#buddy and bob

[besovskaya]

Я просто прочувствовала вкус syncredible.

Какие-то дудлы :"

[hail-dondus]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

[mypastnow]

Baseball players Bob Lemon & Gene Bearden post-victory kiss in locker room

[kinardsboy]

“Eddie is more queer coded than Buck” Buck is literally queer

HES HAD SEX WITH A MAN

[livesincerely]

Buck bows his head beneath the falling water, his ribs shuddering around a shaky exhale. 

He’ll pull himself together eventually. Slap a smile back on his face and remember how to be grateful for what he already has.

But first he needs to mourn. He needs to mourn and mope and shed a tear or twenty: then he can bury these stupid feelings and finally put them to rest.

Maybe it’s time to re-download Bumble and Hinge, make a proper effort at getting back out there and moving on⁠—

The bathroom door slams open with a bang! Buck whips around so fast that he nearly loses his footing, then nearly keels over anyway when he realizes it’s Eddie standing there amongst the clouds of steam.

Eddie, whose chest heaves like he’s just run a marathon, his hair a mess and his shirt only half buttoned⁠—like he’d hauled ass out of the locker room in the middle of changing. Eddie, whose expression is granite but whose eyes are wild, his irises totally eclipsed by burning crimson, that spiced-dark-chocolate-char scent rolling off of him like thunderclouds sweeping in over the horizon.

They stare at each other for one long, charged moment. Buck can barely meet his eyes; there’s something almost feral prowling in the shadows of his gaze⁠—sharp and accusing, honed like a knife’s edge⁠—and it cuts him all the way to the core. 

Buck’s throat clicks around a nervous swallow, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Eddie,” he says, almost helplessly, more of a breath than a word.

Eddie’s nostrils flare, his upper lip curling back to flash a single, pointed canine. Then he’s wrenching open the shower door and stepping determinedly into the spray⁠—still fully dressed, boots, belt, watch and all, what the fuck⁠ is he?⁠—and he braces a hand on either side of Buck’s waist, caging him up against the shower wall.

“Eddie!” Buck yelps, suddenly and extremely aware of the fact that he’s bare-ass naked, soap dripping down his arms and conditioner clinging to his curls. He clutches his hands to his chest like that will somehow mask the aforementioned nakedness. “What the hell are you⁠—? Hey!”

“Did you actually think,” Eddie starts, and his voice has settled in this gravely, dangerous place that’s making Buck’s stomach do somersaults. “That I wouldn’t come after you?”

“You— C’mon man, you’re getting soaked. Did you even take your phone out of your pocket⁠—”

“You did⁠,” Eddie decides, continuing as if Buck hadn’t spoken, anger and disbelief dueling across his features. “You thought I was gonna just let you go⁠?”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck sighs, letting his head thunk back against the tiles, already exhausted with this whole conversation. “Can’t this at least wait until I’m out of the fucking shower⁠—“

“Clearly it fucking can’t,” he growls, and he cups both of those huge hands around Buck’s jaw and yanks his head back down, forcing him to hold his gaze.

“Because last time I checked, we were in this together,” Eddie says—demands, really. Water streams through his hair and down his face in dozens of rivulets, his wet clothes clinging to every sodden, gorgeous inch of him. “That’s the deal, right? You have my back and I have yours. You go in and I’m right there on you six. I’m the one on the other end of your radio, I’m the one that double checks your harness, I’m the one that anchors your line.”

They’re plastered together: a tangle of water and limbs, fabric and skin. Buck’s mouth moves soundlessly, his voice trapped somewhere beneath the weight of his longing, but even if he could say something he wouldn’t have the words. Static blurs the edges of his vision, his mind emptied of anything that isn’t Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“There isn’t a universe where I don’t come after you, Buck,” Eddie tells him, with all the force and certainty of gravity itself. “I’d have to be dead in the fucking ground before I’d let you go, and maybe not even then. Because you’re mine. You’re mine,” he insists when Buck can’t help the involuntary little noise that escapes him at the declaration. “And you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to let you spend another second thinking I don’t want you.”

Buck’s heart stops dead in his chest, then kicks in again twice as fast. 

“Eddie,” he manages, barely able to hear himself over the sound of the shower pouring overhead. Thank god he’s already got a wall at his back⁠—he’s not sure his legs would support him otherwise, hope turning his joints to jelly. “You… Don’t do this if you don’t mean it. I can’t… I can’t.”

Eddie shifts impossibly closer, angling up until their faces are a hair apart. Their noses brush⁠—a gentle, almost exploratory touch⁠—followed by a solid press of forehead against forehead. 

“If you still don’t think I mean it,” he murmurs, his eyes burning like twin flames. “Then you clearly haven’t been listening to me.”

A shared breath. 

“Maybe this will finally convince you,” Eddie says, and he leans in and seals his mouth over Buck’s own.

[fakemouthstaticpilot]

"Tommy's troubling past" and it's an inappropriate joke about Chim being a Chinese delivery driver (they were eating Chinese food), ignoring Chimney's attempts to hang out (which was paralleled with Buck and Ravi this exact season), and saying "new York bitchiness is a compliment" in response to Hen taking Chim's "you have an easy coast vibe" as a compliment.

Were they great things to say? No. But when you take the year and toxic environment into account, they make sense.

And now knowing Tommy was closeted....

Context matters.

Plus, he regrets how he acted.

