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attaching something to an email is so scary. what if i accidentally put hard-core porn in there. i don't think i have any downloaded but what if i do and i attached it to the email. what then.
soo @glorious-spoon and i had a little convo about eddiehen disagreements re: theo a bit back, and ik some of y'all also have interest in that friction, so here's a snippet from my lunch break about these two bickering!
"you know you're being incredibly unreasonable about this."
eddie's expression shifts, fractionally different from the tamped-down irritation that he had worn the entire call, after he had walked in to the tail-end of her conversation with buck. buck would probably be able to tell the exact nuance of this type of eddie-storm, but they're having another one of their moments, so.
not that eddie's been any less snippy with her, recently.
"i'm not doing anything," eddie says, voice tight. it's so ludicrous that hen snorts, the ambulance rattling around them. she feels kind of bad for jones, driving up front.
"if you furrow your brows any harder, you're gonna keep those wrinkles by the end of the day, diaz."
hen watches the way eddie's jaw shifts, his teeth clenching. "i just--" he hisses out a breath, slow and deliberate. "i don't want them to...have to diminish what they have."
she feels a little flare of irritation. "that's not what this is, eddie."
"what is it, then?"
"they're figuring it out," she stresses. "on their own terms. they shouldn't be rushed into deciding what they want to be for each other."
it feels like double-speak. for some reason, eddie looks away. "they already know what they are to each other," he grits out. "it doesn't-- it doesn't need to be a big deal. they can just...be. you're getting him too into his own head about it."
"i'm getting him out of his head," hen informs him. "buck's doing his best right now--"
"-- i know," eddie frowns, insulted.
"-- but. it's a difficult situation. he was a donor, not a dad, and he's just having a little trouble adjusting his thinking, for the best way to approach theo."
something about that makes eddie's fingers clench together, his countenance darkening even more. "he is a dad," he says, and it's sharp-edged in a way that hen doesn't appreciate.
"not right now," she tells him, no room for error. "maybe someday, but-- it's not fair to either of them, right now, for them to have to decide."
eddie looks away from her. "i don't want buck to believe that he wouldn't be a good dad. you know he'd be a great dad."
hen heaves out an irritated breath. "that's not what i'm saying and you know it, eddie." annoyance crawls into her voice despite herself, denny's small face flickering into her memory. "it's not that easy. it's a choice."
"buck's already made his choice."
"and you know this because--?"
it's the wrong thing to say, she knows immediately. eddie's entire bearing goes sharp.
"you're right," he says, flatly. "maybe i don't. maybe i would, if buck would actually talk to me for once."
the ambulance rolls to a stop. eddie shoves the door open before hen can respond.
"eddie," she calls after him anyways. halfway out the doors, eddie pauses for a fraction of a second. it's enough. "you know this isn't about you, right?"
a flinch. he doesn't turn around, footsteps disappearing deeper into the station. behind them, hen hears the rumble of the engine entering, familiar boots hitting the ground.
she sighs. counts to ten inside her mind. gets out of the ambulance.
According to Know Your Meme, on August 18th, 2005, Erwin Beekveld brought forth this work into the world. HAPPY TEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY, THEY’RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD.
every august 18th my notifications break and i go, fuck, tumblr has failed me once again, but it hasn’t. it hasn’t failed me. it’s just the taking the hobbits to isengard-iversary. happy 12 years
@maraskywalkers replied to your post “one of my favoriteeeee buddie things is when eddie...”:
when he realizes he's in love with buck & there's no other way to say it because he can't leave room for buck to doubt or not get it but that means he has to say it like letting himself know it & want it (because he won't let himself want things etc) & then be like having to tell buck like the potential for some delicious pining & angst & then an emotionally tense confession because he's doing it he's saying out loud to buck hey I'm in love with you I want to be with you you make so happy and that scares me sometimes but I'm gonna let myself have it this time etc I'm just saying
(i don't know why this suddenly made me think of this specific scenario but i'm rolling with it)
when eddie realizes his first instinct is to flinch away from it.
he wants to close his eyes again, to be the person who Didn't Know, who could be buck's friend without all the strings. but the door is cracked, pandora's box is open, and despite every terrible thing that comes with realizing that he's in love with buck, eddie is unable to help the hope that lingers beneath everything.
