#hetheybuck
Note
sick + kitchen bc i'm sick in the kitchen <3
combining with "sick + eddie's house" from @cm1031sr
[ao3 link]
Eddie wakes up sweating. The thermostat reads 68 degrees but he wakes up sweating. The alarm on his phone rings and rings and rings, and echoes in his pounding skull long after he shuts off the sound. He’s completely uncovered, the sheets thrown off the bed some time in the night, but he still wakes up sweating.
There’s two options. Two non-options since, although he has a choice, he doesn’t really have a choice. He could shove his face into the pillow and sleep for another three, four, five hours, ignore his life outside these four walls, and wake up to a colder world that doesn’t leave his head throbbing. But it’s five-thirty a.m. on a Friday, Chris needs breakfast and a packed lunch and a ride to school, there’s a terrifying stack of dishes in his sink, and dangerously low stock of groceries. He opts for option two, despite his best wishes.
He slips on a t-shirt and jeans and drags himself into the bathroom. He should’ve showered first, but it’s too late now. The lights are too bright and the counter is too cluttered and there’s some stranger in the mirror, looking too tired and too pale. Eddie brushes some stranger's teeth and pretends to be alright.
“Good morning,” Christopher calls as he walks into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he replies, and pretends to believe it. There’s a sink full of dishes. He decides it can wait.
Sandwiches and lunch boxes, peanut butter toast and packed bags, Eddie follows a routine, albeit, slower than usual. If Chris notices his silence, his tired eyes or heavy head, he says nothing and eats his breakfast instead. The morning passes in a blur and it’s nearly seven-thirty. He has to leave, but there’s still dishes to do.
They’re in the car, and then they’re not. Chris is staring out the windows of the backseat, then he’s not. Eddie kisses him on the forehead, or maybe hugs him or waves goodbye, but Chris is at school and he’s in the car and there’s still dishes to do at home. The A.C. shrieks from his dashboard and he’s shivering, but he’s sweating, and his skull is still pounding and there’s still dishes to do at home.
A car honks at him on his way back, and the sound refuses to leave his head. It’s loud and it thumps, harder, harder. He switches from cold to heat and turns on the seat warmers. He’s shivering and sweating and he still needs to go shopping.
The key gets stuck in the door. He shakes until it finally turns.
There’s a mess of blankets on the couch, evidence of a movie night gone too late. The blinds remain shut and the plants sag by the window, but he couldn’t bring them to life if he tried. Eddie moves to the kitchen and is faced by the morning, by the open cabinets and empty pantry and pile of dirty dishes.
One at a time. He takes it one at a time.
Big dishes soak. Cutlery sorts randomly into the dishwasher. Mugs of yesterday's cocoa form rows on the top rack, dripping through to the bottom.
Scrub, rinse, carry on.
It’s beyond him how two, three people could fill the sink so easily. Plates fill the bottom rack. Bowls stack, unevenly, alongside them. The knives stay in the sink to be washed by hand.
Scrub, rinse, carry on.
He finds a spoon stuck underneath a pot. He finds chopsticks slipping down the drain. Somehow there’s still another mug in the sink.
Scrub, rinse, carry on.
The garbage disposal hisses, and he nearly lets it out down the drain. The pots need to soak and he needs groceries, so that’s exactly what he does.
Despite his behavior, Eddie is a medic, and he knows he must be sick. Fever, headache, cold sweat. A bit of nausea too, but he decides to ignore it. His pantry is still empty and he has a kid to feed. Irresponsible, yes, but there’s no other option.
He finds his way back to the driver's seat, empty grocery bags piled in the passenger’s seat. The sun is bright against his windshield, he can barely see. It’s silent as he drives, it’s for the best. He rolls down the window but no, he refuses to vomit out of it.
The truck rolls to a stop in the parking lot. His phone vibrates in the cupholder.
Buck (10:32am): are you still coming over for lunch?
It shouldn’t be a loaded question, but it is. The truth comes with explanations, but there’s no lying to Buck.
The text goes unopened, he saves the hassle for later. For now, there’s groceries to buy.
