#Nash Writes

[chubbobablast]

*posting all the links to my (worthwhile) fanfics on ao3!!

A Beacontown Wedding

30 Chances & 30 More

Springtime Soon Will Come

Demons In Our Heads

Taking Prisoners

Complex Consequence

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

happy pride month! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🌈 Marlinspike Pride 2024

[violet-knights]

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!”

[atomicrebelfire]

Just gonna say it—

Naming Maddie and Chim’s baby Robert Nash Han weeks ( or months, don't understand show's timeline anymore) after Bobby died doesn’t feel like a tribute. It feels re-traumatizing.

If someone I loved deeply had died—especially in a tragic, traumatic way—and then weeks later someone close to me named their baby their full name like “Robert Nash,” I’d be wrecked every time I heard it. It’s not sweet. It’s not healing. It’s grief on loop.

Grief doesn’t need a constant echo. A tribute should bring comfort—not reopen the wound every time someone says the name. That’s why people usually go for middle names or subtle nods—something that honors without overshadowing.

Instead, this feels less like a sweet memorial and more like… emotional possession by proxy. Like the writers are trying to resurrect Bobby through this baby instead of letting his death land.

And Athena calling the baby “hi Bobby”? That’s not your husband reborn. That’s a newborn. It’s giving ghost baby. It’s giving unresolved grief. It’s giving “this poor child will grow up being a walking memorial.” That’s not comforting—it’s creepy. The emotional logic just isn’t there.

So while Jee-Yun’s name was love, Robert’s name feels like loss that hasn’t been dealt with.

Instead of honoring Bobby by living better, the show made a baby his namesake like he's being reinserted into the narrative. That’s not tribute — that’s emotional displacement.

[champagnetommy]

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Tommy’s been staring at Evan from across the room and he’s so focused on the curve of his mouth, as he smiles at something Hen said that he’s startled when Bobby drops in the chair next to him.

“He’s easy to love,” Tommy says softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He manages to tear his gaze from Evan so he can turn to look at Bobby, who’s looking at him with a gentle smile, like he’s realized something.

“People don’t always get that,” Bobby nods. “He’s come a long way, messed up more than a few times, but he’s never been hard to love. It’s why I gave him a second chance, or three,” he chuckles. “You’re good for him,” he adds.

“He’s good for me,” Tommy counters, but smiles wide, pink dusting high on his cheeks.

“I know you don’t need me to say it, but I’m proud of you, too, Tommy. I see everything you’ve accomplished, and you were already a good man when you were at the 118, but it’s nice to see you so settled, at peace,” Bobby declares with such conviction it makes Tommy throat constrict a little. “I guess what I’m saying is, I’m happy you and Buck found each other.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” Tommy says, clearing his throat. “It means a lot. Having you-and Hen and Chim back then, gave me the courage to go after what I wanted. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I stayed, if I had found Evan sooner, been part of the family sooner,” he trails off, a little embarrassed at everything that spilled out.

Bobby claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “There are always a millions what-if’s, but if you ask me, I think you found each other at exactly the right time,” he offers. “You and I know anything can happen in our line of duty, no day is guaranteed. We gotta hold on to the good things.”

Tommy nods and if he didn’t know any better…

“You know I already have a ring, don’t you?”

“I had my suspicions, but now I know for certain,” Bobby grins, knowingly.

“Is that.. is that okay with you?” Tommy asks, pretty sure of his answer, but nervous all the same.

“You don’t need my permission, son,” Bobby starts, “but if you’re asking me what I think? Well, Buck’s judgement is pretty darn great, and I’ve never seen him so happy,” he gives Tommy shoulder a squeeze. “Besides, I told him I thought you were good for him months ago,” he shrugs.

Tommy’s heart soars. He knows Bobby cares for him, and the rest of the 118 welcomed him with open arms, but it still shocks him a little to have verbal confirmation of approval. “You mean the world to him, Bobby, so knowing you approve means the world to me,” Tommy admits.

It’s Bobby’s turn to look flustered, opting to smile and duck his head in bashful acknowledgment. He clears his throat, “Alright Kinard, go save your man. Looks like he and Hen found the tequila.”

