911 side blog

It’s like Eddie can’t look at Buck because Buck is the mirror that shows Eddie the full truth of who he is: Buck doesn’t ignore the messy bits, the mistakes, but he doesn’t hold them against Eddie like it makes Eddie less than. And Eddie’s in a hell of his own making, trapped in a town he left and felt forced to return because he made the biggest mistake he could: losing his kid’s trust—losing his kid near completely. And he can’t look at Buck in the moments he fails, because he Buck forgives him for it, regardless of what it is, and Eddie doesn’t think he deserves that forgiveness until he makes it right. It’s why, in part, to me, he didn’t tell Buck about Kim.

8) thighs wrapped around a waist

It's quiet for just long enough for Buck to start panicking.

It feels more intimate, now, warm air exhaling from one of their lips in one breath, inhaled by the other in the next. Slow, instead of ragged. Deliberate, instead of desperate.

Scared, instead of sure.

"I--" he says, because he's always been incapable of leaving things well enough alone. He watches Eddie's chest, bare and golden. He doesn't let his eyes fall lower, doesn't let himself take in the way Eddie's waist looks against his fingers, the curve of his thighs over Buck's hips. He can't let himself remember this. He's fooling himself if he thinks that it's not seared into him already. "We just--"

"Yeah," Eddie says, when Buck can't quite bring himself to complete the sentence.

"And you--"

"I know," Eddie says. And there's a little tremble in his voice, something that's already beginning to retreat. Buck wants-- Buck can't-- Buck has to--

"Eddie," he says, and the word still feels shiny and new in his mouth, even after all these years. Even after tonight, when he must've used up a lifetime's worth of Eddie's, murmured and moaned and tucked into secret places.

"Buck," Eddie says, and there's something caught there, too. There's a hitch of air over Buck's lips, like Eddie wants to say something else. He doesn't.

For a moment, it feels like that's it. The glass fractured between them falling back into shape. Buck can't look into his eyes. Eddie can't say it out loud. Nevermind the come on their stomachs, their swollen lips, the bruises they won't be able to hide.

Buck thinks, believes, tells himself that they can still come back from this. It's them. They have to.

Then Eddie's thighs shift slightly, and Buck's fingers tighten involuntarily.

He doesn't mean to. He needs to let Eddie go. If Eddie can't-- if he's not-- Buck can't do this halfway, can't be the anchor on another sinking ship. Not anymore, and especially not with Eddie.

But his hands don't listen to him. They press into Eddie's sides, the divots of his hips. If Buck looks down, he knows he'd be able to map out the bruises they're going to leave. He doesn't. He can't. He watches the St. Christopher against Eddie's sternum instead, trying to force himself to relax, to let go, to say something easy and funny, something to make Eddie laugh, to forget all of this.

But Eddie gets there first: fingers against Buck's jaw, and Buck wants to close his eyes but it's Eddie. It's Eddie. It's always been Eddie.

It's Eddie, brown eyes looking down at him, something awed in his gaze. It's Eddie, muscles relaxing under Buck's grasp, going liquid and soft and letting Buck hold onto him. It's Eddie, a smile cresting his face like sunrise after the longest night of the year: slowly, then all at once.

"Buck," Eddie says again. And, oh, Buck can hear him, now.

"Eddie," Buck replies. Eddie's legs shift again, but only to wrap themselves tighter around Buck's waist. Buck's hand go loose, but only so he can run them up Eddie's sides, cup his face.

He can feel Eddie's cheeks shift under his fingers, the soft swell of his smile running through his fingertips and directly into his heart.

"Hi, Buck," Eddie says, something other than fear in his voice.

Buck laughs, startled, wondering. "Hi, Eddie."

He remembers the rain. Cold and pounding against his face, the sound of the drops hitting his helmet echoing loudly in his ears. He remembers the ladder, the rescue, insisting he should be the one to climb, even as Buck protested in his ear. He remembers the flash of light. He remembers the pain, sudden and consuming, his whole body wracked with a sharp, paralysing burn. 

And then he’s waking up. In his own bed. Familiar and warm and dry. There’s morning light filtering in through the curtains, and the clanking sounds of cooking drifting in from the kitchen. He’s alive. Is he? He can’t quite be sure.

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

Way more than a paragraph, but I just posted everything I've written of a wip I feel like I'll never finish over here so that this ask wouldn't be too long 💀

15. Is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?

I find writing smut suuuper hard. I have definitely challenged myself to write it, sometimes because I wanted to, sometimes because I thought it's what other people would want, but it really is just. Not my genre. Which isn't to say I'll never write it again, but I just don't think I'm very good at it and so I end up not enjoying it as much as other writing!

The one explicit sex scene i really loved writing and felt good about was the one in i know the end, but i think that isn't quite Smut with a capital S. It's like. HBO instead of Pornhub y'know? I'm much more comfortable sticking to HBO in my own works.

Adore reading smut though. And because I'm kinda bad at it, good smut is super impressive to me. God bless all the smut writers fr

19. What was the very first fanwork you ever created? (I’m talking like maybe you made a little book out of construction paper and staples with your favorite Disney characters drawn in it when you were five years old or you drew a comic about a movie you saw when you were a preteen. That sort of thing.)