He’s grown accustomed to shopping with Buck, who will gladly join him for any and all chores and errands. Even when it’s his groceries, Buck is more organized than him with his checklists and simple patterns, though there’s always a few extra items thrown on top of the cart as they pass through the aisles. There’s jokes and exasperation and Buck, without fail, will always stand on the back of the cart to roll down the cereal aisle when no one's watching.
Eddie tries to follow the same pattern, but it’s duller than usual and the fluorescent lights burn when he turns his head to the top shelf.
If it were Chris who was sick, he would file through the pharmacy in search of cherry cough syrup, the only flavor he can stomach. There’d be a cart full of tissues and soup cans and anything that could ease the pain, even just a bit.
If it were Buck, he would let himself in his apartment and shove him into the shower. He’d wash the sheets and make him lunch and resist the urge to leave a kiss on his forehead, a little sweaty but still sweet.
Eddie bypasses the pharmacy and makes the bold assumption that there’s some sort of medicine at home.
Checkout goes by quietly, he leaves non-responses to the cashier’s small talk and only feels a little guilty about it. He does smile as he leaves though, but remembers too late he’s wearing a mask.
He’s in the car, and then he’s not. He’s shaking and struggling with each breath, but still, he refuses to vomit out the window.
Deep breath in, he takes two handfuls of groceries and adds soreness to his growing list of symptoms. Soreness and nausea and an ever-worsening headache. Deep breath out, he struggles to unlock the door, to turn the handle and key.
It takes several trips to get everything inside, several more than he’d usually take.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. Buck sends another message.
Buck (11:49am): should i take your silence as a no?
Three dots appear and disappear as he opens the message. Yes, he considers, no. It’s confusing, too much to handle for now. Eddie can’t handle truths, but he can handle groceries. He leaves the phone on the counter.
He should stop. He should rummage through some medicine cabinets and lay down and maybe drink a cup of that tea Buck always leaves in the kitchen. He bought an infrared thermometer a few months back, the touchless, forehead ones, but he can’t remember what drawer he left it in and the counter is covered in the reusable grocery bags Buck left behind and never claimed and he did the dishes, he knows he did the dishes, but somehow there’s still dishes in the sink.
He should rest. Eddie unpacks the groceries instead. He can never brew the tea quite right, anyway. Burnt leaves, oversteeped, cold before he can finish his cup. A simple task, and he still can’t get it right.
It’s inevitable, the way he breaks. He wants to laugh because really, it’s hilarious how a sniper blew clean through his shoulder, but a headache and a cold sweat is the thing that breaks him.
Eddie got shot, spent hours, days, weeks bouncing between hospitals, doctors, and physical therapists. He recovered, well enough at least, and came back to work. One panic fed into another and suddenly he was single. Soon after, so was Buck, and they like to pretend it means nothing when surely it means something. Bad days and bad calls, headaches and heartaches, nightmares and pointless daydreams of love and a kinder life.
All the suffering and this is what breaks him: a fever, a pile of groceries, and a sink full of dirty dishes.
His phone vibrates on the counter.
Buck (12:24pm): are you okay?
There’s no good answer. The time difference catches him, the time spent thinking and slowly shifting between the cabinets and the bags on the counter. Eddie knows the truth, but doesn’t know what to say. There’s still so many bags. There’s still dishes in the sink. It’s a mess, it’s all a mess.
Eddie starts to type out a response: I’m fine, I’ll be over soon.
He deletes the message.
I’m fine, but I think I have to cancel.
He deletes the message.
I’m fine.
Three dots flash, then disappear. He deletes the message.
I can’t make it. Sorry.
He barely finishes typing the last word.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
He lies, deletes the message.
I’m trying to get better, but I still see my blood on your hands.
He deletes the message.
I’ll be fine.
He deletes the message. Three dots flash on the left side of the screen.
He tries one more time, nearly pleading: Help.
The phone falls to the floor before he can press send. It’s easy then, to fall along with it. Eddie’s knees hit the floor with a thud, and he’s bent over the trash can, gagging and choking and trying to forget the taste of this morning’s breakfast. The plastic bin shakes as he grips the edge, strong enough to leave his knuckles white and press marks along his palms. His hands are numb and he nearly slips off the edge.
