdain for Jimmy and Jimmy’s fear of Swansea as a marker of allyship with Anya, but the truth is that Swansea. Is a bad ally. He’s hardly one at all. His long stint in the demanding capitalist environment molded a perfectly complicit result out of him, as it aspires to do, even if Swansea bitterly recognizes that. Jimmy’s overt violence from a position of power is a different and much more brutal approach to abuse enabled by people who have been left too tired and bitter to care that he does it. A man who could’ve intimidated and even threatened Jimmy is too resigned to try until there is literally nobody but himself left to fight for, which is an attitude carefully cultivated among the lower rungs of hierarchies to keep the top safe. Swansea in particular seems very unhappy with the capitalistic, patriarchal expectations laid out for him as a father, husband, and laborer. This becomes particularly resonant when you realize the symbolism of his role as mechanic: a job that can be deeply unpersonal, tasked with keeping the ship (the machine, if you will) itself going while other roles are more focused on managing the humans inside of it (e.g. nurse, captain). His decision to just stop trying and spare himself the grief instead of questioning why those expectations exist and how they would hurt the others onboard only delays him being directly targeted by Jimmy and doesn’t interrupt the latter’s violence.

Not a single man in mouthwashing is innocent in Anya’s victimhood. This is a statement tentatively uninclusive of Daisuke, because I think the game very deliberately positions him outside of manhood through his youth and thus struggling with the concept of “fitting in” to the patriarchy. Curly, Jimmy, and Swansea all represent different failures that ultimately perpetuate Anya’s suffering and force her to defend herself and finally take her life into her own hands. A holistic analysis of rape culture in MW necessarily engages with all three of them. Only not being a friend and ally to rapists and other male abusers isn’t enough, and Swansea proves it.

[666thtoolofhell]

[heartspurgatorio]

(i've got a lot of thoughts going on)

(bonus under cut)

[ganondoodle]

since tumblr always has to suffer my personal vents and breakdowns and rants and annoyances you get the most wips and pics of unfinished stuff, im sure that makes up for it

the (unfinished) shiekah arm concepts that made me want to explode and i dont think im gonna work on again