My favorite Tommy Kinard moments (in no particular order):
Not without feeding you
Dude you already gave him a good ride, a good night, and all that on a bare mattress, and then you went to get ingredients to make a full spread, and you also got champagne. Champagne! You're also an idiot to run away
Cursed cowboy funeral
Like, sure, let's dress up for some mummified cowboy remains because my boyfriend thinks that's the only way to lay a curse to rest, and look devastatingly handsome doing it
First time kissing Evan Buckley
Romantic, sweet, surprising, so fucking tender. Gimme them back.
Coffee not-date
He looks so cuddlesome. I would've gone nonverbal for about ten minutes while I took in all the softness wrapped around that big frame. And then I'd say "come to the wedding with me as my future husband"
God I hope so
He knows what he likes in bed. Very confident, very sexy, very much something I appreciate.
Flirty Tommy
Evan Buckley, you are taking those flying lessons and the payment is loving this guy for the rest of your life
The Nose Crinkle Smile That Ended Me
Fuck you. Why did you have to be so cute and charming and cute and handsome and cute
Forget Spumoni, You're Now Dessert
He looks so good in this shirt. Nothing else matters in this scene (shut up shut up shut up)
Beast Mode Tommy
Yeah I'd have made out with him right there and then too, forget the wedding.
The Crash Was An Ending, And The Island Our Beginning
Rated E
Read here.
Happy Belated Birthday @sunnywithachanceofbi!
🏝️🚁🏝️🚁🏝️🚁
When a plane crash leaves Eddie and Sal stranded on a remote tropical island, survival becomes their only priority, until something deeper begins to grow between them.
Back on the mainland, Buck teams up with Tommy, another firefighter linked by the same missing flight. As they search for their friends, their partnership begins to deepen into something just as unexpected.
Two stories. Two connections. One crash that changes everything.
Please give back the old EddieTommy with third-wheel to my best friend/boyfriend Buck 🥺🥺🥺
With the added bonus of Buck—when Tommy’s not with them—sending Tommy a picture or video clip of Eddie when he’s being particularly dumb and going this your competition?
Just another fix-it fic I wrote in celebration of Lou Ferrigno Jr's birthday. I meant to post last night but fell asleep!
🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂
One birthday, one cake, and one more chance to get it right.
It’s been months since they spoke, but Buck remembers the one day Tommy always tries to forget.
Takes place in season 9!
Snippet below!
🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂
Tommy's stomach was so full he thought he might need to unbutton his jeans, but the moment Buck disappeared into the kitchen with that mischievous grin, he knew something else was coming. The meal had already been perfect—pot roast with potatoes so tender they fell apart under his fork, carrots glazed with something sweet and buttery, and homemade rolls that made the whole house smell like heaven.
"Need any help in there?" Tommy called, leaning back in his chair to try to peek around the corner. All he could see was Buck's shadow moving across the wall, followed by the sound of a drawer opening and closing.
"Stay right where you are," Buck called back. "And no peeking."
Tommy smiled and settled back into his chair. He hadn't expected anything for his birthday. He'd barely mentioned it to Buck a few weeks ago, and he figured Buck had forgotten. The dinner alone would have been more than enough—after years of takeout and microwave meals eaten alone, sitting at a real table with real food and real company felt like some kind of miracle.
The lights in the dining room suddenly dimmed, and Tommy turned to see Buck emerging from the kitchen, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he carried a chocolate cake ablaze with candles. The warm glow illuminated Buck's face from below, catching in his eyes and making them sparkle as he began to sing.
"Happy birthday to you..."
Buck's deep voice, usually so confident when he talked about his work or told stories, wavered slightly with the melody. Tommy felt a lump form in his throat. The last person who had sung him happy birthday had been his mother, before she passed away when he was sixteen.
"Happy birthday to you..."
The cake was approaching now, and Tommy could see it was double chocolate, his favorite, with what looked like homemade frosting swirled on top. How had Buck known? Tommy never remembered mentioning it.
"Happy birthday, dear Tommy..."
The candlelight danced across Buck's face, illuminating the birthmark above his eyebrow, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight curl in his hair that he was always trying to tame. Tommy felt his chest tighten with something warm and unexpected.
