Scott Gimple, Angela Kang, & Tim Minear Will Never See Heaven

Writing blog of an occasional fanficcer. Used to be into TWD before being betrayed too many times. I spend way more time on my sideblog @gertruderobinsonscat. I occassionally dust this blog to dabble in other fandoms. I am Tumblr Old and feel like a withered ancient when I spend time here. Buy me a coffee if you'd like. https://ko-fi.com/mugsywrites

[mugsywrites]

More sentences Monday! Have some of an upcoming chapter of Thought I Was Done/Secret Relationship AU.

“I’m surprised that doesn’t bother you,” Maddie says, “That Buck’s spending time with the ‘competition’.”

Tommy blinks at her, before he smiles a big, nose scrunchy smile, “You’re adorable.”

Maddie wants to throw her wine glass in his face, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I spent five years in the army under DADT, then another five under Gerrard’s tender mercy. OG Gerrard, not the doddering grandpa you met. And you think you’re capable of hurting my feelings.” He takes a deliberate sip of wine, “Like I said. Adorable.”

He is such a fucking cunt, Maddie thinks as she tightens her grip on her glass. She remembers back when they were first dating, Buck telling her Tommy was like, so mean. He was laughing as he said it, completely enamored.

[mugsywrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 2/7 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley Characters: Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard, Theo (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, maddie han critical, Kid Fic, Getting Back Together, canon atypical good friend Eddie Diaz, Cancer, insane4insane, Fire Fam Critical, Evan Buckley is allowed to be mad, POV Multiple Summary:

Parental leave brings many expected and unexpected changes for Evan Buckley.

[mugsywrites]

Fuck it Friday. More Buck PoV from Thought I Was Done/#secret relationship AU.

Nights Tommy stayed over were the best ones. Even without sex—so far that element of their relationship was strictly scheduled for when Theo was at school or away for Cousin Night.

It wasn’t propriety that stopped them. Theo still had nightmares occasionally that were as unpredictable as they were intense. Nothing could kill the mood quite like the possibility of a heartbroken little boy screaming for someone who could never come. Worse were the times Theo responded to Buck’s attempts at soothing with, I hate you, I hate you, I want to go home!

Buck didn’t wake up screaming from his own nightmares. Even the worst ones, the nightmares that involved people living in his walls searching for lost sons. Before Tommy started staying over Buck couldn’t get back to sleep unless he checked Theo’s closet and the attic. 

Buck never dreamed Bonnie in his walls, which was somehow worse. Sometimes it was strangers, but most often it was Connor, Kameron, or both of them. They looked fine and healthy, and would smile and thank Buck for taking such good care of their son, then tell him were a family and Theo belonged with them now. No, he doesn’t, you’re right, I was the donor not the dad, but he doesn’t belong with you now, you can’t have him.

(A few times Buck dreamed it was Margaret Buckley.)

But the absolute worst was the time it was Bobby. A blood-soaked, horror movie version of him, of how he must have looked after the virus ran its course.

(Buck unfortunately had that dream before Tommy started sleeping over. He still answered his phone when Buck called, patiently and gently asking what had happened, did he need something, while Buck sobbed. He didn't have the words to express how guilty and strangely violated he felt by his own brain, that it turned of the man Buck still missed so, so much into a horror. ) 

[dharmaavocado]

For the five facts AU: Bucktommy au where Tommy is a librarian and Buck is the guy that keeps coming in researching some crazy topics and Tommy is always the one having to help him find the right books.

This one is very fun. Also I know nothing about how libraries work; I just use them.

1. The first thing Tommy did when he returned home after his honorable discharge was to move into the small apartment above his grandfather’s house. No, the first thing he did was stand in departures fighting the urge to get right back on the plane and get the hell out of town. The fourth thing he did, after buying a new mattress for the apartment because the old one was too soft after years of sleeping in various barracks and bases, was go to the library.

It hadn’t changed in the years he’d been away: children’s section on the first floor, young adult tucked away in the far corner, fiction on the second level, microfiche and nonfiction in the basement, and Mr. Artie behind the main desk.

“My gracious, is that little Tommy Kinard?” Mr. Artie said, practically sprinting around the desk, arms held out in invitation. Tommy stepped into them. “Oof, not so little anymore. What as the army done to you?”

“Given me PTSD and a new appreciation for good water pressure,” he said.

“Oh, honey,” Mr. Artie said, and rubbed his back in the way Tommy always figured parents who loved the kids did. “I have missed you.”

Mr. Artie hadn’t changed either. He still wore colorful bow ties and listened intently to the small kids who were so excited to use their library cards to check out books and patiently helped older folk use the computer and sign up for email and navigate various government websites. And when he wasn’t doing that, Mr. Artie was handing him books to read like he was still that angry little kid who would have lived in the library full time if it meant he never had to go home again.

