imgoingdownwiththeship

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

once more, with feeling

buddie | explicit | 13k Buck goes missing, and Eddie goes crazy.

It’s been three hours since Buck replied to a text, and two hours and fifty-nine minutes since Eddie started worrying. He doesn’t panic, since there could be a logical reason for the radio silence—Buck had said he’s been deep-cleaning the house since four in the morning right after coming off a forty-eight and provided photographic evidence that Chris already made Buck’s new contact picture in Eddie’s phone: apron tied tight around his waist, yellow rubber gloves stretched up to his elbows, hairnet on his head. So it’s entirely possible Buck just passed out from exhaustion.

Then again, Buck also said he’s been making some of Chris’s favorite foods all day in anticipation of their arrival. And while Eddie might not be the best chef in the world, even he knows none of Chris’s favorite foods take three hours to cook. Besides, Buck would have set a dozen different timers to ensure he wouldn’t burn a single macaroni noodle, so there’s no way he could have slept through all of them. (Buck’s slept over often enough, has cooked in Eddie’s kitchen often enough, that he knows Buck always chooses the most obnoxious sounds available on his phone. They could wake a dead man.)

So Eddie worries, but he doesn’t panic. Maybe Buck’s phone died and he hasn’t plugged it in yet. Maybe he’s weeding the backyard and can’t hear his phone. Maybe he’s washing the roof (as if Eddie would ever go up there, let alone Chris) and left his phone inside. It’s unusual for Buck to leave it behind, but stranger things have happened.

It’s just completely unlike Buck to not reply, and fucking strange it would take so damn long. Outside of working a shift, Eddie can count on one hand the number of times Buck took longer than five minutes to reply to a text since Eddie moved to El Paso. But he knows Buck’s just eighteen hours into ninety-six off; it’s why they decided today would be the perfect day for Eddie and Chris to get back, so Chris could have his Buck time uninterrupted. So Eddie wouldn’t be climbing the walls with boredom or nerves while Buck was at work.

Not that Eddie is panicking. He’s not. He’s just . . . mildly concerned, and having a hard time hiding it. Even from Chris.

Then again, Chris is far from being the little kid who can’t see right through every single one of Eddie’s forced smiles.

“Wanna text him we’re almost home?” Eddie asks while idling at a stoplight, the red like a gunshot wound in the evening blue. The turn signal sounds far too taunting, a rhythmic uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh in the quiet car. He forces his teeth to unclench and hopes Chris won’t notice the bleached white of his knuckles on the steering wheel. “Or do you wanna surprise him?”

Chris absentmindedly locks and unlocks the door, and Eddie might scold him for it, but he’s at capacity for worry with every passing minute of silence from his phone. “Surprise him,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. “Like I said when you asked me five minutes ago.”

Eddie screws his jaw to the side with a pop. Maybe he was hoping Buck would text Chris back, if he won’t Eddie. But Chris clearly isn’t worried, and Eddie tries to take comfort in that. Chris is about as even-keeled as Eddie usually is, save for the rare moments when Chris proves he’s still a teenager growing into his deepening voice.

The light turns green. Eddie doesn’t floor it—barely.

Chris heaves a sigh and drops his hand off the lock. “Dad, his phone’s probably just dead. He’s been texting you or me or both of us every five seconds since we left El Paso yesterday.”

And since the last few hours of his shift passed without any calls, he’d stayed up with Eddie last night texting. Eddie had been too buzzed from that last coffee he’d bought at a gas station to sleep in the motel room (he’d asked for decaf, but maybe that meant something different in Arizona). It’s possible Buck just forgot to plug his phone in after getting home and sleeping for four hours before rising to start his cleaning spree.

But just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s likely.

Turning onto South Bedford for the first time in four months with his own two hands on a steering wheel carries the same relief as shucking his turnouts after half a day fighting a fire that just wouldn’t die. (He tries not to think about the too-long weeks they all thought Bobby was dead. He tries not to think about that too-tight hug in the airport when he found Buck waiting for him at baggage claim, chin raised and shoulders squared, like he’d decided to mimic Atlas for the few seconds it took him to drop his weight against Eddie and let him share the load. He tries not to think about the too-quiet drive home, Buck grinding his teeth so hard Eddie could hear his molars squeak together.) The relief only doubles when he sees Buck’s jeep sitting in the driveway, though it also doesn’t last long.