It’s pathetic, really, the way he collapses and spits into the bin. It’s even more pathetic, how he wishes he weren’t alone.
And worse than that, when that bullet tore through his shoulder and left a pool of himself on the pavement, Eddie didn’t cry. He passed out in his best friend’s arms and woke up under a doctor’s care.
When he broke up with his girlfriend in this very kitchen, by the sink, against the fridge, Eddie didn’t cry. They both said goodbye and soon, he forgot they were ever together.
Through and through, he never cried, can’t remember the last time he did. He’s hurling his guts into a plastic bag. A few stray tears fall with it. It’s pathetic. It’s all pathetic. But at least when he was bleeding out, he wasn’t bleeding alone.
His phone vibrates again on the kitchen floor, just out of reach. The vibration continues, either a phone call or a series of texts. The sound resonates through his legs, bent to the side and all sorts of wobbly.
All he wants is to answer the phone, or at the very least, shut off the sound. The shaking doesn’t make him cry, but the combination of the shaking and gagging and dirty dishes is what breaks him.
Footsteps shuffle behind him, but there’s no way he can turn. His forehead stays pressed against the plastic bag, sweat building on his hairline, skin paling by the minute.
“Eddie?” he hears, and then there’s a hand on his back, on his shoulder, pressing soft circles into his skin. Eddie breaks, yet again, at the touch. Choking turns to gasping, and then he’s collapsing sideways into the same arms that carried him off that street.
Buck shifts his arms, gentle hands pressed flat against his back, hugging him close. It’s the only thing keeping him upright, and even then, he can’t help but drop his forehead against his shoulder, hiding his face in the hoodie.
“I got you,” he murmurs, hands tracing up and down his back. There’s still vomit in his mouth and tears in his eyes, but right here, there’s safety. Eddie fists his hands in the back of Buck’s sweatshirt, scared of holding too tight, but terrified of letting go. Buck continues his reassurances, always knowing how to set him at ease. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Years pass before he leans back, or maybe just twenty minutes. There’s too much fog in his head to really tell the difference. Buck traces a hand from his back, over his shoulder, over the scar, up to his forehead. His brows furrow in concern as he checks Eddie’s temperature.
“Do you have a fever?” He asks, voice soft and a little raspy.
“I don’t know.”
“Headache? Cold sweat?” Buck reads through a laundry list of symptoms. “Or a sore throat? Stuffy nose?”
“Some of those,” he mumbles, closing his eyes, biting back the returning wave of nausea.
“Have you taken any meds?”
Eddie shuts his eyes impossibly tighter, falling forward into his chest. “No.”
He can feel the breathy laugh rise from Buck, something between exasperation and disbelief. “For someone who takes care of people for a living, you’re pretty awful at taking care of yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he lies, barely audible. The words struggle against his throat, and he knows Buck can hear the rasp in his voice.
“No, you’re not,” Buck shakes his head, gently pushing Eddie up to look him in the eyes. They’re red and they burn with brightness and tears. “You don’t have to be.”
Eddie shakes his head too, sees stars in his blurring vision, but Buck holds him steady, he always does. There’s a trash can full of vomit, a counter covered in melting groceries, and dishes in the sink. The thought of standing, leaving this tile floor, leaving Buck’s reassuring hands makes him sick all over again.
“No, I’m not,” he admits, choking on his words and the cracks in his voice. Eddie collapses once more. It’s become a regular occurrence, for Buck to catch him the way he does, strong arms and steady hands. There’s bile in his mouth and tear stains on Buck’s hoodie, but he doesn’t seem to mind, still whispering soft assurances into his ear.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes out.
“For what?”
He almost laughs. What is there not to be sorry for? He shakes his head instead, still hidden in the cotton hoodie. “I don’t know.”
