queermccoy

[queermccoy]

Happy bi-anniversary, Buck! Shoulda known with the blue eyes and the pink birthmark :)

[queermccoy]

"you don't post your dead dove fics on anon?" no, all of my dead dove, dirty, disgusting gay smut are posted on my main. I have no shame. normalize a girl being a pervert and a sex-crazed freak

[queermccoy]

with four days until episode 8x14 we’re here at pookie watch to give you an update.

the forecast predicts high levels of pookieness this thursday. stay tuned for more updates.

[queermccoy]

the fact that i have to be in the “right headspace” to do even the simplest tasks. absolutely humiliating

[queermccoy]

no thoughts, head empty, just...

[queermccoy]

concerning last reblog; it is also disrespectful to your fellow fans if you use generative ai to help you write your fic and you don't tell them in the tags or the author's note. i don't care if you're using it to help with sentence structure, word usage, or plot development. if you don't tell people, it's disrespectful

[queermccoy]

Look, I'm going to be honest, I don't care whether people feeding other fans' fanfiction into AI is "legal" or "illegal".

What it is, is rude, entitled, and disrespectful of your fellow fans.

[queermccoy]

all my friends were vampires (4873 words) by queermccoy Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Sex Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz/Tommy Kinard Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Tommy Kinard Additional Tags: Established Eddie Diaz/Tommy Kinard, Bisexual Evan "Buck" Buckley, First Time, Kissing, Snowballing, Anal Sex, Anal Plug, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Sex, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Locker Room, Semi-Public Sex, Caught, Threesome - M/M/M, Pre-Poly, Feminization, Crossdressing, Coming Out Series: Part 1 of friday night lights Summary:

"Are you sure everyone's gone?" said a voice Evan didn't immediately recognize. It was young sounding, but definitely male.

The next voice Evan recognized.

"Sure, yeah," said Evan's best friend Eddie. What was Eddie doing in the locker room? The cheerleaders always just changed in the bathrooms, which Evan had opinions about. They were athletes too! They should get their own space to clean off. But they didn't, and there was no reason for Eddie to be in there.

There was a scuffling sound and then the crash of something hitting the lockers.

Evan was scrambling to his feet before he knew it, hand on the curtain separating him from the rest of the room. He was about to swipe it open, naked or not, when a different sound washed over him. An amorous moan, the kind of wet-whine that came from a sloppy kiss.

or, Evan discovers something new about his best friend, the boy-next-door, and himself via an unexpected locker room threesome.

--

[queermccoy]

911onabc: Buck saying what we're all thinking 😅 #911onABC

[queermccoy]

Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.

But her family. Holy shit.

First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever

Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.

And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, and she’s getting engaged so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves two more, and those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper

And while one of ‘em’s young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.

And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK

And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”

So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE

And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for

And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker

And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”

And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”

And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah

Yeah, I think I kinda get it

[queermccoy]

I can't find a single source in English so you'll just have to believe me when I say that Elon Musk made an unexpected video appearance to the Lega National Congress in Florence (Italian far-right party) and started ranting about terrorism and warned that Europeans will soon be victim of "massacres" that "the media will try to downplay" and only Italian media are reporting this but it happened and it's crazy. hello?

[queermccoy]

Tommy Kinard; 08x06 (Confessions)

She Is Made of Chalk by L.M. Dorsey; We Must Meet Apart by Jennifer S. Cheng; The Crane Wife: A Memoir in Essays by C.J. Hauser; So The Stream of Life by Clarice Lispector; i am an observer, but not by choice by fatima aamer bilal

[queermccoy]

I decided to write it. Thank you all for enabling encouraging me. MCD implied even though I'm still team Not Gonna Happen

read on ao3

grief in two parts

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. - Anne Roiphe

Eddie's snores drift in from the hallway.

Tommy's used to the noise of a firehouse full of exhausted men, the noise of a full barracks, he's lived an entire life in close proximity to a minimum of six to ten other people. It's just -

He's not used to it in this context: Evan wrapped carefully around him, still sniffling like he can pretend Tommy hasn't seen him a sobbing, sloppy mess multiple times in the past week alone. Tommy doesn't know why he bothers, except -

Except he's been hiding his delicate underbelly for decades. He's just not used to seeing Evan do it.

He hasn't paid attention to Evan doing it.

God. They'd been so certain they knew each other. And then so sure they didn't.

And now they're in this limbo where they're trying: to learn, to understand, to know, to not fall into those bad habits and the patterns that become a glaringly obvious tell.

