@unforgve,
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Misplaced Lens Cap
Cosmic Funnies

if i look back, i am lost

@theartofmadeline
i don't do bad sauce passes
RMH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

ellievsbear
Claire Keane
$LAYYYTER

⁂

★
🪼

pixel skylines
YOU ARE THE REASON
almost home
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
h

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@warfires
@unforgve,
sweet peas, i am way too busy these months. haven't had the chance to be online, and i know i shouldn't feel guilty about that, yet i do. so sorry for the prolonged silence!
i'll be moving eddie to my multi for the time being as a high priority muse ( duh ), and i will be moving all of my drafts over! i love these so much, they're my favorites, ty. posting the url when moved, if you don't already have me there.
James Valdez +
The White Sweater Appreciation Post
not here yet i’m still wrapping up work things for end of month but, had to share that i got two 118 decals for eddie
eddie starts doing calisthenics because it feels familiar. because it's the kind of no-nonsense training he did in the military. maneuvering and lifting his own body, using his own strength, and the discipline to keep enduring and keep it pushing. pushing through the reps, holding these positions until his muscles literally burn, everything else fades into the background. the noise in his head, the weight of all the things he doesn’t ever talk about... it all starts to quiet. it gives him a sense of controlled focus, like each movement pins him to the present and lets him breathe without thinking too hard, without feeling too much. so it’s not just exercise at that point, but a way for him to feel steady in his internal world.
" yeah, i'd like to think so. " clark keeps with that veiled humor, resting just underneath the surface — close enough for comfort, and never too loud to burst it. he wears a small smile and sits in silence, letting his eyes do most the talking. though closely looking at eddie, his gaze is not imposing, much less demanding. an easy thing, standing few steps back and leaving him room to breathe. if eddie seemed like he needed anything, it was that.
all the powers in the world, and he could not use a single one to lift that crippling burden off eddie's shoulders. a claw clenches around his heart, which is bleeding for his friend. " hey. " he calls softly, inviting him away from the shadows. back into the light, with him. " you don't have to hold all of that in. " says the man who carries worlds of secrets — but they are giving him the conviction that's needed right now. he knows a thing or two about burdens. clark leans closer across the table, just enough to show he's near. " i'm here for you, eddie. if you want to talk, i'm all ears. i won't judge you, i won't tell you off, won't think any differently of you. sometimes . . . we just need somebody to listen. "
his eyes lower, tracing the rim of his cup as if the answer might be hidden in the swirl of bitter grounds left behind rather than within the quiet constellation of things he has yet to voice. the room breathes slow, thick with unshed truths and the low hum of comfort only clark seems to bring without effort. eddie’s fingers tap once, twice, like morse on bone, like some part of him still trying to reach for words he doesn’t quite trust his voice to contain.
there’s a respite in him now, but not the peaceful kind ⸻ it’s the kind that comes after a long day on the fire line, smoke clinging to flesh, lungs heavy, and something unnamable lodged right behind the sternum. but there was no fire, their shifts only just begun.
he finally lifts his gaze, and it’s not the wariness of being seen, but the ache of being known. the silence stretches tenderly, filled with the weight of a hundred unsaid things, but two rise to the surface, splinter-sharp and unshakably true. “ i don’t always know how to let it out most days, ” he breathes out, voice a low rasp of shame and the names that haunt him. “ but i hear you, man. thank you. ” a breath, deep and tremulous, slips past his lips ⸻ and for a moment, the armor shifts, just enough to show the man beneath, cracked in quiet places but still standing.
