queerbuckleys
who are we to fight the alchemy?
☆aj☆they/them☆collection of everything, anything, and nothing☆#ajlook☆header by julia☆icon by kayla ☆elsewhere☆ 911blr cats post☆
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oh i want to rant and rage rn actually
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TED LASSO
1.06 ♡ Two Aces
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so loving men isn't a curse. loving men isn't "unfortunate". loving men isn't a bad thing. yes, we can joke about how awful men can be, but it gets to a a point where this mentality can really hurt. it can really feed into you hating yourself for something you can't control. loving men is something special. loving yourself is just as beautiful.
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#we lived in a two story house painted white with a yellow door. very standard house where i grew up with two bed rooms upstairs and#we remodeled the downstairs into an office and my brothers room
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I’m watching that documentary “Before Stonewall” about gay history pre-1969, and uncovered something which I think is interesting.
The documentary includes a brief clip of a 1954 televised newscast about the rise of homosexuality. The host of the program interviewed psychologists, a police officer, and one “known homosexual”. The “known homosexual” is 22 years old. He identifies himself as Curtis White, which is a pseudonym; his name is actually Dale Olson.
So I tracked down the newscast. According to what I can find, Dale Olson may have been the first gay man to appear openly on television and defend his sexual orientation. He explains that there’s nothing wrong with him mentally and he’s never been arrested. When asked whether he’d take a cure if it existed, he says no. When asked whether his family knows he’s gay, he says that they didn’t up until tonight, but he guesses they’re going to find out, and he’ll probably be fired from his job as well. So of course the host is like …why are you doing this interview then? and Dale Olson, cool as cucumber pie, says “I think that this way I can be a little useful to someone besides myself.”
1954. 22 years old. Balls of pure titanium.
Despite the pseudonym, Dale’s boss did indeed recognize him from the TV program, and he was promptly fired the next day. He wrote into ONE magazine six months later to reassure readers that he had gotten a new job at a higher salary.
Curious about what became of him, I looked into his life a little further. It turns out that he ultimately became a very successful publicity agent. He promoted the Rocky movies and Superman. Not only that, but get this: Dale represented Rock Hudson, and he was the person who convinced him to disclose that he had AIDS! He wrote the statement Rock read. And as we know, Rock Hudson’s disclosure had a very significant effect on the national conversation about AIDS in the U.S.
It appears that no one has made the connection between Dale Olson the publicity agent instrumental in the AIDS debate and Dale Olson the 22-year-old first openly gay man on TV. So I thought I’d make it. For Pride month, an unsung gay hero.
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Bucktommy + “Go back to sleep.”
“Go back to sleep,” Tommy mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
Buck finishes tugging Tommy’s duvet up, tucking it beneath his chin and curling in on himself in an attempt to warm up. He doesn’t care if it makes him a blanket thief; he’s cold. Plus, Tommy is practically a human space heater. He’s laying beside Buck in nothing but his boxer briefs and looks perfectly content. Meanwhile, Buck’s in sweatpants and a hoodie and can’t seem to shake the chill that’s climbing up his spine and taking up residence deep in his bones.
He mumbles a sleepy apology, but if the way Tommy’s breathing has already evened out again is any indication, he doesn’t hear it.
Waking up next to Tommy is all of Buck’s wildest dreams come true. He loves waking up with the familiar, grounding weight of Tommy’s arm draped over him, loves the way Tommy tightens his grip as he feels Buck stir beneath him, how he mumbles a sleepy “Morning, baby,” into his hair as Buck slowly blinks his eyes awake.
Every day he wakes up next to Tommy is a dream, but days off are the best.
Days off are when Buck wakes up warm and cozy in a sun-drenched room, tucked against Tommy, their bodies curled around each other like a pair of parentheses. The warm, familiar rumble of Tommy’s early morning voice low in his ear, the brush of his lips against the shell of his ear, chased away by the slight burn from Tommy’s day-old stubble against his skin as he trails kisses down his cheek, across his jaw. For a few quiet moments, it’s just them. There are no alarms ringing, no fires to put out, no helicopters to fly, no nothing. There’s nothing but them. Nothing to do except just be.
The thought of this particular day off– this particular morning– was the thing Buck was most looking forward to all week. And it had been an epically awful week. It had been six days since the last time their days off had last lined up, and he’d been all but crawling out of his skin with his need to see his boyfriend outside of a quick FaceTime call between claxons ringing.
On top of that, the station’s A/C had been on the fritz and Chimney had been out sick with a flu he still insisted he didn’t have, both of which made shifts considerably less enjoyable. They’d had a few really tough calls, including an especially hard loss in the middle of the week that was still living behind Buck’s ribs and needling at his heart each time the air fell silent and his mind began to wander.
