#is that a tag i have?

[squidling2005]

last night i had a dream about mouthwashing and it started out with the scene where swansea has the axe raised above daisukes head, and swansea says "close your eyes, daisuke." and so he closes his eyes and the axe comes down, and then he opens his eyes and shoots up into a sitting position and finds himself alone in the room, and he's like "...was that a dream...?" and anya appears out of nowhere and sits next to him and is like "you're ok now, daisuke." and daisuke is all freaked out and crying "i was so scared"

and anya hugs him and says "i know, daisuke." and they hold each other for a while, and then daisuke is like "where is everyone else..?" and anya smiles sadly and stands up, holding her hand out, and daisuke takes her hand and follows her out of the room and into the med-bay and he finds swansea crouched in front of something leaning against the wall, and curly is in the bed and jimmy is there too ig.

daisuke looks relieved and says "swansea! you're ok!!" and swansea turns and looks at daisuke and he has this heartbroken look on his face and daisuke is like "..whats.. going on..?" and jimmy isn't reacting to anything they're doing, but when daisuke looks over swanseas shoulder he sees himself, leaned up against the wall with his head caved in from the axe. next to him is anya, her face bloody, and swansea, with bullet holes in his head. and daisuke stares, not quite grasping what he's looking at, and the anya that walked in with him puts her hand on daisukes shoulder comfortingly, and swansea looks away, looking guilty, and daisuke is on the verge of a panic, not understanding, and he's like "n-no, i. i woke up, right? it was just a dream, right??"

and then i woke up. and it was just a dream.

[shitouttabuck]

Hi! Hope you don’t mind my dropping in. I just read let the world have its way with you and thank you I had to sniff back tears on the plane it was so lovely 🥺😍. Question, and if you’ve answered this before I’m so sorry but I just have to know: how did Buck react when inevitably he sees the photos taken of him and Eddie at Halloween? Thank you again for this fic and I’m sending you all the good vibes of an unexpected humpback whale breech.

hello!!!! thank you so much for dropping in to say these lovely things!!! to answer your question: yes, a bunch of people have asked this actually, but no, i’ve never had a reply until now ! your message sparked something haha so here you go, have a little bucket list fic timestamp:

a thousand times (which isn’t half enough)

buck/eddie | 2k | t

“Oh, ow, what the fuck,” Buck says, wincing as he snatches back his hand.

Eddie glares at him, no hint of remorse while he crumples the dish towel he just whipped Buck’s fingers with before putting his hands on his hips in that perfectly bitchy way he’s got down to an art. “I’m supposed to be doing the cooking, I’m the one who’s actually made this before,” he tells Buck, stepping forward to stir the curry and jostling Buck out of the way. “You’re sous chef today.”

“And this is in no way an objection to that kitchen hierarchy, or a criticism of your cooking capabilities,” Buck says, hands up pacifyingly, “but Eddie. I’ve eaten this enough times at Ravi’s to know this is, uh, nowhere close to the colour it’s meant to be.”

“What do you mean,” Eddie frowns, stirring and peering down into the large saucepan, dent in the side courtesy of Buck’s clumsiness nearly half a decade ago. “It’s a—process. A culinary journey. I’m sure it’ll be the right colour when we’re done. It just needs some time.”

“Eddie, it’s green.”

“Plenty of curries are green. Thai green curry, it’s even got it in the name.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, trying not to laugh at the disgruntled furrow in Eddie’s brow, “I don’t think Ravi’s traditional beef curry is supposed to be green at any stage.”

Eddie’s face scrunches as he squints down at the curry he’s stirring, thick and aromatic and unexpectedly pea-soup coloured.

“Oh God,” he says, staring at the spoonful he’s ladled out. “You’re right. Fuck. How the fuck did it get to—this? Fuck, Bobby and Athena are gonna be here in—” He glances at the wall clock, “—an hour, oh my God, Buck, that’s not enough time to fix this.”

Buck rolls his eyes, hip-checking Eddie in a way he hopes is comforting but not bothering to try and ease any of Eddie’s—quite frankly ridiculous—anxiety about seeing Bobby socially for the first time since the engagement.