"Happy birthday to you."
Buck set the cake down carefully in front of Tommy, the candles still flickering. "Make a wish," he said softly, and for a moment, Tommy couldn't think of anything to wish for. Everything he needed was right here in this room.
"Tommy?" Lucy asked again, her voice penetrating through the fog of his memory.
He blinked rapidly, the warm glow of his house dissolving into the harsh fluorescent lights of the firehouse. The chocolate cake with its dancing candles faded, replaced by the single vanilla cupcake with its sad, crooked candle that Lucy had presented him with moments ago.
"Sorry," Tommy mumbled, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "I was just... thinking."
Lucy tilted her head, the concern in her eyes made Tommy look away. He didn't want to explain where his mind had gone, how vividly he could remember his birthday last year—before everything fell apart.
Before Buck, birthdays had just been days to get through—dates on a calendar that meant nothing more than the passage of time. After his mother’s death, and as an adult, he stopped celebrating. Until Buck had bulldozed his way through Tommy's carefully constructed walls with a homemade cake, thoughtful gifts and that damned infectious enthusiasm.
"You okay? You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," Lucy said softly, nodding at the cupcake.
Tommy forced a smile. "No, it's perfect. Really." He ran his thumb over the waxy paper wrapper. "Thanks for remembering."
Lucy reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were cool against his skin. “Of course, this is a day worth celebrating,”
Tommy nodded and blew out the single candle. He didn't make a wish. What was the point? The one thing he wanted—to go back in time, to fix what had broken between him and Buck—wasn't something birthday wishes could grant.
Can confirm. I was actually discussing this with a friend the other night and here’s the thing.
Kudos tell us that people might have enjoyed our fics. But at the end of the day, kudos are just names that come in an email and we never think twice about for the most part.
But comments? Comments show up in our inboxes. Our emails. They are there on the fic and a PERMANENT reminder that someone actively enjoyed our words. I will reread comments a dozen times over before replying to it because it makes me so damn happy. Those emails I get from ao3? I have kept every single one of them. Because they motivate me and remind me that people fucking care and like what I am writing.
I published a sequel fic very recently because someone went through the original and commented on every single chapter as they read it. It invigorated me and I posted not just one, but TWO chapters for the sequel a day or two later after getting those comments. I ate them up.
Telling an author in a private DM is one thing. But a comment? That hits differently and I can’t explain it. And it truly does motivate my next chapter for fics. I cranked out a new prisoner chapter because people were SO engaged with the last one and it hyped me the fuck up and I wanted to keep momentum going.
So comment on fics. Go through an author’s page and comment on fics that have low comments. Go back through and comment on chapters of a WIP and tell the author what you loved about it. Because I PROMISE we see them and we care and you have no idea how excited they make us.
And if you’re scared to leave a detailed comment? Leave a heart. Leave an emoji of your choice. I promise it is just as effective.
I have seen no one talking about how that is a new couch.
Not to bring up couch theory, but that's a new couch. Not one connected to a girlfriend, or purchased by his parents....
That's a whole new couch.
In the same colour as his last couch (which is connected to both his parents fixing their relationship with him and his giant boyfriend falling asleep on it to be closer to him).
Rated T
Read it here.
Just a short fix-it fic for the past episode!
☕☕☕☕☕
After discovering the “ghost” haunting his house isn’t Bobby but an intruder, Buck’s world shatters. When no one else shows up, Tommy does. Over hot cocoa and quiet confessions, they find their way back to each other through grief, warmth, and love that never really left.
Takes place in 9x5.
Snippet Below!
☕☕☕☕☕
Tommy almost missed the call, the phone vibrating against the coffee table while Kate Hudson delivered yet another quirky monologue about finding true love. He muted the TV, squinting at the caller ID. Ravi. Odd.
"Hello?" Tommy shifted on his couch, one hand still buried in the bowl of microwave popcorn.
"Tommy, hey, it's Ravi." The voice on the other end sounded tense, tired. "Look, I know this is out of the blue, but Buck needs you."
Tommy sat up straighter, popcorn forgotten. Evan? I haven't talked to him since..." The funeral hung unspoken between them.
