Reblogged
New instagram post from Gavin, it has the eddie and chris stills in it 💗
Reblogged
wip wednesday
tagged by @pairofraggedclaws (so many other beloveds have tagged me recently and i've been too sad to do much sharing but i'm doing better today and have something to share!) Thank you, friend!!
here's a little bit of what i've been calling "the fantasy fic."
somewhat NSFW under the cut.
Reblogged lover-of-mine
Well🤷♀️
Reblogged pansysgothgf
I think the reason season 8B feels like a fanfic is because we have already imagined a hundred thousand different ways Buck and Eddie could get together. We’ve already exhausted every single possibility out there. Watching them get together in canon was always going to feel like fanfiction, because whatever scenario the writers come up with, we have already imagined a thousand times over.
Reblogged queerprincesseddiediaz
(This post is brought to you by the fact that tumblr are, hilariously, claiming that 50% of current users are gen z, and i wanna see how accurate claim that is.)
Reblogged exhuastedpigeon
on a hot summer night [9-1-1 | Buddie | 1/1]
4.2K words | explicit phone sex | first time | feelings realization | sexual fantasy | blow jobs
on a hot summer night [on AO3]
"All right, fine, what—what are you wearing then?" Buck asks, laughing.
And Eddie—pauses. Goes still, beside his bed, in the dark bedroom that still doesn't feel like his. Through the open windows, he can hear the low drone of insects. The glass bottle is sweating condensation against his palm, and his skin feels damp and hot.
His pulse thumps in his ears. He sits on the edge of the bed.
"Eddie?" Buck says, and he can hear it in his tone, the anxious apology, the imminent backward scramble. "Listen, hey, I—"
"Boxer briefs," Eddie interrupts, which is true, so he doesn't know why it sends little panicky shivers racing through him.
"Oh," Buck exhales. "Uh."
"Dark blue. Hanes. If you were wondering."
Buck laughs, breathless, a little strange. "Ah, yeah, okay. Makes sense."
And they should leave it at that, probably. Definitely. They should definitely leave it at that. But Eddie's got something thrumming in his veins, pulsing with his heartbeat. It's not the same thing that made him walk into the ring years ago, but it's not entirely dissimilar, either. There's that same sense of free-fall recklessness. Stupid, aimless, break-everything recklessness.
"What about you?" he asks.
He listens to Buck inhale sharply over the phone. "Um."
"Gonna leave me hanging?" It comes out challenging, almost sharp. He doesn't know why. His senses are electric like he's on the edge of a fight.
Reblogged lovecolibri
Goddamn buck really does have nothing better to do since eddie moved away now he is rolling around in dirt. like presumably he just gave up on making new friends altogether
Reblogged inell
This is such a nice photo of them all but…..
Look at that awkward empty space next to Buck.
Eddie come home your husband I mean partner I mean partner who makes any other significant other irritated because your bond is so deep and strong they can never compete I mean totally platonic definitely not in love with bestie 😉 needs you 😭😭😂😂
Reblogged queerprincesseddiediaz
S3 Ep15 || S8 Ep12 - DISCONNECTED
Reblogged devirnis
WIP Wednesday
Tagged by @glorious-spoon 💗
Do I know where I’m going with this? Kind of and yet also not really! Thanks for asking!
Champagne is the last thing Buck is craving when he drags himself up the stairs of his apartment after a night spent watching the citizens of LA suffer the consequences of some of the worst decisions he’s ever seen. New Year’s Eve is always like that–some people can’t help but treat the end of the year like the end of the world–but the car accidents and overdoses and exploded fingers are hanging heavier on Buck’s shoulders than they have before. Even the familiar post-shift ache in his body feels less like the accomplishment and reassurance of his own strength that it usually is and more like another repetition of a cycle that will never end. The year will always end like this. People will always die. Buck will always hurt.
That cynicism sits in his stomach like a questionable convenience store sandwich. It doesn’t belong and his system is already starting to revolt. Eventually Buck will purge it–if it hasn’t poisoned him too badly in the meantime.
I drifted into this kinda melancholy bleh tone that I’m not overly fond of, but I think if I can make something pop in the jumble of scrabble tiles that makes up the next paragraph then it might work.