He knows the nervousness stems entirely from the fact that Eddie didn’t ask Bobby for his blessing before proposing to Buck, which he’s teased Eddie for endlessly, declaring it old-fashioned and archaic even if there’s something achingly sweet about the intentions with which Eddie went into it.

It did not end up prefacing their engagement. Apparently Eddie’d been testing the waters, gearing up to propose when he hoped the moment was right. Except, then, one night on the couch, watching telenovela reruns, Buck had made an offhand comment about the bride on-screen taking her husband’s last name despite being of the girlboss variety one might expect not to, and how in context it was a win for cheesy romance but maybe a hiccup for some kind of feminism somewhere.

And Eddie, one arm curled around Buck from behind, scratching at his stomach gently as he spoke, had sleepily and thoroughly unintentionally mumbled, “Would you wanna do that with me?”

Buck had blinked and asked what, and Eddie’d yawned and said, “Take my last name.”

Buck had laughed through the want and said, “Careful, Diaz, you might give a guy the idea that he’s being proposed to.”

And Eddie went stiff behind him for a full five seconds, Buck not daring to breathe either, before wrapping his other arm around Buck too, kiss to his temple and a quiet, “And if that was the idea intended?”

And so they’d gotten engaged and had to get the couch dry-cleaned and Eddie was made to pass on his well-meaning, antiquated desire to profess his intentions to Bobby prior to the actual proposal. Which is fine, obviously, but they’ve been engaged just going on three weeks and Bobby and Athena are coming around for dinner, and that, on top of committing himself to captaining an unfamiliar culinary adventure—something decidedly not in the Eddie Diaz wheelhouse—has Eddie strung the fuck out, mild and amusing as it may be.

“Okay, uh, I’m just gonna look at the original recipe again, not the one Ravi altered for white people,” Eddie says, looking around. “Can you get it? Phone’s charging in the bedroom, I think it should just be in the media roll of my chat with Ravi, he sent me a photo of his grandmother’s recipe book.”

“His grandma’s? What did you do to gain access to his family recipes? I feel like I should be jealous.”

“We exchanged abuela secret recipes,” Eddie shrugs. “You already have a direct open line of communication with my grandmother. I think you text her more than me.”

This is true; Isabel is a formidable opponent in online Scrabble and likes to get Buck’s thoughts on the weekly MasterChef episode. She’s his family as much as Eddie’s, and Buck was just teasing anyway, but he skips to their bedroom with a pleased grin nonetheless.

Eddie’s phone is nearly fully charged, so he just unplugs it, typing Ravi’s name into the message app search bar. A few clicks and then he’s snorting at the last image Ravi sent Eddie: a meme of Steve Buscemi saying how do you do, fellow kids? with a rainbow flag Photoshopped over the skateboard he’s carrying. Ravi’s succinctly captioned it, “you,” and Eddie has thumbs-downed it without deigning to respond.

Buck scrolls through the media roll quickly, scanning the images for something that resembles a recipe book or an old lady’s handwriting. It’s mostly memes, some goofy photos of each other taken on one of their phones during slow shifts, and—that’s a picture of Buck. Two pictures of Buck.

He pauses, frowning at the adjacent squares in the media roll. It’s not that it’s unexpected that Eddie and Ravi would have photos of Buck, it’s just—Buck’s usually seen them, too. He has most definitely not seen these pictures.

He clicks on the first one, feeling almost nervous. And, oh. It’s from Halloween the year before last, when everyone else was sick and he and Eddie went to that big gay party. He’s in his Sandy get-up, looking—pretty slutty, actually. He hums appreciatively, re-experiencing the leather pants and crop top and heels. In the photo, his eyes are shut, head tilted back to the music, cheeks pink and red-painted lips ajar. And then he takes in the other side of the photo.

Eddie, watching Buck through the crowd not unlike a lion zeroing in on a gazelle. His mouth is parted too, but—his eyes. It’s like he’s undressing Buck right there in public with just his gaze. Jesus, it’s like he’s doing so much more than undressing him—Buck half-expects the picture to swirl into motion, see Eddie stride across the dance floor and bend Buck over in front of everyone present.