Their shared 48 off had been the light at the end of the tunnel. A very dark tunnel that was starting to feel less like a tunnel and more like an inescapable hole towards the end, but a tunnel nonetheless.
“Hot date?” Hen had teased him as he all but ran for the locker room the moment B shift started filtering in through the bay doors.
Buck thought about what was waiting for him. His sweet, beautiful boyfriend. His favorite pad thai takeout from the mom and pop place around the corner from Harbor. Sheets that smell like Tommy and a pair of reading glasses on the nightstand and two toothbrushes next to each other in the cup beside the sink.
“Yeah,” Buck grinned, dipping his chin as his cheeks flushed. “You could say that.”
The feeling of waking up beside Tommy is everything Buck always wanted and never let himself believe he could actually have. It’s better than anything he ever could’ve dreamed up. Even now, when he wakes up and it’s still pitch black outside, the only light in the room coming from the glow of Buck’s phone on the nightstand as he taps it awake to check the time. It’s not even four o’clock.
No wonder Tommy told him to go back to sleep.
They’ve barely been asleep for five hours, and after the week he’s had, Buck would like at least twice that before even considering getting out of bed. But he’s up now and he’s freezing. He flips over beneath Tommy’s arm, turning to face him and curling himself into Tommy’s side with a small, content sigh. He tucks his head beneath Tommy’s chin in a shameless attempt to leech his body heat.
Tommy murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep, one of his big, warm hands coming up to rest between Buck’s shoulder blades. His welcome touch is warm and familiar, instantly soothing. And yet, it does nothing to stop another shiver from running through Buck.
He closes his eyes, starting to drift back to sleep just as Tommy shifts beneath him.
“Evan,” Tommy says quietly, concern clinging to the word. “Baby, wake up.”
Buck blinks slowly, confused. “Y’just told me to go back to sleep.”
“You’re burning up,” Tommy says, his other hand coming up to feel Buck’s forehead. He makes a tsk sound under his breath. He tries to sit up, but Buck protests by way of a sleepy whine, holding onto Tommy even tighter.
“M’cold,” Buck mumbles against Tommy’s chest.
“C’mon,” Tommy says gently. “Let me up. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Buck is too tired to argue. Tommy extricates himself, and Buck can tell he tries his best not to disturb him too much as he does. True to his word, Tommy returns a moment later. He runs the thermometer over Buck’s forehead, and its rapid warning beeps are followed by a small displeased sigh.
“Fever?” Buck asks. Another shiver wracks through him, and he knows the answer.
Tommy’s hand is warm and solid as it rests on his cheek, his thumb stroking over Buck’s cheekbone in a soothing back and forth. “Yeah,” Tommy says. Buck can hear his frown. “Gonna give you some Tylenol.”
Buck lets Tommy help him sit up enough to bring the pills and a glass of water to his lips. He’s a little more awake now, enough to register the way that his head feels heavy and his eyes feel hot behind their lids. His arms and legs ache as he settles against the pillows, and he has a fleeting memory of Maddie saying that Chim’s flu started out with a high fever and body aches.
“Be right back,” Tommy promises.
And he is. He returns a moment later with another blanket, a heavy one. He covers Buck with it, tucking it beneath his chin and running a hand through his hair fondly before climbing back into bed beside him.
“No,” Buck protests. “I’ll get you sick.”
Tommy’s arms encircle him, pulling him in until they’re pressed up against each other. “Don’t care,” he says simply. “We’ve already been pretty close.”
Buck sighs against Tommy’s neck, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he remembers the very enthusiastic reacquainting that happened against the back of Tommy’s front door no more than a minute after Buck had come through it. Not to mention the hours they spent on the couch watching a movie after dinner, with Tommy’s arm around him and Buck’s head on Tommy’s shoulder. All of which was before they fell asleep practically plastered to one another.
Tommy does have a point.
But Buck felt fine going to bed, which means the fever must have spiked pretty recently, which means it could be early enough that Tommy could still save himself and—
“I can hear you overthinking.”
Buck frowns. “Am not.” And then a moment later, “I’ll go to the guest room.”
“No you won’t,” Tommy says simply. “There’s no blanket on the bed.”
“But you—”
Tommy silences him with a kiss to his forehead. “I am exactly where I want to be.”
Buck’s heart squeezes. A tiny, happy sigh falls from his lips. And for the first time since waking up, he feels warm all over.
prompt game
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Isn’t Reese witherspoon old enough to portray a presidential candidate where is Legally Blonde: Commander In Chic I’m not fucking playing around
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Pride isn’t a “queer-friendly space”, pride IS queer space.