Oh God I'm not sure I remember, honestly. If we're counting cosplay, then I've been making Halloween costumes based on bands and characters my whole life (or, piecing them together from thrift store finds really). And then I used to edit pictures a lot for Instagram fan pages in, like, middle school, and around that time would print pictures of my favorite bands and artists to make posters of them.

To let you in on the embarrassing one, though, I did write OC x Louis Tomlinson rpf on Wattpad when I was like. 12 or 13. It was problematic and terrible and is hopefully forever lost to time 🫶

20. Is there anything about any one of your fics that you have been dying to discuss but haven’t had the chance to?

Answered this here with the first thing I thought of, but I'll add one more.

In Passing Notes, I proposed the pet name "querido" for Eddie to use for Buck. Now, I don't think he uses it alll the time (I think Bailey was the one who said this the other day, but I agree that I don't think he uses pet names a lot). But I think, for something he pulls out every once in a while, "querido" is a really good choice. And my argument in the fic and my argument now is that it has a double meaning because it means "darling" or "loved one" but its literal translation is "wanted one" (it comes from quiero/te quiero). And so I think. Buck. Who was not really wanted by his parents and who carries that with him his whole life, would really appreciate a pet name that lets him know that he's wanted. Anyway. Discuss if you so please 🙂‍↕️

fanfic writer asks

that I came up with all on my own. Ask ‘em, share ‘em, do whatever.

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

What is your favorite paragraph from (insert story title you want to know about here, or leave it blank for writer’s choice)? Is there a reason it’s your favorite?

What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?

Share a headcanon about (character name) in (story title)!

Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

What is your favorite type of feedback to receive (favorites/kudos, comments, DMs, complete and utter silence in the pursuit of remaining unperceived?)? If comments or DMs or anything else involving a reader writing, do you have a particular type of feedback that excites you more than other types?

Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

Is there a story idea you have that you would love if it could appear fully realized but that you do not think you’ll ever write yourself?

Do you prefer to read angst or fluff? Which do you prefer to write?

If you could banish a single trope to live at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again by any human eyes (or at least your own), which trope would that be?

Conversely, if you had to pick a single trope to read for the next seven-and-half years, which trope would that be?

What are your thoughts on slow burn romances?

Are you secretly Tara Gilesbie aka XXXbloodyrists666XXX aka author of infamous Harry Potter fanfiction serial My Immortal? (you can trust me; I won’t tell anyone, pinky promise)

Has anyone ever created anything (art, a podfic, another fic, etc.) inspired by your work? Which work? How did you feel about that?

Is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?

Is there a commonly held misconception about one of your stories that you’d like to correct for the masses?

What does your editing process look like?

Share a headcanon relating to (insert desired theme here)!

What was the very first fanwork you ever created? (I’m talking like maybe you made a little book out of construction paper and staples with your favorite Disney characters drawn in it when you were five years old or you drew a comic about a movie you saw when you were a preteen. That sort of thing.)

I absolutely love a genre episode as a means of exploring a character's emotional journey and delving deeper into their psyche and I genuinely think that a telenovela is the perfect medium for Eddie.

It's a genre characterized by how expressive and bold it is. Emotions are always high and always at the forefront-- there's really no hiding them. It's a genre of loud feelings and sex and romance and superstition and magic. It's bright colors and unsubtle acting and, not to overuse this word, but outwardly-facing emotions.

And Eddie is, in a lot of ways, the opposite. His emotions are quiet. Often bottled up. He makes emotionally-charged decisions but always rationalizes them. He's all repression and logic and that has definitely started to fade in the past couple of seasons, but his past tendencies (and the church and the military) are still there, still pushing back. And we see this, these days, mostly popping up in his sex and romantic life. He closes himself off to new relationships, has tended to sabotage past relationships... this man just. Is not good at romance.

So, putting him in this world of absurdly big, flamboyant, emotive, romantic drama could be an incredibly effective metaphor for freeing himself from the repression that keeps holding him back. And, inevitably, freeing himself to recognise his feelings for Buck, and have that music-swelling romance he would never admit to wanting.

Not to mention the way telenovelas connect him to his identity, which we've seen him reconnecting with through the past season. He's been finding himself and reconnecting with himself and I know cultural and sexual identity are different but they're part of that same journey of self-actualisation and self-love.

I've been tagged by @eddiesstabwound @zinnydark and @soupfic (x2), and now that I'm not consumed with getting the fic rec event ready I can post a lil snippet of what will eventually be buckeddie barbossa wedding

Which explained why he sat at the table a few minutes after midnight, shaking his leg while Chimney tried valiantly to focus on paperwork.

"If you're trying to vibrate yourself into the future," Chimney said, not glancing up from the latest incident report, "it's not gonna work. You are not Barry Allen."

"Sorry." Buck stilled his leg, which was more effort than it should have been. He did not mention that he didn't know who Barry Allen was; Chimney had long stopped expecting Buck to get his references.