Not like he almost killed a man, or threw the deaths of his captain's family in his face, or let his best friend be the last to find out he had taken a permanent firefighter position in Texas. Or ran back to the army instead of staying home with his wife to care for their son. Or didn't want to go with said wife to LA so she could be with her dying mother....only to go to LA a year later anyway and not tell her....until he needed her and then PROCEEDED TO HIDE HER FROM THEIR SON!

I don't know, but there is a character's troubling past we need to look at....and it's not Tommy's.

[ikneesias]

If you can take into considerations that Eddie's behaviour was because of his trauma so his mental health is questionable, but can't take into consideration that Tommy's behaviour in season 2 was because of being in the closet and because of living under a toxic workplace management, and then proceed to think that Tommy's mental health will be fine...

You are a homophobe and a hypocrite by the way. Constantly living in fear will not mean your mental health is fine by the way. But you are too young (19) to understand that shit, and it shows.

Bobs (especially Eddie's bobs) are just a bunch of hypocrites who will wear queer tags on their profile, but then purposefully forgetting the struggle of older queers (which Tommy represent) to create a safe space for every queers. You bunchs benefit from them but you cant even be respectful toward them.

Take off that queer tags and go suck Eddie's dick you bunch of hypocrites.

[sugarcoatedrattrap]

when. when he, he. when

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Train Wreck

bob floyd x fem!reader

9-1-1 Crossover !!

this one is a lil sad so be cautious.

(my personal favorite)

Friday Evening – San Diego

The front door creaked open with a soft click, and a familiar pair of boots hit the hardwood with a satisfying thud. Bob Floyd exhaled slowly, setting down his duffel bag by the door. He stood there for a moment, letting the comfort of home settle over his shoulders like a warm blanket.

“Baby?” he called out, voice tired but soft with affection.

“In the kitchen!” you answered, your voice floating through the air like music.

The smell of garlic and roasted tomatoes wafted toward him, and Bob’s face broke into a tired, grateful smile. He followed the scent until he turned the corner and saw you at the stove, barefoot, hair tied back, wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and dancing a little to the low music playing from the speaker.

He didn’t say anything at first—he just watched. You were the light at the end of every long day.

You sensed him behind you and turned just in time to see him stepping closer. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and pressed a long kiss to the side of your neck.

“Missed you,” he murmured into your skin.

“You stink,” you teased gently, smiling as you turned in his arms. His cheeks flushed.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, sheepish. “Didn’t want to make you wait before saying hi.”

You leaned up and kissed him anyway, slow and soft.

“Go shower. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, stealing one more kiss before pulling back and heading toward the bathroom. He looked over his shoulder once, still not quite believing you were his. You were everything warm and safe and real.

⸻

Thirty Minutes Later

Dinner was quiet, warm, and full of shared glances. The two of you sat across from each other, knees brushing beneath the table. You fed him a bite of your roasted chicken with that sweet little grin that made his heart flip every single time.

When he was done chewing, Bob reached across the table and caught your hand.

“So… I have the weekend off,” he said, fingers brushing over your knuckles. “I mean like really off. No check-ins, no drills, nothing.”

Your eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise. “No way.”

“I swear. Three full days.”

You smiled wide. “We could go to that concert you wanted.”

He shook his head, grinning. “I was actually thinking something a little more low-key. What if we took the train up to L.A.? Just you and me. A couple hours to ourselves. No driving, no distractions. Just… us. We could read, nap, talk the whole way there. Stay at that little hotel near Griffith Park. Do the observatory, maybe go see that classic film you love at the vintage theater.”

You softened immediately, your heart tugging in your chest.

“A train ride?”

He nodded. “Thought it’d be nice. Slow. Intentional. I know I’ve been gone a lot lately.”

You leaned across the table, kissed his knuckles. “I think that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just us, the train, and a weekend of nothing but each other? I’m in.”

Bob looked down at your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours.

———

The station was still stretching awake when they arrived—San Diego’s morning sun creeping lazily across the tracks, gilding everything in warm amber. Bob kept a hand at the small of her back as they made their way through the terminal, his fingers splayed there like a quiet promise. She had her overnight duffel slung over one shoulder and a coffee in her hand that he’d gotten her just the way she liked—two sugars, no cream.

They boarded early, found their car near the back where the rhythm of the train would be gentler. First class, quiet, only a few other passengers scattered throughout. They had two wide seats by the window, and as soon as they settled, Bob leaned forward to tuck her blanket over her knees and offered her the window side. She leaned on his shoulder once they started moving, whispering, “Thank you for this,” and he just smiled, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

They watched the city give way to open terrain, hills rolling by in a golden blur. He held her hand under the blanket as they ate breakfast—little trays of fresh fruit, warm croissants, and eggs. She fed him a strawberry and he laughed when it got juice on his chin. He wiped it off and kissed her wrist.

After they ate, she dozed off with her head in his lap. He rested one hand on her waist, the other stroking her hair, and looked out the window with a small, quiet smile. It felt like peace. Like everything in him could finally be still.

When she stirred awake, he helped her sit up and kissed her temple. They decided to stretch their legs—walked hand-in-hand through the softly swaying cars, passing murmuring passengers and hushed conversations. They peeked into the observation car and stood for a moment watching the land fly by, her body tucked into his chest like puzzle pieces.

Back at their seats, she pulled out a deck of UNO cards from her bag and grinned at him. “Best two out of three.”

Bob raised an eyebrow. “You’re going down.”

