these all look fun but you had me at dress uniforms!!! 🎩🎩
just for you, a very dress uniform-heavy section
Eddie kisses him back just as filthily, lets Buck start unbuttoning his jacket. It takes fucking forever—why do they make these with so many buttons—but before too long Buck’s got his jacket opened, revealing the crisp white undershirt beneath.
It drives Buck a little wild, Eddie not-quite-buttoned-up, just a little disheveled, just for him. He’s pressing himself against him, grinding against him, hands groping for every inch he’s given.
Eddie breaks off into laughter, like it’s funny how desperate Buck is right now. “Jesus, not so loud. Someone’s gonna hear us.”
Bachelor Buddie tk2!!!!!!!!!! 👀👀👀👀 (unless i am completely off base, i know you know i know what this one is, so this is my blatant ploy to hopefully see words from it)
Oh don't worry, you are very correct.
Based on spoilers for the Nashville crossover, it's currently 2 scenes and 0 plot, but I'm going to fucking make it work, damnit.
Hey everyone, did y'all know that there's no waiting period for a marriage license in Tennessee?
“Dad!”
He’s up in an instant, pure adrenaline carrying him out of bed and down the hall, hangover forgotten. Chris is standing in the dining room, school bag at his feet, holding the paper he had left on the table like an idiot. Thick. Sturdy. Official.
Fuck. Fuck, whey did he leave it there? What’s wrong with him?
“Is this real?” Chris demands, voice cracking, and Eddie doesn’t even have it in him to make a joke of it. He’s pissed, more angry than he’s seen him in a long time, and it all flashes before his eyes. His parents at his doorstep. Chris’s empty bedroom.
“Chris, I can explain,” he starts, bleeding desperation, but Chris doesn’t let him continue.
“You guys got married without me?”
so this is loosely inspired by the end of s1 of the mentalist when (spoiler) gun-hater patrick jane shoots a guy who is about to sneakily kill lisbon. i don’t have muuuch of a plan beyond “wouldn’t that be sexy and fucked up” but here’s a fun snippet:
The bang of the gun makes Eddie jump, not because it’s loud but because he isn’t expecting to hear it. (It’s a little hard to hear a gun go off if it’s shooting you dead.) Then the guy drops, and Eddie realizes the trigger that was pulled wasn’t aimed at him.
Buck throws the gun down like it burns him to hold. He and Eddie both watch it hit the ground. They both look up, look at each other. Buck is white as a sheet. There’s a pause, like the universe forgot how to breathe, and then Eddie is rushing to grab Buck in a crushing embrace, like it’s the only thing that’ll keep him upright, like it’s the only thing that’ll keep his seams from bursting.
Buck shakes in Eddie’s arms. He’s gasping for breath, but he isn’t crying. Eddie squeezes him close, murmurs, “We’re okay, we’re okay,” over and over until he starts to believe it.
“I killed him,” Buck chokes out. “I— I killed—” His knees buckle.
Eddie catches his weight, eases them both to the ground. It won’t be long, now, until Athena is there, until medical attention is there.
But for now, the only people on the street are Eddie and Buck. And the dead body of the man who almost killed them both.
Eddie is grateful for the way that Buck’s nails are digging into his shoulders. It keeps him grounded, keeps him focused on what he needs to be focused on. Buck is still shaking in Eddie’s embrace, panting against Eddie’s neck. But Buck does not cry. Eddie gently rocks him back and forth. It comforts Eddie more than it comforts Buck.
Just as Buck starts to catch his breath, voices come shouting into the alleyway. Disorienting light streams in. Eddie blinks rapidly, trying to adjust. He tries to lift himself and Buck to their feet, if only to have an excuse to squeeze Buck closer to his body. But Eddie can’t get his feet under him, and a swarm of paramedics descends on the two of them, gently separating them. Eddie feels impossibly cold the second that he has to let go of Buck. The world is too bright and too loud for Eddie to process much of anything. It’s like the part of his brain that translates sensory input into anything comprehensible has shut off.
anyway yay thank you margo :)
(throw tomatoes at me until i complete one of my copious works in progress)
well everyone already hit the ones i would have gone for by default so let’s get creative!!!!
