#eddie diaz is not a violent asshole | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extasiswings · 3 years

Note

"Offer Me" for Buddie :D

Technically this prompt was about giving a gift, but you know how I like to get metaphorical. Also, I understand that it's TV and therefore that they can and will insist on introducing debilitating trauma and then pretending it doesn't exist until it becomes plot relevant again, but if these writers don't stop putting Eddie in hugely triggering situations for his PTSD and not addressing it at all they're gonna catch these hands. Post-4x11.

Eddie makes it through the end of the shift by sheer force of will. And then, when he gets home to a dark, empty house—Christopher wanted to spend some time with Isabel so he’s staying at her house for a few days—

He makes it as far as the kitchen before everything he’s been holding back slams into him at once and has him retching into the sink.

Fuck. Fuck.

It’s not that they never end up around guns on shifts. Sometimes things happen. Hell, Eddie can remember all too well holding a line while Buck talked down a woman hanging out on a freeway sign who had a gun. Things happen.

But that’s different from what happened earlier. They’re not cops. They’re firefighters. They’re medics. People aren’t usually shooting at them. Being pinned down in a shipping container by gunfire, surrounded by his team, trying to keep a patient alive—

Eddie spits into the sink again as he shudders, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and the back of his neck. His hands grip the counter tight, the edge digging into the palms, giving him something solid to focus on.

"ETA six minutes."

"We don’t have six minutes."

"Diaz—"

Eddie forces himself to take deep breaths and lets his gaze flick over the kitchen, cataloguing everything that’s out in the open. He’s in his house in Los Angeles. He’s not in Afghanistan. He’s not fighting a war.

He’s not fighting for his life.

And it was fine. Earlier. No one was hurt. They got the girl to the hospital. The asshole who kidnapped her was arrested.

"Diaz—"

No one was shot.

He’s alive. He’s fine.

They got the girl to the hospital.

They got her to the hospital.

Eddie’s eyes burn as the panic slowly begins to recede. He releases the counter and drags a hand over his jaw, exhaling shakily. For a minute he just stands there—the echoes of gunshots slowly fade from his ears—but finally he flicks on the sink to rinse his mouth and splashes water on his face for good measure. He’s just shut it off again when his phone rings. The sound is abrupt and jarring in the silence of the house—he flinches at the suddenness and yanks it out of his pocket.

“Hello?” Eddie answers without looking at the id, wincing at how rough his voice sounds.

“Eddie.” Buck’s voice is a relieved sigh. “Hey.”

Eddie’s pulse is still too fast, albeit slower than it had been. He pads out of the kitchen and collapses on the living room couch, stretching out and closing his eyes.

“Did I hear Bobby right that you got arrested today?” He asks as exhaustion settles into his very bones. His hand rests on his chest, over his heart, so he can feel the steady thrum level out to normal—it beats a tattoo of alive, alive, alive against his skin.

“Okay, I wasn’t arrested, Athena just stuck me in an interrogation room for a couple hours to keep an eye on me. And I still helped solve the case!”

Eddie’s lips curve up despite himself. He hadn’t planned on talking to anyone tonight, had dodged Bobby’s concerned looks to avoid getting pulled into conversation before he left the station, clenching his hands so no one would see them shake. He hadn’t wanted to talk. But he hadn’t really been thinking clearly either about the reality of coming home to empty space. To silence. Left entirely alone with his own head.

“Yeah...that still sounds kind of like you were arrested to me. But you were probably having more fun than we were.”

Buck’s quiet for a moment before he clears his throat.

“Chim said you guys were shot at in the container yard.”

Eddie swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, for a couple minutes.”

“Are you okay?”

The way Eddie’s stomach twists at the question, at the softness in Buck’s voice, isn’t the same as the roiling nausea that gripped him before. It’s not entirely comfortable—but then it never is when he feels like this. Vulnerable. Exposed. Because he knows why Buck’s asking.

They lived together for months during the second wave of the pandemic. It was a stressful time, and god knows Eddie hadn’t always slept easily.

Buck hadn’t shied away. Not once. Hadn’t judged. Hadn’t demanded explanations—which is why Eddie gave him one anyway.

Buck just listened every time. Listened until Eddie couldn’t wrap his tongue around words anymore and then wrapped his arms around Eddie instead, listing off random facts about anxiety and skin pressure depressing the central nervous system, and maybe Eddie wouldn’t have let Buck hold him out of pity but if it was for science well—

So. He knows why Buck’s asking. What Buck’s thinking.

“Not really,” he admits after a long stretch of silence. “But I will be.”