Tommy laughs, seeking out Evan and sure enough, he’s already pouring shots. He shoots up to indeed save his boyfriend- soon-to-be finance, his mind supplies hopefully. They had a hike planned tomorrow morning and Evan would not be happy with himself if he was hungover for it.

Tommy pauses to steal another glance at Evan and he knows he must have the fondest, dopiest smile on his face.

“Oh you’ve got it bad,” Bobby chuckles, shaking his head.

“Like I said, he’s easy to love,” Tommy repeats his earlier statement. He feels a pull on his chest, as he walks over to Evan, like a string always leading him home.

I could find him, blind, he thinks.

[punksalmons]

uhm i might have posted something on ao3

once in a long while

Bobby takes on the responsability of watching over Buck after an accident during work leaves him 25 years younger.

(read here)

[theotherbuckley]

For @icyfox17 💜

There’s a boy standing in the corner of the station when they arrive. He’s shivering, clutching a soft toy to his chest. Bobby jumps out of the fire engine before they’ve even fully stopped.

“Hey, kid,” he says, approaching the boy slowly. He’s small but not concerningly so. His blood hair is disheveled as it falls into his eyes.

The boy doesn’t look up, Bobby would think he didn’t hear it is weren’t for the slight flinch he made when Bobby started speaking.

“My name’s Robert, but my friends call me Bobby,” he says, kneeling down beside the boy. “What’s your name?”

No answer.

Different approach then.

“I like your deer,” he says looking at the plushie.

“He’s a buck,” the boy whispers, holding the toy closer to himself.

“Oh yeah?” Bobby prompts.

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s a male deer.”

The boy looks up at him with big eyes and Bobby smiles back. “That’s right. You’re very smart, kid. Where’d you learn that?”

“M—my sister told me.”

Sister. That’s a start.

“She sounds like a good sister.”

“The best,” he sniffs.

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Maddie. M-A-D-D-I-E.” He recites.

Maddie. He can work with that. “What do you say we try find Maddie, hm?”

The boy’s shoulders slump and he curls into himself, shaking his head. “They-they don’t want me,” he hiccups, shakes his head again.

Bobby’s stomach drops. He knows that a kid showing up to the firehouse is not a good sign, still, he’d hoped it was a misunderstanding.

“Why’s that?” He asks gently.

“‘Cause ‘m not ‘nough. She said stay here. ‘Cause I failed.”

“Who said that?”

“Mommy.”

Bobby never could understand how some people can be so cruel to their own children.

The boy shivers again. Both arms dropping to his side. That’s when Bobby notices the small note taped to his shirt. “Look after me.” Shit.

“How about we get you a nice warm cup of hot chocolate? Then one of my friends can look you over and make sure you’re okay. How’s that sound?”

The kid doesn’t speak for a moment but then he nods, holding out his small hand towards Bobby who grasps it in his own. His hand is cold against his and Bobby wants to wrap the kid in a hundred blankets. He’ll get Marshall to find some for them.

“Do I get to know your name now?” He asks again, walking the boy slowly up the stairs towards the kitchen.

“Mm, Evan Buck,” he says, raising his deer towards Bobby.

“Buck, hm, like your toy.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, Buck, let’s get that hot chocolate.”

[try-set-me-on-fire]

don’t be alarmed, this is my loudest roar

1465 words // rated g

8x15-16 spec, major character death

Dad had warned him, in the car. He already knew Bobby is dead, that’s why they left Texas so fast instead of waiting for spring break or maybe the end of the school year like they were starting to talk about. Chris was in the room when the phone call had come in and Eddie’s face had gone all- wide. It’s weird to think about. Bobby, Captain Nash. It’s like a principal or a librarian dying. Not so much a person in Chris’ mind but an architectural feature, a fundamental truth of the way the world is. He’ll visit dad at work and Bobby will give him a grilled cheese with grapes on the side and show him the fire trucks again even though he’s seen them a million times already. And now he won’t, because he’s not alive, because principals and librarians are real people who breathe and bleed and can stop doing those things. It’s weird.