Their smiles
9-1-1 (2018) 6.08
shannon was back. back in eddie's life, back in christopher's life - he should be happy for them. for both of them. eddie had his wife back, so he could go back to the imaginary picture of a happy ( perfect and normal ) family he'd always been so obsessed with - and chris had another parent to lean on. the last part truly doesn't make him bitter ( for that reason ) but kelly had been the child on the receiving end of a parent who came and went. a father who'd send a birthday card, but sometimes on the wrong date. like he was just another number in life - like he didn't matter. the thought of chris ever having those feelings? it made kelly feel physical ill. but chris wasn't his son, he wasn't a dad. he'd just been wounded by one. he'd been damaged beyond repair - and maybe that was occurring to eddie now. maybe shannon wasn't the problem. maybe it had been kelly all along. maybe he was born to bump and bruise every relation he touches in his life: just like his father.
maybe he was cursed by family bonds. those ties that bind, right? maybe he wasn't meant to escape it. he'd been trying. he'd been running so fast, been running his whole life. but never fast enough, and it was catching up to him now. making him feel like he was suffocating in the middle of the diaz living room. a place he'd spent a lot of time. playing video games, eating food on the couch with eddie and chris. he'd done something dangerous: he'd gotten used to them. to this feeling; the feeling of home. of belonging. and now it was being ripped straight out his chest.
"i don't know what you want, man. your feelings, your family, your relationship? i don't know." it kind of felt like @ezburns had become a ghost version of the man he'd felt so connected to once shannon reentered his life. now kelly was wandering a wasteland. he's about to leave when eddie speaks his name - and like a fool he turns around, lured by the siren song that is his voice. " - what? what more is there to say? she's your wife. you made a promise. there's a commitment you can't leave. i'm not enough. or is it god? have you been in the confession booth lately? talking about how this -" gesturing between the two of them. "is fucking you up? maybe i should go. give my version to the man upstairs. i bet he has a special place for someone like me. the homewrecker."
he's unable to move, rooted to the ground as if his feet were blocks of cement. the words settle too sharp, like they’re still vibrating in the air, too raw to touch. homewrecker.
it resonates like a slap, not just in volume but in weight. it's not the insult to kelly himself that guts him ⸻ it’s the look in his eye when he says it. like he believes it. like he’s already packed himself into that word and decided he’ll carry it on his own. eddie feels contrition churn low in his stomach. feels the heat of shame crawl up the nape of his neck. he's the one who let it get like this. eddie let it twist and tangle until it all feels like it’s about to snap. and still, his chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with shannon and everything to do with the man standing in front of him, heart halfway out the door.
he barely steps forward and still, the action feels like it costs him. voice escapes hoarsely, like he’s forcing it past a weight in his throat. “ don’t, ” he manages between gritted teeth, lips pursing as russet hues finally locate the courage to glance up at the fireman. “ you didn’t ruin anything, you didn’t come in here and break a perfect picture. there wasn’t ever one. ” jaw tightens as the rest of it stirs up, ancient guilt amalgamates with new confusion. “ shannon left, and she’s back now. and i care about her, she's the mother of my kid ⸻ i'll always care about her. but that doesn’t erase this. ” his voice softens, but his words don’t lose their grip. “ you’ve been here. we can't rewrite that. ” heart aberrantly on the line, but words had escaped either way. for what? when happy endings and resolutions feel so out of reach.
he drags in a shaky breath, then crosses the space between them in a few certain steps. he doesn’t think ⸻ driven by emotion coiled in his chest and his hand lifts before he can second-guess it, fingers closing gently around kelly's wrist. not to stop him but to hold. the contact is small but grounding and tethering. eddie meets his eyes, and it’s all right there: fear, longing, the warzone inside his chest. “ i don’t know what i want, ” he's never allowed himself to be this honest, for as long as he can recall, there's been a cage around his heart and compartments in his brain, storing jamming everything that needed to be put away. that didn't need to be felt or prioritized. he's not doing that now. he speaks again, his voice quieter.
“ and that scares the hell out of me, because i don’t think i’ve ever let myself want anything. not like this, man. ” his thumb just barely brushes along kelly's wristbone. “ but... i know this doesn’t feel wrong. ” his voice is cracked and earnest, it makes his stomach churn. “ don’t go like this. ”
[ SMS , EDDIE , 11:10 AM ]: i didn't forget, eddie. it's wednesday. career day. we gotta be there by 12:30, right ? [ SMS , EDDIE , 11:13 AM ]: i'll be there. gotta stop by the station to pick up my gear, but i'll make it. [ SMS , EDDIE , 11:14 AM ]: i'd argue that i'm right on schedule.