Eddie might have a deviated septum, Tommy thinks to himself - wonders if anyone has ever pointed out to him that his snores are kind of concerning - and Evan snorts against Tommy's chest, his lips curving up right under Tommy's nipple, and it's been a week and a half, and there's been so much going on, and Tommy hasn't brought it up because they're mourning, they're figuring things out, they're sleeping in Eddie's old bedroom while Eddie snores on the couch even though Tommy has a perfectly serviceable bed of his own thirty minutes away.

Evan shifts against his leg, and Tommy raises a brow when he repeats the motion, hips circling, pelvis rucking back and forth, the quiet moment of grief switching gears as Evan ruts against Tommy's thigh.

"Evan," Tommy hisses, blinking rapidly when, a moment later, Evan tilts his head to latch on to a nipple. "Jesus Ch-."

"Shh," Evan hums, and tilts his face up to meet Tommy's gaze. Mischievous, devilish, radiant as the sun.

Eddie's snore stutters, volume increasing until the sound stops altogether, and in the dead silence Evan hitches his leg up, rolls his hips, curls his fingers into the bare skin beneath the hem of Tommy's sleep shirt.

"He's still asleep," Evan assures him, and Tommy can't help the tingly feeling along his spine when Evan smirks back at him.

There are a thousand reasons not to. Starting with "sex is always a great distraction for us when we have bigger issues", meandering into "the man you consider a father just sacrificed his life to save mine and we haven't talked about it", landing somewhere around "your relationship with the man snoring down the hall makes the green monster residing in the pit of my stomach loud and angry".

"Evan," he hums again, and watches the furrow between Evan's brow deepen. This, he's learned, is a sign. A sign that Evan Buckley is working his way towards anger, annoyance, outright desperation.

Evan pulls himself loose. Shifts his weight. Turns over to his back, knocks his head against the pillow a few times. "Fine. Whatever."

Tommy feels cold without the weight of Evan against him. Feels cold when confronted with the chill in Evan's gaze before he closes his eyes.

Eddie's snore breaks the silence, and Evan twists to face Tommy again. "Do you just not want to have sex with me?"

It's a stage whisper, at best, and they hadn't bothered to close the bedroom door so there's every chance Eddie could wake up and hear a whole conversation, instead of murmurs behind a door.

They're in Eddie's bedroom. Former bedroom. Whatever.

He wants to believe Evan when he says there isn't anything there, but the problem is even if it's completely platonic from both ends of the equation Tommy still feels like second fiddle. Still feels like he'll never stack up to almost eight years of a friendship forged in blood and sweat. Still feels like the man down the hall could snap his fingers and steal away this tiny sliver of happiness Tommy is trying to allow himself to have.

It doesn't matter if Eddie would. Just that he could.

Tommy opens his mouth. Closes it. Rolls his jaw and fights the urge to bolt.

"Tommy."

Snappish isn't a word Tommy would have used to describe Evan, before. Bratty, maybe, and fully aware of it, but Tommy has always enjoyed that, indulged it, fed into it because oftentimes it ended with one or both of them panting and sated. The tone has changed. He's not playing games, this time around, not dancing around the issue the way both of them had before.

Tommy shifts to face Evan. Thinks about the way his stomach had twisted, earlier tonight, watching Evan and Eddie slide around each other in the kitchen, working as a unit while they recalled fond, bittersweet memories. The annoyance in Evan's eyes snaps, at whatever he sees in Tommy's gaze, the brows furrowing a different way now as he slips a hand across the sheets to slide over Tommy's neck.

"I'm...overwhelmed," Tommy admits, as the space between their faces gets smaller, Evan sliding closer to gap the distance. "You just spent an hour crying, Evan, my mind wasn't really -." He pauses. Forces his hands to unclench, tries not to let the tremor in them be too noticeable as he grabs for a fistful of Evan's basketball shorts to tug him close. "Of course I want to have sex with you," he murmurs, and ignores the way Evans breath hitches, the way his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. "I'm almost never not interested in having sex with you."

Evan's tired, he can tell. Crying about your dead dad for an hour really takes it out of you. He's tired enough that he has to mull the sentence over for a minute, and Tommy considers rewording without any double negatives in the mix. They're not great at communicating.

Sex was always easier.

He doesn't know how to bring that up without pissing Evan off.

"So this is... one of those rare times you don't." It's not quite a question, and there's a bit of a huff to the end of it, like Evan is also badly attempting to keep the peace.

He's in his own head, is what it is. Eddie'd gotten the fun, fond reminiscences, the tearful laughter, and Tommy had been there too, had even told them some stories they'd never heard before.

But Tommy had gotten fried, sad, heartbroken Evan, clutching at Tommy like he was afraid he'd disappear. He'd gotten the full scope of Evan's hurt, anger, loss, and he doesn't quite know what to make of the difference. If there is one. If it even matters who gets which parts of Evan. Not when Tommy wants it all.