So that’s not what Dad warned him about. It’s after their last stop for gas, where Chris tried to stretch out the ache of sitting in a car for so long and Dad ran off out of hearing again, like he did at every other gas stop, phone pressed to his ear. They’re back in the car and on the highway again and Eddie’s knuckles are tight against the steering wheel and he clears his throat.

“Mijo,” he says. “Chris.” He glances over at the passenger seat, then keeps his eyes on the road. “When we get there- when we get home Buck is gonna be there.” Chris knows that, knows Buck moved in. He dreams- daydreams, not quite asleep enough for it to be anything other than wishful thinking, about him and Buck and Dad all in one house forever, and always knowing where both of them are and that they’re safe. He can almost hear snoring down the hall if he closes his eyes hard enough. “And… I just want to tell you, he-” Eddie’s knuckles creak on the wheel. “Him and Bobby were really close, you know? He… Bobby was kind of like his dad. So- so he’s really upset right now, and I just want to tell you that before we get there because- because we’re going to have to be gentle with him, okay?” Chris nods, Eddie nods. “And because I know… it can be kinda scary, when someone you- you care about is hurting.” Chris nods again, like he doesn’t know that, like his stomach hasn’t wobbled anytime Eddie’s voice has in this conversation. “I don’t want you to be scared. We’re going to be okay. Buck will be okay.” Eddie lets go of the steering wheel for a minute, stretches his fingers out, grabs back on again. “We’re gonna take care of him.” That seems obviously true, so Chris doesn’t nod a third time.

So, here they are now, at the house. Still labelled home in Chris’ mind, on one of those little pieces of tape with the raised up letters like Mrs. Hanrahan had all over everything in third grade, like they’d somehow forget what a pencil is and where to put it away. The lawn is mowed and the door is open and it looks so much the same that Chris feels like crying a little but doesn’t. Eddie gets out of the car first, and doesn’t bother with bags or anything because out of the house-

Buck. Chris imagines the shelf he lives on in his mind, stored close to home and Dad. He thinks he’d need more than one little strip of tape for him. Friend and safe and firefighter and family and- he doesn’t know. He thinks he hasn’t learned the words yet to describe the kind of hurting he feels when he thinks about Buck. Not a bad hurting. Kind of like loneliness, like wanting somebody there, but it happens even when Buck is there. Chris doesn’t know. Dad is on the porch now and he’s holding Buck, different than a hug, in some way Chris also doesn’t know how to describe. Sometimes it feels like Chris doesn’t know anything at all. He sits in the car and wishes he could drive so he could get his knuckles all tight on the wheel. He grabs the door handle and thinks it’s not really the same and then he opens the door, gets out of the car.

Buck meets him halfway down the path, spilling out of Dad’s arms as soon as he sees movement, rushing to meet him. Chris barely gets to look at him — red eyes, too much stubble, his hair is so curly now — before he’s being wrapped up in big arms, clutched against a warm body. “Chris,” Buck says- Buck says. His voice, not over a phone. Chris squeezes his eyes shut tight and shakes his arms out of his crutches so he can hug back. “Chris, Chris-” An earthquake? No- no, just Buck. “God- God, kid, I missed you- I missed you so much.” One of Buck’s arm’s remains locked around him and the other roams, hand clutching his shoulder and then cradling his head, smoothing over his back. And he’s- he’s crying. Big ugly crying. Chris can’t see it but he can hear it and feel it, above and around him. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry.” For what? Chris shakes his head. It’s okay. He’s sort of frightened but Eddie had warned him so it’s okay. “Sorry- you’re here, you’re here- oh- oh God-” Chris feels Buck’s face press into the top of his head. He’s still tall enough to do that easily, despite all Dad’s teasing about how big Chris has grown. Dad is here too, Chris vaguely hears him say something close by, but mostly what he hears is Buck sobbing. Chris holds on as tight as he can. He is scared. He’s scared, despite the warning, because- Buck is crying, Buck’s not okay, and there have been so many- all those other times when the world ended Buck was- Chris has seen him cry before but not like this, and it makes him feel sick a little. And- guilty a little, bad a little, because- he knows Mom missed him when she left. He’s pretty sure. He knows Dad missed him when they were apart. He’s pretty sure. He’s very sure, Dad has told him it’s true, and there’s a kind of quiet something-else mixed in with his happiness when they’re together now. Relief? Loneliness for someone next to you? But. Buck shakes and cries and it’s loud and frightening and it’s proof.