( sms » buck ) : you’re lucky chris made me promise not to give you a hard time. that kid sees through your eyes. ( sms » buck ) : he’s expecting both of us in the front row. no detours. ( sms » buck ) : sorry, just a little nervous. i want this to go well for him. he's real excited, buck. @fireho3s
because i talked about eddie working a kelly schedule and though yes it's a kelly severide schedule ( love you ida ), just in case for clarity it's 9-day cycle where each team works 24 hours on duty followed by 24 hours off duty for four shifts, then having four consecutive days off. it's important for this post cause all that time off, despite working long shifts, can be unsettling for him at times
with eddie working a kelly schedule, he has too many consistent days off for his liking. he doesn't like having so much time off. he knows he can use it wisely, to do something other than the job, but eddie is so wired to provide and do and that his worth and value are contingent on how much he can offer. with him being so emotionally jammed, in many ways and for various reasons i've yapped about, he engages in physically grueling tasks. it's his way of containing the emotions, like i mentioned here. after wrapping up his second twenty-four hour, and then his final twenty-four hour, he plays video games for a bit. there's no need for this to be kinda scheduled in, but it is. when he has more consecutive days off, the grueling activities and tasks come in. the routine exercise. the repairs. the anything that won't let him just veg out on the couch. don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean he won't sit his ass down and just be. but usually does that with chris.
- ❪ STARTER FOR ❫ ‚ ... eddie diaz .ᐣ / : from penny benjamin.
❪ P.B. ❫ penny can tell when he walks in, the same way she can with all of them -- IT'S IN THEIR EYES. all the horrors they see and the pain burrowed into the framework of their being. rotted and scattered around their insides like food for the mice at the bottom of the cellar. she slings an empty bottle back and forth between her hands. the words shift and form on her tongue, wondering if he needs light or someone to meet him halfway. she isn't just a bartender after all. maybe to some, but not to all, and she doesn't think for eddie. either way, she'll never stop trying to be a pillar for them when the ground feels as though it's about to open up beneath their very feet. "if you don't tell anybody," she leans her weight against her elbows on top of the bar, half-bent forward in his direction, "i have some chinese food in the back. it's helped me through a couple of rocky nights."
starter call, accepting. — @ezburns ...
the weight of words settle over him like dusk through smoke ⸻ it's deliberate and well-meaning, rather unrelenting in its gentleness ⸻ and eddie stands there for a moment too long, as if being in motion might crack the fragile stillness holding him together.
the scent of old lacquer and faint citrus cleaner mingles with the salt on his flesh, ghosting reminders of ash and soot, of blood baked into turnout gear, of the thousand-yard stare he wears like second skin. penny leans in with a tempting offer, kindness disguised as leftover takeout, it reaches him with more force than the blunt edges of the job. he exhales, as if he were letting out a scream without sound, and slides onto the vacant stool. gravity’s got its hands on his shoulders with the way he sinks. “ you always know exactly when to throw a lifeline, penny, ” voice roughened by too many nights with no softness, dark eyes finally meet hers. @routehome
“ yeah, i can eat. ” he concedes, hoping the gratitude rings true. forearms descend atop the bar as he releases another breath, a twitch of the lips, the touch of a smile decorating his features. “ finished up my last twenty-four, how's it been around here today? ”
The surroundings are different, but the feeling is the same — getting the kitchen ready while Eddie watches with that content smile on his face that makes Buck's knees wobble. It certainly doesn't help with the touch to his back, and he can't help but look at his boyfriend with a big smile while he's holding the bowl for the cabbage. “ I would never presume to outcook Tia Pepa. ” He says, pressing a kiss to the apple of Eddie's cheek before turning to face Christopher too. He looks happy. It was all Buck wanted — for the Diaz family to be happy. He felt luckier than he could ever express that he got to be a small part of that happiness.