And he can feel it, he can feel the twitch of Buck’s face, the gentle smile. He moves a hand to the back of his head, brushing the hair at the back of his neck. “Well, let me know when you figure it out so I can say something like, ‘you have nothing to apologize for,’ and you can go on and say, ‘I’m such a mess,’ or something, and I can tell you, ‘you’re my favorite mess’.” Buck lets out a breath. “Or something like that.”
Eddie looks up so he can see Buck, not just feel, but see him. Maybe it’s just the light, or maybe there’s tears in his eyes too. There’s definitely some worry, and just a bit of fondness. Maybe it’s the fever, or maybe it’s the truth, either way he speaks his mind.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Buck’s breath hitches before a smile graces his face. “You’ll never have to find out.”
And God, it’s unfair how Buck is so effortlessly kind even while he’s throwing up his guts in the trash, and it’s unfair how he can wipe away every last tear and promise him it’ll all be alright, and it’s unfair how he wants to kiss his best friend while his mouth still tastes like bile and acid.
Buck kneels before him, beautiful and warm, and Eddie wants him, wants it all, even when he’s sweating through his shirt.
“I need to put away the groceries,” he says, strained and tired.
“I know.”
“And there’s still dishes.”
“I know.”
“And that tea in the cabinet is only good when you make it,” he admits. Eddie lets out something between a sigh and a laugh. “And I’m such a mess, and I hate that you knew I would say that.”
Eddie’s still holding his sweatshirt, hands somewhere around his waist. His fists are tight, returning to their white knuckle grip. But Buck holds him softly, a light weight against his cheek, thumb pressing away any stray tears that dare to grace his cheekbone.
“You’re my favorite mess,” he says, as promised. Buck’s good at wiping his tears and giving hugs and reaching the top shelves, but he’s even better at keeping promises. “I’ll make that tea everyday for the rest of your life. If you wanted.”
“I don’t even like tea.”
Buck nods. “I know.”
Eddie nods too. No one knows him like Buck. There’s so much he wants, but so much he can’t do. He’s stuck on the floor, still shaky, still sweaty and tired, but he’s not alone. No, he never has been.
“I would kiss you, but I don’t want to get you sick,” he says, and this time he really can blame the honesty on the fever. “And there’s still some vomit in my mouth.”
Buck laughs and presses a soft kiss into Eddie’s hair, letting his lips linger across his scalp. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready,” he assures, his voice echoing softly against his still-throbbing head. For once, Eddie believes him, that it’ll all be alright.
For now, Buck brews a cup of tea and leads him to the couch. He cards his hands through Eddie’s hair until he falls asleep, and he truly believes it’ll all be alright.
all word + place prompt fills can be found here (ao3) and here (tumblr)
#babe im so sorry this prompt was from like. july.#911 fox#911fic#911#otp: two cut lines#buddie fic#userceecee#tusera#userbecky#texas.fic#prompt fills#hetheybuck
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buddie + love languages <3
omg i'm always down to talk about their love languages!!! i think both of them suit a few different ones but i think they each have one big one that stands out (also for the purpose of this hc i'm specifically discussing the kind of love they need/want to receive)
buck is definitely words of affirmation for me. as much as i think acts of service or quality time matter for him - specifically in terms of the act of staying - i think buck needs words. interestingly, i don't think words always necessarily work for him. we've seen bobby, hen and maddie all try to reassure him at different times but it doesn't always seem to sink in (i think it does more so with maddie when the pinky promise is attached). but in the context of his and eddie's relationship, eddie always seems to know what to say to make buck pause. the two obvious examples being "there's no one in this world i trust more with my son than you" and "you act like you're expendable but you're wrong". eddie has learned what to say to him to make buck understand that, as far as their relationship is concerned, he's loved and wanted and needed.
as for eddie, i think acts of service is his biggest one. eddie very much is the kind of person who likes to and tries to handle everything himself. but he definitely sincerely appreciates the support of others. and again, we don't just see this with buck but with carla and bobby also. however with buck, it's such a huge part of their relationship. buck becomes special to eddie because he brings him to pick up chris after the earthquake, because he drives him to the hospital when his aunt breaks her hip, because he tells bobby eddie has to bring chris to the station, because he introduces eddie to carla, because he helps eddie build an accessible skateboard for chris, because he takes care of chris when eddie can't, because "nobody will ever fight for my son as much as you". and i think that has to be overwhelming for eddie and something he's still not entirely sure how to react to????? bc i don't think eddie expects it or is used to it but it must make him feel so special??? to know that buck has chosen to care for him and chris so fiercely, y'know????
send me a word and a ship and i’ll give you a headcanon!