They played over the small tray table, teasing and bickering and accusing each other of cheating. He kept losing on purpose just to watch her gloat, and when she caught on, she flicked a red reverse at him and whispered, “Play fair, Flyboy.”

The train rocked gently beneath them, the sun now hanging high and proud in the sky, glinting off the windows, catching in the threads of her smile.

The sun was warm on their faces, filtered through the window like honey. Bob was mid-laugh—she’d just hit him with a brutal +4 UNO card, and he slumped back dramatically in his seat, groaning like his soul had just left his body.

“Oh come on,” he moaned. “You’re ruthless.”

“Remind me who suggested this game?” she smirked, gathering the little plastic cards into her palm with a lazy grin. “You brought this on yourself.”

He leaned forward, stealing a kiss before she could stop him. “You’re dangerous.”

She kissed him back, gentle and warm. “And you’re dramatic.”

The train jolted once.

Not unusual—just a quick shift on the tracks. It rocked them in their seats, and she looked up, furrowing her brows. Bob straightened slowly. Then it happened again—sharper. Harder. The windows rattled. The overhead lights flickered.

The air shifted.

“What the hell—” Bob began.

The screeching started like metal screaming, an unnatural, ungodly sound. Brakes? No—worse. Deeper. More primal.

Then the world tilted.

The train lurched violently sideways. Their table flipped. The cards went flying like confetti. She screamed—Bob grabbed her shoulders, trying to shield her, hold her—then they were weightless.

Everything crashed.

It was a tangle of limbs and metal and shattered glass. The car screamed around them. The floor wasn’t the floor anymore. Lights burst. The windows exploded. Someone was yelling. Screaming. Begging. Then it all went black.

⸻

She woke to pain. Blinding, white-hot, gut-churning pain.

There was blood in her mouth. Her ears were ringing. Something heavy was on her legs. She tried to move—couldn’t. Panic rose like fire in her throat.

“Bob?” she rasped, barely more than breath. “Bob—”

Then he was there. Dirt-smudged face. Blood at his hairline. His hand cradling her face, trembling.

“I’m here—I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I—I can’t move—my leg, I think it’s—” she gasped, pain slicing through her abdomen, “I think it’s broken—”

“I know,” Bob said, his voice breaking. “It’s okay. Just stay with me, baby. Don’t move. I’m right here.”

She started crying. “Are we gonna die?”

“No,” he said fiercely. “No, you’re not. Not on my watch.”

Smoke was starting to thicken in the air. Somewhere ahead, fire had begun. The metal groaned and hissed, the smell of burning wires sharp and vicious.

Sirens.

She heard them in the distance—first responders.

“Help is coming,” he murmured, brushing glass from her cheek. “They’re coming. Just stay with me.”

⸻

“LAFD! Anyone inside—can you hear us?”

“Here!” Bob shouted. His voice cracked. “Back here—she’s trapped! She’s pinned and bleeding—please—”

Boots. Flashlights. Barked orders. Then two figures approached—Bobby and Chimney—shouting, climbing into the wreck.

Chimney crouched low beside Bob, flashlight scanning. “Sir, we need you to move—”

“I’m not leaving her,” Bob said, shaking. “I’m not—she’s the love of my life, please—just get her out���”

“Bob—Bob, it’s okay,” she whispered. Her voice was wet with blood. “I love you. I—I don’t wanna die.”

“You’re not,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re not.”

“We’ll get her out,” Bobby promised. “But you need medical attention, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere—”

Chim and Bobby shared a look—then grabbed him by the arms. “I’m sorry, man.”

“No! No, please—” Bob screamed, thrashing as they dragged him out. “Don’t leave her—don’t leave her!”

She cried out as he disappeared from sight, her fingers reaching toward him.

She didn’t feel the moment Bob was pulled from her side — not at first. What she felt was the cold rush of emptiness that replaced him.

He’d been there. His hand had been wrapped in hers, sticky with his blood and hers, trembling but present. And then, in a single second, the space beside her was just… void. Her hand fell against the floor, fingers grasping at air that wasn’t him.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the quiet creaks of warped steel. “No, no, no—please—”

Her breathing picked up, panic clawing at her chest as her head spun and her ears rang. It didn’t feel real. None of it. The twisted wreck of the train car, the distant sound of sirens, the pressure in her side, the unbearable heat—none of it felt like her life anymore. It felt like a cruel nightmare she wasn’t waking up from.

Her leg throbbed with every heartbeat, a white-hot, nauseating pain that made her want to scream. But she didn’t. Couldn’t.

She was trapped. Alone.

The smoke burned her lungs. Her vision blurred with tears and dizziness and too much blood lost too fast. Her fingers trembled violently as they touched the metal beam pinning her down, slick with something warm and wet.

She couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from anymore.

She tilted her head toward the jagged crack of light where they’d taken Bob, desperate to see him again—just see him—but it was empty. There was nothing.

Her stomach twisted violently.

“Please…” she whispered to the dark. “I don’t—I don’t wanna die.”

Her hand found the charm on the bracelet he’d given her, the one with their initials etched in the back of a tiny silver wing.

She gripped it until it cut into her palm.

They were supposed to have more time. They were supposed to spend the weekend in LA. She was supposed to sleep next to him in that overpriced hotel room they picked out for the view. They were going to go to that little boardwalk diner he loved. He promised her pancakes and sunrises.

Now she could barely breathe. Her whole body shook. Her skin was cold, but sweat ran down her neck.

She didn’t know if help was coming.

She didn’t know if he was okay.

