soundsshiny



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    No. Whatever it is, no. Eddie would like Buck to stop chasing whatever that thing is. Would like to grab the thought out of Buck’s concussed head and throw it out a window.

    Buck’s face drops into something serious, eyes wide. “You called me baby.”

    There it is. Out the window it did not go.

    “No, I didn’t,” Eddie says.

    Very smooth. Convincing.

    “You did.” Buck points at him, floppy and triumphant. “At the— the thing. With the— you said it. You called me baby.”

    “I didn’t say that.”

    “Eddie.” Buck is delighted. “I heard you. I was concussed, not deaf.”

    “I didn’t call you baby,” Eddie scoffs. “I called you a baby. Because you got a bump on the head and were crying about it.”

    “That’s not—” Buck starts.

    “You were being a baby,” Eddie continues, standing now, because a moving target is harder to hit. “I’m gonna go tell the others you’re awake.”

    “Eddie.”

    “Rest your head, bud.”

    Or,
    Eddie calls Buck baby by accident.

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    01 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    eddie's not entirely sure he believes in getting help, at least not for himself. there's only so much healing to be had for a body torn apart by bullets, for a mind that's only half there, for a man who's been leaving pieces of himself behind all his life with nothing to take their place.

    except, as it turns out, falling apart happens in increments, and healing does, too: it happens when you gnaw a hole in your lip trying to keep quiet only to have the words escape; when you realize that the ghost you've been seeing out of the corner of your eye is yourself; when your best friend smiles, and you allow it to take your breath away.

    it happens through the smallest of things: bird feeders, and cacti, and pasta shapes.

    meanwhile, the world goes on.

    (or: the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic.)

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    23 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    He still gets stuck in it sometimes: the absolute silence after the shot, and time so, so still in that endless second when Eddie’s eyes met his. When the air turned cool against the skin of Buck’s face because there was something else, now, something warmer, sticky in his eyelashes, pooling at the corner of his mouth. Staining him in a way that will never, never come out, all in the time it took to remember how to breathe again.

    It didn’t happen fast at all. There are days when Buck wakes up and thinks it might still be happening.

    And Eddie is—Eddie won’t—Eddie—

    or, six months after the near-fatal shooting of a member of the LAFD, footage of the incident surfaces on social media.

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    22 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    “Chim. Weird question?”

    Chimney’s chair creaks. Buck cranes his head over the back of the couch and watches him straighten up, pop his back, close the folder.

    “You only ever ask me weird questions,” he says, and then crosses the loft to sit in one of the armchairs. He levels Buck with a look that’s way too knowing for the amount of words they’ve exchanged. “What’s up?”

    He takes a breath.

    “What does it feel like to be a dad?”

    in which buck is used to wanting things he's not allowed to have; it's just that he never thought being a father would be one of them.

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    22 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 48

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    “How’d you know what to get?”

    “What?”

    “The —” Eddie gestures, vaguely, at the coffee table, at the now-gone Taco Bell, at the plates Buck has already cleaned up. “The food. All of it.”

    Buck shrugs.

    “I just had a feeling.”

    “You always have a feeling.”

    “Lucky guess.”

    or

    5 times Buck knows exactly what food to get Eddie 

    and the 1 time Eddie knows exactly what to get Buck 

     

    Language:
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    22 Jun 2026