(You got both, he reminds himself, and tries to convince himself that was always the case.)

"Feels like I'm taking advantage of the circumstances," Tommy whispers, now that the space between them has dwindled enough to know he'll still be heard that way.

Eddie's snores pick up volume. Maybe it's the couch? That thing isn't exactly the most comfortable to sleep on.

Tommy remembers the Boils debacle, and takes a moment to remind himself how fucking grateful he'd been to see Eddie in the aftermath, when Evan was so stone-cold with grief Tommy hadn't known where to even find a fissure to break him loose.

That's the worst of it. How grateful he feels, knowing Evan's people are here for him. How he can't sort the gratitude from the envy.

Evan sits up, jostling Tommy's arm free, his own hands retreating from Tommy's skin, and Tommy's ninety-three percent certain he's about to leave, but instead he takes two strides to the door. It swings silently on its hinges, snicks closed.

Evan settles back onto the bed in a sitting position, criss cross applesauce with a hand held over his ankle, and Tommy feels exposed, lying in repose.

Which is how he's supposed to feel, he reminds himself. If they want this to work - if Tommy wants this to work - they're both going to have to say and do things that make them feel cracked open and vulnerable.

Closing the door on Eddie was Evan's concession. Tommy should return the favor.

"Everything is - is so messed up," Evan starts. "I don't know how long Eddie is staying, and I don't know what I'm gonna do the first time I walk through the bay doors and Bobby isn't -." His words catch in his throat. More tears well at the corners of his eyes and Tommy wants to reach out, wipe them away, comfort him. "And I don't know where we stand because you're - you're here, and you said some words, and you hold me when I'm sad but you won't - you're not -." He trails off, frustrated. "I can't just drown in grief, Tommy. I need to - I have to -" The noise he makes is so self deprecating Tommy wants to soothe it away. Smash it with a hammer once it's back is turned. "I want to have a life, Tommy. And, yeah, maybe not the most appropriate time to be feeling so freaking horny, but I'm not exactly the picture of mental health on a good day."

The laugh escapes his throat before he can help it. A snort follows, and then a peel of something closer to a giggle, and before Tommy knows it he's in fucking stitches, leaning his weight on his knees in a desperate attempt to calm down, except now Evan is laughing, too, infectious, boisterous, the laugh that had pulled Tommy in, hook line and sinker, over a year ago now.

"It's not -." Evan presses fingers to his eyes, tries to look serious, fails miserably. "It's not like Bobby would expect me to grieve any other way."

That sobers Tommy up in a hurry, because he hasn't found the right time to tell Evan exactly what happened there at the end. And Evan hasn't asked.

Also. He has no fucking clue what Evan means.

"What?"

Evan blinks. Purses his lips. Raises a hand, waits for Tommy to do the same so they can press their palms together. It's new, and Tommy isn't feeling particularly great about its origin, but it's worked to settle them on even ground for a few of the rougher conversations they've had since... Since.

"In the interest of full disclosure, I'm a reformed slut."

Tommy hates the word, hates the joking way the words tip from Evans lips. But. They'd said they wanted to get to know each other, and then spent six months not doing that. He can work on the language later.

"Bobby fired me once," he says, and it's soft, quiet, tinged with a kind of bittersweet amusement that Tommy would spend years trying to understand. "For stealing the ladder to hook up with a girl from a call on a roof."

Tommy blinks. Tommy swallows. Tommy's brow furrows in when he bites his lip.

"I'm - I use sex. I know I do. As a distraction, as a crappy way of trying to communicate my feelings, as a desperate attempt to feel, like... important. It's - I'm better, now, but I know it's still..." He sighs, fingers drifting, sliding to wrap around Tommy's wrist. "I want to be close to you right now, and I'm also sad, and I also really, really want you to put your dick in me."

"You have such a way with words," Tommy jokes, and then pauses when the expression on Evan's face plummets. Honesty. Openness. Vulnerability.

Shit.

"Full disclosure? I'm gonna try everything I can to make you loud. And I have a funny feeling that's gonna piss you off."

It takes him half as long as the last time to figure out what Tommy isn't saying. The head tilt is unexpected. So is the smirk tucked behind his wagging tongue. "Seriously?" he asks, and one hand twists into the fabric at Tommy's knee before it slides up, up.

"I never claimed to be a rational man."

He hasn't claimed to be an insane one, either, but the evidence sure is stacking up.

"But you're still here," Evan points out, and Tommy doesn't have many rational thoughts left - not with Evan's hand still travelling, or the thought of waking Eddie up percolating in Tommy's hindbrain.

Tommy realizes for maybe the first time in a week that he has his own house. That Eddie could have stayed here, and he and Evan could have made it work for a few days somewhere else. Had he ever even thought to suggest it?