The tears came fast, sobs building in her chest as she closed her eyes and tried to remember his voice. Tried to remember the last time he told her he loved her. Was it when they got on the train? Before they left the house?

She wanted to hear it again.

God, she needed to hear it again.

Then—

“Hey! Got someone!”

The voice hit her like a lightning bolt.

“I see her—light here! Buck, give me the light—”

Two shadows dropped down into the wreckage like angels falling straight from the smoke.

One shined the flashlight directly at her, and for the first time, she saw herself—really saw herself. The blood. The twisted leg. The beam across her ribs. The way her body was arched in pain she couldn’t escape.

She flinched.

“Hey,” a voice said, soft but clear, grounding her. “Hey. My name’s Buck. This is Eddie. We’re with LAFD. Can you tell me your name?”

She blinked hard. “Y/N,” she rasped.

“Alright, Y/N,” Buck said gently, crouching close. “You’re doing great, okay? We’re here to help. We just need to figure out what’s got you pinned.”

She whimpered, chest heaving. “I-I can’t feel my leg.”

Eddie moved carefully to check the beam. His face stayed calm, composed, but his eyes flickered with something sharp.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” he said to Buck. “We need to work fast.”

“I can’t—I can’t leave him,” she whispered suddenly, panic rising in her again. “Please don’t let me die. He’s—he’s all I have.”

Eddie leaned down again, his gloved hand brushing against her arm to keep her grounded. “Who is he?”

“My boyfriend,” she choked out. “My everything.”

“You remember his name?”

“Bob,” she said without hesitation, eyes full of tears. “He’s Navy. Top Gun. He—he held my hand until you got here.”

Buck’s expression tightened. “We saw him. He didn’t want to leave you.”

“He tried to fight Bobby and Chim off,” Eddie added with a soft smile. “Swore he wasn’t leaving without you.”

She sobbed harder. “He’d never leave me. I know he wouldn’t. Please—I don’t want to be the reason he breaks.”

“You won’t be,” Eddie said firmly, crouching until their eyes locked. “You’re gonna get through this. You hear me?”

She gave a shaky nod. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been where he is,” Eddie said quietly. “I served. Army. I’ve loved someone like that.”

Her lip quivered.

“You think I’d let anyone take that away from him?” he continued, fierce now. “Not a damn chance. We’re gonna get you out. I swear on my life.”

Buck was already moving behind her, assessing the wreckage. “We’ve got a path,” he called. “But it’s tight. We’re gonna need to cut and stabilize as we go.”

“Y/N,” Eddie said again, squeezing her shoulder gently. “I need you to stay with me, okay? Keep talking. What’s the last thing you and Bob talked about?”

She inhaled raggedly, tears streaking her soot-stained face.

“He said…” She swallowed. “He said this weekend was all ours. Just us. No squad. No base. Just… Bob and me.”

Eddie’s voice softened. “Sounds like he loves you a hell of a lot.”

“He’s my home,” she whispered. “He’s my whole heart.”

“Then fight,” Eddie told her. “For him. For you. You stay awake. You stay with me.”

She nodded once, her grip on the bracelet tightening, the blood still running, the wreckage still groaning—but for the first time since it happened…

She believed she might survive.

Even if it broke every bone in her body.

——

The moment the last bit of twisted steel was lifted off her, her body slumped like it had been holding on just for that moment. Eddie caught her with both arms, shouting for Buck to help support her weight. She let out a fractured cry as the shift in pressure sent a white-hot wave of pain from her leg up through her entire body.

“I got you, I got you—easy,” Eddie murmured, cradling her head as they laid her on a backboard. “You’re out, Y/N. You’re safe now.”

Her lips were pale, and her breath was shallow. Her fingers found Eddie’s sleeve and clung to it.

“Where’s… Bob…?”

“Right there,” Buck whispered. “He’s right there, sweetheart. He’s waiting for you.”

The wreckage opened into light — the remnants of the sun barely peeking over the smoke-streaked horizon. First responders flooded the space. Hen was already there with the stretcher, gloves on, eyes scanning the moment Eddie and Buck emerged with Y/N in their arms.

“Bring her here!” Hen called, her voice calm and sharp.

They moved in sync — Eddie never letting go of her hand as they transferred her onto the stretcher. She whimpered as her broken leg shifted again.

“I know, I know it hurts,” Eddie said, voice low as he ran a hand over her hair. “But we’re almost there. You’re gonna be okay.”

Not far off, Chimney was speaking urgently to Bob, who was half-conscious, weak and pale from the blood loss but wide-eyed with singular, burning focus.

Then he saw her.

Bob tried to sit up immediately — ribs be damned. “Y/N!”

“Hey—easy, Bob, easy,” Chimney warned, gently holding him down. “She’s here. She made it out.”

Bob’s chest rose with a broken sob, lips trembling, eyes locked on her stretcher as if afraid she’d disappear again.

Chim gave him a small smile. “See? I told you she was in great hands. Now let me get you to the hospital, okay?”

Bob’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in what felt like hours, the panic began to melt from his face, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.

He nodded once.

And then—

The monitors flatlined.

“No, no, no—she’s crashing!” Hen shouted, already starting compressions. “I need the bag valve mask, now! Buck—!”

The scream that tore from Bob’s throat was inhuman.

“No!” He lunged toward her, toward the chaos, but Chimney and Bobby caught him, held him back, arms locking tight around his as he fought like a man possessed.

“LET ME GO! THAT’S MY GIRL! Y/N—NO!”