this could be good, the lingering thing tells him. its voice sounds like every good thing that has clung to eddie despite his best efforts. it sounds like buck. we could really be good, eddie.
and eddie, painfully, reluctantly, trusts in buck's voice. so he decides to try.
he lingers around buck, more than usual. he laughs at all his jokes. he lingers, now, allowing himself to soak in buck's warmth when their shoulders brush. he calls buck big guy and bud and means the love of my life. he wears buck's old LAFD tee when they watch movies together. all very obvious signals.
buck does not kiss him. eddie decides to get even more obvious.
eddie tells him that he's important to him one day, driving home in buck's stupid new truck. buck stares at him for so long, so startled, that cars behind them begin to honk as they slow down on the road.
"are you...okay?" buck asks.
"why wouldn't i be?"
"you're acting weird."
i want you to kiss me. "you're acting weird."
buck bites his lip. eddie wishes he was buck's bottom lip, or maybe his teeth. "okay?" he says, a little pink to his cheeks. "you're, uh, you're important to me, too...?"
eddie waits, but he doesn't slide a hand over eddie's thigh, or tangle their fingers together. a failure, then.
he keeps trying. "you're really good with chris" gets a flushed grin. "that shirt looks good on you" gets buck buying him the same shirt in his size. "it would be nice to be partners again" gets a wistful little smile and knocked-together shoulders. all nice, sweet things, but not what eddie wants.
eddie is, he rapidly and horrifyingly realizes, going to have to say it out loud.
the thought feels like razor-blades on his skin, like a bullet lodged in his shoulder. eddie doesn't know how to, is the thing. the words aren't going to come out right. he's never known how to tell someone other than christopher that he loves them without poisoning them.
still. still. eddie looks at buck, the big, broad reality of him, the knowledge under his skin that buck could, if eddie just asked. that they could have a life that's even more beautiful than the one they're living now, together but unspoken.
buck deserves better than silence, eddie knows. buck has always deserved better than silence, and eddie has so rarely been able to give it to him. he can give it to him now.
on the couch in buck's house, eddie opens his mouth. closes it.
"what is it, eddie?" buck asks, because buck always knows when eddie wants to say something, is always watching.
i love you. i love you.
"nothing."
in the locker room, light carding through buck's curls; i want you shrivels in his throat. behind the engine, buck grinning as he flicks soapy water into eddie's face; i want us to be together turns to ash in his sternum. sitting on the back porch in buck's big backyard and watching his eyes soft and glowing; please, please, please kiss me until i forget my own name ties itself into knots on his tongue.
eddie can't say it, he realizes. the words are like an atrophied muscle, desiccated from disuse. he tries, again and again, to open his heart to buck. inside, the words are too weak to escape. hope remains at the bottom of the box. hope remains trapped.
coward, he tells himself. this voice sounds like shannon.
maybe it wasn't meant to be, after all. if this is the best he can do, then what can he even offer buck? words that have died, a heart sluggish from disuse, a man who has ruined every home he's ever touched.
eddie looks at himself in his bathroom mirror, the lines beginning at the edges of his eyes, every smile line drawn by this impossible life that he'd never thought he'd be able to deserve. how selfish, to want something more, despite it all. how foolish, to think that he would be capable of it.
he's almost startled when he sees the tear rolling down his jaw. the next one. one by one, dripping onto the countertop. he can feel a pressure in his throat, a decade of words dissolved into wastewater and rot inside of him. he clenches his teeth, but something like a sob escapes him anways.
"eddie?"
he presses his knuckles to his face in a futile attempt to hide it, but he can hear buck's footsteps inside the tiled bathroom. he hadn't even heard his front door open. or maybe he had, and it is just that buck is so integral a part of his home that it did not register as notable in his mind.
"eddie, what's-- what's wrong?" there's a frantic edge to buck's voice, another step closer. eddie steps back. the footsteps go silent.
"eddie," buck says, heartbroken. eddie lets out another, helpless sob. he's never been a pretty crier.
a rustle, then gentle, tentative touch. eddie wants to flinch away from it. but, the thing at the bottom of the box. he trembles, instead.
"please," buck says. "you have to tell me what's wrong."