It's not a wholly unfamiliar expression now, to Buck who’s had Eddie like this for over a year, but this was from before they were together. This was before Buck knew Eddie wanted him in any way but platonic. And even then, the kind of raw, unmasked desire plastered across Eddie’s face? Like he wants to swallow Buck whole and keep him there, inside Eddie, close as possible, for the rest of time? That’s the kind of intensity Eddie only reveals on occasion, a vulnerability that’s a certain effort to access.

That doesn’t mean Eddie holds back or censors himself in their sex lives, not anymore, not for a long time now. It’s just—this is the kind of want that comes from a place without adequate words to communicate it, a near animal desperation that’s taxing for the everyday.

And here it is, unmistakeable, before Buck even knew. Eddie, so good at the suppression and the repression in that era, unable to escape the honesty of his hunger with just one look.

Buck swallows and adjusts himself in his pants.

The second picture is—oh. It’s of him and Eddie dancing during the Grease song, when Eddie had held him close and dipped Buck like he’d been doing it all his life. It’s—oh. He can’t believe Eddie’s not shown him this one before, because—there’s so much love contained inside this photograph, he can feel it seeping out of the phone and into his hands, liquid sunshine.

Buck’s head is thrown back, face scrunched in delighted laughter, and Eddie’s so close, beaming at him with nothing short of adoration. It’s pouring out of him, clear as day, the happiness in this single photo a tangible thing even over a year later.

Buck kind of wants to urge the him in the picture to open his eyes, see the way Eddie’s looking at him. But then again, the way Eddie looked at him didn’t really change, before and after. So maybe he wouldn’t have clocked it as anything other than Eddie’s everyday love, so far from the romance column in his own tangled-up brain at the time it wouldn’t have mattered.

He wanders back to the kitchen, swiping back to the first photo. Heat licks its way up his spine, uncaring of the fact that they have dinner guests and no time for this. He slouches in the kitchen doorway, watching Eddie chop cilantro carefully.

“What?” Eddie frowns. “I’m in a crisis, Buck, don’t look at me like that, it’s not helpful.”

Buck clears his throat. “Like what?”

“Like you’re eyefucking me so hard I might undergo immaculate conception.”

Buck can’t focus on the nearly painfully arousing implications of that, but never let it be said his horniness surpasses—rightful—indignation. “Me?” he asks incredulously. “Eyefucking you? That’s fucking rich, considering the contents of these.” He waves Eddie’s phone at him for emphasis.

“What’s that,” Eddie asks impatiently. “Where’s my recipe?”

“Oh,” Buck says. “I didn’t actually get that far.”

Eddie makes a noise of irritation, washing his hands and reaching out for his phone. “What the hell have you been—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Buck says. “How come you’ve never shown me these before?”

Eddie flushes, even more than the heat of the kitchen can take credit for. “I dunno. I guess I just look so… I dunno.”

“So in love with me?” Buck asks, mouth quirking up on one side. He steps forward, wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist.

Eddie sighs, listing forward in Buck’s grasp. “I mean—yeah. I guess I was just thrown by how obvious the, I don’t know, enormity of my—the way I felt about you was. And by the time I was okay with it—the enormity and the obviousness—I kinda forgot about these.”

Buck turns his head, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s hairline. Eddie lifts his face, searching for Buck’s mouth with his own, and Buck happily obliges, kissing him gently.

“Well, I’m sending these to myself,” Buck informs him, “and then we’re getting the second one framed and hung up in our room.”

“Is that the less horny one?” Eddie asks.

“They’re both plenty horny,” Buck says, “but yeah. Marginally less.”

“Fine,” Eddie allows. “But it will be subject to temporary removal if and when my parents come stay.”

“Deal,” Buck agrees, and then leans back in to kiss Eddie again.

He uses his grip on Eddie’s waist to steer them back, caging Eddie against the counter and lining his body flush along the length of Eddie’s, thigh to hip to chest. Eddie sighs contentedly, hand sneaking under the back of Buck’s shirt to splay across his bare skin. His jeans have a delicious heavy-weight friction to them, and Buck tries to angle himself so he can rock against Eddie lazily. He opens his own mouth under Eddie’s, trying valiantly to deepen the kiss, have Eddie lick into him hot and sweet, but Eddie pulls back.

“The curry,” he says mournfully. “Bobby and Athena.”

