biasbuck

[biasbuck]

Well, want to know what I think? vrs So when would this be happening? S07E05 vrs S08E08, 9-1-1

[biasbuck]

she is so tiny and her hair is so big and full of secrets and her outfits are giving ACCESSORIES and it's glorious, also so many dead kid ghosts so little time.

I realised there are almost as many episodes as there are days in the hiatus so this was a genius plan really.

How am I coping with hiatus thus far?! Well, mostly by ignoring the discourse (good lord people it's been five days and this is a procedural melodrama ...breathe!) and am currently on season 1 episode 4 of Ghost Whisperer for tiny JLH giving hope to green screen ghosties.

[biasbuck]

[biasbuck]

Every day, you heal a little bit more. Then one morning, you wake up and losing her isn't the first thing you think about.

BOBBY NASH and EDDIE DIAZ for @wernerherzogs

[biasbuck]

911onabc: Reach out your hand. #911onABC

[biasbuck]

/ not discourse, just curious what everyone thinks

[biasbuck]

8x01 I 8x08

[biasbuck]

i love him.

tags: @actualalligator, @dangerpronebuddie, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @diazheartsbuckley, @hippolotamus, @spotsandsocks, @elvensorceress, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @daffi-990, @exhuastedpigeon, @monsterrae1, @lonelychicago, @doctorkinney, @epicbuddieficrecs, @wildlife4life, @devirnis, @watchyourbuck, @incorrect9-1-1, @bigfootsmom, @jesuisici33, @bucks-daddy-issues, @theotherbuckley, @princessfbi, @thekristen999, @playinginthunderstorms, @kyoteugly 🩵

[biasbuck]

If you had to get a tattoo from the last show you watched, what would it be?

[biasbuck]

❤️ 🎵 Number 9 if you’re still doing the prompts? thank you!! I hope you’re having a good day!

another scene prompt game! - 9: listening to the other’s heartbeat + ❤️ 🎵

--

“Huh,” Buck says.

Eddie knocks his ankle against Buck’s. “What?”

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” Buck says. He has his serious face on and that, more than anything, makes Eddie squint at him, suspicious. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “I had a checkup a month ago, jackass.”

“Texas doctors?” Buck says skeptically. Eddie huffs at him. Buck adjusts his grip on Eddie’s arm, pressing his index and middle fingers more firmly into Eddie’s wrist. “It’s probably nothing. It’s just, I can’t find your pulse.”

Eddie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, Buck!”

“I’m being serious!” Buck tries another spot on Eddie’s wrist, then another, shaking his head both times: nothing. “You should definitely have a pulse.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, deadpan. “What if I’m already dead?”

Six months. Eddie waited six months to see Buck in person again. Buck had made a noise like a dying animal on the phone, when they realized that he was going to be in the first hour of a 48-hour shift when Eddie and Chris got in from Texas.

Then, when Bobby asked if Eddie wanted to be scheduled for the last 24 hours of the same shift or wait four more days until his first shift back, Eddie signed on for the earlier shift without thinking twice about it. It meant not waiting a second longer to be back where he belongs—at the 118, on the job. It also meant this: seeing Buck for the first time since…since Texas, since everything, surrounded by all their coworkers.

“Don’t worry,” Buck says. “I have something else I can try.”

Buck releases Eddie’s hand. Eddie draws his arm back to his body, unconsciously reaching his other hand up to grip his wrist where Buck’s hand had been holding him a second ago.

Buck gestures at Eddie’s neck. “Can I—”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to say it,” Buck said. His voice was low and frustrated through the phone. “Not like this.”

“Sorry,” Eddie said, feeling furious, feeling lightheaded. Feeling alone, in a silent Texas house three sizes too big for him. “This is it. I’m here. You’re there. If you’re pissed at me, I’d rather you just tell me.”

Buck reaches for the collar of Eddie’s turnouts. He peels back the velcro strip covering the neck, then undoes the top snaps—one, two, three. He hooks two fingers of one hand on Eddie’s chin, tilting his head back. Sets two fingers of his other hand on Eddie’s neck, just below his jaw, in the divot just behind his trachea, just in front of the muscle.