Buck makes a quiet sound over the line.

"I should have been there—"

“No,” Eddie interrupts, because being trapped with everyone else had been bad enough, but the thought of being in that situation with Buck? Makes something in him recoil violently. “You’re allowed to take a day off, Buck. Don’t do that to yourself. Nobody got hurt and you being there wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Buck sighs, but accepts that.

"Christopher’s at Isabel’s, right?" He asks. "Do you want me to come over? Or—"

Buck seems to trip over his words for some reason Eddie can’t quite understand.

"—I guess you could call Ana—"

“No.” Another recoil. Buck is one thing. Buck is safe, Buck has seen all of his raw, dark, ugly places and Eddie has seen Buck’s. Ana—they’re nowhere close to being there. He would sooner go throw up again than let her in like that.

Eddie swallows again. Takes another deep breath. He hates asking for anything, but—

“Would you—would you just talk? You don’t have to come over, I’m pretty wiped anyway, but...you could talk for a little. I don’t really care what about.”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Eddie falls asleep on the couch with Buck’s voice in his ear. And he blessedly doesn’t dream.

#chapel writes #buddie #prompt fill #buddie fic

180 notes · View notes

garcia-flynn-deserved-better · 3 years

Text

If you hate Eddie Diaz this much, if you think he is an asshole, abusive, selfish, violent, negligent, lacks commitment ... why the fuck do you ship him with your fave?

If he truly were all of these things, why do you want him to be the one who ends up with Buck?? Don't you want someone better for your precious baby?

Make it make sense.

95 notes · View notes

captain-hen · 3 years

Text

there ain’t nothing common about us

a/n: some much needed comfort after all the hurt the fandom has put itself through this past week :)

aO3

title courtesy of @malikjavaddzayn, thank goodness she isn't as indecisive as i am!

tagging some people who may be interested: @evaneddie @diazalex @buttercupbuck @diazseddie @firefighter-diaz (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from my tag list!)

When Eddie wakes, it is violently and with a tortured gasp as he abruptly sits up in bed, the sheets tangled around him. He covers his face with his left hand for a moment, breathing heavily, fighting back the sobs that threaten to spring free, his body shaking like a leaf.

It isn’t the first time he’s woken up like since he was discharged from the hospital with a sling around his right shoulder and an acute sense of fear and paranoia that followed him even into the safety of his own home. It has been almost a month, but the nightmares wake Eddie almost every night, varying in degrees of severity. The first two weeks were the worst, reaching the peak when he screamed in his sleep loud enough to wake Christopher, leaving the boy shaken and terrified.

Eddie put Chris into therapy the next day, and started working on waking himself up before the nightmares could get out of hand. The last thing he wants to do his traumatize his son even more than he already is, Chris has been through far too much at such a young age.

The dreams seem to blend together most of the time, memories of Afghanistan and the shooting, making the lines between the two blurry and unrecognizable. Sometimes, he’ll see the bodies of his fellow soldiers scattered around him on a sunny street in LA. And other times, he’s in the inky-black darkness of the desert, reaching out for Buck, who seems impossibly far away, covered with sand and blood.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Eddie reaches for his phone, wincing as the movement jostles his right shoulder. It’s 2 AM. Wonderful.

He tiptoes down the hallway to Chris’ room, cracking the door open just enough to see the shape of his son under the covers, sleeping peacefully. The sight makes something settle in his chest, the something that has been left askew after every single nightmare. He is here. He is safe. Christopher is safe. He didn’t leave him (again). They’ll be alright, eventually.

How pathetic is it that even after a month, he still needs to remind himself of it almost daily?

Eddie returns to his room and sits back down on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he feels a wave of bone-deep exhaustion wash over him. Between the PT and Chris’ therapy and occasional nightmares and his own nightmares, Eddie needs all the rest he can get. But he never can go back to sleep after waking up from an episode and. Well.

Maybe he should start going back to therapy, too. Eddie knows he’ll have to, eventually, to be cleared for duty. But before that, he still needs to get himself together. For Chris’ sake, if nothing else. He just—he can’t stand the thought of talking to some stranger about what happened, though. The only person he has been able to talk to so far is Buck.

Buck. He’s been a rock throughout this whole process, the entirety of the 118 has, really. Buck, though? He’s just been around, somehow more entwined in their lives than before, cooking meals, helping out Eddie with chores around the house, watching Chris when Eddie needs his rest. And coming from anyone else, it would make Eddie bristle, would make him protest that he doesn’t need all this extra help, to be treated like an invalid, but it never feels like that with Buck. Never has. He’s just…there, sometimes spending more time in Eddie’s house than his own apartment, putting up with Eddie’s occasional bursts of temper on harder days. He doesn’t allow Eddie to push him away, and Eddie thinks there’s nothing more he is grateful for, really.