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your tags under my post are sending mee lmao we're rly youtube thumbnail clickbaiting eddie begins 😭
us: i can't believe eddie crawled his way from THE EARTH'S CORE just so he could return to his HUSBAND and SON 😭😭😭 #soulmatism
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g, m, z <3
G - Grade i hated?
god. can i say all of them
M - Milkshake flavour?
strawberry!
Z - Zodiac sign?
sag life
send me a letter
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for the assumptions ask, you are a brunette....? 😳
i’m not! i’m naturally blonde, but for the past nine months i’ve been dyeing my hair ginger and just got highlights put in!!
[put an assumption about me based on my tumblr and i’ll tell you if it’s true or not!]
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hetheybuck ➝ naivety
#url change#for now.......#a part of my consciousness did fracture into hetheybuck so it will probably come back when i miss it too much <3#my brand is very important to me
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Photo
EVAN BUCKLEY ICONS
requested by @hetheybuck
15 non-binary pride icons
250x250
all under the cut
please like or reblog if you use
more on my icon page
#evan buckley#evanbuckleyedit#911 fox#911edit#janielook#usertk#usersara#chaoticresources#allresources#completeresources#dailyresources#iconfrenzy#iconsnetwork#*icons
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with the comfort of a billion stars (and you)
chimney and eddie get high in eddie's backyard and talk about what it means to be a good father
because of @hetheybuck's tags on this post about chimney and eddie being blaze buddies
drug use | sweet conversations | stargazing
1,691 words
AO3 link
Chimney wrapped his arms around himself instinctively as he slipped out into Eddie’s backyard, rubbing his hands rapidly along the tops of his arms as he breathed out, watching his air puff out into the cold like white smoke before quickly dissipating. The bite of the cold air against his skin was a welcome reprieve to the flush brought on by too many bodies in too small of a space.
He thought he was alone for a moment, leveling out his breaths and staring up at the sky, squinting as if he could stare just long enough to actually be able to make out some stars in the black of the LA sky—before he heard another sharp intake of breath from his side. He turned, staring down the line of Eddie’s backyard, surprised to find Eddie there, alone, curled up on a lawn chair, head tipped back as he blew out a soft puff of smoke, a joint dangling from his fingers. Chimney blinked, hesitating just for a second, before he stepped off Eddie’s porch and made his way over to the chairs.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Chimney called out as he neared him. Eddie’s head tipped back forward, eyes wide, then squinting in the dark as he tried to make out who was approaching him. The corners of his lips curled up into a soft smile.
“Every once in a while. It was a bit much in there,” He explained with a shrug. Chimney smiled back at him before settling down into the chair next to Eddie.
“I hear ya.”
Eddie smiled again, glancing down at the ground and nodding a bit before stretching his arm out towards Chimney. He shuffled the joint between his fingers, holding it out in offering. Chimney considered it and then looked back at Eddie, eyebrows raised.
“You sure?”
“Course, Chim. It’s my house. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t share?”
Chimney nodded appreciatively, taking the joint and holding it up to his mouth, inhaling gently. It’d been a while since the last time he smoked and he struggled to maintain a cough, tipping his head back against the chair like Eddie had and releasing the smoke back into the air.
“God,” He said on the exhale. “It’s been a while.”
Eddie hummed in acknowledgment, taking the joint back from Chimney’s stretched out hand.
They didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, both of them staring up at the night sky, trading off the joint every once in a while, in comfortable silence.