“Bob—listen to me!” Bobby barked, gripping his face. “Hen’s got her. Let her work. You’ve got to stay with us, you hear me? You both have to live!”

Bob’s entire body shook with grief and terror, every vein in him screaming for her.

Hen didn’t stop. “Come on, come on—stay with me, Y/N. Don’t you quit now!”

She counted under her breath. Gave a breath. Pumped again.

Nothing.

Bob was sobbing behind them, gasping for air, whispering her name like a prayer.

And then—

Beep.

A blip.

A second one.

She gasped — a shallow, jagged breath that sent her chest rising and falling again.

Hen’s hand pressed gently against her throat, feeling the thready, fragile pulse fight its way back.

“We’re back!” she yelled. “She’s back—move, move, let’s go now!”

“Go with her,” Bobby told Eddie, already calling for the second rig. “Don’t let her be alone.”

Eddie didn’t wait.

He climbed into the back of the ambulance as they loaded Y/N in. Her lips were bloodied. Her face was gray. But her eyes were half-open, flickering weakly to meet his.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered, kneeling beside her, voice steady even though his heart hadn’t stopped racing since the train tipped off the rails. “You scared the hell out of us, you know that?”

She gave a tiny, broken noise. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

“Don’t talk. Just listen, okay?” he said. “You’re not alone. You’re safe. And you are not dying today, Y/N. I won’t let you.”

Hen was already shouting into the radio:

“Engine 118, this is Firefighter Henrietta Wilson. I’ve got a 26-year-old female pulled from the crash site—massive internal bleeding, compound fracture to the left femur, suspected rib fractures, possible spinal trauma. We need an OR ready on arrival. ETA eight minutes. Alert trauma!”

The driver hit the lights.

“Keep her awake,” Hen ordered, inserting a line with practiced speed.

Eddie leaned in again, gripping Y/N’s hand.

“You hold on for Bob, alright? He’s gonna meet you there. He needs you. And you’ve fought too hard to give up now.”

Her eyes fluttered again.

“Just stay with me,” he said softly. “Keep looking at me.”

He didn’t let go. Not for a second.

And in the chaos of the sirens and blood and prayers, one truth cut through it all:

She was still alive.

But barely.

And every second counted.

———

INT. ST. FRANCIS TRAUMA CENTER – EMERGENCY BAY – NIGHT

The double doors burst open.

Hen pushes the gurney with purpose, EMTs flanking her on both sides as Eddie walks backwards beside Y/N, holding pressure on her abdomen, never letting go of her hand.

“Female, 26, internal bleeding, impalement wound lower right abdomen, open femur fracture left leg, GCS deteriorating, just coded once on scene—recovered after one round of CPR,” Hen barks out. “We need her in the OR, now!”

A trauma team swarms instantly—scrubs and sharp words flying like sparks.

“Get me vitals again.”

“Call OR two!”

“Push another two liters wide open.”

“We’re losing her pressure!”

Y/N’s head lolled to the side, eyes glassy.

“Y/N. Y/N, you stay with me, okay?” Eddie pleads, leaning close. “They’re gonna take care of you now. You’re safe. Just stay with me.”

As she’s rushed through swinging doors, Eddie is left behind in the chaos, watching her disappear down the hall.

At the same time—

INT. EMERGENCY BAY – SECOND AMBULANCE ARRIVES

Chimney bursts in with Bob on a stretcher, his shirt soaked in dark crimson. Bob’s eyes are unfocused now, lips tinted blue. The adrenaline has worn off, and his injuries are catching up with him.

“Male, early 30s, Navy—lost a ton of blood on scene. Suspected internal bleeding, maybe liver or spleen. Was coherent on site but deteriorated fast. BP tanking,” Chimney shouts.

“Page Dr. Navarro! We’re gonna lose him if we don’t open him up now!”

As the trauma team wheels Bob toward OR Three, he slurs out weakly, “Y/N… where’s Y/N?”

“She’s here. She’s okay. They’ve got her, Bob,” Chimney reassures him, gripping his shoulder. “You did it. You kept her alive. Now it’s your turn.”

But Bob’s head rolls back, eyes slipping closed.

“NAVARRO!” someone screams. “We need a crash cart prepped for OR three—stat!”

INT. SURGICAL HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER

Two stretchers pass down parallel halls—Bob on one side, Y/N on the other, both unconscious, both bleeding out.

Their gloved hands almost brush in the moment before the OR doors swing open to swallow them.

“OR Two and OR Three prepped!”

Hen pulls Eddie aside as the alarms fade behind swinging metal.

“They’re running out of time,” she says grimly. “If we hadn’t gotten them out when we did…”

Eddie nods once. His throat is tight.

“I know.”

INT. WAITING ROOM – NIGHT

Hours pass.

Blood. Scalpel. Suction. Clamp.

Bob and Y/N fight for their lives—separated by walls and inches and destiny.

And outside, the world holds its breath.

INT. ST. FRANCIS HOSPITAL – POST-OP RECOVERY ROOM – NIGHT

The world is soft and sterile. A dim light glows above as a monitor beeps in a slow, steady rhythm. Bob’s lashes flutter, brow tightening before he gasps and lurches—

“Whoa, whoa—hey, easy, easy,” a nurse rushes to his side, gently pressing his shoulders back against the bed. “You just got out of surgery. You’re okay. You’re in recovery.”

Bob’s eyes are frantic, wide, full of raw panic. His voice cracks with pain.