Eddie is dialing Buck’s number before he can stop himself. While the two of them have talked about the incident, briefly, Eddie has never told him about the nightmares. He knows Buck blames himself, still, because he has a guilt complex possibly larger than Eddie’s own and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t want to be a burden. He should be able to deal with this himself. He did deal with it alone, after returning from Afghanistan. Why is this time so different?

Buck answers on the third ring. “Hey,” He doesn’t sound surprised or panicked at receiving a late-night call from Eddie. He doesn’t even sound like he’s been startled out of sleep, but Eddie feels the need to apologize anyway.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” He says, guilt feeling like lead in his stomach.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t asleep,” Buck says and before Eddie can wonder why, he’s asking, “Is everything alright?”

Eddie opens his mouth to answer and nothing comes out. He feels frustrated tears prick at his eyes and he exhales deeply, trying to hold them in.

“Eddie?” Buck sounds more concerned now, and Eddie can hear a rustling noise, like he’s sitting up.

“Sorry, yeah,” Eddie manages to get out, wondering if his voice sounds as wrecked to Buck as it does to him. “I, um—” Might as well just rip the bandage off and get it over with. “Nightmares.” He says, finally.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, his voice taking on a softer, consoling lilt. He doesn’t sound surprised. Eddie doesn’t know why he expected him to be.

“It’s just—” Eddie breathes out harshly, gripping the phone harder. “I just can’t fucking sleep. It’s almost every night, I just keep reliving that day over and over and it never stops and I should be over it by now, right? And I should be able to hold it together, for Chris, he deserves so much better, but—God. It’s too much.”

“Have you considered going back to see Frank?” Buck asks, carefully. Eddie sighs.

“I did. I mean, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? I need to get better, and Chris—”

“But this isn’t about Chris, Eddie,” Buck interrupts, almost sharply. “You should want to get better for yourself, too. I mean, you were shot. In broad daylight, with zero warning—” he cuts himself off for a moment and Eddie can hear him exhale roughly over the line. “No one expects you to just bounce back. Trauma doesn’t exactly have a time limit, you know. You need to do what’s best for you.”

And Eddie can suddenly remember Carla’s words in that moment—Make sure you’re following your heart instead of Christopher’s—and wants to laugh hysterically at the irony of it. He knew then that Carla had a point—it’s why he broke up with Ana—and he knows that Buck has a point, too. But it isn’t as easy as it sounds.

“I’m not sure I know how.” He confesses.

“I know,” Buck says, softly, and sighs. “You always put Chris first, Eddie, that’s who you are, and that’s why I—”

Eddie holds his breath for a second. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting.

“Anyway,” Buck says, after too long a pause and Eddie deflates slightly. “You’re important too, Eddie. I wish you could see that. I wish you could—you could see yourself the way I see you.”

And how do you see me? Eddie wants to ask, but doesn’t dare. Things have changed since the shooting—there’s no way they couldn’t—and he feels like he and Buck have been hovering on the edge of a precipice, something electric and alien sparking between them. There isn’t a word for it, and neither of them have done anything about it. They’re really not in any state to do so. But lord, is Eddie tempted, sometimes.

“Why were you awake, anyway?” Eddie asks, wanting to break the thick tension that has suddenly formed. Buck sighs, like he was afraid he would ask.

“Nightmares,” He says, clearly trying to sound casual, but a waver in his voice gives him away.

Eddie’s chest clenches. “I’m sorry.”

Buck lets out a wet-sounding chuckles and Eddie hates the idea of it, him having nightmares all alone in that apartment. “Only you would apologize for getting shot, Eddie.”

“Come over,” Eddie says, before he can stop himself. “I know it’s late, but—I don’t think either of us should be alone right now.”

There’s a lengthy pause and Eddie almost wants to take it back but Buck, mercifully, speaks. “Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yes.” Is what Eddie says. I always want you here, is what he doesn’t dare to say.

Buck pauses again. Then—

“I’m on my way.”

Eddie turns off his phone and waits in the darkness for Buck to arrive. The moment he hears the key turn in the lock, he exhales a relieved breath and manages to smile when Buck appears in the doorway of the bedroom, hovering hesitantly, as though he expects that now he’s here, Eddie will change his mind and kick him out.

Eddie tries to sound exasperated, but it comes out sounding fond. “Buck, I really hope you didn’t come all the way here in the middle of the night just to crash on the couch.”