"Yeah, I know." Ravi sighed. "Listen, something's happened. Buck's been... he was convinced that his new house was haunted, more specifically that it was being haunted by Bobby.
"What?" Tommy pressed the phone closer to his ear, certain he'd misheard.
"He needed it, I think. To cope. Having Bobby still around somehow." Ravi's voice dropped lower. "But tonight we found out it wasn't Bobby at all. It was an evicted tenant living in his attic, messing with him this whole time. Moving things around, making noises at night."
Tommy's stomach twisted. "Jesus. Is Evan okay?"
"No. Not at all." Ravi answered quietly. "We called the cops, they took the guy away, but Buck... he's devastated, man. It's like losing Bobby all over again."
Tommy stood up, already looking for his keys. "Did you call anyone from the 118?"
"That's the thing." Bitterness crept into Ravi's tone. "They kinda all shrugged it off, when he told them he thought Bobby was haunting his house. They essentially chalked it up to Buck being Buck.”
Heat rose in Tommy's chest. "You're kidding me."
"Wish I was."
Tommy found his keys under a magazine. "Text me his address. I'll go check on him."
"You sure? I know you guys haven't exactly been close lately."
Tommy was already grabbing his jacket. "Doesn't matter. Nobody should be alone after something like that."
---
Tommy slid into his truck, the key turning with a familiar rumble that matched the churning in his stomach. Ravi's text with Buck's address glowed on his phone screen. Thirty minutes away. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and pulled out of his driveway.
The streetlights cast intermittent shadows across the dashboard as Tommy drove, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. How long had it been since they'd actually spoken? The funeral, yes, but that had been brief—a hand on the shoulder, mumbled condolences that felt hollow even as he'd said them.
Tommy took a left turn harder than he meant to.
After all this time, Buck had been suffering alone. Believing Bobby's ghost was with him, only to discover it was all a cruel trick. Tommy's chest tightened. He should have checked in, should have called, should have done a thousand things he'd been too afraid to do.
Because the truth was simple and terrifying: through all the silence, all the distance, Tommy had never stopped loving Buck. Not for a single day.
The GPS announced his arrival, and Tommy pulled up to a modest house on a street buzzing with the last of the night’s festivities. Laughter drifted through the air, and a group of kids in mismatched costumes raced past his truck, their candy buckets clattering.
He killed the engine, sat for a moment gathering courage, then stepped out into the cool night air. Buck’s house was darker than the rest, its single porch light a lone beacon amid the orange and purple glow of his neighbors’ decorations. The walk to the front door felt longer than it should have.
Tommy knocked, the sound sharp in the quiet neighborhood. For a moment, nothing. Then came the soft sounds of movement inside—shuffling footsteps, a lock turning.
The door swung open, and there was Buck. A blanket draped around his shoulders like armor, his face ravaged by grief. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes—were bloodshot and swollen, tear tracks mapping his cheeks like rivers. He looked smaller somehow, diminished.
"Tommy," Buck whispered, the name barely audible, confusion and disbelief mingling in that single word.
Tommy didn't trust himself to speak. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled Buck against his chest, wrapping his arms around him with all the strength he had. For a heartbeat, Buck remained stiff, surprised. Then, with a sound like something breaking, he collapsed into Tommy's embrace.
Buck's body shook with sobs, his fingers clutching desperately at Tommy's jacket. Tommy held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of Buck's head, feeling the warm wetness of tears soaking through his shirt.
"I've got you," Tommy murmured against Buck's hair. "I'm here now. I've got you."
They stood there in the doorway, locked together, as Buck's grief poured out in waves. Tommy closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of Buck's shampoo, feeling the warmth of him even through the blanket. He would stand here all night if that's what Buck needed.
Just a short fic inspired by this weeks episode!
🏠🐿️🏠🐿️🏠
After his hookup with Tommy and Bobby’s death, Buck buys an old house hoping for a fresh start, only to find it might be haunted. When strange noises push him to call Tommy for help, they uncover the house’s secrets… and maybe the chance to rebuild what they lost.
Snippet below!