Just like then, Tommy hung around so often that Mr. Artie designated him a volunteer and showed him how to check out books for the patrons. He read and he shelved books and he helped a kid find books on dinosaurs and put in a request for the Bunnicula books for another and, once, pulled some queer books for a terrified fourteen year old and reserved them a small study room so they could read in peace and not have the books show up on their account.

“You’re good with them,” Mr. Artie said quietly.

Tommy shrugged and requested a few other books from the library system to be checked out under his account. The kid could read them when they came in. “Being fourteen is hard. No reason to make it harder.”

“Come to dinner tomorrow,” Mr. Artie said. “I know you’re not busy and Steven is grilling.”

2. Tommy forwent buying a bottle of wine because he knew fuckall about wine, but he picked up some flowers and a some pretentious beers from the one pretentious liqour store in town and went to dinner. Everyone knew Mr. Artie was gay, but they were polite enough not call attention to it, probably because the entire population under the age of twenty would riot if they tried to oust him from his position.

Mr. Artie was delighted by the flowers and Tommy nursed a beer and watched as Mr. Artie and Steven moved around each other with the familiarity of long years and pretended that he didn’t ache.

When dinner was eaten and Steven had chased them to the rocking chairs on the back porch so he could clean up, Mr. Artie said, “Have you thought about what you’ll do now that you’re home?”

His grandfather had also been asking that, but it stung less coming from Mr. Artie.

“I have my pilots license,” Tommy said. “There’s some outfits nearby that run tours. I might do that. It’s not bad money.”

“And you like flying,” Mr. Artie said, gently rocking. “You’re good with the kids at the library. You’re even good with the people you don’t like.”

“Now that’s not true,” Tommy said, matching his rocking speed to Mr. Artie’s.

“It is. You’re a kind man, Tommy, and I don’t want you wasting away here.” Mr. Artie reached across the space between them and gently took Tommy’s hand in his. “You more than earned that GI Bill. Consider putting it to use. There’s no rule saying you can’t keep your license and do something else.”

Tommy swallowed around the familiar pain. “Do you think school is for me?”

Mr. Artie squeezed his hand. “It’s for everyone, but I think you would make a wonderful librarian, if that’s where your passion leads you.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, and squeezed back.

3. Tommy took a couple classes at the community college and then took a couple more. His grades were decent and then more than decent when he really buckled down. Mr. Artie helped him apply to school, most of them in Los Angeles, all of them out of town, and wrote a recommendation letter so glowing it felt like it belongs to someone else.

When he received an acceptance letter, Mr. Artie whooped so loudly he disturbed every teenager in the manga section.

“There’s something else,” Tommy said, hands shaking so hard that Mr. Artie took hold to steady him. “I’m gay.” It was the first time he ever admitted it out loud.

“Welcome to the family, honey,” Mr. Artie said, and held him so tightly that Tommy felt it in his ribs.

4. Tommy got his bachelor’s and then his master’s and joined the greater Los Angles Public Library system as a reference librarian who had a reputation for being able to find information on any subject, no matter how obscure or embarrassing. Tommy lost count of how many times he directed a blushing queer kid toward The Joy of Gay Sex and then on to his favorite informative pamphlet on trans sex.

So it didn’t even make his top five strangest requests when a beautiful man with a birthmark stamped above his eye said, “Hey, what are the new frogs?”

“Is this for a school project?” Tommy asked, already pulling up JSTOR.

“Personal research,” the guy said.

A cute kid on crutches, practically hidden by the guy’s, holy shit, long legs, piped up. “My cousin says we discovered all the frogs and there are no new ones, and she’s wrong.”

“But you need citations to support your case,” Tommy said, and the kid nodded vigorously. He refined his search to find something more kid friendly. “Well, it turns out you’re in luck. New species were discovered this year. I’ll get you set up at a computer and you can read some articles. I’ll even show you how to format a bibliography. That should shut up your cousin.”

Tommy led the kid and his dad to a computer and showed him the same search he used and pointed to him where the printers were and ignored how the dad’s gaze kept tracking to him.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Tommy said.

“You’ll be our first call,” the dad said. “I-I mean, if we have more frog questions. Or other questions. Like about, um, space.”

“Space?” the kid said.

“Yeah, like what’s going on up there,” the dad continued with an agonized expression that meant he was actively wishing for death. “Um, thanks for your help.”

“Any time,” Tommy said.

By the time the kid finished with his research, a stack of printed articles stuffed in his backpack, Tommy handed the dad a list of books about the history of space exploration. “Just in case you were curious about what’s going on up there,” he said.

“I know you’re making funny of me,” the dad said, “but joke’s on you. I’m going to read every one of these.”

“That’s why I gave you the list,” Tommy said, and smiled as the kid groaned and dragged his dad to the exit.

5. “Do you got anything on the history of ceiling fans?”

