His mom evidently tried to reach him, but his phone sat face-down on the dresser in his and Buckâs bedroom after theyâd gotten back from their shift and taken a shower. After that, Eddie got started on the sauce for the pasta dish Linda had texted him the other day while Buck got out the pasta roller. Chris had gotten in from a friendâs house just in time to set the table. Then it was dinner and clean-up and getting started on the mound of dirty dishes piled in the sink. Â
Anywayâ
Eddie finds out at 9:37 PM on a Tuesday. Thereâs a voicemail left by his mom in his inbox, but by the time he registers the notification, Adri calls him. And Adri doesnât call if itâs not a birthday or a holiday. Itâs 9:36. Eddie picks up, making his way back to the kitchen.  Â
âAdri, hey.âÂ
âEddie, IâŠâ The edges of her voice are cracked, wobbly.Â
âWhatâs going on?âÂ
He sits himself down at the breakfast table, running a hand through his hair while he waits for her on the other side of the line. As much as Adri didnât reach out, neither has he. To either of his sisters, really. Somewhere between Shannonâs funeral and now, he hacked away at the pieces of him that belonged to El Paso because it was easier to let go than look at them squarely in the face. His sisters were just part of the collateral damage.Â
Buck pulls out a chair next to him and mouths Everything okay?
Eddie shakes his head. Donât know yet.
âDad⊠he had a heart attack. Last night. We were gonna call you earlier to tell you, but Abuela told us to wait until after your shift. They have him in the ICU.â
9:37 flashes on the clock above the oven; itâs the first thing he notices. Probably off by a minute or two or three, considering how often it seems to be too slow or too fast. Then again, maybe itâs accurate. The blood in his ears is rushing too fast. Adrianaâs talking too slow. His stomach lurches from the back and forth.
The second thing he notices is the spot he missed near the front left burner; it looks like a splash of tomato sauce from earlier.Â
The third is that he selfishly, desperately doesnât want to lose his dad. He could pretend that seeing him die would break him just as it would nearly every kid, no matter how far into adulthood they get. But thatâs not really it, is it? What would break Eddie is everything else that dies with his dad: all the conversations theyâve yet to have and all the promises theyâve yet to make good of and all the company theyâve yet to share. They would be buried six feet under too. So when Eddie said he was going to claw his way out of the purgatory he sentenced himself to and his dad held his hand, telling him heâd follow, Eddie believed him. He believed him the way a kid believes theyâll be the first astronaut-slash-president-slash-author. Itâs unbridled optimism despiteâ
And itâs fucking stupid. Silly. A dream he needs to grow out of because he shouldâve remembered that there are things you get to have in this life and things you donât. He knows that; yet, it doesnât do shit to stop the petulant, child-like anger of betrayal.Â
They were engaged.
And they hadnât even said a single word to each other.
âYou can, uhâŠyou can call me Buck,â he offered a little awkwardly through his PR smile, still plastered across his face. He was trying not to make it too obvious to the cameras that he was speaking.
There was a pause, long enough for Buck to think he already ruined everything, before he heard the regent offer back,
âEddie.â
YALLL i am stuck at 363 subs right now and I need to hit 500 to begin the monetization process, so if you or anyone likes art videos, or wants to support me, please check out my channel!
Hello! Iâm Scribz and Iâm here to show you my OCs, my fanart, and my art progress! Iâm 21 and I love drawing more than anything!
fic where buck is eddie's divorce lawyer and eddie hates lawyers on principle and also that he's getting divorced. meanwhile buck is the most optimistic divorce lawyer of all time
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Hiiii.
So, not one but two jobs just fell through. I'm currently visiting friends (because of course I get this news while on vacation) but as soon as I get back home I'll start applying places, but let's be honest, even if I succeed in getting a second job (yes, I already have a job, no it doesn't pay all my bills, welcome to hell) I don't know if that'll be enough to cover everything. I was really depending on these jobs, I was promised them for months. Ask any of my close friends, they've been hearing me chant "I just have to make it until July" since January.
And yet, here we are. So.
A couple months ago I decided to take the plunge and start up a Patreon to share my original work and help support my writing career as I begin the journey of self publishing my novels. But I know that some people only want to read my fanfic (and that's okay!) so I made a special $3-a-month-tier just for you guys.