🏠🐿️🏠🐿️🏠
The house never really slept. Even when the lights were off and the world outside fell silent, Buck could feel it breathing around him—wood settling, pipes murmuring, faint scratches tracing the walls above his bed like restless fingers. He’d told himself it was just age, just the quirks of an old home.
One week in this place and he hadn't managed a full night's sleep yet. Not with the sounds that kept circling overhead. They’d started as soft scratching, then grew into dragging—something shifting its weight across the attic, pausing right above his bed. Once, he could’ve sworn he heard a whisper, breathy and low, like a voice caught behind the drywall. By the time daylight bled through the curtains, the silence felt worse than the noise, thick and expectant.
He threw off his covers and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The realtor had smiled that plastic smile of hers when she'd mentioned the house's "character", a euphemism for the sagging porch steps, the temperamental hot water heater, and the floors that creaked with every footstep.
“Character, my ass,” Buck muttered, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he sat there for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face.
He shuffled to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and winced at his reflection. Dark circles had bloomed under his bloodshot eyes, his skin dull and sallow. This wasn’t how a fresh start was supposed to look. After the breakup with Tommy and Bobby’s funeral, he’d found himself adrift. With Eddie moving back to Los Angeles and his old apartment already gone, buying a house had seemed like the logical next step. A way to plant roots again. To start over.
Instead, he'd traded one kind of haunting for another.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Maddie's name flashed across the screen with a FaceTime request. He sighed and accepted.
"Hey, Mad—"
"Jesus, Buck, you look like shit," Maddie's voice crackled through the speaker. She was already dressed for work, her hair pulled back neatly.
"Good morning to you too," he said, sitting on the edge of his unmade bed.
"Did you sleep at all?"
He shook his head. "The noises started up again. Worse this time."
"Ah," Maddie nodded sagely, "the ghost strikes again."
When Buck didn't crack a smile, she frowned. "Come on, you told me you thought it was squirrels when I helped you unpack last weekend. Remember?”
"I don't know what it is anymore." Buck ran a hand through his hair. "But it's driving me crazy."
“Okay,” Maddie said softly. “You’ve been running on empty for months, Buck. Maybe it’s not the house keeping you up, maybe it’s everything you’ve been trying not to feel. It catches up, you know? Try to rest.” she said with big-sister finality. "I gotta run to work, but text me later, okay?"
After the call, Buck stayed sitting for a while, phone still in his hand. The house creaked above him again, just once, as if answering. He told himself it was nothing—old beams, shifting air, but his chest felt tight anyway. Coffee would help, he decided. Coffee and daylight. He could survive another day.
As always, basically anything goes, but no bashing <3 Prompts can be interpreted however you like. Ships, platonic, familial, anything you like ❣️ Any rating just make sure it's tagged 😊 Fics, art, edits, music lists anything goes 💌
Tag @911hiatuspositivity and #911hiatuspositivity listen I know it's not hiatus anymore but I'm just making this continue to spread positivity 🎄 Posting begins from Dec 1st to Dec 31 🥰
I know nobody really participates in these 😅 but they're fun to make so I'm gonna keep doing them in case they bring joy or ideas to anyone 💚❤️
Rated M
Read it here.
Trying something new...this is a Ravi centric fic with romance!
The world needs more Ravi...
👨🚒👨🚒👨🚒👨🚒👨🚒
After an off-duty rescue ends in tragedy, Ravi is left with an injured shoulder, a fractured sense of purpose, and guilt that clings like saltwater. The world calls him a hero. Ravi only remembers who he couldn’t save. But one detective sees the man beneath the wreckage.
Takes place before and during Season 6, Episode 14: Performance Anxiety. It's canon.
Snippet below!
👨🚒👨🚒👨🚒👨🚒👨🚒
Ravi’s knees buckled and the paramedic at his side caught his elbow.
"Sir, you need to sit down."
He let himself be guided to the back of an ambulance, his eyes never leaving the covered stretcher. The boy couldn’t have been more than six years old. Just a baby. And Ravi had chosen—
"I need to check your vitals," the paramedic said, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. "Any difficulty breathing? Chest pain?"