“ Guess I better start cooking, then. ” Buck looks past Eddie to look at Chris, but quickly ends up looking at his boyfriend again. Might even convince me you're staying longer than a weekend. If only you knew. He thinks, busying himself with getting the shrimp ready for the tacos. He really hoped this meant what he thought it did — that a future for them could be in Texas no matter how much Buck wished they could all stay in LA. After Eddie left, he became more certain than ever that home was where the Diazes where. “ Wouldn't want to let you or him down. ”
The shrimp is prepared and coated in coconut and he starts to get the pan sizzling hot — meanwhile, Buck's mind absolutely races with thoughts of Texas and his future. Eddie wants him to stay, and he really thinks he might. “ Will you start getting the tortillas ready, babe? ” He asks, turning his head to look at Eddie, and he can't help the smile that comes to his lips. As his boyfriend gets closer to him, Buck leans over to quickly peck his lips before he resumes working on their dinner. “ Thanks. ” After a few tortillas have been warmed, he starts to cook the shrimp. “ Smells good, doesn't it? I've been practicing this one specifically to impress you and Chris. ” Kind of cringy, sure, but he prefers to think of it as romantic. “ Got something else for you later. Have to wait until Chris goes to bed, though. ”
he doesn’t answer with words at first, rarely does when a moment is good and still. instead, he watches. it’s in his nature, trained into bone and blood ⸻ how to scan a room before stepping fully into it, how to measure quiet as a kind of intel. his eyes find christopher, he's seated at the table like a commander before his troops, taking to sorting through snack bags with the same methodical care eddie once used to clean his rifle. there’s something in the tilt of chris' head, how fingers linger on the bag of cookies like they’re more important than they actually are, that seizes eddie's attention a few beats longer. he notes it all, catalogues it with the care of a man who’s never been able to stop anticipating disaster, even in the middle of something good. it's not urgent, just watchful, ready.
when he steps back into the kitchen, it’s like sliding into formation. he moves with an economy of motion that betrays years of structure pressed into muscle memory. no excess in the way he retrieves the skillet or flips the tortillas already softening on the heat. his hands shift with certainty, his side-steps measured. he doesn’t need to inquire where anything is. he orients swiftly, in the same way that he always has. “ already warming, buck, ” his murmur is low and calm, like he’s reporting in. 'standard operating procedure.' but when he glances up, the corner of his mouth pulls into a gentle smile. not a smirk, but something warmer and quieter.
the shrimp hits the oil with a sound that echoes louder than it should in the half-finished kitchen. eddie doesn’t flinch, the heat doesn’t rattle him. he stands close enough to feel buck's body shift beside him, the heat from the stove rivaled only by the vivid kind of comfort buck brings with him. his gaze lingers for a second on the way his boyfriend moves ⸻ comfortable here, sure-handed, as if he’d cooked in this space a hundred times before. like he belongs. he lets the thought settle against ribs where it both stings and soothes.
“ keep this up and he’s gonna start asking why you’re not here for good. ” hand brushes the other's on instinct, anchoring without drawing attention. “ to be honest, i've already been asking that myself. ” tease neatly packaged in humor and affection, he could never ask buck to move to texas for them anyhow.
voice raises just enough to carry through the house. “ christopher, can you grab the red salsa? the one with the black lid. ” there’s a shuffle of movement, the sound of effort, and then a soft “ got it! ” soon after. his son responds and eddie’s shoulders ease. he turns to his boyfriend again, steps in close, not for warmth but for grounding. his hand finds the familiar strong forearm, like a lifeline in a storm that hasn’t come yet. “ you’ve already done more than enough, buck. what else you got up your sleeve? ” gaze holds, sharp and soft in equal measure. “ but i'll make sure christopher's in bed early. ” his mouth quirks into something between mischief and promise, eyes still locked on buck like he’s memorizing him all over again. “ you just worry about finishing these tacos. ”
gonna stay a bit quiet this week. feel off and drained and just v busy with work cause it's the end of the month, so if i write to some things it's cause i need a little fun ♡
sometimes the mind played tricks on you ... changing memories for us to be able to survive - to spare us the pain until we're ready. eddie didn't feel ready, but clearly his mind had deemed it otherwise. the whole thing was coming back to him & while tim had been through a lot, he didn't know what was going on inside of eddie right now. he just did what he thought was best, what helped himself when he was anxious, overwhelmed, haunted by the ghosts of the past. "i know," he nods quietly. because eddie had told him. now. squeezing his shoulder gently. the weight felt heavy - even on top of tim's hand, like eddie's grief tried to pull him down too. not today.