(I do also have a ko-fi, but honestly, a steady income on Patreon would benefit me a lot more.)
If ten percent of the average reader count on my fics were to sign up for the $3, I could pay half my bills every month and I wouldn't have to find a second job. Obviously I don't expect that many people to sign up, but I hope that expresses just how much every little bit helps me.
If you sign up for $3 you get no notifications, no emails, nothing, you do not get bothered by me. You would, however, probably get those fanfics you've all been waiting on because I would actually have time to write them (I'm seriously worried I won't get even my Halloween fics done in time because I've had no time or energy to write them, and I started working on these fics in January). You can sign up for a higher tier if you want of course, but if you're not interested in my original work or pictures of my cats you probably want to stick to $3.
(For free updates on my novels and such you can follow me @lincolnchristie - my A Masque of Shadows Ao3 updates will be posted there, for example).
I've had to ask for help from the tumblr community before, and I hated it, and I hate it now, but this time I do feel a little better about it because I'm not asking while giving nothing back. I truly do hate self-promotion but every little bit helps. The appreciation and enthusiasm I've gotten from people on tumblr and on Ao3 in response to my writing the last few years has been truly amazing, and so I hope that I've created stories you love enough that, if you have the spare change, you'll consider helping to support me as I embark on my professional writing career and try to keep the lights on.
It's been a tough year and a tough few months for me and I'm sure it has for everyone reading this, too. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, and thank you for taking the time to read this. Even if you can't sign on, reblogging also really helps. Thank you.
not my usual but ! here it is !!! in all fairness, i DID start this fic sometime after tim and lucy's first date and sometime before grey found out but, like, what is time. so yeah ! enjoy !!!
1.9k | Rated T | No Archive Warnings Apply | link
Summary:
"Tim Bradford got shot in the chest today."
Lunaâs slow draw of breath is almost as damning as a startled gasp. Her hand tightens around his shoulder.
"Is heâ"
"He's alive. Still in critical condition but the doctors are hopeful he'll make it."
"So why the drink?"
"Lucy," is all he says.
It's enough.
OR; Tim & Lucy's relationship is a secret until it's not.
Wade Grey is not a drinking man. He indulges from time to time in whatever's on handâa bottle of jack from the living room shelf, a cold beer after a long dayâbut liquorâs never been his vice. On the days when humanity's sins threaten to cling to the bottom of his shoes and follow him home like an oil spill, he usually stops at a bar a couple miles from his house, orders a single cranberry vodka, and tries not to let his soul decay somewhere between there and his front door.
But tonight...
Tonight, he is a drinking man.
He stares into the fireplace, watching the undulating flicker until it paints starbursts of color over his vision as he throws back another shot. Presses the rim of the glass to his bottom lip and breathes. It's been a long dayâthe kind of long day that starts off slow and average and explodes into frenzy somewhere during the middle; the kind of day that doesnât stop descending into chaos until someone, somewhere decides enough is enough and puts a stop to the bedlam as quickly as they started it, and heâs tired. Dog-tired in a way that makes him feel heavy and sick and old, but when Luna enters the room, something sleepy in his chest slowly yawns awake.
Ah, his bones sigh, there she is.
He sinks down deep into the brown sugar sweet of her love, followed closely by the steel gray wall of concern that she always tries to hide, and lets himself soak in her presence like a man dying of thirst. Sheâs quiet as she approaches, and even quieter when she sits down on the arm of the chair. Her small hand comes to rest on his shoulder, her fingertips ghosting the curve of his collarbone. Twenty-plus years and she still feels like home.