“Porchlights aren’t on,” Eddie says, mostly to himself.

Chris snorts. “Well, the sun’s not even set yet.”

Sure, but Buck said he’d leave the light on for Eddie and Chris, and the sky’s that deep kind of blue that makes Eddie homesick for a thing he can’t name. It’s a California blue, the one he ached for every night he looked out the window of his house in El Paso and tried to convince himself he could feel at home there. It’s the blue that always makes Buck remark on the time and make a detour to the front door so he can flick on the porchlight. It was a habit that only existed when he was at Eddie’s house, and always prompted Eddie to invite him to stay for dinner, or a movie, or the night. It was already so late, and he’d be driving back here bright and early the next day anyway, so why bother going home? And Buck would get all pink-cheeked and smiley, shoulders tucked up to his ears, and say, “Well, if you insist,” and Eddie would smirk at him and fetch the bedding from the closet, ignoring the impulse to invite Buck to just share his bed. (It got harder to ignore with every passing day.)

When a shiver snakes up Eddie’s spine, he clenches his teeth once more to hide their sudden chatter. He can’t put his finger on why that lack of light is what makes the worry finally shift gears, but it settles into his bones as he pulls into the driveway behind the jeep. The front door doesn’t open. Another jolt of panic flutters in his chest.

Chris opens the passenger door and Eddie breathes in deep, listening to him climb out with a clatter of his crutches. It still smells the same: asphalt warmed by the sun, saccharine roses from his neighbor’s yard. All that’s missing is the diesel of his truck, and he swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t regret selling it, but he wishes he still had it.

They leave their bags and boxes in the car for now—his sisters insisted on driving the U-Haul out here in a week to bring Eddie the rest of his stuff, so they could finally meet the man Eddie hadn’t shut up about in the months he’d lived in Texas—and Eddie jingles his keys as he follows Chris to the front door. Chris insists on knocking shave and a haircut, because Buck always knocks two bits in answer before he opens the door. Buck and Chris have been doing it since he was little, and it settles something in Eddie, knowing that, no matter how old Chris gets, he’ll always be Buck and Eddie’s kid.

But couplet goes incomplete.

Chris rings the doorbell, shouts, “Buck! Wake up!” and Eddie takes a step back, recalling something he once overheard Athena tell Buck when they were gearing up for one of their occasional escapades. He eyes the street corners, the sidewalk spotlighted in orange by streetlamps. He eyes the cars parked on various curbs—the Jensons down the road swapped their minivan for an SUV while Eddie was gone. He brushes his fingers over the windowsills and checks that the spare key is still hidden in its pot.

Nothing screams something happened here, but it does little to settle Eddie.

“Hold on,” he says, finding the house key he never removed from his keyring. Then he gently nudges Chris behind him and unlocks the door, pushing it open a crack to listen. Chris pokes at his back, but Eddie just holds up a hand and peers inside.

The house looks even cleaner than it had when Eddie was trying to sublet it, and smells like lemon wood polish and ocean breeze Febreze and Buck, his bodywash and his lotion and the cream he uses in his curls.

Eddie steps inside. Nothing moves or makes a sound. He exhales slowly and waves for Chris to enter, then shuts the door and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here.”

Chris raises a brow at him. “Uh, why? The house is clearly empty.”

“Just—” He bites his tongue. There’s no explaining the string that ties Eddie to Buck and Buck to Eddie, no explaining how he always knows when Buck needs him even while states apart or how Buck always knows exactly what Eddie needs to hear when no one else does. There’s no explaining how he knows that something’s wrong. Buck said he would be here, and he isn’t. He wouldn’t have changed his plans, not without good reason, and certainly not without leaving a note. He wouldn’t have spent the past three and a half hours ignoring Eddie’s texts.

“Text him for me,” Eddie says. “And please, Chris, just wait here.”