"we're going to take a nice ride, we're going to kick rocks, shout over the hills. whatever you need, i'm right there." he nods, looking deeply, but softly into eddie's eyes. "do you need a hug?" do you want one? is the underlying question. whenever tim was spiraling, a hug from lucy could set him right in the world. could take him from not okay to feeling okay for the moment, in the matter of seconds. so he offers, but he doesn't take. letting eddie decide over his body.
"you're in control here, i know a bad thing happened - but chances are, if you'd tried to save him? none of you would've come back. you're not a coward, eddie. i've never known you as one. you did what you had to do - & because of that? chris isn't an orphan right now." maybe that was a low blow. maybe it was even too much, but it had to be said. sometimes we need a push to get away from the darkness.
a slow and shaky exhale, like the way a building settles long after the tremors of an earthquake have passed. the vehicle around them is a womb of stillness, and yet inside his chest, war still drums its battle hymn. tim’s words pierce gently, a blade wrapped in gauze. eddie hears them like thunder over sand: truth softer but not diluted. he wants to recoil, but the warmth of tim's hand on him grounds him with a weight that feels wholly undeserving in its patience. fingers twitch in his lap, and a brittle thing inside him shifts, then it cracks, but doesn’t yet break. the name of his fallen brother still echoes in the harrowing compartments of his organized mind, still festers, but his best friends voice is balm ⸻ coarse and unrelenting, but there, present. christopher has a parent still.
the silence lingers before he answers. not because he doesn’t want to, but because the words sit gratingly like a lump in his throat.
“ i used to think it made me strong, not remembering, ” his voice is a rasp worn down by too many unshed confessions. “ turns out forgetting just puts it all away until it bursts out of you in ways you don't want. ” truth lands between them with the heft of a weapon laid down. tim's gaze is unmet, but he feels the other's eyes on him, steady and unwavering, a hand extended across a battlefield. like his own hand had once been. outside, the leaves rustle with cruel ease that shouldn't be, sunlight dappling across the dashboard like it hasn’t been tasked with lighting horrors. eddie’s fingers flex once. then again. until they move ⸻ not to shield or flee, but to reach.
the fireman leans in slowly, like a man stepping into fire and finding it warm instead of consuming and fully involved. shoulder brushes tim's as he lets his frame tip into the hug offered ⸻ not in surrender, but in quiet recognition of a lifeline held steady. the contact's simple and brief yet seismic in its tenderness. his breath shudders once, and it's held tight in his chest like a live round. but his eyes remain open, fixed on the blurred green of the park ahead, and he doesn’t pull away. “ thanks, man, ” he says quietly yet earnest just the same. “ really. ” the word falls like an olive branch on scorched earth, a tentative offering from a soldier still learning that safety isn’t always a lie.
my villain origin story started the second eddie woke up in the middle of the night to that phone call with the news of bobby's death. alone, hand over his mouth to try and stifle / swallow his cries so christopher wouldn’t hear him falling apart while the world just collapsed around him. and what was he left with?? he was left with forever wondering if he could’ve saved bobby if he'd been there. if his being there would’ve changed anything at all. so i'm supposed to go about my life like that didn’t emotionally decimate me? bfr. edmundo diaz, the king of silent suffering, breaking in the shadows to protect his son from his grief. it started there... i blame society, and by society i mean tim minear
i need everyone to know that @fires0ut once randomly sneezed so absurdly horrendously inhumanely loud that jay got startled to the point of almost reaching for his gun .