“I missed you,” Chris says. He’s not even sure anyone hears him, all muffled into Buck’s sweatshirt. “I missed you, too.”

“Let’s get inside,” Eddie is saying, and his hand is on Chris’ shoulder, and that is so familiar-unchanged makes him want to cry, too. “Alright, it’s okay, lets get inside.”

Buck gasps a few times above him, pulling in air like he’s going to jump in a pool- jump into water, after Chris. Maybe Chris is crying already. It’s hard to tell. And then Buck pulls back just a little, straightens up, and there he is looking down at him. He looks rough and wrecked and so real Chris sort of realizes he’s not dreaming, which he already knew but- understands, now. It’s real, and Bobby is dead, and they’re not in Texas, and he wishes he never left because the house is the same but everything feels different now, and Buck is frowning now, a different kind of frown, careful and worried and his hand is on Chris face, calloused thumb very soft brushing across his cheek. “Oh, Chris, hey. Hey, you’re okay.”

“I love you,” Chris says, and the label on the shelf should really just say Buck, because doesn’t that mean all of the rest of it? What did Buck label Bobby, on his shelves? “I want to go home- I want to come home, I want to come home, I’m sorry, I want to come home.”

“We’re here,” Eddie says, kissing Chris’ head so close to where Buck’s fingers rest. “It’s okay-” his voice cracks but Dad and Buck were always a team and one will pick up a thought where the other dropped it.

“It’s okay, Chris,” Buck says, and his voice is still wet and raspy, but- they’ll all be in one house and maybe Chris isn’t the only one who needs that to be true. Maybe it’s okay to want that to be true. “Let’s get inside. Let’s-” he looks at Eddie, almost a question that seems to be answered before he even asks it. Chris can feel him breathing, his lungs expanding and collapsing and expanding again, and again. Quietly, he says “Let’s go home.”

[inmyheaddd]

tangled in love, stuck by you - grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: slow mornings with grayson !! bits of playful banter and grayson being an annyoying loveable tease warnings: nothing just fluff !! probably too much ur teeth may fall out wc: 1.6k

he woke up at 5:30. you woke up in his shirt. 

you were aware of the alarm, but you kept your eyes shut and kept your head on grayson’s chest. you tried to ignore the noise and continue sleeping, but it was proving very difficult.

like always, you were expecting him to gently lift your arm off of him, get out of bed as silently as he could to not wake you, and press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. every week day.

then… with a soft exhale grayson lifted his arm, and surprisingly enough, only moved the slightest bit to turn the alarm off. 

despite his minimal stirring and attempts to not disturb the moment of peace between you, you sat up just as he turned the alarm off. 

lifting your head off of his chest while rubbing your eyes, you mumbled, “god… what time is it?”

“half past 5,” grayson was quick to smooth a hand over your hair, beckoning you back. “but that doesn’t matter. come back to sleep, sweetheart.”

you hummed, and you didn’t go back to sleep. 

you barely even registered his words — you realized you were clearly not a morning person — and you sat up fully in your drowsy state, slowly blinked, then looked down at your watch and saw the way-too-early time. “shit,” you mumbled, “don’t you have to go?” 

“no,” he answered, “ i don’t particularly … care right now,”, his voice was gravelly and still laced with sleep. then, he tried one last time to get your head back on his chest and linger in this moment of serenity for a little while longer. 

you hummed contently in answer, then purposefully put your head on the pillow next to his instead. “that’s a lie.” you smiled sleepily as you lay on your side, “you care about everything ever.”

“not everything,” you two were laying on your sides face to face, and grayson smiled back at you— that type of smile that was just the barest upwards flicker of his lips. “only a select few that matter.” 

“yeah?” you prodded teasingly, a dry chuckle leaving your lips, “like what?”

you adjusted the way you were laying down, putting your hand under your face, and it seemed that his gaze never tore off you. 