It was nice, Chimney thought, getting to have this quiet moment with Eddie. They didn’t get to do this often; always racing off to different emergencies or juggling conversations with everyone else on the team. This was nice. He felt loose and relaxed—and maybe that had something to do with the weed—but he was also pretty sure it had something to do with Eddie, and maybe something to do with how dark the sky was, and how instinctively he knew that staring up there were actually billions of stars in the sky, and how actually he wasn’t staring at some flat surface but rather the entire universe that expanded all around them, and how even though he couldn’t see any stars, light from those stars was currently traveling at speeds he’d never ever be able to comprehend, and how some of those stars that he couldn’t see but could see under different circumstances were actually dead, like long dead, and how some stars were dying at right this very second, and how some stars were being born this very second, and how all of that made him feel very small and comforted and insignificant and important all at the same time.
He was a little high.
When Eddie’s hand knocked against his, joint stretched out between his fingers, Chimney laughed a little and waved him off. Eddie smiled, taking one last drag before tapping it out on the ashtray next to him and setting it down.
Another moment of silence stretched between them. Chimney furrowed his eyebrows.
“I’m scared of being a terrible dad,” He said suddenly, no idea where the thought came from. He saw Eddie nod slowly from the corner of his eye, like he was fully expecting Chimney to say that.
“How do you do it?” He asked, turning to face Eddie, who turned back towards him, eyebrows raising. “With Christopher. How do you...how do you...not mess it up?”
Eddie snorted and took a deep breath before answering, the corners of his lips curling softly.
“I mess up all the time, Chim.”
Chimney frowned. That’s not at all what he wanted Eddie to say.
“You’ll mess up,” Eddie continued, turning forward again, his face serious. He looked back up at the sky and sighed, rolling his neck from side to side. Chimney waited for him to say more but he didn’t.
“That doesn’t actually make me feel better, Eddie,” Chimney pointed out. Eddie giggled a little. It made Chimney giggle a little, though he kept trying to force his face back down into a scowl. This was serious. He was serious.
“No, I know,” Eddie straightened up in his chair. “I think...I think the sooner you realize that you will mess up—the less you’ll...mess up.” Chimney blinked and Eddie frowned, face scrunching up like he was trying to work exactly what he was trying to say. “I mean. We’re in charge of this...little life, now, you know? Sometimes I still feel like a kid myself but—I’ve got to be responsible for my actual kid now. And...I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. My parents weren’t...the best examples. So I’m just...doing my best. That’s all we can do.”
He nodded again, more confidently this time, solid. Eddie turned back to Chimney.
“I think Christopher’s okay, right?”
“Eddie,” Chimney said, voice stern. “Christopher is amazing. And you do this all on your own. I can’t imagine. I’m...so lucky to have Maddie.”
“I don’t really do it alone,” Eddie smiled. “Buck helps a lot. And we have Carla.”
“You're his dad,” Chimney felt the need to remind him. Eddie ducked his head, smiling wider, prouder.
“I am.”
There was a pause. Chimney watched, transfixed as Eddie dug the heel of his shoe into the dirt in front of him, dragging abstract patterns into the ground. It was fascinating.
“I think we’re too hard on ourselves,” Chimney said. Eddie snorted again.
“That’s what Buck says.”
“He would know.”
“He would know.”
Another pause.
“I don’t want to be like my dad.”
“You won’t be.”
“Are you sure?”
Eddie sighed, flattening his foot and dragging it through all of the lines he had just made. Chimney was pretty sure he heard his heart break. Over the dirt art.
“Well, you will be, sometimes, in tiny ways. But you’re not him. You’re...parts of him, parts of your mom, and parts of you, you know?”
“I hope I’m mostly parts of my mom.” His voice sounded wistful.
“You’re mostly parts of you.” Eddie didn’t see the way Chimney’s face pinched in disappointment, still staring at the patch of dirt on the ground.
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“It is,” Eddie’s tone was determined and final—and with that he pulled his legs back up into the chair and leaned back, blinking back up at the stars. He looked strikingly childlike, loose and relaxed.
Chimney sniffed. He felt—he felt warm. It was cold out but he felt this warmth radiating from somewhere in his chest or maybe his stomach—somewhere in his core, he wasn’t really sure—and it spread everywhere throughout his body. He almost felt like it spread even further, encompassing Eddie and his backyard and his house along with everyone inside it and all of LA.