Kink doesn’t “belong” at pride, kink IS pride.
To say that these things are just-kind-of-also-included is such a diluted view of what these things actually are. These spaces have been mentally purified for so many people as things that are “also-okay-for-gays!”–
No!!
These spaces ARE OURS. Not just “friendly to us”. Not just “inclusive to us”. They ARE us. We don’t just “belong”… We’re the reason it exists in the first place!
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I think one of the kindest things you can do for people with various mental health struggles is just... let people back into your life after they've been absent for a while.
Making friends as an adult is so fucking hard already and isolating yourself from other people is a very common symptom of depression, anxiety, burnout, ocd, trauma, grief, etc. Which means that someone will do the hard work of recovery/healing and resurface back into a world where their previous friends have written them off because they stopped showing up.
So if you know someone where you're like "yeah we could have been better friends but they fell off the map a bit" and that person suddenly reaches out, or starts showing up to events even though you kind of forgot they were still in the group chat... well they may have been Going Through It and you don't actually have to punish them for their absence you can just be glad that they're back.
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Sentence Sunday ✨
I can show you lies
'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit
They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did
Lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die
I was grinning like I'm winning, I was hitting my marks
'Cause I can do it with a broken heart
Beloved mutuals and pocket pals... I honestly don't know what to say for myself. This is a case of 'I listened to a song too much, I had an idea I knew I was never gonna write' turned 'I'll just throw it out as a prompt' --> 'I'll just make a moodboard' --> 'Oh god, I've written over 1k words in place of a summary'. SO. Have... whatever this is, T Swift influenced Buddie actor au. Under the cut to save your dash.
Honestly, if the world still exists in the morning, Eddie Diaz doesn't really give a fuck. His girlfriend left, claiming he's still not over his late wife, and his teenage son, the last thread connecting him to said wife, went to go live with his grandparents. After, of course, blaming Eddie for pushing 'yet another one' away. Christopher wouldn't even look at him before he went.
Then there's Anita Mills, his agent, who is probably a few blood pressure points away from a stroke at this point. Assuming she doesn't fire him first.
Let her, he thinks, grabbing a bottle of Maker's Mark from the cabinet. He has a string of blockbuster films to his name, not to mention a commendable collection of Oscar's and Emmy's. Not that they made his parents proud or kept his wife from leaving him before she died. But they exist as proof that he's had a successful career. Between investments and liquid assets he has more money than he would know what to do with in a hundred lifetimes. So, fuck it.
Eddie breaks the wax seal and twists off the red cap. He doesn't even bother with a glass, not really seeing a need. He's never been a big drinker, but lately his tolerance has grown considerably. Indulging until he passes out seems like an ideal use of his time right now anyway. If he wakes up after? Well, he'll consider that a success.
------------------
"Hey! What the hell?!" Eddie manages, coughing and trying not to choke on the ice cold water hitting his body. He opens his eyes to see Mills towering over him, glowering and holding an empty vase. He swipes a hand across his face. "Seriously, Anita, what the fuck was that?"
"I don't know, Eddie, you tell me." She disappears for less than a minute, returning with a hand towel she unceremoniously drops on his chest. "Help me out here. What's today?"
He wriggles himself to something resembling sitting and leans back against the coffee table. "What's today?" He parrots back dumbly.
Anita crosses her arms and quirks an eyebrow. "I asked you first."
Today, today, today. Where was he supposed to be- "Shit! The interview with, uh, fuck." He snaps his fingers and racks his brain trying to remember a name or a face. All he knows is they're important.
"Claudette Collins. Very good, Eddie, you got it part way."
"Give me ten minutes, I'll put myself together and we can go," he says, fighting the violent wave of nausea that hits as he scrambles to stand up.
"Save your poor carpet from getting puked on and sit the hell down."
"What? No, I can-"
"Eddie," Anita interjects, "the interview was five hours ago. The interview with the Claudette Collins. The one that took me months of phone calls, groveling and cashing in favors to get for you."
Fuck. "Anita, I'm so sorry. How-"
"Save it." Anita holds her hand up, effectively silencing him. It takes him back to being seven years old and having to explain why his dad's truck had an enormous dent in it. She rests her hands on her hips, pacing back and forth as she purses her lips. Eventually she sits in the leather armchair situated in the corner. "Eddie, you and I have known each other a long time. A long time. I've been your agent since you walked into my shitty office back in Dallas. Given your impressive display of awards, I'd say we've done pretty well together."