“you.” he answered simply, his grey eyes boring into yours with a sort of comforting intensity. 

“and here i was,” you let your lips by break into a grin, “thinking you were going to say your suits.”

graysons lips slid into a teasing, full smile. “oh, i was just getting to them, don’t you worry.” 

you managed an eye roll, but the fake look of annoyance dissipated into a laugh, which was soon shared by him too.

after another second of looking at each other,  a tired, amused scoff left your lips   before turning onto your back and looking at the ceiling. “you should probably wake up. i should probably wake up.” 

grayson moved closer to you, moving up so his chin rested atop your head. “we’re awake,” he murmured. 

“yeah,” a laugh escaped you as you turned to lay on your side, “barely.” 

you adjusted the way you lay, so you and grayson were face to face once again. 

he looked at you with an odd softness in his eyes— or maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the curtains that made him look soft. 

either way, you felt like you couldn’t look away. “hi,” the word escaped your lips, a mere murmur. there was a small smile growing on your lips. 

“hi,” he echoed, tiredness and some sort of amusement laced in his voice.  

you looked at each other for another moment, his gaze every so delicately trailing over your face, like he was trying to memorize the details — you recognized the look, because you felt yourself doing the same when you looked at him. 

regardless, you have never felt butterflies erupt in your stomach faster. 

“okay,” you laughed a little at absurdity of the moment, “thats it, i’m getting up now.” you pushed yourself up with an exhale, and made your way to the bathroom a few feet away. 

you stopped at the door, turned around and looked at grayson who was still in bed. 

he was propped up on his elbows, watching you make your way to the bathroom with that same little look in his eyes. 

“what are you looking at?” you tilted your head, wondering what had him looking at you like that, all silent.

he narrowed his eyes jokingly back at you, before answering. “happy,  that’s all.” 

now your eyes were narrowing, your laugh threatening to spill through your words. “what,” a slight shake of your head, “happy you’re sleeping in?” 

his lips turned downwards in consideration of your answer with a small shrug, “i suppose, yes.” his smile was borderline teasing now, “among other reasons.”

his head tilted slightly, shooting you a gryou’re so corny.”

grayson shrugged, running a hand through his messy morning hair that you adored and then looking at you with a lazy smile. “if that’s what you’d like to call me, so be it.” so long as it’s coming from you.”

you realized your face was heating up, “you’re only proving my point,” you laughed, and then you huffed when you realised grayson’s smile only widened. 

“i need to shower,” you put a hand on the door handle, taking a slow step back, “i’ll just be a few minutes.” 

────୨ৎ────

a few minutes turned out to be an hour. 

when you left the shower, grayson was already downstairs by then, changed into brown trousers and white linen shirt with the few top buttons undone lazily— but nothing looked lazy about it. 

you slid into a chair at the small table that sat in kitchen, two seats, just for you two, as you muttered your good mornings to each other.

“oh gray, you know, my shower was the best ever,” you sighed as you shut your eyes for a moment, holding your face in your hands. 

you heard grayson hum in response for you to go on, flipping a pancake as he did so. 

you opened your eyes and looked at his back, in some sort of admiration-trance as he cooked your pancakes, then you finally began rambling. 

“well, the water was boiling, and there was so much steam; it felt like i was about to fall asleep in the best way.” you kept talking with your face laying in your hands, then when you finished, you sat up straight and brought your cup of water to your lips.

“perhaps, you might have truly fallen asleep,” he started, then turning to you as he placed a plate of pancakes on the table, “seeing as you took took so long.” 

“oh. very funny.” you jokingly glared at him, not taking your eyes off of him as you finished your drink and put the cup down. you laughed despite yourself, “stop acting like your showers aren’t either 2 minutes or 2 hours long.” 

grayson pulled his chair out and sat in the seat across you, laughing quietly. he said, “2 hours is quite the stretch. maybe 1 and a half seems more fitting.”

“i was being very graceful with 2 hours, actually.” you retorted, raising your brows. 