That makes him laugh and eases some of the tension from his shoulders. Kicking off his shoes, Buck moves over to the other side of the bed and lays down over the covers on his side, facing Eddie.

It should be uncomfortable, this level of intense intimacy that hasn’t been present in their relationship before. But right now, Eddie feels the most comfortable and relaxed he has in a while and he can only hope that Buck feels the same way, too. He reaches out, a little tentatively, to take Buck’s hand in his.

The other man stiffens slightly and he looks at Eddie with something like wonder in his eyes.

“Don’t make this weird, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, hoping to break some of the tension. It works, and Buck lets out a startled chuckle.

“God, you’re such an asshole.” But he complies, slotting his fingers through Eddie’s and squeezing tight. Eddie can remember him doing it in the firetruck on the way to the hospital and he swallows. He’s glad he has a better memory to replace that with.

Eddie closes his eyes, feeling a hazy, soft, sort of comfort settle into his bones, with Buck’s touch and just him, there, so close by. He can’t help but wonder why it took them so long, to give each other the comfort they each need.

“Buck?” He murmurs, without opening his eyes. Buck hums in reply. It feels strangely domestic and makes Eddie’s heart beat a little faster.

“I think I will go to see Frank,” He says. “But for myself, this time.”

Eddie can’t see Buck’s face when he replies, but can hear it, the tender, proud smile in his voice. “I’m so glad, Eddie.” He says, his voice cracking a little bit.

If Buck says anything after that, Eddie can’t hear it, as sleep pulls him under into the most restful night he’s had yet. And when he wakes in the morning, Buck curled around him, his face peaceful and serene in the golden sunlight, Eddie can revel in the fact that the feeling was mutual.

#911 fox #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #dailybuddie #neethu writes #otp: you two have an adorable son

130 notes · View notes

himbo-buckley · 4 years

Text

Eddie Diaz and his violent arc

Alright guys, so this has been in my mind for a while now and while I am unsure if it even matters to talk about it now because he might not even be in Season 4, I don’t think I’ll get this out of my brain, so here! Have a rant:

alternative title: Catharsis hypothesis and anger as a secondary emotion

Which, if any of you had some psychology already says everything but for those who didn’t; here is what I mean by that:

First off: the catharsis hypothesis

I’m not gonna link any background info on this but basically what it comes down to is the assumption that through sport we can express emotions such as anger and get rid of them, especially through violent sports such as boxing OR MMA. They can be used to purge our pent up emotions

Which is very wrong and why as a social worker I once spent an hour arguing with a colleague about sending a boy (because it’s always boys because of something I will get to in a minute) to one of those box camps to help with his (anger) issues ... because they don’t work or they do but not because of the reasons people think

Anyways, the other thing connected to this is the idea that anger is only a secondary emotion, as some psychological schools teach. It basically means anytime we are angry there is another underlying emotion at work - like you are sad but you don’t know how to express your sadness so you turn angry instead because you know how to express that (and this is why it’s most often a problem in boys because we do not teach them how to handle their emotions because boys aren’t allowed to cry so they become violent and angry instead)

And to connect the dots back to Eddie:

Eddie was sad in 3a about Shannon dying and his son having nightmares and his best friend abandoning him and he didn’t know how to express that any other way than anger and because of his army training and his father’s teachings and Lena leading him there he tried to purge that anger through street fighting

And I think that’s all I wanted to say?

Oh, no, wait:

EDDIE DIAZ IS NOT A VIOLENT ASSHOLE HE JUST HASN’T LEARNED TO DEAL WITH HIS EMOTIONS IN A HEALTHY WAY AND THAT BOY LOST TWO PEOPLE HE LOVED IN A VERY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME AND COULDN’T LET HIMSELF GRIEVE BECAUSE HE THOUGHT HE NEEDED TO BE STRONG FOR HIS SON AND HE KEPT NEARLY LOSING BUCK AND THEN THE TSUNAMI HAPPENED AND THE LAWSUIT SO HE SORT OF ACTUALLY LOST BUCK AND HE NEARLY LOST HIS SON AND IDK ABOUT YOU GUYS BUT TO ME THAT SEEMS LIKE A LOT IN LIKE HALF A YEAR SO MAYBE CUT THE GUY SOME SLACK???

Now I’m done

#eddie diaz #eddie meta #eddie diaz is not a violent asshole #911 meta #911 #911 fox #textpost #mine #meta #is this meta or just a rant with some poorly explained psychological ideas?#lol #my meta

43 notes · View notes