Buck groans, taking the edge off it by leaning in to kiss the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “You are so overthinking this Bobby thing. I’m not a woman in the early 1900s. Bobby’s technically not even my—”

“He is, though,” Eddie interrupts. “As far as it matters.”

“Okay,” Buck agrees, because that’s true. “But why are you so hung up on being old-school traditional here?”

Eddie huffs. “Sometimes tradition is good. It’s not like I’d have been asking permission to marry you, just. Wanting to have his—I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, I’m not some blushing bride.” Buck kisses the other corner of Eddie’s mouth, making it quirk up into a smile.

“Debatable,” he murmurs, and Buck pinches him at his waist. He squirms, grinning.

“We’re getting married,” Buck tells him, and Eddie lights up so incandescently Buck thinks even the Halloween photograph doesn’t know such happiness. “Bobby’s really happy for us. A curry’s not gonna change any of that.”

“I know,” Eddie says, sighs. “This is just the first time since—I just really wanted to show him I can be good for you, too.”

Buck gapes at him. “Are you—Eddie. Are you serious?”

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, looking embarrassed. Buck takes a step back so he can grab both Eddie’s hands in his own.

“I’m not even gonna—mention the bucket list,” he says, “but Eddie. Eddie. Why do you think Bobby made us partners in the first place?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, but it’s a real one. “I know, okay, but this just—we’re getting married, Buck.”

“And watch him take credit for it in his wedding speech,” Buck says.

Eddie smiles at him, but the underlying current of nerves is still thrumming, visible to Buck a step away.

“Okay,” he says, one final kiss to the centre of Eddie’s mouth. Eddie chases it when he pulls away, but he stands firm. “Let’s save this curry and the sanctity of our marriage to-be. Tomorrow, though, tomorrow, you’re putting on the greaser jeans and fucking me into the mattress.”

Eddie snorts, cheeks pink again. “Sounds like a plan.” He opens his phone, searching for the original recipe.

The ingredients are read aloud, and when Buck swings shut the fridge door as he confirms them, the faded yellow list pinned with a star-shaped magnet looks back at him, ready to have scribbled-out number 5 ticked off completely, wholly, permanently. Buck’s already there with start a family, but get married? He doesn’t think he could’ve imagined it being as good as this.

And if this piece of paper accompanies them to the courthouse, actual marriage certificate second in importance, that’s for him and Eddie to know, because the list doesn’t end, but God, does it feel good to live through it.

[imnotverybright]

augh i came up with a really good oc and i want to read about her and see drawings of her and watch a tv show about her but nobody knows her yet

[boonesfarmsangria]

Sufjan Stevens - Sister Winter

via AKR

[yuttikkele]

hey gamers I’ve started watching star trek does anyone else see the romantic tension between captain kirk and mr. spock

[flogisto]

big fan of stories that, while undoubtedly being about the power of friendship, acknowledge that the power of incredible violence is just as important

the love was there. the love changed everything. the crowbar helped also

[gorgynei]

new propaganda campaign just dropped (now an actual print!)

[heartbreakincident]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[bigskycastle]

the old cistern beneath the flood control system

[robyn-i-guess]

liking someone platonically is so embarrassing like. yeah i admire you. yeah i think about you all the time. yeah i look forward to every time i see you even if it's only for a minute. yeah it's all platonic and yeah i couldn't explain this because it'd sound romantic. fucking hell

[etz-ashashiyot]

Happy freedom weekend to all who celebrate!

[dead-core]

i just need to have more rules for myself. more rules and limits. surely that will help me

[riviclouds]

it's giving princess celestia

[chessb0r3d]

Analysis so bad you don't even know what it's talking about anymore.

[rovermcfly]

I think a lot of people are forgetting that on tumblr fandom used to be practiced very differently. now everyone fucks off to their discords or tumblr groups to discuss everything with a select few, making tags be nearly only used for posting some finished fanworks or not at all

a decade ago people didn't have tumblr groups. people didn't even have dms. if you wanted to talk to anyone about anything you had to make a post, or send an ask (which more often than not would get published and thereby become a post in the end too)

so next time you think "I have a fandom thought but I have to find a small group of hyperspecifically like-minded people to share it with in private" remember all the freaks you could be missing out on meeting by keeping the tags dead. use tags, make friends. fuck discord.