“and i am very lucky to be receiving of that grace from you.” 

grayson leaned back in his chair, reaching lazily for his coffee as he gave you a once-over — not flirtatious, just quietly content. it reminded you of that look he’d given you before you got in the shower.

you glanced at him as you brought your coffee mug to your lips. the corners of your eyes crinkled, “okay, what are you looking at now?”

“i’m thinking about how i like my mornings better when you’re in them.” he said earnestly, without really answering your question as he looked away to stir his coffee. 

you were just about to respond with something heartfelt, then he took his gaze up to you. he made an act of looking at his watch, “even if they start late.”

you glared at him an unamusedly. though,  the flush you felt from his first comment was still creeping up on your face. 

you huffed in what you hoped looked like annoyance, then bit back a smile. “just shut up eat your pancakes already.”

grayson smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling also. “right. of course,” he cut a piece of his pancake, then brought his fork to his mouth as he looked at you, amusement in his features.

you rolled your eyes jokingly. he shut up. he ate his pancakes. 

“even if they start late,” you mimicked in a high pitched voice under your breath, cutting your pancakes into pieces, “he says at 7 in the morning,” you added snappily, murmuring absentmindedly to yourself as you cut your pancakes into even smaller pieces. 

the plate you were staring at did not reply. 

you huffed, then brought your fork to your mouth and finally looked up at grayson.

he was looking at you silently, holding back what seemed to be a huge laugh. 

his eyes slightly crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together in an attempt to hold his smile back. and the second you made eye contact— your fork still in the air, you both burst into laughter. 

you set your fork down, trying to compose yourself before you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

“surely,” grayson managed, his words coming through a chuckle. “i don’t sound like that,” he furrowed his brows, pointing a finger at you

“oh,” you laughed at him, finally picking the  fork you’d abandoned up again, and pointing at him with it, “but you really do.”

quiet laughter and chatter filled the living room as you finished your breakfast together, back and forth playful banter and stories randomly popping into your mind as the morning went on. 

by the time you were both putting the dishes away, your face nearly hurt from laughing so much. 

you weren’t a morning person, but you realized you definitely liked mornings better with grayson in them.

a/n: sorry ive been soooo m.i.a with the fics recently!! buuuut summer is soon so hopefully that'll change because i miss writing fics

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem@jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities

[screamlet]

♛: Sharing a dessert please?

thank you for the prompt! ~650 words set pre-s8/pre-breakup, bobby and athena having buck and tommy over for dinner. i vaguely remember bobby and athena's condo having doors outside somewhere? pretend there's doors to somewhere outside. bobby pov. from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

---

"I couldn't decide," Bobby tells them, "So I made cannolis and tiramisu."

Tommy looks at him like he's crazy, then says, "Bobby," like he means it.

Bobby serves up a plate with two beautiful cannolis on it. "You still have a sweet tooth, don't you?"

Tommy sulks. "Yes."

Athena pouts right back at him. "Poor thing. Delicious homemade—from scratch—desserts to share with his boyfriend, what is a man to do?"

"Seriously, Tommy," Buck says as he devours three-fourths of one in a single bite. "Bobby, this is so good."

"Did you taste it, kid? Doesn't look like you did."

Buck's mouth is full as he motions to his neck. "I can taste it in my throat."

"That's absolutely not how it works," Tommy says. He has his cannoli still whole between his fingers, so it's now the subject of Evan's interest. "You already had one."

"Buck, there are more cannolis right here," Athena tells him.

"Yeah, but that one's in his hand," Buck says, approaching Tommy slowly.

Bobby smiles to himself and glances at Athena, who's trying to hide her own smile, too.

"Do you want my cannoli?" Tommy asks, his arm drifting further to keep it away from Buck. "Say please."

"Nope."

Bobby sighs and serves up another cannoli. "Would someone tell me if this recipe is good or not?"

"I will, as soon as Tommy hands his over," Buck replies. "It probably tastes even better now that it's had a chance to breathe."

"Unlike the one you inhaled." Tommy finally brings his cannoli back and takes a bite out of it, but leans back in his seat as Buck tries to dive and bite the other half. "Hey, hey. Again: you have your own."

"And there's tiramisu," Bobby reminds them.

"I don't think they'll ever be ready for tiramisu," Athena replies.