It’s stupid. Eddie’s fine. He fell down, that’s all. He was rounding a corner to get back to the engine when a kid came sprinting around the other side, running at full force. She ran headfirst into his stomach and they both went sprawling on the grass. Buck caught up to them first, checking over the kid and giving her a sticker after telling her she should consider a career in wrestling. Eddie pushed himself up from the ground, angling to sneak back to the engine and drop off his gear. Buck caught his arm, giving him a where do you think you’re going? look.

So, now they’re here. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, parked in South Pasadena at two in the morning, Chimney’s classic rock radio station still playing quietly from the front seats. The kitchen fire that called them out was put out half an hour ago, but when the upstairs neighbor cracked his door to figure out what had brought a fire truck to his driveway, his cat bolted. Chim spotted her up a tree in the backyard—literally, a cat stuck in a tree. It doesn’t get much more stereotypical than that.

Chimney’s got it handled, apparently, though it’s been twenty minutes and he and the cat are both still in the tree. Eventually, he’s going to get the cat down or some new emergency will materialize from nothing and someone will come looking for Buck and Eddie—but for now, for a minute, they’re alone.

The pads of Buck’s fingers are gentle on the side of Eddie’s neck. His hands are warm. Buck presses in, just enough pressure on Eddie’s throat for him to feel it.

He’s looking Eddie in the eye while he touches him. Eddie looks back. He takes in a slow breath, feeling his throat expand under Buck’s hand. Watches Buck blink back at him. They’re so close like this, Eddie can see where Buck missed a spot shaving just below his sideburns, where Buck’s hair dried flat to his head when he had to pull on his helmet straight out of the shower. He can see where his eyes are crinkling at the corners, like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Nope,” Buck says. “Still nothing.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says dryly. “Do you need to start CPR?”

“I’m sure I can think of something else before it comes to that.”

“I’m not taking off my pants for you to check my femoral.”

“I wasn’t going to do that, Eddie. We’re at work.”

Buck takes his hand off Eddie’s neck. Eddie misses it immediately.

He backs up a little, as far as he can get in the cramped quarters of the ambulance. He rests his hands on his hips, giving Eddie an assessing look.

“I’m not pissed at you,” Buck said, voice low. “That’s why I don’t want to have this conversation now.”

“When do you want to have it?” Eddie asked. He’s angry, and he’s picking a fight, and he can’t stop himself, when this is how he gets to talk to Buck now: in broken halves of conversations, eight hundred miles away. “When you visit in six months? When Chris graduates high school in four years?”

“Come on,” Buck said. “That’s not fair.”

“Then tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“Would you like my opinion?” Eddie asks.

“Pretty sure I’m the firefighter here, thanks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Didn’t realize.”

“Here,” Buck says.

His hands are back on Eddie’s jacket, undoing the rest of the snaps and opening his jacket. He hooks a hand in Eddie’s suspenders, pulling lightly at them, adjusting Eddie until he’s sitting on the edge of the gurney, knees between Buck’s legs. Eddie goes easily.

Buck places a hand on Eddie’s chest, above his heart.

They’re at work, Eddie reminds himself. It’s two in the morning and it’s Pasadena, it’s the distant sound of Chimney going here, kitty-kitty, and the low hum of the radio.

Buck glances at the ambulance doors. They left them open a crack, but all they can see through the gap is the empty street, cast in yellow and red from the streetlamps and the fire engine lights. No one’s looking for them.

Buck turns back to Eddie. He leans in in one movement, replacing his hand with his ear to Eddie’s chest.

It’s awkward, kind of. The ambulance isn’t exactly roomy and Buck is folded in at a weird angle to get his face to Eddie’s chest. Eddie knows he still smells like the kitchen fire, like smoke and burnt fish and sweat. Any second, someone’s going to realize they disappeared and come barging through the ambulance doors and into this, into the tableau that is Buck leaning on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie breathes, chest rising and falling. Buck moves with it.

He was scared to see Buck again. He can admit that now, with Buck in front of him, the way he couldn’t when he was still in El Paso.

There’s a conversation they’ve been waiting to have. They started it a month ago, on the phone, Buck in his loft and Eddie in the kitchen of his rented house in El Paso. By now, Eddie’s pretty sure he’s figured out where this conversation is going to end. He knows he’s not going to find out here, in the back of an ambulance in Pasadena.

They decided, by mutual agreement, that they wouldn’t touch it until after the shift. They kept their word. Instead, Buck’s been doing…this. Messing with Eddie. Sticking close to him. Touching him, under the barest pretense of medical necessity.