"I'm still here," Tommy murmurs, and presses in to catch Evan's bottom lip between his teeth.

---

"Ow."

The banana bounces off the side of his head, wobbles in the air, hits the corner of the counter at an angle and makes an unappealing squished noise as it finds the floor.

Eddie gives him the bitchiest look Tommy's seen a straight man make in years.

(Has to remind himself he's feeding into stereotypes he's been trying to shed his entire fucking life.)

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, and Tommy has the decency to scrounge up a blush at the tips of his ears. Once they'd really gotten into it, Tommy'd sort of forgotten his threat, but clearly he'd made it happen anyway, if the stink eye he's receiving is anything to go by. Tommy shouldn't feel so smug. Maybe one day he'll get over it.

He's trying to decide between contrition he doesn't feel, and a snide comment that will definitely go over Eddie's head, when Evan stomps his way into the kitchen holding the stray sock he's been complaining about no one picking up from behind the bathroom door for four days now. He's got it pinched between forefinger and thumb, held out and away like they're fifteen and he knows exactly what that sock has been used for, when in reality one of them definitely gathered up dirty clothes and just missed it in the dash to get out and allow someone else the lone shower in the place.

Tommy makes a mental note to remind Evan that if they wanted free reign of a bathroom, his is more than serviceable.

"Three days," Evan says, and waves the sock in Eddie's face. If his expression is anything to go by, it doesn't smell like roses. "Three days I've been asking -."

Tommy interrupts, "Four, actually, but babe, that's definitely your sock."

Eddie manages to mouth a teasing 'Babe' back at Tommy while Evan turns a thunderous look on him. "It is not."

He says "not" like there are three syllables in the word, and Tommy has to choke down the urge to smack the hand holding the sock away and press him against the kitchen table for a kiss.

This he knows. This he's familiar with - the argumentative banter that usually led to them being late somewhere. He's glad they haven't lost it entirely. He's glad Evan isn't drowning, like he's been worried he might.

"How would you know, anyway? You been peeking in Eddie's sock drawer?" It's - oh, it's a challenge, a tease, just a slight nudge of a reminder that Evan had been jealous, too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but they've both been there.

"Technically it's a sock section of a duffle bag," Eddie points out, and Tommy would love to throw all caution to the wind and lift Evan up on that fucking counter right now, maybe resolve the jealousy issues with an audience. Eddie seems to realize he's lost both of their focuses. "Yeah, I'm gonna just. Go be somewhere not here."

"Without rinsing your dirty dishes?" Evan asks, and just like that, they're off again.

Christ.

The two of them living together would be a goddamn nightmare.

Tommy settles in to watch them squabble, and wonders if Bobby would consider his promise to take care of Evan satisfied.

[queermccoy]

sometimes media literacy isn't just analyzing the texts but understanding what the text is to begin with

[queermccoy]

7x05 / 8x11

[queermccoy]

shannon diaz has the strength of an army the way she survived five years as a single mom with the diazes looking over her shoulders. she was 19, just had a kid, her boyfriendhusband, who she married in a shot-gun wedding just a few months ago, was on the other side of the planet getting shot at in a desert, and then her kid's diagnosed with cp and she has to figure out treatment plans all on her own, and her best friendhusband, who's home for the first time in ages, makes choices without talking to her, no one is fucking talking to her, and her in-laws keep underhandedly telling her she's doing a bad job, that she should just give her kid to them, so even relying on that bit of extra childcare feels like giving up, admitting that she's a bad mother, a bad wife, and then suddenly her mom's dying 800 miles away, and then her husband's dying in some distant desert, and she doesn't know what to do, what can she even do, she's alone with her kid and her in-laws who act like it's her fault their son got shot and there's no one to talk to about any of this, and when her partnerhusband is finally home, this place doesn't feel like home anymore to her, never really has felt like home in the first place, but when she asks him to leave with her, just their little family and the road, move to LA so she can be with her dying mother, he says no, asks for time when she's given him five long years of her life, clings to this graveyard of a house that he hasn't properly lived in for years and yet somehow never left, and they can't talk about it because they don't ever talk anymore, they only fight, and this house, this town, these people, it's all killing her inside, and she knows if she stays now, she won't just lose her mother 800 miles west, she'll lose what little is left of herself as well, and her kid's in good hands now, she was a bad mother anyway, a bad wife, everyone said so, no one will mind if she leaves, no one will care, maybe they'll be happy actually, maybe this is one last good, strong thing she can do for them, selfish and selfless in equal measure, and so she leaves in the middle of the night because she knows what she's doing is unforgiveable, knows what it's like to be left, knows the hell she's leaving them in

[queermccoy]