"It's just —" he leaned forward, elbows on the table, leg resuming it's up-and-down. Chimney sighed, slapping his pen down on his keyboard and finally looking at Buck. "I don't know, it's like I can't sit still. And Eddie's avoiding me," he added with an expression that some might call a pout.

If he craned his neck, he could just about see the windows to the locker room. He could not see Hen and Eddie inside, sitting close, heads bent over … something. But Buck knew they were there, because they had shooed him away not fifteen minutes ago, and he would have noticed if they'd emerged since then. His Eddie-sense was highly tuned these days.

Post five passages you've written that you're proud of. Can be anywhere from a sentence to a few paragraphs. WIP or published. Just any work that makes you think "damn, I wrote that, huh?"

tagged by @lesbucks, xoxoxo tried to pull from different things! i tend to like the things i write (shocker, i know, i write mostly for an audience of me) but it's kind of hard to pull out specific passages, surprisingly enough.

1. christopher diaz's radical roadtrip through time (911, chris&buddie relationship study; i just felt really clever about making the shannon-lake/buck-ocean metaphor stretch lol)

Dad shakes him lightly, teasingly. Then he softens. “How was it? The lake?”

Christopher thinks about it, sitting on the dock and staring out into the water. Waiting for the moment that it all made sense. Why it hurt so much, when the younger version of dad said that it was just a lake. Because it’s a lie, and because it’s the truth.

“It was just a lake,” Chris says, and dad tightens his arm around him like he hears what Chris is really saying, like he knows.

The lake is just a lake, and it’s the lake where mom and dad met, and it’s mom’s favorite place in the world, and it’s where dad spent summers learning to be someone he never wanted to be. All of those things were true, are true at the same time.

Maybe they’ll take Buck there one day. Maybe not. Chris thinks that it doesn’t matter, either way. He and dad and Buck have their ocean, endless and terrifying and beautiful in front of them, no less real but without end.

2. nonetheless, there’s something there (orv, han sooyoung character study; i gave up on this series early but this was maybe my favorite drabble from it? oh han sooyoung, the woman you are)

Here is what godhood feels like:

A pinprick of pain in your wrist by month five, spreading into your fingers into year two, three, four. You wake up with a splint on your arm one day and remember going to the doctor’s for it, remember being frustrated that it was taking so long to heal even though you were taking it slow. Right now, you have another chapter to write, another year to steal back from a lonely child. There are circles under your eyes, a steady pulse in the back of your mind, the pressure of too many voices for one head. 

Han Sooyoung has always had memories to spare, even when she didn’t remember enough to understand. 

The wear echoes through her, through time. She gasps back into herself with his name on her lips and staggers onto hands and knees, hand twisting and crumpling under her as she tries to push herself upwards. Her bones feel paper-thin and fragile. It’s strange, realizing that she is so close to the version of herself that she left. She had felt so different - it hadn’t occurred to her that the brokenness stayed the same. 

Yoo Sangah reaches out a hand to her, and Han Sooyoung thinks about that hand pale over the handle of a dagger, still against a bedsheet. They have both torn themselves apart for a taste of power, and have been made anew. All of them have, except perhaps for Yoo Joonhyuk, who didn’t need to tear himself apart when she had done such a good job of doing the job for him. She runs after him anyway, even knowing what she’s done. It would be worth it for the both of them if they get him back.

They don’t. She stops writing. They don’t. She starts writing again. They don’t. She learns to share their story.

They do.

3. where i go, when i go there (tma, jonmartin post-s4; i'm just really fond of this one! i don't know what it is about it)

He doesn't know how to ask for it, isn't even sure he wants to, sometimes, when even the thought of Jon coming close tightens his breath worryingly. But the way that Jon tip-toes around him hurts just as much as the lack of touch, the way that he looks so heartbroken whenever his fingers reach out and retract. Martin wants to grab his hand, wants to tell him that it's okay, that Martin does want to- does want him- does want, but the words always dissipate from his throat to his lips, leaving him watching helplessly as Jon shakes his head, smiles at him tentatively, moves his fingers away.

4. untitled philip-pov fic (911, buddie-adjacent; i'm so happy that people indulged in my obsession with second-person pov, i think it worked really well here!)

you remember maddie at sixteen, quiet and defiant, stubborn and unyielding. you remember evan less. it was hard to look at him. you can only picture him covered in blood, grinning like he’s daring you to care. you have never known how to convey that you’ve always cared. that it was worse because of it.

5. it's not a ghost story (it's a love story) (robb, qpp tangchung; i was going for the haunting of blythe manor vibes and i think i got it, which i'm pretty proud of)

Tang Bo smiles at him over the flames between them, face alit in the perfect way only a ghost can be.

“I’ll see you again, taoist-hyung.”

Chung Myung doesn’t need to memorize his face, because he knows that the world will end and he would still be able to reconstruct it with a thought. He doesn’t need to say anything, because there are no words that Tang Bo didn’t already know, no apologies that he would accept. Anyways, there is no meaning in grieving to a ghost. 

“I’ll keep our promise until then.”

He will keep his penance for the living.

Nobody asked for this, but here's a couple snippets from a wip where Eddie is feeling some kind of way about a U-Haul