"I'm fine," Ravi mumbled, the words automatic. "Just check on the girl. And her father."
"Other teams are with them. Right now, I'm concerned about you." The paramedic shined a penlight into his eyes. "Possible signs of hypoxia. We should transport you to—"
"Ravi!"
His mother's voice cut through the haze a she pushed past a police officer, his father close behind. Their faces were twin masks of fear and relief.
"Oh my god, beta," his mother cried, cupping his face in trembling hands. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay, Mom." The lie scraped out of him.
His father's hand settled on his shoulder, firm and warm. "We saw what you did. You were so brave."
Brave. The word felt like a stone in Ravi’s throat. He’d made a choice, the girl instead of the boy, and now one life had been saved at the cost of another.
"I couldn't save him," Ravi whispered. "I tried, but I…"
"You did everything you could," his father said, voice breaking. "More than anyone could expect."
A slight shift in the air made Ravi glance up.
A shadow fell across them. Ravi looked up to see a man observing their exchange. He had rugged, masculine features—strong jaw, straight nose, and a mouth set in a firm line. Short brown hair was styled back in a slightly tousled way, and a few days’ worth of stubble sharpened the angles of his face. His eyes were sharp beneath heavy brows, focused and intense, yet there was something undeniably handsome about him—striking in a way that didn’t come from polish, but from grit and character.
He wasn’t in a suit like the other detectives; he wore a fitted dark denim button-down over a black T-shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. The casual clothes hugged the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his arms, emphasizing the solid build that hinted at a man who didn’t just sit behind a desk. A badge was clipped at his belt beside a holstered weapon, and the denim didn’t soften him, it made him look even more grounded, more real. His posture was confident and relaxed, but there was a sharpness in the way he took in the scene, an alertness that told Ravi this was someone used to taking control when things went bad.
The man’s gaze landed on Ravi and held there a beat too long, something assessing flickering in his eyes.
"Ravi Panikkar?" Even his voice was smooth, grounded, controlled.
Ravi blinked, momentarily thrown by the calm cutting through the chaos. "Yeah."
The man offered a polite nod. "I'm Detective Noah Anderson. Long Beach PD. When you're cleared by medical, I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright."
The Wrong Debt, The Right Man: Caged by Family, Freed by Courage
Prequel to: The Wrong Target, The Right Heart: Bound by Mistake, Freed by Love (SalEddie's story)
Rated E Read full story here.
🎰🎰🎰🎰🎰
Mafia boss Sal Deluca goes to El Refugio to collect a debt and finds more than he expected: Eddie Diaz, Ramon’s bruised and broken son, forced to dance for his father’s empire. One look sparks a dangerous obsession, because stepping in might cost Sal everything, but walking away could cost Eddie his life.
Snippet below!
🎰🎰🎰🎰🎰
Sal Deluca's reflection stared back at him from the darkened monitor screens; his face carved from stone and solitude. The leather of his chair creaked as he leaned forward, squinting at the ledger spread across his mahogany desk. The numbers never lied. That's why Sal trusted them more than people. Numbers were clean, precise – unlike the messy business of loyalty.
"Fucking Diaz," he muttered, tracing his finger down the column of figures. Three weeks with no payments from Ramon's operation. Three weeks of disrespect.
The surveillance feeds flickered across the wall of screens – his gambling operations humming along like well-oiled machines. The casino downtown, the high-stakes poker rooms in Midtown, the betting parlors scattered across his territory. All of them generating rivers of cash that flowed directly into his coffers.
All except Ramon's debt.
He reached for the crystal tumbler on his desk, the amber whiskey catching the dim light as he swirled it. The burn down his throat was familiar, comforting even. The massive penthouse around him fell silent save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning. Fifty floors up, and still the emptiness pressed in.
Sal loosened his tie and sank into the leather chair, feeling its cool embrace against his neck. Forty years old next month. No wife. No kids. No one to inherit the kingdom he'd built on the bones of his enemies. His father would have laughed at him. Old man Deluca had died in a pool of his own blood outside a dive bar in Queens, still clutching a roll of twenties from his last collection. The man had been a brute, but he'd never questioned his purpose. Never felt this... hollowness.