It—this, them—has been an idea in Eddie’s head for so long that he started to lose track of what it was, exactly, that he was waiting for. It doesn’t feel real, that Buck could say something on the phone and a month later Eddie could be in Los Angeles again, cashing checks they wrote when they were eight hundred miles apart.

“I’m not angry with you, Eddie,” Buck said, low, into a phone speaker in Los Angeles. Into Eddie’s ear, in an empty room in El Paso. “I’m in love with you.”

Buck’s head resting on Eddie’s chest is real.

It’s right here. It’s the easiest thing in the world, for Eddie to put his hand on the back of Buck’s neck, where the soft ends of his hair curl. For him to breathe in, slow, and feel the weight of Buck leaning on him.

“Yeah,” Buck says finally. His voice is quiet in the back of his throat. Eddie can feel it in his chest. “Found it.”

[biasbuck]

20 icons under the cut.

4 screencaps, in 5 colors.

all are 150x150.

please like or reblog if you save or use.

[biasbuck]

Welcome to 118 Daily Drabble

118 Prompts; 118 Words; 100 Days

Starting November 27th, around 1:00pm EST, a one word prompt will be posted to this blog for 100 consecutive days ending on March 6th. Anyone who wants to can use the word to write a 9-1-1 drabble that equals exactly 118 words. This is a real drabble challenge.

General Rules:

Drabbles must be 118 words exactly. (Since different word counters sometimes give different results, we are using AO3 as a standard.)

The word of the day must be included in your drabble. However, the words themselves do not need to be exact. For example, if the word is zip, it could be used as zip, zipping, zipper, zipped, and unzip. The words may also have double meanings and can be used either way. For example, complex can mean both difficult or can mean a group of similar buildings. Both would be accepted.

There are 18 words that can be used as replacement words throughout. For example, say the word of the day is goal but you can’t think of anything, you can use one of the 18 replacement words instead.

If you aren’t a writer or are inspired to create something for a prompt that isn’t writing, please feel free! As long as the creation incorporates the prompt, it is allowed. (Other creations could be art, poetry, podfic, etc.) 

Content Rules: 

Drabbles must use characters from 9-1-1 on ABC. (You can write for 911LS if you’d like, but only drabbles from 9-1-1 on ABC will be reblogged and/or accepted as part of the collection.)

There are no content restrictions. As long as your fic is tagged appropriately, you can write whatever you want. (This includes ratings, warnings, ships, etc. We are not here to police writing, only to encourage it.) 

Crossovers and original characters are accepted as long as the main focus is on 9-1-1 on ABC.

Drabbles can be posted to the 118 Daily Drabble AO3 Collection here or using the tag #118dailydrabble.

FAQ:

Do the drabbles have to be 118 words? 

Yes! That’s the fun and challenge of the event. (To be honest, I will not be checking every single word count for the drabbles… but I trust everyone not to lie to me. Please don’t lie to me, I’m fragile.) 

Do I have to write every single day if I choose to participate?

Absolutely not! You can choose to write as little as 1 prompt or all 118, that’s totally up to you! 

Do I have to post my drabbles on AO3? 

Nope! There will be a collection for them, but you can also just post to Tumblr/X/Bluesky/Internet-Place if you prefer. This event will only have a Tumblr in terms of reblogging content but feel free to use the tag #118dailydrabble on other platforms.

Can I make a chaptered fic on AO3 for this event?

Absolutely. If you choose to do a chaptered fic, each drabble must be its own chapter, though.

What are the extra 18 words?

1. Dosed 2. Broken 3. Rage 4. Malfunction 5. Fallout 6. Fools 7. Powerless 8. Jinx 9. Survivors 10. Panic 11. Cursed 12. Recovery 13. Capsized 14. Buzzkill 15. Masks 16. Confessions 17. Hotshots 18. Wannabes

Have more questions? Feel free to send an ask here!

[biasbuck]

You said the F word.

[biasbuck]

bum bum bum🥁🥁🥁

[biasbuck]

RYAN GUZMAN as EDMUNDO 'EDDIE' DIAZ

9-1-1 | S08E08: Wannabes

[biasbuck]

messy hair eddie :)

[biasbuck]

future siblings-in-law ✨

included a no moustache ver for the people that don’t appreciate its beauty 😔