#its either buddie

[poughkeepsies]

the thing about the love interests is that ultimately (like tim has said before re: LS) when you're writing a show about first responders it's hard to include anyone who ISN'T a first responder in a really substantial way because it's just. not the nature of the show. the only (adult) regular to not be a FR in six seasons was michael and even then the personal plots that were "his" (coming out, getting cancer, etc) were mostly about how they impacted athena and bobby and the grant-nash family dynamic as a whole (and I would argue that the writers have even been struggling to incorporate dispatch into the action over the past couple seasons too). so if we want love interests that have the potential to be multi-faceted with their own significant storylines then they need to be FRs as well. and that's why luck 🍀 can should must and will win thank you for coming to my ted talk

you're so fucking right and this is literally the exact reason why I wrote luck truthers (population: britt) were the only ones right all along I just didn't explain my train of thought

[bloominglegumes]

i love normal guys doomed by the narrative

[ciderjacks]

despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,

theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.

[nonbinoclard]

they could never make me hate you, miss oranje

[moeblob]

North and Simon: (shaking hands on killing Simon potentially)

[stagefoureddiediaz]

As so many of you are filling my inbox asking about salad and why I found the fact they had two types of salad for dinner in the Buck and Tommy dinner scene so funny, I'm guessing you're new to the 911 fandom - Welcome if so! I am going to give you a very brief rundown of salad and Buck and Eddies various relationships, but @clusterbuck is actually the keeper of salad theory and you can find far more detailed analysis over on her blog than you’re getting from me here!!

I can't find gif of the actual salad moments so have pictures!!

Chris smashed salad bowl that he is making a salad in with his dad in season 4 (in Breaking point) - when he finds out about Ana being the person Eddie is dating.

We have Ana turn up at the firehouse with Chris during the black out in 5x02 with 5 - yes 5 - types of salad When Eddie has his second on screen panic about Ana - when Ravi mistakes her for his wife.

Then in 5x03 just before they break up - Eddie, Chris, and Ana are at the dining table in the Diaz house and they are eating fruit salad

Then in 5x05 we have Taylor with her prepackaged fruit salad breakfast the she has 'made' for Buck when he gets home

she is making a bean salad in 5x09 during the most awkward I love you scene in the history of television!

Then we have a caprese salad in front of Natalia during the Dinner Buck cooked for her in 5x17 - when she finds out about various aspects of Bucks past and present - Taylor on the tv and Kameron turns up

Then in 7x07 - when Eddie is daydreaming of a do over with Shannon during his lunch with Marisol they are eating a salad

then we now have Buck and Tommy eating two different types of salad (a pasta salad and a salad salad) on their dinner date

so basically it's become a bit of a running joke that if salad is involved with Buck or Eddie and one of their dates (especially in their own homes) , the relationship is doomed!

[sforzesco]

TRY AGAIN LATER

it's like. well. its several things.

(Plutarch's Crassus, trans. Warner)

and also this

(ibid.)

that compliment sounds like an insult, baby.

anyway, there's a fun kind of eroticism in being given everything, in taking things that aren't yours without any real consequence, in climbing towards becoming a Roman Alexander, only for one man to deny you, over and over and over again, at every turn. Sulla tried, Crassus did it better. who would put a butcher in their place? who else knows you well enough to do it? who else can match you step for step like this? doesn't it feel like a kind of intimacy, a kind of—

it's also about the 'even sulla kissed my sword/so you want me on my knees too?' innuendo was too good to pass up. that was actually the first line I wrote, I figured out the rest of this to justify making a comic with it

and finally! the sword line is referencing/playing off of Lucan's Pharsalia a little bit because it fucks hard

(Lucan's Pharsalia, trans. Jane Wilson Joyce)

EDIT: oh, and that's a public domain anatomical illustration of a heart. you know how it is with love and hate.

[gayeddieagenda]

for your consideration… 🍻📽️😳 + 55: tracing the lines on the other’s hand

another scene prompt game! this one is for real long sorryyyyy. also it features the actual smallest amount of blood u can imagine, but it IS there. and it IS plot critical.

--

“You’re right,” Buck called. “They’re all Pokemon.”

“I’m really fine,” Eddie said.

Buck came back into the living room, box of band-aids and Eddie’s first aid kit—not the everyday one, the big one, from way in the back of the cabinet under the sink—in hand. Eddie didn’t even know how he’d known where to find that one. “No,” Buck said. “You’re getting Pokemon.”

Eddie pulled a face.

It really, really was not a big deal. It was a Friday night with no Christopher around—Denny and some mutual friends were doing a video game night and sleepover at the Wilson’s—so Buck had shown up at Eddie’s at seven with takeout from the banh mi place, the good one that he had to drive nearly to Chim and Maddie’s to get. Eddie swung the grocery store after dropping off Chris and picked them up plenty of beer—a pack of Buck’s usual brand and then a weird one, whatever seasonal flavor Eddie could find that he knew Buck would love trying just as much as he would hate actually having to drink it.