"i'm in love with you."
silence. and, oh. eddie was right. he really only knows how to wield love in a way that hurts.
"you--" buck's voice shakes. his fingers, on eddie's elbows, are shaking too. "you-- what?"
"i love you," eddie's voice quavers. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to say it like that."
silence, then: "how did you mean to say it?"
eddie presses his knuckles deeper into his eyes, hiding. "i don't know. not like this."
"but you were going to tell me?" there's a strange note in buck's voice.
"i was trying." bitter, trembling from his lips. poison is so much easier to spill than anything sweet.
fingers on his hands. eddie struggles, but only nominally. buck tugs his hands down, and eddie blinks away the blur of his vision, looks at the gentle hold that buck has around his palms. he wants to tell him to hold on tighter. he knows he does not have that right.
"eddie," buck breathes out. "you were-- you were trying to tell me that you love me?"
"i couldn't."
a pause, then a soft laugh, so dissonant with eddie's mood that it makes him look up. buck is smiling at him, eyes red-rimmed, bright, smile luminous.
"you did," he says. "i-- oh, that's what you meant. i've been trying to figure it out."
"you-- what?"
"you were being weird lately!"
"you're weird," eddie says, instinctive. buck laughs, head tilted back, looks at him like eddie did something incredible, instead of this fumbling, awkward thing.
"you are so--" buck's eyes sparkle, and eddie startles as his hands cup eddie's jaws, thumbs wiping away his tears. "i'm sorry i didn't hear you."
"i should've been able to say it out loud."
"you did," buck repeats, marveling, sure, hopeful, and kisses him.
(after, curled up in bed together, eddie in buck's LAFD tee and buck curled around him like a question mark, answered, eddie mumurs all the things that had been so stuck in his throat. all the softest words that he'd been unable to dislodge. buck trembles at every one, and eddie gets to wipe his tears away, this time.
"i love you," eddie says, again and again. the words weren't dead, after all. they were just waiting for somewhere safe to land.)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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you were almost turned into a vampire, but before you could be fully turned, the vampire was staked. This left you with a vampire weakness, while still being human.
Spin the wheel to find out your weakness!
How much does this effect you?
Nothing changes
It's inconvenient but I can deal with jty
It will be hard to adjust but I'll figure it out
I don't know if I'll be able to live like this
Maybe I can find another vampire to finish the turning?
I might just kill myself
Results/other
Remaining time: 2 days 10 hours
thanks @theemmjay for submitting this poll idea!! Seriously it's such a cool concept I love it so much
When you hear the news that there is a growing life expectancy gap between republicans and democrats partially because of the right-wing anti-science conspiracies that have taken hold (especially after COVID) you’re like “Lol. They owned the libs so hard they died.” and then you remember these are the same people having 6+ kids to populate the polls with their white Christian children and medically neglecting them. Then you squint at the data and realize it is not measuring voter data and life expectancy but life expectancy in red areas vs. blue areas and you realize that voter suppression, corruption, racism and poverty is actually killing the people in these places faster than the national average, not their own reactionary views. And you’re so angry it’s being presented like it’s their fault they’re dying.
idk man, i just wanna write a fic that someone reads obsessively at 3am. a fic that someone loses sleep to finish because just one more chapter and tries to give multiple kudos. a fic that people will leave a comment on every chapter. i want to write a fic that people will recommend to others, that they think nails the characterization and relationship dynamic. i want to write someone’s comfort fic, someone’s favorite fic, or someone’s fic they read when they want to re-read something. i want to be that fic writer. i want to write that fic.
a rough timeline of events (from memory, there may be inaccuracies, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong)
Cambridge professor of sociology Jason Arday is accused of plagiarism by another academic
the accuser is a "race realist" who believes that in a true meritocracy all university professors would be white. this is somehow not acknowledged much during the entire ordeal
this leads to several days of media coverage demanding an investigation, or that Arday is expelled from his post immediately
somehow this accusation that has no effect on the lives of 99.99% of the population becomes FRONT PAGE NEWS in all the newspapers for multiple days, above anything else happening in the UK or the world at large
following intense media scrutiny, Arday resigns his post as a Cambridge professor
today, august 14th, days after resigning, Arday is found dead at his home in Battersea
the British tabloid press remains, and will always be, fucking evil
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