She inhales sharply, rubbing at her temple. Anita doesn't mince words, it's part of why he's always liked her. He never has to question where he stands. She says 'jump' and he knows exactly how high. It's not difficult to guess what's coming next.
"Eddie, I know you're going through a rough patch. What you're dealing with is hard enough without seeing it splashed on every tabloid and trashy website. Not to mention none of those places knows the real story, so it's all a bunch of 'she said he might have said' bullshit. But you've made it through tougher things." Anita doesn't need to clarify that she's talking about Shannon's death and how his parents tried to take Christopher. "I don't know what's happening this time, but I need to take a step back. My wife has made it very clear that all of my attempts at stress management are not working and that if I can't get it under control I shouldn't be surprised when I come home to an empty house. So."
Eddie swallows, waiting for the inevitable and cursing himself for pretending he wouldn't care.
"I've talked to a few friends in the business and found someone willing to take you on."
What?
"What? You're not firing me?"
Anita's features soften. "Technically, yes. I am very much dropping you like a scorpion I found in my boots. However, like I said, I found someone willing to work with you. The name is Bobby Nash. He runs a smallish agency but don't let that throw you. He's cobbled together some pretty impressive talent. I assume you've heard of Evan Buckley?"
Eddie scoffs. "Of course I have. Who hasn't? Christ, he's everywhere you look. I can't pass a damn bus stop without seeing his face." A few details begin to click into place within Eddie's muddled brain. "Bobby Nash is his agent?"
"Sure is. And we all know the stories about Evan's past aren't the type you trot out at parties. My advice is that you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, go with Nash and do whatever he tells you to do. He even has a role in mind for you, costarring with Buckley. What do you say?"
What else was there to say? If Eddie didn't want to get blacklisted or wind up as some washed up tragic Hollywood story, being gossiped about where everyone - including his son - could see what a failure he was...
"I guess I say- when can I meet him?"
"Good answer." Anita clasps her hands together and gives him her signature smirk that tells him she approves. "Just leave everything to me."
Up to this point, Eddie has trusted Anita implicitly with all the messy business that comes with having him for a client. Why stop now?
tagged by @loveyouanyway @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @tizniz
np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @a-noble-dragon @mountedeverest @fortheloveofbuddie
@weewootruck @saybiwithme @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6 @ramonaflow
@taketheplanspinitsideways @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz
@daffi-990 @diazsdimples @your-catfish-friend
@thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @rainbow-nerdss
@steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes
@shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @queerbuckleys @bi-buckrights @elvensorceress
@bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05
@lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @the-likesofus
@thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @welcometololaland @wildlife4life and anyone else who wants to 😘
#i’m already so obsessed with so many hiatus fics that are just snippets and this is def one of them#hippooooo this is sooo weee
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mutuals did u know that ily
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#the 4 times eddie grabbed buck's shoulder + the one time buck grabbed eddie's
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several sentence sunday
don't have a title for this yet! wrote this in a post pancakes with @wearethecyclones haze.
based on this buck/tommy/eddie road trip idea:
Eddie yawns as he wrenches open the door to Tommy’s truck, climbing into the backseat and fighting the temptation to spread out and use his duffel bag as a pillow.
“Don’t worry bud, we’ll stop for coffee before we get on the
freeway,” Tommy assures Eddie.
“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, blankly watching Buck fiddle with the temperature controls.
*
2 Days Earlier:
“Dad, can you come take me home?”
That was all Eddie needed to hear for his hear to feel like it was on its way back to mending.
“Of course, mijo. Give me a few days to get it figured out with work. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and let you know when I’m on my way.”
Eddie wandered back into the living room to the eager faces of Buck and Tommy.
He couldn’t fight the grin that spread over his face, “Chris wants to come home.”
Eddie should’ve known by the smile on Buck’s face and the gleam in his eye that Clipboard Buck would appear sooner rather than later.
*
When Eddie’s fully awake, they’ve already been driving for an hour and it’s 6 a.m. with traffic steadily getting more congested. Because luck already isn’t on their side, they’re leaving July 3rd. According to Buck, they should be fine if they stick to his schedule – which has bathroom breaks, gas stops, and sightseeing included.
no pressure tagging (pls let me know if you want to be removed - I just tried remembering who's also into this ship) @neverevan @zeraparker @smallandalmosthonest @pxrxmoore @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove
@bummie4dummies @casismybestfriend @bucksboobs @bucksboobs @theotherbuckley @firehose118 and anyone else who wants to share!
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If it brings you joy it's not a waste of time.
If it brings you joy it's not a waste of time.
If it brings you joy it's not a waste of time.
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