He tapped his gold signet ring against the desk – one, two, three times – a habit he'd developed over the twenty-five years he'd ruled the Deluca family. Three taps for luck, though Sal had never believed in luck. Only power and consequences.
The intercom buzzed. "Boss, the reports from the docks are in."
"Leave them," Sal said, his voice like gravel. "And get Tony in here."
He stood, straightening his tailored suit jacket and removing his tie. The mirror on the far wall reflected a man still fit, still dangerous, silver threading through his dark brown hair. What it couldn't show was the hollow feeling that had taken residence in his chest these past few years.
Tony appeared in the doorway, broad-shouldered and expressionless. Fifteen years as Sal's right hand had taught him to read the boss's moods. "Problem?"
Sal tapped the ledger. "Ramon Diaz. Three weeks, no payment."
Tony's jaw tightened. "Want me to send a message?"
"No." Sal closed the ledger with deliberate care. "We're going to deliver this message personally. Get the car. We're paying Ramon a visit at that nightclub of his."
"The El Refugio?"
"Yes." Sal slipped his 9mm into his shoulder holster, the weight of it familiar and reassuring. "Time to remind him who runs this city."
As Tony left to make arrangements, Sal stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city lights spread below like fallen stars. His empire. His prison. He'd built it all from nothing, climbed over bodies to get here, and for what? To drink alone in a penthouse, feared by everyone, known by no one.
The thought vanished as quickly as it had come. Tonight wasn't about existential crises. Tonight was about respect. And Sal Deluca would have his respect, one way or another.
xxx
Eddie traced a fingertip over the purple-yellow bruise blooming beneath his right eye. The makeup would cover it, it always did—but the memory of how it got there would linger long after the foundation and concealer worked their magic. One hour until showtime. One hour to transform from Ramon Diaz's disappointing son into the star attraction that kept the club packed and the money flowing. The dressing room door crashed open without a knock. Eddie's spine stiffened before he even saw his father's reflection appear in the mirror behind him.
"You're not ready." Ramon's voice filled the small space, heavy with disapproval.
Eddie didn't turn around. "I have time."
"Time?" Ramon laughed, the sound sharp as broken glass. "We have important guests tonight. They've heard about you." He moved closer, his cologne—expensive, suffocating—preceding him.
Eddie's fingers curled around the edge of the vanity. "I'll be ready."
"You will be perfect." Ramon placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, the weight of it making Eddie's stomach clench. "This deal means expansion. It means power. And you, mi hijo, you are the bait that will hook them."
The grip tightened, and Eddie fought not to wince. In the mirror, he watched his father's face—so like his own, yet harder, colder—break into what passed for a smile.
"They want a private show after. Just you."
Eddie's throat constricted. "Father, I don't—"
"You don't what?" The smile vanished. "You don't appreciate everything I've given you? The roof over your head? The clothes on your back?" Ramon's fingers dug deeper. "After your mother left, who took care of you? Who made sure you had everything you needed?"
The familiar script. Eddie knew his lines by heart.
"You did," he whispered.
"And now you repay me by doing what you do best." Ramon released him, straightening the collar of Eddie's silk robe with deceptive gentleness. "Dancing. Smiling. Making men want to give me their money."
Eddie nodded, his reflection doing the same—a beautiful puppet with invisible strings.
"The new shipment arrives during your first set," Ramon continued, voice lower now. "Miguel will handle distribution while everyone's eyes are on you. Understand?"
"Yes."
Ramon patted his cheek, right over the bruise. Eddie didn't flinch. Couldn't. Wouldn't.
"That's my boy." Ramon moved toward the door. "One hour. I want to see you rehearse before the doors open."
When the door closed, Eddie released the breath he'd been holding. He reached for his makeup kit with steady hands, trained to never tremble, no matter what. The bruise would disappear. The fear would be swallowed. The charm would be painted on as carefully as the eyeliner.
By showtime, Eddie Diaz would be reborn: desired, admired, untouchable. At least until the music stopped and the lights went down.
