"you know, my therapist says everyone needs a safe space, a place where you can fully be yourself"
[image description: 2 large gifs of evan buckley and eddie diaz from 9-1-1.
gif 1: from season 6 episode 12. in the diaz home, eddie (out of frame) watches buck sleep on his couch, his arm draped across the sofa.
gif 2: from season 7 episode 5. at buck's apartment, the camera pans as eddie, holding his phone, turns to face buck as buck rounds the corner of his kitchen island.
This is not about which one is the BEST episode, or else this poll would be a showdown between Midnight and the Waters of Mars. The Girl in the Fireplace is here because someone is holding me at gunpoint. My captor says if no one votes for it he'll let me go.
Periodic reminder that unless a person specifically and clearly tells you it is okay to tell others they are trans or queer, you should err on the side of caution and assume they do not want you to tell people (especially random people!) about their transness or queerness.
You have no idea, generally, why somebody doesn't talk openly about their trans or queer status, and you have no idea, truly, how somebody might react to that information. The most progressive person out there is still capable of harbouring incredibly negative thoughts about somebody's queer status.
Imagine being Doc rn. You come home from a nice holiday, only to find that every one of your coworkers has come together, in a show of mass collaborative solidarity, specifically to cover up the project that you’ve dedicated the last year+ of your life to.
one of my favorite things about zedaph is that on a server full of people that find strange and oft-overlooked minecraft mechanics or rare events and then see just how far they can push them in the name of spectacle or efficiency or world-breaking, zed is over here finding these mechanics in order to do the weirdest things he can think of in as entertaining a manner as possible
like i 100% have faith in zedaph's theoretical ability to be just as efficient or spectacular or world-breaking. if he wanted to do that stuff, i trust that he absolutely could. but thats so far from being his priority. instead, hes going to spend around a week of irl time focused entirely on eventually having the good luck to spawn in something insanely rare so that he can convert it into something even rarer, the result of which being something that 99% of the server reacts with complete and utter shock that it even exists in the first place, just because its zany and funny and he wanted to. and i love that
Imagine him coming home after a long, exhausting day of working, keys jingling as he unlocks the door at some ungodly hour of the night, footsteps falling heavy against the floor as he walks inside, exhaustion and fatigue lingering along his form.
He's still dressed in his station wear - a fitted, navy blue t-shirt with Station 141's logo printed onto the front of it, small, right on the right side of his chest, and a pair of trousers in the same color to match, hanging loosely onto him.
He should take a shower, he knows he should. He smells of sweat and sulfur, the scents clinging to his clothes and skin like a second skin, and he know that the two of you'll have to wash the bedding come morning.
But god, the sight of you in bed, dressed in a loose pair of your own shorts and one of his spare shirts, face smushed against one of the pillows as your breathing comes slow, in and out, steady - it's far too enticing to pass up so easily.
So he unbuckles his belt in a daze, stripping off his shirt, undershirt and trouser, tossing the articles haphazardly onto the floor (he tries to toss them towards the hamper, but he knows he misses, given the way his belt buckle clanks loudly against the hardwood floor of the bedroom, but, honestly, he could care less).
And he gets right into bed beside you, fingers grazing lightly over the exposed skin of your thighs, traversing upwards, fingers splayed as his palm travels over the fabric of your shorts, sneaking their way under the loose shirt of his that you wear, hand pressing against your tummy as he pulls you close.
He presses his nose into your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he deeply inhales the scent of your body wash, softly shushing you as you start to rouse, the way your body gently begins to shuffle as you let out the softest, sleepiest yawn, listening as he grumbles softly against your skin.
"Didn't mean to wake you, love. Go back to sleep."
His voice is so hoarse, so strained and rough from the events of the day - yelling and barking out commands to the firefighters within the ladder and engine crews that he guides - but, at the same time, it's runs smooth like honey, settling just right in your sleepy, hazy mind.
He hugs you tighter, pressing your back flush against his chest as he curls his body around you in a subtly protective manner, littering tender kisses against your neck, trying to coax you back to sleep as he lets out a soft sigh, infatuated with the way your body molds perfectly into his.
"Mmm... s'fine, John. Wha... what time s'it?"
"None of your business, that's what time. Go back to sleep. I'll be here in the mornin'... promise you that. Okay?"
He doesn't let you ask your questions. If you try to think, he knows you'll wake up, and he already feels guilty about waking you up in the first place, so he doesn't even entertain your sleepy question, giving you a promise - two, technically. That he's here now and that it'll stay that way until the two of you wake up in the dawn.
"Stubborn..."
"Always. We c'n talk in the mornin'. Sleep."
"Mmm... glad you're back home safe. Love you."
"Love you, too."
But by the time he says the words, you've already fallen back asleep, and a deep, rumbling chuckle erupts from within his chest, amused, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your jaw before letting himself fall asleep behind you, his breaths, his heartbeat falling into sync with your own.
“So we all know that Damian is trying to sneak in a new animal, right?”
“I mean, yeah, he only starts sneaking around like that when he’s sneaking something he shouldn’t be, and the box was pretty obvious…”
“Are we going to ask about it or…”
“Nah, plausible deniability when Alfred or Bruce inevitably finds it.”
Later, Duke will regret listening to Dick and Steph, because there is now a massive fucking dragon glowering down at all of them from the back yard with nine heads. Each of which do not seem pleased. It might be time to question what Damian might have brought home this time…