“Where’s—where’s my baby? Where’s my love?” he rasps, chest rising too fast. “Where—where is she?!”

Another nurse hurries to check his vitals. A third adjusts the IV.

“You lost a lot of blood, Lieutenant Floyd,” the nurse says softly. “You were in surgery for six hours. You coded once, but you pulled through. You’re stable now. Just breathe, okay?”

But Bob’s hands flail weakly. He’s crying now—unrestrained, desperate.

“Please, I need her—I need to see her—I can’t breathe without her, please—”

The curtain surrounding his half of the shared recovery space pulls back.

And there she is.

Pale, asleep, still hooked to monitors. But there.

A deep gash stretches across her abdomen, bandaged. Her leg is elevated and wrapped in plaster and gauze. There’s dried blood beneath her fingernails, bruises blooming like violets along her collarbone. But she’s alive. She’s breathing.

Standing just beyond her bed is Eddie Diaz, arms crossed tightly, eyes soft.

“I convinced them to keep you both in the same room,” Eddie murmurs. “Thought maybe it’d help. For both of you.”

Bob lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He reaches one trembling hand toward her direction, not close enough to touch—but close enough to feel real.

“Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely, voice breaking as fresh tears trail down his cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

“Rest,” Eddie says quietly. “She’s got a long road. But she’s gonna wake up. And she’s gonna want to see you.”

Bob nods. Closes his eyes. His lips keep moving, even as he drifts back under, whispering the same three words like a prayer.

“My love… my love… my love.”

INT. ST. FRANCIS HOSPITAL – POST-OP RECOVERY ROOM – NEXT MORNING

It’s quiet. Just the rhythmic pulse of machines. A golden haze filters through the window blinds. Everything feels… heavy. Her lashes flicker once. Again.

She doesn’t open her eyes right away. Not yet. The pain rolls in first—deep, dragging, dull and sharp all at once. Her chest is tight, her throat dry, her leg a lead weight.

Then she hears it.

A voice. Low, warm, cracking around the edges.

“Baby… you with me?”

Her heart clenches. Bob.

She forces her lids open. The ceiling is pale, blurry—until she shifts, and her gaze lands beside her.

There he is.

Bob’s sitting in a wheelchair, hooked to his own IV line, an oxygen tube under his nose, bruises across his collarbone and stitches peeking beneath the neckline of his gown. But none of that matters.

His eyes—bloodshot and full of her—lock on to hers the moment she stirs.

“There she is,” he breathes, voice wrecked but blooming with awe. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Her bottom lip trembles. A choked noise slips from her throat.

“Hey,” she whispers, tears already spilling. “You’re okay.”

“I wasn’t,” he says, shifting forward. “Not until just now.”

A nurse moves behind him, gently trying to usher him back to his bed, but he waves her off weakly.

“Just a minute, please—just… one minute with her.”

Their hands meet halfway across the narrow space between their beds, fingers trembling, squeezing like they’ll never let go again.

“I thought—” Her voice cracks. “I thought we weren’t gonna—Bob, I was so scared.”

“I know,” he whispers, kissing the back of her hand with shaking lips. “I know. I was, too.”

Tears stream down both their faces. He leans in as far as his aching body allows, resting his forehead to her fingers. She curls them around his cheek.

They don’t say much. Don’t need to.

The silence between them is thick with survival. With pain. With love that refused to break even when everything else did.

And just outside the room, Eddie watches through the glass with Hen and Chim beside him. He lets out a quiet breath, folding his arms, voice rough as he says:

“They made it.”

Hen smiles. “Yeah. They did.”

Chim hums. “And after that? They’ll survive anything.”

INT. ST. FRANCIS HOSPITAL – RECOVERY ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON

The light is softer now, warm with the promise of healing. Bob is propped up in bed, a book forgotten in his lap. Y/N dozes beside him, her fingers loosely intertwined with his on the bedsheets.

There’s a soft knock on the doorframe.

Bob looks up, smiles gently. “Hey.”

Eddie steps inside, casual in his LAFD sweatshirt, hands in his pockets, a small bag of fresh fruit and Gatorade tucked under one arm.

“Didn’t want to wake anyone,” he says quietly.

“She’s up,” Bob replies, and gently brushes his thumb along her hand. “Baby, we have company.”

Y/N stirs, blinking groggily. She smiles when she sees Eddie.

Bob squeezes her hand, then gestures toward the firefighter with a warmth that borders on reverent.

“Honey,” he says, voice thick, “this is the man who saved you… and my sanity at the same time.”

Eddie chuckles, bashful, shifting on his feet. “I had a lot of help.”

“No,” Y/N says softly, eyes locked on his. “No, you didn’t.”

Eddie sets the bag on the side table and pulls up a chair beside her bed, settling in with a quiet exhale. For a beat, no one says anything.

Then she tilts her head slightly.

“I know it’s your job,” she says, carefully, “but… why were you so adamant? On my survival? You didn’t even know me.”

Eddie hesitates.

His jaw tightens just a little. His gaze drops to his hands. Then slowly, like the words cost something—but need to be said—he answers.

“There was someone once,” he says. “Shannon. My wife.”

Bob glances over, startled. He hadn’t expected something so personal.

“I couldn’t save her,” Eddie continues, voice quieter. “I was too late. And every day since, I’ve thought about how I should’ve—could’ve—done something. Anything.”

He meets Y/N’s gaze again, raw and open.

“When I found you, pinned and bleeding and terrified… all I could think was not this time. Not on my watch. Not someone else’s love.”