🎰🎰🎰🎰🎰
Evan, a prince of the sea, and Tommy, a prince of the land, are torn between two worlds long divided by fear and betrayal. Yet through sacrifice, reunion, and a love that refuses to break, they discover that their bond is strong enough to heal kingdoms and change the course of history.
Or the mermaid AU no one asked for.
Snippet below!
🧜🏻♂️🧜🏻♂️🧜🏻♂️🧜🏻♂️🧜🏻♂️
The Castle of Westerly sat on the very edge of land and sea, its foundations carved into the rugged cliffs where rock met surf. Salt winds had scoured its weathered stone walls until they gleamed pale under the sun, and the tang of the ocean forever clung to its battlements.
The waves crashed below in a steady rhythm, while the towers rose high enough to watch ships come and go along the horizon. At low tide, the sandy shore stretched wide and open; at high tide, the water nearly touched the cliffs. The castle had always stood as a meeting point between land and ocean, caught between two worlds.
Within those walls lived a boy who dreamed of oceans and skies, anything but the cold weight of
---
Prince Tommy slipped from his chambers before dawn, tucking his worn book of sea legends beneath his tunic. Master Halford would be furious when he discovered his pupil missing from morning lessons again, but Tommy couldn't bear another day of dusty scrolls and mathematics when the tide pools waited below.
He followed the hidden path down the cliff face, familiar enough now that his feet found the footholds even in the dim pre-dawn light. The smell of brine grew stronger with each step, washing away the mustiness of the castle. Tommy inhaled deeply, feeling freer with every breath of sea air.
The beach lay quiet below, but Tommy bypassed the sand and made his way to the outcropping of rocks at the far end of the cove. Here, with no servants, no tutors, no royal guards watching his every move, he could just be himself, just a boy with the sea stretching endlessly before him.
He settled cross-legged on his favorite sun-warmed boulder, setting his book in his lap and flipping to the dog-eared page about the merfolk. The illustrations showed beautiful creatures with fish tails and human torsos, wielding tridents and commanding the currents. He traced the faded ink with his finger.
"I wonder…" he whispered to himself, closing the book and setting it aside. He leaned down, found a smooth stone near the tide line, and flicked it toward the water. It skipped—one, two, three, four times, before sinking beneath the surface.
The water rippled strangely where the stone had vanished. Tommy frowned. That wasn’t the normal pattern of disturbed water.
Something was—
A head broke the surface.
Tommy yelped and scrambled backward on the rock, heart pounding. The face in the water was a boy’s, a little younger than himself, with curious blue eyes that caught the morning light and hair plastered wet against his forehead. His skin had a faint pearlescent sheen, as though the sea itself had polished him smooth, gleaming just slightly where the water clung to him. He looked almost ordinary, if ordinary boys had shoulders slick with seawater and moved with the ease of someone born to the waves. But what made Tommy’s breath catch wasn’t his face at all, it was the flick of a tail just beneath the surface, dark blue scales flashing each time it broke into the sunlit shallows.
"You're a…" Tommy’s voice cracked. He had read about merfolk in his father’s books, the stories all ended in blood or foam or both, but he had never thought they were real. Now there was one, bobbing just two feet from him, head cocked, smiling as if he’d just caught a particularly clever minnow.
The boy rolled his eyes and finished for him. “Merboy. Merman, if you want to sound grown up.”
Tommy laughed, a nervous sound that bubbled up from his chest. "I’ve read all about your kind." He held up his book proudly.
"That old thing?" The merboy swam closer, his shimmering tail flashing beneath the surface. "Human books get almost everything wrong." He flashed Tommy a quick, crooked smile, half teasing, half curious, as if daring him to discover the truth for himself.
Tommy couldn’t stop staring. His heart pounded with excitement. "I’m Tommy," he said, remembering his manners at last. "Prince Tommy of Westerly."
"A prince?" The merboy’s eyes widened. "I’m Prince Evan of Marindral." He gestured vaguely toward the deep water.
I miss the boyfriends, the future husbands, the soulmates, the idiots, the freaks, the brat and the dom, the love birds, the codependent domestic bitches, the pilot and the firefighter, the black cat and the golden retriever, the kinky bastards, the it couple, the best future dads ever, the dream team, the partners in crime etc.
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