The last few months had been hard. The last couple of years had been hard. Hell—life had been hard. And sometimes it was easy for Chimney to get lost in that; to look at Maddie fighting to pick herself back up, to look at Albert pushing to become a firefighter, to watch the Lees take on his kid brother and watch him go through the same process their dead son had, to watch Eddie and Bobby recover from their shootings, to watch Bobby and Athena mend their relationship, to watch Buck fall apart and stitch himself back together, to watch Hen and Karen grow attached to Nia only to lose her when they had expected it all along and somehow that hurt worse, to pretend through it all that he could shoulder the responsibility of having it all together, to be the friend and partner and father that he knew he needed to be.
It wasn’t about him—but it was. And he felt heavy and tired.
But sitting next to Eddie, a little high, comforted by Eddie’s sincere words—Eddie who would never sugarcoat it, would never lie, who always chose his words with careful intention—he felt lighter. Looking up at the sky, feeling the presence of stars young and old, alive and dead, feeling but not seeing, knowing that just inside were all his friends and family, laughing and reconnecting and healing after months and years of trauma, knowing that all around them billions of lives were being lived. And while bad things happened and people got hurt—good things happened too.
Good things like his baby girl being born. Good things like his baby brother making it out of a terrible car accident.
Good things like survival and healing and happiness and love. Things that persisted.
It was all around him constantly. He didn’t feel it all the time—but he did then.
“Hey, Eddie? I love you.”
Eddie stilled for just a second before his face cracked into a wide grin and his shoulders started to shake as he giggled, again.
“I love you too, man.” Chimney swiveled around in his seat.
“No, seriously, I mean it. Family we chose, right?”
Eddie’s giggles died down and he studied Chimney’s face carefully, smile softening, before nodding.
“Yeah, Chim. Family we chose.”
#my fic#title *sounds* romantic but its not fjjfjd#haven't written in like a month and this is what just...came out#*shrug*#911 fox#i think eddie would be a v comforting presence while high#drugs tw#al talks
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totally unprompted but your layout is sooo pretty and important to me... little astronaut man eddie diaz it's true i feel it in my heart
he's my little space boy. my space man. besties in outer space <3
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pseudo-tagged by @hetheybuck lol thanks
1. why did you choose your url? 🗑🥖 story time: right so like a bajillion years ago i wanted to make a niche meme account on instagram and i had to come up with a sweetass quirky name right & i don’t remember how i got there but it’s a pun on trashbag and baguette and i couldn’t tell you why i decided to spell baguette wrong like that but i like it so this is what it is now & anyway so now i just use it for random shit ‘cause i just think it’s neat
2. any side blogs? 2 i guess, one’s just a spot for me to quick reblog fics & shit to read later but i lowkey keep forgetting about it so i never go back to read the things i put there & also i keep just saving posts to my notes app to read later anyway bc i’m a creature of habit & i never learn. anyway my other one is @911-memergency it’s my 911 meme page & right now i’m literally just posting alignment charts because i love them and i want to 😁📊
3. how long have you been on tumblr? only since jan 5 this year oop 👶✨
4. do you have a queue tag? a what? 👀😅
5. why did you start your blog in the first place? literally to talk to two dead poets society fic writers & be friends with them. things got out of hand and now i live here. ⚰️⚰️🪦 riprip
6. why did you choose your icon/pfp? well 1. because it’s karen and i love her. & 2. because i made it and i’m proud of it. 🥰💗
7. why did you choose your header? i just think it’s neat. & also because i wanted to feel like i was being judged everytime i opened tumblr. 🥺😌
8. what’s your post with the most notes? pretty sure it’s this one ✌️😙
9. how many mutuals do you have? uhhh prolly like 15 or something idk 🤷❤️
10. how many followers do you have? 46 apparently lol ❤️✨
11. how many people do you follow? 118 baybee 🥰
12. have you ever made a shitpost? lol yeah <3 it’s all shitposts tbh 💩💩💩❤️
13. how often do you use tumblr a day? don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to