🚜👽
Me upon seeing this ask: well what on Earth am I going to write about for this? I don't even believe in aliens. But it turns out I don't believe in work more so I wrote this for you, my dearest Margo, on the clock. Please enjoy some alien/space symbolism by way of a little missing Buddie scene from 901.
“What the hell is that?”
Buck figured it was obvious, but smiled cautiously at Eddie regardless.
“An alien.”
There was a time when Buck wasn't conscious to his reactions around Eddie: a smile, an eyebrow flit, a sarcastic nod whenever Eddie thought he could get away with explaining the truth by walking around it. They just happened and Buck didn’t have to think, which was different to how Buck felt around most other people, most other times. He’d have been sure there wasn’t an off switch in his head, ideas and words and what-ifs constantly bouncing around, except somehow Eddie managed to have found it right around the time he recovered a grenade from a guy’s leg. But then Eddie left and Bobby left, both willingly, and the switch got jammed. Or maybe destroyed. He had too many other thoughts to try and parse it out.
“Well,” he continued, “an alien head. Mask really. Is it a mask if it covers your whole head, or is that just a costume?” He looked up, surprised Eddie was still there, still listening. There was a time he didn’t have to doubt that either.
Buck watched as Eddie opened his mouth, frowned, and started heading towards Buck, only to keep walking towards the entrance of the station. There was a time when Eddie wouldn’t get that far away from him. Buck took a deep breath and reminded himself it was still closer than Texas while he followed.
Before he could juggle his bag and the mask—costume?—head to free his hand, Eddie’s voice carried through the door he was holding open.
“Why do you have—no, wait—where’d you—” Eddie’s questions seemed unable to settle on where to land as much as the excitement Buck had felt since he first heard of Hen’s invitation to space. “No. Why. Why, do you have an alien head? Did I miss the text about a party or…?”
Buck poked his head through the door, looking around to make sure that the lack of Hen’s SUV in the lot meant that she wasn’t here yet and not that she got a ride with Karen, before he passed through explaining, “I have an idea.”
His gaze caught on the unfamiliar skepticism hiding in the corner of Eddie’s eyes. It was foreign and fragile, a barely-there sharpness that Buck usually only saw on Eddie’s expressions when he was forced to contend with everyone else’s belief in the supernatural. Buck wasn’t used to having it leveled at him, even when he was trying to convince Eddie that curses were real and that superstitions were justified because usually Eddie let a fond exasperation file down his disbelief so it didn’t cut.
“This can’t be good.”
But now, Buck felt it, a small, jagged gash blooming that he hoped was only skin deep, even though he knew a paper cut could hurt more than a razor. He wasn’t bleeding out, and it felt warmer than absence, so he walked to the locker room, not looking back to check if Eddie followed. He felt an unbidden smile flicker at the sound of Eddie’s steps close behind him.
“What idea?”
“To, uh, to surprise Hen. I could…you know, hide somewhere and then…then jump out.” Eddie’s eyebrow moved up, just enough that Buck found himself offering, “Or, you could, I mean, since you’re her p-partner now.” He surprised himself with how much he wanted Eddie to say yes. There was a time when Eddie's yes was all but guaranteed.
Buck's heart raced against his control and his thoughts ran over reasons to convince Eddie into agreeing.
“I could hide in the ambo?”
Eddie was quiet as he got dressed, so his question felt loud in the confines of the glass room. Or maybe it was just that anything Eddie had to tell him had a way to rise above the din in his head.
Buck looked over, and even though Eddie wasn’t looking back, Buck could almost see it, in the corner of Eddie’s jaw, at the ease in Eddie’s shoulders as he straightened his shirt, something that felt like déjà vu in reverse, where instead of feeling like reliving a moment that had happened before, it was like he could sense the thing that should have happened but wasn’t. But it had been months of grief and weirdness and distance while still being at work 3-4 times a week that Buck was in no position to wait for what once was. He’d learned long ago that it could leave him waiting forever.
He didn’t have to wait long for Eddie to finish changing, for Eddie to lean against his now-closed locker, arms crossed in front of him, with a thoughtful expression softening his stance.
“I mean, she’d probably expect it less if it was me, even though I’m not completely sure I want to know what the inside of that thing smells like.”