"We will be," Buck says, then whines, "Tommy." He leans closer to the cannoli Tommy still has in his hand, like he's about to pounce and take a bite of it or Tommy.

"I'm gonna make some espresso," Bobby announces. He puts another two cannolis on a plate and shoves it at Buck. "Take it outside."

"I'll come get you when there's coffee," Athena says.

"Yes, ma'am," Tommy answers, quickly heading towards the doors to the yard, Buck following with the cannolis. Bobby glances over his shoulder and shakes his head at the two of them still chattering away. Athena pulls out small cups and catches Bobby's eyes before they share a laugh.

"Honestly." Bobby shakes his head. "I never—"

"I know."

"Never seen two knuckleheads more made for each other."

"We should have some water in a spray bottle ready for when they come back."

Bobby laughs harder and nudges Athena's side. She's quiet for a moment, her head tilted as she watches him start up the coffee maker. He glances at her, eyebrows arched. She'll answer him, but first she takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

"I thought I'd seen every way you could be happy," she murmurs, "But here's a new one."

Bobby looks away as he blushes. "Athena." He takes a breath, then turns to her. "You ever see someone exactly as they were meant to be?"

They both look over their shoulders, outside where Tommy has an arm slung around Buck's shoulders. Buck's won at least one of the cannolis, judging from his smug look. They share a quick kiss before Buck puts his head on Tommy's shoulder and turns away from view.

"Not just Buck. I never thought—" Bobby hesitates. "I was Tommy's captain for almost a year and I never thought I'd see him like this. Happy. Never thought I'd see Buck so comfortable."

Athena understands, rubbing circles on his back. "I'm glad you got to see it, baby."

Bobby nods. "Me too."

[vintagehoax]

there are absolutely no excuses for this fuck up. there's nothing else to say except this is the epitome of bad writing. how can you ruin the entire eight main characters' dynamics in 2 episodes?

the entire 118 apparently never interacts together anymore

buddie reunion off-screen

eddie's 10 second scene

nobody is grieving anymore???

side characters being treated as mains

unnecessary time jumps

prioritizing some non-sensical emergency over bobby's funeral

[tvuniverse]

9-1-1 -> 6x10-11 // 8x15 (potential) coma dream

[champagnetommy]

saudade

- fic, 3.1k words, post 8x16

[ soh-dahd; Portuguese soh-dah-juh ]

noun:

1. (in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent

see also: “the love that remains”

It’s midnight, the night before their wedding and Buck is feeling restless. He’s double and triple-checked all of his preparation lists and everything is accounted for. He even had Maddie look it over. And yet. He has the distinct feeling that something is missing.

In a bone-deep feeling kind of way.

And sure, he could attribute it to wedding jitters, but marrying Tommy is the thing he’s been the most sure of. He’s not nervous, there are zero doubts in his mind or heart. Now, he wishes he hadn’t made them sleep in separate places, it was a silly superstition anyway, and he could really use Tommy here to ground him. There’s nothing that says he can’t call him, though.

Tommy picks up on the first ring. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” Buck can hear the fond smile through the phone. “You weren’t asleep, were you?”

“Nah, I was just thinking about my future husband, actually. I think you might know him?”

Buck laughs, his heart full of love for this man, grateful for the way Tommy can instantly put him at ease, even with just his voice. “I might,” Buck says, a wide grin spreads across his face.

Tommy chuckles on the other end. “Everything okay?”

“Y-” Buck falters for a second. “Yes, of course, everything’s good. Can’t I just want to talk to my hot fiance?”

“Evan.” Tommy waits.

“Yeah, okay,” Buck exhales a nervous breath. “I- I don’t know. Nothing’s wrong, really. I just… feel like something’s missing? I’ve checked all our lists and- and everything’s in order, all our guests accounted for. But I can’t shake the feeling and I can’t sleep, or stop thinking about it.”

Tommy’s quiet for a moment, probably trying to come up with the right words to sooth Buck’s anxious thoughts.

“It’s silly, I know, I told you it was noth–”

“– Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s silly,” Tommy says. “If that’s how you feel, then it matters to me. You matter to me.”