Her eyes glisten. She swallows hard, nodding slowly.

“Thank you,” she whispers, barely more than breath. “For not letting him lose me.”

Eddie gives her a sad, small smile. “Thank you for surviving.”

Bob reaches out, resting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You didn’t just save her life, man. You gave mine back, too.”

And for a long, quiet moment, the three of them just sit there—in the stillness after a storm, in the fragile peace that follows devastation.

Together.

Alive.

[facetimebuddies]

sara gore is secretly a BoB. wow!!!! who woulda thought the Buddie or Bust agenda has infiltrated the offices of NBC 4 New York’s lifestyle show. how very unprofessional of them to even accept a question like that. WOW. super wow even. the buddie agenda is relentless. what next? buddie in times square?!

[its-a-show-stoppin-number]

*Eddie’s phone rings*

Eddie: Oh, hold on. Hello?

Christopher: Are you and Buck gonna come up and say good night or are we just going to do it over the phone, like animals?

Eddie: Good night, Christopher

Christopher: Good night, Dad. Now put Buck on, please. He deserves to be good night-ed

Eddie: Christopher wants to say good night.

Buck: Oh! Good night, Chris

Christopher: Good night, Buck. *whispering* Can you bring up some fries?

Eddie: Is he asking you to bring him fries?

Buck: No... *whispering* He's onto us, I gotta go.

Eddie: Go to bed, Christopher

Christopher: I'm in bed, I'm just hungry!

[whatareyoudoingsaturday]

saying Lou is an ugly ass botox addict nepo baby. are bobs okay? don't they see his glorious, beautiful crinkles? 😂

[0-therw-0-rldly]

I’ll preface this by saying I’m not really a shipper. I just enjoy canon couples on TV Series/films.

Terms I’d like B*ddies to remove from their vocabulary because they don’t know how to use them correctly:

Media literacy: For a group that uses this term a lot you sure do misinterpret everything in this show.

Queerbaiting: Going to expand on this one. A show that’s already been pre established for having queer characters simply cannot queerbait.

Ship baiting: While sometimes you can argue that they could be doing that, that’s only if you look at the show in a very biased manner. You might think this is the case but the general audience doesn’t think the way you do.

Ship war: This isn’t a one tree hill situation where there was Team Brooke Vs. Team Peyton where the middle guy (Lucas Scott) had canonically been with both women. This is people not understanding fanon vs. canon and not being able to just watch the show. It’s like playing quarterback on Madden and thinking you could be better than Patrick Mahomes.

Plot device: everything’s a plot device. Move tf on.

Predator: You sound like crazy MAGA supporters calling everything regarding the LGBTQIA+ community as predatory. Sit down.

Co-parenting: I know this is a big one and discourse was brought up during the hiatus. Oliver and Ryan have loosely mentioned this years ago but it was never to be taken this seriously. Do y’all even know what co-parenting is or are you that big of a donut? Buck is someone who loves his best friend deeply and by extension, his kid too. Him taking care of him frequently does not make him a co-parent. Maybe he is a parental or uncle figure, but he isn’t a co-parent. Also, I swear y’all need to learn how a will works. He is a GODPARENT, not a GUARDIAN. Stfu.

Hag: This especially applies to women, but to say that someone 25-30+ is a hag for still being in fandoms or enjoying tv shows/films is inherently misogynistic. Men are never held to this much criticism for enjoying fictional media, but women aren’t allowed to?

Queer Coding: people of the same sex “looking at each other”, hugging, or having intimate moments all together doesn’t make them queer coded. It could mean that they just love each other that deeply platonically. While representation is amazing and just because you interpret a character as queer coded (just like my ship baiting comment) doesn’t mean others interpret it that way as well. In addition, network TV has stipulations, and also actors are allowed to decline storylines. Ryan has mentioned his character is heterosexual an abundance of times which means (at least for now) that he isn’t willing to go for this storyline.

Dead naming: Y’all construing the fact that Buck wants people like coworkers and some of his former love interests, to saying Evan is his dead name is inherently transphobic because do you even understand what a dead name is? Evan Buckley is shown as being fine with being called Evan by both Tommy and his sister. I’m pretty sure some of his love interests have called him Evan as well.

Fetishizing: You guys saw two hot guys who “looked at each other” and for 6 seasons have wanted nothing but to see those two make out with each other. Those of us who enjoy Tevan saw Buck giddy at the thought of Tommy and have wanted domestic fluff for them since.

Anything to do with racism, homophobia, and misogyny: I’ve seen the way you guys have conveniently weaponized Henren and by extension Aisha/Tracie when you didn’t get the Ryan/Oliver interview, don’t try to act like you’re morally superior. Not to mention wanting a canonically gay man to die in a show and not even holding those who use your ship name to write CSA fics accountable because you’re petty and want to throw hissy fits. Anyone looking at your comments as an outsider would think you’re homophobes and yes queer people can be homophobic.

I do hope you can expand your vocabulary. 🤍

[kinardsboy]

And this is exactly what i mean when I say people in this fandom dont care about gay men

The mentions of Tommy and Josh, the two actually gay men, but also just the implication that they would do this to a real life gay man is well is sickening and only proves that they dont give a fuck about queer men or our representation

They see us as pawns and dolls for their fantasies and become violent when we dont play along or fit their narrow stereotype for what being queer can be.

Not censoring any usernames cause idgaf anymore. Im done.