They ate at the dining room table, decanting the takeout onto real plates. After cleanup, they settled into the living room couch like they meant to stay there a while. Eddie made a show out of squabbling with Buck over the movie choice, before making just as much of a show out of giving in.

It was a Friday night. It was a well-worn routine, as comfortable as the old t-shirts Eddie had had almost as long as he’d had Christopher. Tonight was the same as every other night they’d had for the past six, seven years. It was pretty much Eddie’s definition of perfect.

Until—

Something happened with the bottle opener. Eddie still wasn’t sure what, only that he’d been trying to open the beer and watch the screen and talk to Buck all at once, and then suddenly something slipped and now he had a shallow scrape running the length of three knuckles on the back of his left hand, weakly leaking blood.

“Hand,” Buck said now. Eddie rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, holding out his hand to Buck.

Buck settled himself back on the couch next to Eddie. He took Eddie’s hand and set it gingerly in his lap. 

Gently, he pressed a cloth against Eddie’s knuckles. Three little spots of blood soaked slowly into it, each smaller than the last.

“See,” Eddie said. “It’s nothing.”

Buck ignored him. When he was satisfied the bleeding had stopped—in Eddie’s opinion, it had barely started—he got the Neosporin spray out of the first aid kit. After the Neosporin was on, it was Pokemon time. Eddie got a Pikachu, a Magikarp, and a round blue guy he didn’t recognize, carefully Tetris’d together to cover the scrapes around the ridges of Eddie’s knuckles.

“Will I make it?” Eddie said drily.

“Consider yourself lucky there was a firefighter in the house,” Buck said.

He was still holding Eddie’s hand.

Neither of them had bothered to pause the movie when Eddie started bleeding. On the screen, a car spun out of control dramatically, then exploded.

Buck turned Eddie’s hand in his, flipping it so his palm was facing the ceiling. His eyes were on the TV. Eddie almost could’ve convinced himself he didn’t realize he was doing it, fidgeting with Eddie’s hand the way he sometimes did with pens or a walkie-talkie at work, if it weren’t for how carefully he was touching Eddie.

Buck’s thumb found the soft center of Eddie’s palm. He ran his thumb up Eddie’s hand, following the curved line that outlined the meat of Eddie’s thumb. His touch was feather-light.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He shivered, and Buck looked up.

“Sorry,” Eddie said.

Buck’s nose crinkled. “I can stop,” he said, not moving.

“I, uh.” Another explosion on the screen, lighting the side of Buck’s face up in orange. “I don’t mind.”

The corners of Buck’s mouth lifted, a smile so small it could barely be called a smile.

He looked down at his lap, where he was still holding Eddie’s hand in both of his own. Eddie followed his gaze.

It was just Eddie’s hand. The lines across his palm showed up clear and mostly unbroken, which his abuela used to tell him meant something. Eddie couldn’t remember what. He had calluses on his palms, some from work, some from the gym. On his index finger, he had a thin scar, a relic of a kitchen chopping mishap when he was twenty.

Buck began moving his thumbs in small circles across Eddie’s palm. He started light, barely brushing Eddie’s skin, so gently that it was almost uncomfortable.

Eddie breathed in slowly through his nose and tried not to move.

When Buck dug his right thumb in a little deeper, right at the joints where Eddie’s fingers connected his palm, where his hands got stiff after a particularly long day, Eddie made a quiet, involuntary noise.

Buck looked up.

This, they didn’t do. They were physical with each other, always had been, in ways that Eddie never thought bore commenting on. They were on top of each other on the job, more often than they weren’t, squeezed in knee-to-knee in the truck and reaching over each other with practiced ease in the field. At home, they were even worse. Fridays had room for a lot of things—for knocking into each other in the kitchen when they cleaned up after dinner and tussling for the best seat on the couch. Elbows bumping together on the couch, hands brushing when Eddie handed Buck another beer. Sometimes, Buck fell asleep on Eddie halfway through the second movie, his head a heavy weight on Eddie’s shoulder. Sometimes, they fought over the remote, wrestling each other on the couch until one of them dragged the other all the way down to the living room rug.

Touching Buck—being touched by Buck—was nothing new to Eddie. This, though…

Eddie could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Eddie had an old feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach—the yawning sense that they were standing on the brink of something.

Somewhere in the back of Eddie’s head, he’d been waiting for something like this. For a moment, when all the things they’d been holding back between the two of them came bubbling up to the surface. He’d never said it outright, not even in his own head, but sometimes, Buck looked at him and Eddie just knew that something was coming. A breaking point. When Buck would look at him and Eddie would look back and they would both know—okay, now. here we go.

This, though—he wasn't sure this felt like it.

This was...this was nothing. This was a Friday night. This was pumpkin beer and Eddie's bandaged knuckles and the stupid action movie still playing on the TV. This was so totally, spectacularly unremarkable.