14. did you have a fight or argument with another blog once? who won? no, and i don’t plan on it either because confrontation scares me. <3 i’m just here to make bad jokes and cry. & i win because i say so 🥺😌🏆💖
15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts? i don’t 😗
16. do you like tag games? fuckin love them! don’t like tagging people though bc i’m one of those people afraid of bothering the hell out of people & also because i don’t really talk to a lot of people on here so i don’t feel comfortable tagging anyone but them & they’re usually the ones that tagged me lmao 🥰🥰
17. do you like ask games? i do!! i rarely get asks when i reblog them because i don’t have a lot of active followers, but i think they’re fun as hell 🥺🥺
18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? uhhhh ? idk 👀👀
19. do you have a crush on a mutual? wouldn’t you like to know weather boy 😌🔮🥰
20. tags? no <3 (jk sure: @honestlydarkprincess @sunbeambuck @bazgallaghermilkovich @udontfuckangie)
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4, 35, and 62 👁👄👁
PLEASE why the face-
4. fire by barns courtney
35. F2020 by avenue beat (still a mood tbh)
62. say you love me by fleetwood mac (YEEEEEESSSS)
send me a number 1-100 and i'll tell you the corresponding song on my 2021 playlist
#CAUSE WHEN THE LOVING STARTS AND THE LIGHTS GO DOWN#AND THERE'S NOT ANOTHER LIVING SOUL AROUND#YOU WOO ME UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP#AND YOU SAAAAAY THAT YOU LOVE ME#this is one of my top buddie songs#griffbox#hetheybuck#griff.mp3
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∞ <3
i'll keep you dry when the midnight rain arrives / and the thunders all roar high / keep you dry when you're feeling hollow in your bones / if the dooms of life knock on your door / and you feel as though you're done for sure / hold my hands and you will be alright, i will comfort you
keep you dry, juke ross
god this song, THIS SONG. it’s literally my favourite love song of all time. like idk what my spouse’s opinion is, this is the song we’re going to have for our first dance. it’s just so intimate and feels like how a long, enduring love, should be
PUT A “∞” IN MY ASK BOX AND I’LL SHUFFLE MY MUSIC PLAYER AND GIVE YOU MY FAVORITE LYRIC FROM THE SONG THAT COMES UP.
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Tagged by @hetheybuck (thank you!)
1. why did you choose your url? I wanted an original username that wasn't fandom related and I really like the demon marchosias so. Yeah
2. any side blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them. I have a lovecore sideblog that I barely use and an art sideblog that is pretty much dead other than that everything goes on my main lol
3. how long have you been on tumblr? 2012...
4. do you have a queue tag? I used to tag my queue posts with "q" but now I don't tag them at all
5. why did you start your blog in the first place? My friend told me to
6. why did you choose your icon/pfp? I liek wolves
7. why did you choose your header? I don't remember I've had the same header since 2016 lol
8. what’s your post with the most notes? I don't know how to check that
9. how many mutuals do you have? 198
10. how many followers do you have? 198 as well (I follow back everyone who follows me)
11. how many people do you follow? 309
12. have you ever made a shitpost? All the time
13. how often do you use tumblr a day? As of yesterday I've decided to use this site as little as possible lol
14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won? I have gotten into plenty of spats over the years. I'm always right though
15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts? Bad
16. do you like tag games? Yeah! They're fun
17. do you like ask games? I rarely do them
18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? I don't think I'm mutuals with anyone "famous" I'm sure some of you have 1k followers or something but that's not really famous...
19. do you have a crush on a mutual? 🤗
I'm not gonna tag anyone but if you see this and want to do it you can say I tagged you ^__^
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i know pride is over or whatever but i am mind melding with this url at this point so i am keeping it
#also it's just nice to look at like look at it........#hetheybuck.... nice#always thinking about he/they buck never not thinking about them#he is so very important to me#i do miss sambitchester though </3#also naivety ? miss that bitch#the baddest of them all if i'm being honest like she will make a comeback eventually#maybe when i finally shut up about my little shows and this blog just turns into one of those ones with no tags and captionless pics#j.txt
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