[livesincerely]

Later, Buck will swear up and down that this all could’ve been avoided if Eddie had just opened his mouth at any point and said something.

“It was pretty fucking obvious, tonto,” Eddie grumbles, an arm slung over his waist and his nose nestled against the curve of Buck’s throat⁠—where it’s been for the majority of the last thirty-six hours. “You’re just oblivious. Or blind. Or⁠—”

“Shut up,” Buck says, pulling him closer.

But to recap, Buck’s just arrived at the firehouse for his shift and the knowledge that Eddie won’t be joining him already has him grumpy and irritable—like an itch between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite scratch.

He’s really not looking forward to whichever floater he’s stuck with this time. The last guy that’d come in couldn’t coil his ropes or roll a hose for love or money, and he’d spent most of the shift cleaning up after him. So it’s a genuine surprise and delight to find Eddie sitting in the locker room when he walks in, already in his uniform.

“Hey!” Buck greets, feeling himself perk up like a freshly-watered plant. “What’re you doing here? I thought your leave started today?”

“Bobby called,” Eddie says, double knotting the laces on his boots. He’s forgone the gel today and a swoopy piece of hair falls over his forehead. Buck’s heart jolts in his chest. “Whittler’s partner went into labor just after midnight, and Ginsburg’s still in Cabo until Tuesday, so he asked if I could push it back a day.”

“Bad luck,” Buck sympathizes, digging through his locker. He’s almost positive he’s got a spare uniform buried in here somewhere… yep, there it is. He muffles a yawn against the back of his hand, then tugs the t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. “You gonna be okay out there? I know how you get.”

He senses more than sees the face Eddie makes at that.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is,” he says. “Thankfully I’d already made arrangements for Chris—he’s at Pepa’s until it’s over, and Carla’s helping coordinate his schedule. I’ve got some supplies left over from last time, but if I can’t make it to the store before it hits, I’ll just get groceries delivered.”

Now it’s Buck’s turn to make a face. 

“No, you won’t, don’t lie,” he chides as he does up the buttons on his shirt. “Text me a list, I’ll drop off some stuff for you.”

Eddie huffs out a breath. “I’m pretty sure I can manage an Instacart order, Buck.”

“You can but you won’t,” Buck counters. “Pre-rut Eddie gets territorial when the mailman comes by, you’re definitely not gonna eat anything delivered by a stranger.”

Which is absolutely true, by the way. It’s honestly kind of adorable how worked up he gets: all grouchy and growly, stomping around with that little furrow between his brows. 

“I can⁠—”

“Eddie,” Buck says, glancing over his shoulder and fixing him with his sternest look. Eddie’s nostrils flare, his spine straightening like he’s about to jump to his feet and stand at attention. “Come on, man, don’t be stubborn. Let me help you.”

He fastens his nametag to his chest, does one last spot check on his hair, and shuts his locker with a click. 

“Maybe if you’re really nice to me, I’ll even swing by that place over on Lawrence with those egg rolls you love⁠—”

And anything else he’d been about to say is lost because when Buck turns around, it’s to find Eddie standing right behind him. Like, literally right behind him⁠—How the fuck did he sneak up on him?—a fierce glint in those warm brown eyes.

Before he can do anything other than blink stupidly at him, Eddie pushes him up against his own locker: a full body press, chest to hip to thigh. He nuzzles in close, rubbing a stubbled cheek all over Buck’s throat.

“E-Eddie?” Buck stammers, his voice cracking right down the middle. His skin is buzzing with static—like someone’s overloaded the circuit breaker for his heart, sending pulse after pulse of electricity through his veins. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie laughs, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into Buck’s, oh god. “Take a wild guess.”

“Are you scent marking me?”

“Pre-rut Eddie gets territorial,” Eddie says, echoing his earlier words, curling a hand around Buck’s hip. “What makes you think you’re an exception to the rule?”

“Um.” Buck has no idea what’s going on right now. Unsure of what else to do with his hands, he ends up settling them gingerly on Eddie’s back. “I’m… not?”

“Exactly,” Eddie says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement. He cranes up until he can tuck himself into the space under Buck’s jaw and inhales with a deep, contented sigh. “Why aren’t you wearing your blockers? I could smell you coming the moment you walked into the vehicle bay.”

“I am wearing blockers,” Buck tells him, trying hard not to do something utterly mortifying like whimper or beg or pass the fuck out. Every one of his instincts is screaming at him to bare his throat to the attention, his head swimming with yes, yes, good, please, alpha, yes. “And, uh, actually, did you know that an alpha’s olfactory senses can become up to eighty percent stronger in the three days leading up to their rut? It’s to help them stay in tune with the needs of their pack and mate throughout their cycle.”

“Yeah,” Eddie muses, and he reaches up and undoes the top two buttons on Buck’s shirt, pulling his collar open and nosing at the newly-exposed skin. Buck chokes back a whine by the skin of his teeth, his knees threatening to buckle out from underneath him. “That tracks.”

He nuzzles even closer, then says, “God knows I need every advantage I can get⁠—keeping you is a full-time job.”

Buck’s mouth is painfully dry. 

“You mean, uh⁠—” When did it get so fucking hot? “You mean k-keeping up with me?”

He can feel the shape of Eddie’s smirk against his throat. “Sure, that too.”

[fakemouthstaticpilot]

So, Ryan makes the fight more violent and improvised grabbing Oliver as if to hit him....

And Lou improvises little knee and chin touches to show how much he cares for Buck....