He’d thought, when it was time, that he would know. It would be something they couldn’t ignore. They both knew what it felt like to experience the world at scale. Earthquakes, tsunamis, fire and lightning. This wasn’t that.

If something as small as Buck holding Eddie’s hand was enough to break open this thing between them, it would’ve happened a long, long time ago.

Wouldn’t it?

Eddie looked down. Buck was still holding Eddie’s hand in his lap, his thumb making little aimless circles in the center of his palm.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked.

Buck stilled. “I don’t know.”

Eddie tried again. “What, uh. What are we doing?”

Buck shook his head, wordlessly.

Eddie tilted his head back up to look at him. His eyes were huge in the half-light, the glow of the TV and the light from the hall he’d left on when he went looking for the first aid kit. They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment.

Then Buck giggled. The tension broke. And suddenly, Eddie wasn’t uncertain anymore.

He closed his hand around Buck’s. Eddie looked at him.

“Okay,” Eddie said quietly. “I’m just gonna…”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Buck all the time in the world to figure out where he was going with this. Buck didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t blink. When Eddie kissed Buck, it was barely a kiss, putting his mouth on Buck’s as lightly as Buck had first touched Eddie’s hand.

Buck made a quiet noise into Eddie’s mouth and then they were kissing for real, Buck pressing into him almost hard enough to knock their teeth together.

It was a good feeling, kissing Buck, the kind of raw good feeling that Eddie couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Maybe he’d never felt something quite like this. Eddie could get lost in this, he was pretty sure, in the closeness, in the feeling of Buck’s mouth opening under his, in the quiet noise Buck made when Eddie put his hand in the short hairs at the back of his neck.

When they finally separated, Buck’s face was flushed a bright red. Eddie had a feeling he looked about the same.

Eddie swallowed. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Was that okay?”

“No, it was awful,” Buck said. “What the hell do you mean, was it okay?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We haven’t done that before, jackass,” he said. “I mean, should we talk about this?”

“Oh,” Buck said. “Sure.” He picked at the hem of his shorts with his free hand, the one that wasn’t still holding Eddie’s hand between them. His eyes flicked down to Eddie’s mouth and back up again. “We can talk, if that’s what you want to do.”

Eddie let out a sigh, faux-exasperated. “Shut up,” he said, and hauled Buck back into a kiss, both of them smiling into it.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. They didn’t stop when the movie credits started rolling or when the TV switched itself off automatically, the room darkening around them. They didn’t stop until Buck had kissed the scars on Eddie’s shoulder and the one on his wrist and the goddamn Pokemon band-aids across his knuckles and a lot of other places besides.

It was a Friday night. They’d had a lot of good Friday nights over the years. Eddie had a feeling this one was going to be pretty hard to beat.

[vyeoh]

ok how do I block tags on mobile because I'm lowkey sick of the 911 shipping war posts

[fauvester]

“because I’ll split this world open and tear down the sky before I let him come to even the slightest harm”

[louisferrignojr]

im gonna say something very controversial here.

i dont want b*ddie ever going canon because i don't want the shippers to be "rewarded" for their insane hateful vile behaviour.

i don't want others outside of the 911 fandom seeing this and pointing it out like "see if we kick up enough of a fuss we'll get our ship canon, let's continue harassing cast and crew and other fans, it'll get us what we want"

like online fandom and shipping culture has already become a fucking toxic lawless wasteland. boundaries? what boundaries? i've been here a long time. it was never this bad. there was never this much kicking and stomping and throwing a prolonged tantrum demanding that a fanon ship must absolutely go canon otherwise it's queerbaiting (and it's not.)

and i'm not even being petty about this. i'm of the "we don't negotiate with terrorists" opinion about this. no, you've been behaving terribly instead of being normal about it. so you don't get canon b*ddie. fuck you.

[saycheeseovenist]

I think about Alicante a lot actually like. Did he know that it was kind of our fault that he almost went bankrupt and that the bears were after him because of us. Like. No because. Like. Hello?? We’re just going to ignore it and sweep over it? And the bears to this day still cause him inconvenience. and he has a daughter. My gosh just properly processing this right now. How do you think he would react if he found out. He thinks of us as his friend now. Maybe he always has and had to put up an act for competition yknow. dont want to get chummy with the guy who moved in right in front of you to steal business when you have a daughter to provide for.

And on another note how many years was Octavia lost/possessed. Like did she accidentally pick up Cheeser’s mannerisms. Is Cicero tip toeing around Octavia and does that hurt Octavias feelings

[leathfaic]

ghost probably went "i sure hope this doesn't awaken anything in me" seeing soap knocked to his knees in front of el sin nombres house but we all know it did

[eddiewithcat]

THE LOOKBACK…

andi mack taught me EVERYTHING i need to know about this.

“if he turns to look back at you, it means he likes you. and not just as a friend”

[daily-hanamura]

[yuridovewing]

hashtag epic cult moment