Chris screws his mouth up in that way that Eddie recognizes from his own mouth, but nods and pulls out his phone. Eddie starts slowly through the house, eyeing every shadow on his way to the kitchen—and hears the ribbit that is Chris’s text sound on Buck’s phone come from the denim jacket draped over the back of a chair at the dining table.

Eddie fishes it out and feels his heart drop into his stomach at the sheer number of missed notifications. His heart drops out of his ass when he spies the two glasses on the table. One has barely a finger of water in it, and the other left a ring of condensation from long-melted ice.

Swallowing hard, he forces himself to slip into the kitchen and finds the oven on but, thankfully, empty. A cookie sheet sits on the stove, holding two foil pans: one with baked macaroni and cheese and another with eight-cheese lasagna. Cookies of all flavors sit in saran-wrapped platters on the island. A pitcher in the fridge holds pink lemonade.

He exhales slow and turns off the oven. Then he calls Athena.

read the rest here on ao3!!!

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Carla appreciation post because that woman has taken care Buckley-Diaz clan forever now and we don’t talk about her enough that woman is a miracle worker and I fully believe that when Buddie becomes canon it’ll be because she finally pulled Buck and Eddie’s head outta their asses

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Imagine Chimney going through Bobby's desk in his office. Having to clear personal things out. It breaks his heart, but also warms him because the captain was sentimental.

Then he comes across a small blue book labeled simply "Buck." Curious, he opens and flips through it.

Kid has eating problems. Will forget to eat when stressed. Feed him, and encourage him to cook, because he likes to taste-test a lot.

Chimney remembers that. Buck mentioning getting so hungry the starving pains go away. He does remember during the shitty times when Buck lost so much weight.

-Loves carbs

-Hates Okra

-Probably allergic to shellfish and mangos. Encourage him to get an allergy test

-Allergic to Naproxen

-Allergic to heavy fragrance laundry detergents. Use gentle.

-Remind him he's doing a great job. Use positive reinforcement.

-If he's depressed, as Maddie says, hand him a child. May and Harry work too.

-He's finally gaining weight! :)

-The Buckley parents are banned. Do not ask why. Firehouse is his safe area.

-He fidgets when he's stressed. Have him chop some vegetables or prepare them for you. He loves being helpful.

-He loves his clipboard. Have him organize important events. Give him gold stars. Do not let Hen and Chimney hide it. He gets sad.

-Remind him not to read too close or in the dark. He's gonna need glasses at this point. (If he does, don't let others tease him. Tell him he looks great)

-He doesn't admit it, but his leg still bothers him. Heating blankets are in the closet in the office. Have Eddie massage his leg or send him home early if he's obviously struggling.

Chim laughs. He laughs, and laughs, and starts to cry. Of all things, he did not expect to find a "How to Take Care of Your Buck" guide hidden away in Bobby's desk.

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

So buddie coded

Prompt #1193

"You can't like me. You are straight."

"Well, since I do like you, it doesn't seem like I am."

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

When Buck and Eddie get married, Maddie walks Buck down the aisle and Chris walks Eddie. Chris’ best man speech has the entire reception laughing, and when Maddie gets up and toasts to Buck they both cry. Both of Eddie’s sisters fly out and entertain with stories of Eddie as a child, the moments he let himself be silly with them. Buck does a speech for Chris specifically, who despite being sixteen doesn’t protest Buck’s reminiscing on seven year old Chris. Eddie finally cries when Buck gets their guests to toast to Shannon at the end of his Chris speech. The newlyweds dance into the night and get sloppy drunk and refuse to leave each others side, to the point that around midnight Hen finds Eddie slumped outside the bathroom waiting for Buck to get out. Eddie laughs and says, I’m waiting for my husband,” and lets himself feel how right that is.

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Crack fic where the 118 and co are all arguing about what color Bucks hair is

Maddie, Buck, and Bobby think he is blonde. Chimney, Hen, and Athena think he has brown hair.

They turn to Eddie and he is like well it depends and pulls out a whole PowerPoint presentation about how the lighting and environment affects it, how the sun will bleach it to look lighter and on and on and on as the rest of the cast just stare at him.

And then in the back Ravi just goes “I thought he was a redhead!”