Buck’s eyes water, touched at the way in which Tommy cares about him, cares for him. He’s stitched his love in every fiber of his being, deep into his marrow, and tucked his own heart in his ribcage, beside his own. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Evan.” Buck hears the sound of keys jingling and a door closing. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’m coming to you.”

Read more on ao3

[momotonescreaming]

8x18 coda about Baby Boy Han's name. Angst. Evan Buckley focused. No character hate here please.

The first time Buck hears someone call his nephew Bobby, he flinches. A gut wrenching, muscles seizing, the sharp sting of a slap to the face flinch.

Buck's on Maddie's couch, sharing coffee and freshly baked cookies with her while while Chim takes care of his son in the other room. He listens and chats and smiles until she calls her son Bobby. And then Buck can't move. His muscles are constricting against the sickly whorl of his stomach, his joints locking up, breathing coming faster. Cookie held loosely in his hand, halfway from his plate to his mouth.

He bolds upright, cookie falling from his hand and Buck makes an excuse about an appointment he forgot about. His realtor rescheduled a meeting about his new apartment last minute, and he really needs to run if he wants to make it on time.

Buck stutters out an apology and runs out of Maddie's house.

He drives. Doesn't know where. Doesn't care. He's shaking, knuckles white as he grips the Jeep's steering wheel. Back impossibly straight, tense, muscles locking his shoulders in place. It's going to hurt later. But he doesn't care. He drives. He just needs to get away.

He needs to get as far away from his nephew as possible and he feels sick about it. That's his nephew. Maddie's his sister, been there for him through everyone, she gave him her jeep and got him out. But hearing her call her son Bobby makes him flinch.

He thinks maybe he could've handled them calling him Robby, better.

Buck pulls over. He finds a park on the side of the road outside a laundromat, and hyperventilates. Turns off the engine, and ducks his head, shuts his eyes to block out the light streaming in through the windshield.

He can understand why Chim and Maddie did it. Bobby gave his life for Chim, so he could live to see his son, his family again. Buck can understand why Chim would do this. To honour him, his sacrifice, so his legacy and his memory is carried with them always.

It makes Buck flinch.

He never told anyone — not even Bobby — but he wanted to name his future kids after him. He was more than Buck's captain, he was the father he never had, he loved and cared for him. Buck was going to give his kid the middle name Robert if it was a boy, or Wade if it was a girl. Bobby's middle name was Wade, and it felt gender neutral enough that Buck felt it could work with whatever first name he gave his kids. Or maybe even Robin, for either, if he and his partner felt it worked better.

He wanted to surprise Bobby with it. Make it special.

But he can't do that now. It'll feel cheap. Like he's just copying Chimney.

Buck heaves, nausea swirling at his stomach. He feels sick. Like the rest of his world is crumbling down around him.

He gets broken up with, Bobby dies, no one will let him carry out Bobby's last wish for him to be there for everyone, Eddie tells him he's making the death of his father figure all about himself and then Buck has to move out, Chim gives a speech and pointedly tells him not to transfer, and now Buck can't even name his kids after his own father figure.

If he says anything they'll say he's being selfish. Mean. Cruel. Making everything all about him again.

His phone vibrates, and he doesn't pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. If it's Maddie, or Chimney, he doesn't know if he's going to handle it well. So he doesn't look. Squeezes his eyes shut, presses his face harder against the steering wheel and begs tears not to fall.

He can't fall apart. He can't. He needs to hold it together, so the next time he hears Maddie or Chim or anyone call his nephew Bobby — he won't flinch. No matter how much it feels like its curdling his insides.

[mousestar369]

The 118 doing an escape room:

Buck gets laser focused on a red herring and wastes twenty minutes trying to solve it

Hen starts complaining about medical inaccuracies on a very obviously fake body

Eddie gets distracted and doesn't realize he managed to open one of the locks thirty minutes ago

Chim becomes convinced something is a movie reference (it's not) and throws out completely incorrect suggestions for ten minutes

Bobby just gives up because somehow his team of highly skilled firefighters are all morons the moment they take off their uniforms

[lyrakanefanatic]

If tig/tgg characters had twitter part: 28