“Rubber probably?” Buck turned the head upside down to check.
“Why exactly are we trying to jump scare Hen?”
Buck shrugged, not quite meeting Eddie’s eyes. There was a time Eddie didn't need Buck to explain, not because he didn't want to hear it, but because he already understood.
“I dunno. If you’re going to go to the great beyond, don’t you need to be ready to encounter—”
“Aliens.”
That same something flickered behind Eddie’s apathy as he looked at Buck. It was frustrating, knowing how close they were to what once was, this thing that he could see but was too far to reach.
“Oh right,” he deadpanned, as Eddie roll his eyes and pushed away from the locker. “I should’ve known.” He shook his head as Eddie took the costume. Buck didn’t try to thwart him, just opened his hands and let Eddie take.
Most days, Buck believed aliens existed, that even if they looked nothing like he imagined, nothing like the expected—big, bugged-out eyes; green, smooth skin; long, strange fingers—that some form of life had to exist beyond Earth. That there was something bigger and brighter and impossible to name beyond what humans on Earth understood. And even if there wasn’t any scientific proof, even if the theories and current evidence turned out to be wrong, Buck still believed. Still wanted to believe. He still hoped that something was out there. He didn’t want Earth, with all its disappointments, and finality, and small but surprising joys to be the only thing they had a connection to.
He watched Eddie sniff the mask, his nose scrunching in displeasure. He watched Eddie’s hands flip the thing around, his curious brown eyes inspecting it from various angles, almost like Eddie couldn’t believe in something that was trying to be something that might not exist.
“So,” Buck said, pausing until Eddie looked up, looked at him, eyes still big, still as curious. “You in?”
Buck wanted to hope he wasn’t alone.
Eddie frowned, but Buck waited until it stretched into a full-mouth smile. In that moment, it didn’t matter if Eddie was skeptical of what was real and what wasn’t; Buck could believe enough for the both of them.
for your trope grade consideration: love potions/spells
Feeling a C-, I honestly skip them a lot bc it’s usually some variation on “I accidentally took/dosed my crush with love potion…but it didn’t work!” (Bc they’re already in love), and I kinda get bored when it takes too long to figure it out. WAY more fun if a bunch of people + crush get dosed and the same thing happens but the comedy doesn’t always hit right lmao. I’ll still read them if a friend sends one to me 🙂↕️
I like both, but the edge goes to spring. There’s something hopeful about things coming back to life after the hibernation of winter. Those first days you can go outside without a jacket? Unbeatable. Also, not to be narcissistic but my birthday is in May, so. 💅
whisper - how much sleep do you get?
Oh God, I’m such an awful sleeper. During the week I’m lucky to get six hours a night, and then on the weekends I could easily crash for twelve hours at a time. Literally all of this is contrary to the best sleep advice, I know this, and yet here we are. I just…I like my free time in the evenings too much, so I stay up too late, and then it fucks me over when I’m a cranky monster the next day. Revenge bedtime procrastination, you son of a bitch.
shampoo - favorite scent?
I love citrusy smells. Right now I’m using the Josie Maran body butter in tangerine and ooh baby, it smells amazing. (It is also stupidly expensive, you do not need to spend that much on a body butter when there are great ones for like $10, but sometimes I like to be a fancy bitch.) I don’t wear perfume often, but of the ones I have, the Jo Malone Wood Sage & Sea Salt is my favorite.
🌾 - what makes this fic grow? What do you need to make it grow?
Oh, drunk Nashville wedding. I had to take a big big big step back from it because I was letting myself get very frustrated over it not feeling quite right. And I blame jumping into it without a solid idea of where I was even going with it, assuming it would work itself out n the end.
Luckily I was able to talk it through with someone very wise and whom I think never misses when it comes to story analysis and also opinions on Eddie Diaz, so like... I know what needs to be done. And what needs to be done involves a lot of rewriting I just don't have it in me to do quite yet (especially since this was kind of the start of my writer's block / funk / whatever we want to call it) but rest assured I have not forgotten about you! I'm gonna get those men divorced if it's the last thing I do!
But like... eventually. Is the answer to this one time as well? Oops?