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

I like to think that Father Brian has no idea that Bobby, Eddie, and Buck are from the same firehouse and are all friends, and the day he finds out that they are he offers to bless the 118 firehouse, just in case.

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Maddie, in her wedding dress: So. Who was the last person to see Howie before he disappeared? I'm not mad. I just want to talk. Everyone: ... Buck: ...It was me. I was with him. Maddie: No. It wasn't you. You were making out with Tommy and Eddie the whole night. Tommy, shrugs: I mean she's not wrong. Eddie: Maddie, Hen's been awfully quiet. Hen: Oh, rEAlLY? You want to fight me now? Karen: That is NOT helping, honey! Bobby: Children, please! Athena: Here we go again. *everyone starts arguing* Chimney, later, being interviewed: It was Maddie. She was with me. She was drunk and locked me inside the bathroom. It was adorable.

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Also. No fic I write will Bobby ever be dead. Idc if that’s canon compliant I’m not doing it nope no thank you keep that away from me Bobby is there to walk Buck down the aisle at Buddie wedding he’s there to see May and Harry graduate college he’s there to see Buck become a captain someday and Chim and Maddie raise their kids and Ravi move up on the firefighter ladder and Hens future birthdays that he never forgets ever again

THATS what happens. Thank you.

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Eddie: See, I'm straight, but if there was a man I would marry, it'd be Buck.

Hen: How do you feel about that, Buck?

Buck: It's not helping with the rumors.

Hen: I think the kiss you guys shared at my birthday party isn't helping with the rumors.

Eddie: Yeah, I just hate that he didn't give me enough tongue.

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Eddie: If you think about it in the shower, you're not over it.

Buck: I'm apparently not over the burning of the Library of Alexandria.

Hen: Is anyone?

Chim: They shouldn't be.

Ravi: I mean, it was burned like 3 times, right? Kinda hard to not be mad about it still.

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Buck: I don't get this whole fuss over writing wills. When i die, everything goes to Eddie.

Hen: That's great, Buck.

Chim: But what if Eddie dies before you?

Buck, crying: Shut up. Shut up, Chim. SHUT THE FUCK UP ALL OF YOU.

(x)

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

madney // buddie + parallels (part four) 💌

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Vindication!!!!!!

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

I’ve made some 911 memes! I honestly love this show so much

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

The Trail's End: a poem written by Bonnie.

You've read the story of Jesse James

Of how he lived and died;

If you're still in need

Of something to read,

Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang,

I'm sure you all have read

How they rob and steal

And those who squeal

Are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;

They're not so ruthless as that;

Their nature is raw;

They hate all the law

The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers;

They say they are heartless and mean;

But I say this with pride,

That I once knew Clyde

When he was honest and upright and clean.

But the laws fooled around,

Kept taking him down

And locking him up in a cell,

Till he said to me,

'I'll never be free,

So I'll meet a few of them in hell.'

The road was so dimly lighted;

There were no highway signs to guide;

But they made up their minds

If all roads were blind,

They wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;

Sometimes you can hardly see;

But it's fight,

man to man,

And do all you can,

For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;

From weariness some people have died;

But take it all in all,

Our troubles are small

Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,

And they have no clue or guide;

If they can't find a fiend,

They just wipe their slate clean

And hand it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There's two crimes committed in America

Not accredited to the Barrow mob;

They had no hand

In the kidnap demand,

Nor the Kansas City depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy;

'I wish old Clyde would get jumped;

In these awful hard times

We'd make a few dimes

If five or six cops would get bumped.'

The police haven't got the report yet,

But Clyde called me up today;

He said, 'Don't start any fights

We aren't working nights

We're joining the NRA.'

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct

Is known as the Great Divide,

Where the women are kin,

And the men are men,

And they won't 'stool' on Bonnie and Clyde.

If they try to act like citizens

And rent them a nice little flat,

About the third night

They're invited to fight

By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too tough or desperate,

They know that the law always wins;

They've been shot at before,

But they do not ignore

That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together;

And they'll bury them side by side;

To few it'll be grief

To the law a relief

But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

[imgoingdownwiththeship]

Sorry can't come into work today it's 9-1-1 day and everyone's currently crashing out bc of Buzzfeed, thx