"Wade,â she says softly, âCome to bed.âÂ
In a minute, is what he means to say. The words are already on his tongue, crowded up behind his teeth, but what he says instead is,
His mom evidently tried to reach him, but his phone sat face-down on the dresser in his and Buckâs bedroom after theyâd gotten back from their shift and taken a shower. After that, Eddie got started on the sauce for the pasta dish Linda had texted him the other day while Buck got out the pasta roller. Chris had gotten in from a friendâs house just in time to set the table. Then it was dinner and clean-up and getting started on the mound of dirty dishes piled in the sink. Â
Anywayâ
Eddie finds out at 9:37 PM on a Tuesday. Thereâs a voicemail left by his mom in his inbox, but by the time he registers the notification, Adri calls him. And Adri doesnât call if itâs not a birthday or a holiday. Itâs 9:36. Eddie picks up, making his way back to the kitchen.  Â
âAdri, hey.âÂ
âEddie, IâŠâ The edges of her voice are cracked, wobbly.Â
âWhatâs going on?âÂ
He sits himself down at the breakfast table, running a hand through his hair while he waits for her on the other side of the line. As much as Adri didnât reach out, neither has he. To either of his sisters, really. Somewhere between Shannonâs funeral and now, he hacked away at the pieces of him that belonged to El Paso because it was easier to let go than look at them squarely in the face. His sisters were just part of the collateral damage.Â
Buck pulls out a chair next to him and mouths Everything okay?
Eddie shakes his head. Donât know yet.
âDad⊠he had a heart attack. Last night. We were gonna call you earlier to tell you, but Abuela told us to wait until after your shift. They have him in the ICU.â
9:37 flashes on the clock above the oven; itâs the first thing he notices. Probably off by a minute or two or three, considering how often it seems to be too slow or too fast. Then again, maybe itâs accurate. The blood in his ears is rushing too fast. Adrianaâs talking too slow. His stomach lurches from the back and forth.
The second thing he notices is the spot he missed near the front left burner; it looks like a splash of tomato sauce from earlier.Â
The third is that he selfishly, desperately doesnât want to lose his dad. He could pretend that seeing him die would break him just as it would nearly every kid, no matter how far into adulthood they get. But thatâs not really it, is it? What would break Eddie is everything else that dies with his dad: all the conversations theyâve yet to have and all the promises theyâve yet to make good of and all the company theyâve yet to share. They would be buried six feet under too. So when Eddie said he was going to claw his way out of the purgatory he sentenced himself to and his dad held his hand, telling him heâd follow, Eddie believed him. He believed him the way a kid believes theyâll be the first astronaut-slash-president-slash-author. Itâs unbridled optimism despiteâ
And itâs fucking stupid. Silly. A dream he needs to grow out of because he shouldâve remembered that there are things you get to have in this life and things you donât. He knows that; yet, it doesnât do shit to stop the petulant, child-like anger of betrayal.Â
There was something about Beacon Hills. Once it hooked you, it didn't let go. Even all the way across the country, Stiles felt the hot breath on his neck, the claws in his back, trying to drag him back while whispering in his ear, "I'll always be here, you'll always belong to me."
Of course he had thought about staying, one time or another. But it was always that voice in the back of his head that made him spiral out further, push the length of the tether as taut as it could go. He could have a different life on the east coast. He could build something that would stick. He'd almost convinced himself of it, too. Unfortunately for him, there are some things you just can't ignore forever.
And if you bleed for Beacon Hills once, you can be sure you'll bleed for it again.
hey wow! sorry i kept keeping the story tab open and only going back to it when i was absolutely ready even in the middle of some scenes. it's just you write so well it made me revisit my feelings when my grandma, then my grandpa passed. and that was all over a decade ago!
and then also my feelings of standing in the hospital when my dad got sick (he's ok now!) but it basically took a miracle.
what truly got me all choked up though is that it made me revisit my brother's abrupt passing. just a couple years ago. i really like the ending. it's not happy and it's not sad. you're asking does it matter? and the simplicity of just hey we're alive.
and it honestly is the best way to deal with that ball of grief when i look at my niece and nephew growing up without him. what makes this story excellent is you made eddie's grief universal and relatable but it also felt true to him and the characters within the 911 universe.
thank you so much for writing it. reading it was painful but beautiful. i can't even imagine what it felt like for you to be able to put poetry down on a page for free for me to leak from my eyeballs willingly for.
<3<3<3
oh wow thank you so much!! I love to hear that certain parts have resonated with people and made the whole thing feel realâit's something I really try to ensure when writing.
and I'm glad you liked the ending! it was a bit.... contentious, to say the least. But I think (hope!) it captured that fresh-wound feel of losing someone and the confrontation we're forced into with mortality. You're rightâit's not a happy or a sad thing. It just is. (seriously smiling from cheek-to-cheek !! thank you!!)
I'm sorry for the loss you've had in your life, and I'm glad that this felt like something you could connect to.