Tommy looked up into the handsome face of the dad from last week.

“Moved on from frogs, huh?” he said, already defining the parameters of the search. “Did your son win the argument?”

The guy blinked. “My—you mean Chris? He’s not my son. He’s the son of my partner. Work partner,” he added quickly. “I’m a firefighter, and so is Eddie. That’s Chris’s dad. I’m Buck. Uh, Evan Buckley. Hi.”

“Hello, Evan Buckley,” Tommy said, and tapped the nameplate on his desk. “That’s me.”

Evan made a show of looking at the plate. “Thanks for the space recs, Tommy. I really liked the one about the cosmonauts.”

“Just don’t go reading that one article about the lost cosmonauts. The scholarship on it is appalling.”

Evan was suspiciously quiet.

“Evan.”

“So are you really not going to ask me why I want to know about the history of ceiling fans?” Evan said.

“That doesn’t even make the list of top twenty weird things I’ve been asked to find references for,” he said. “And I don’t research and tell.”

Evan pouted. “We had a call the other day where a ceiling fan beaned this guy hard on the head, and I got curious about them.”

Of course he did. Tommy printed the list he compiled. “A lot of this is going to be about design, but I think you’ll find some good sources in there.” He tapped the bottom of the list. “I also added some micro histories in case you got bored with the fans. The one on salt is good. So is the butter.”

Evan stared intently at the list. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Tommy leaned in and lowered his voice. “You seem like the type to like fun facts. These are very fun facts.” He leaned back. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Evan jumped and glanced behind him where a sleep deprived student looked to on the verge of tears. “Uh, no, this is great. Thank you.”

“It’s what I do,” Tommy said, and waved the student forward.

6. Evan became a regular after that, stopping at least once a week with a new topic he was interested in: tattoos, African currency swords, clown eggs, a biography on Archduke Ferdinand, bones.

“Bones,” Tommy repeated. “Are you talking about in an anthropological sense? Do you want to read up on hominid fossils? Or are you more interested in it from a medical science angle?”

“Surprise me,” Evan said, and smiled at his sigh. “Hey, what’s your favorite thing someone has asked you to look up?”

Tommy thought about it while he picked out the densest anthropological textbooks to give Evan. “One woman came in asking for more information on sky burials. I never heard of it before, so I liked that I got to learn about it alongside her.”

Evan perked up. “What’s a sky burial?”

“It’s a mainly Tibetan practice. In higher elevations, the ground is too hard to bury the bodies and there isn’t enough wood for cremations. So when a person dies, their bodies are broken down and fed to the vultures.” He chanced a glance at Evan who was listening intently, the same as he did with everything Tommy told him. “I know it sounds macabre, but it’s—”

“No, it’s beautiful,” Evan said, smiling. “I think I’d like that.”

Tommy turned his attention back to his search. “Yeah, me too.”

When he sent Evan off to find the textbooks and the few resources on sky burials, his coworker June rolled over and said, “It’d be less embarrassing if you just asked to suck his dick.”

“This is why they don’t let you around kids,” Tommy said, and shoved her away.

7. Evan, Tommy learned, liked documentaries and histories and saw maybe two movies a year, and made a noise when Tommy asked if he ever read fiction.

“Sometimes,” Evan said. “I have a hard time finding anything that keeps my attention.”

Tommy started him with some Alexander Dumas (The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Crisco) and then a few old adventure stories (The Scarlet Pimpernel), and then a couple of romances and some fantasy, some of which he liked (Discworld) and some of which he didn’t (Tolkien was a bust), and then some scifi since Evan liked learning about space.

“Try this,” Tommy said handing over a copy of A Matter of Oaths, which he’d set specifically aside. “It’s one of the early queer space operas.”

Evan mentioned some ex-girlfriends and Tommy had carefully let slip that he dated men, and Evan had sweetly proclaimed himself an ally. But this was different. This was the book Mr. Artie had given him one rainy, miserable day that had made little fourteen year old Tommy feel less alone.

Evan smoothed gentle fingers along the spine. “I’m excited to read it.”

6. “While this courtship is very sweet,” Mr. Artie said that evening during their regularly scheduled call, “have you considered asking him out?”

“He’s straight,” Tommy said, pawing through his fridge for something that was edible. “And it would be unprofessional.”

“Honey, you told him about sky burials and had him read A Matter of Oaths. The only thing left at this point is to ask him to dinner.”

“Ask him to marry you!” Steve called out.

“I should have become a grossly overpaid private pilot,” Tommy said.

“You would have been so miserable,” said Mr. Artie, “and you would never have met your Evan.”

Well, Mr. Artie wasn’t wrong.

7. Tommy was late coming back to lunch, which meant he was going to get an earful from June, who hated covering the reference desk. She saw him heading over and, with audible relief, said, “Thank god. Your regular needs some help.”

Evan reluctantly turned around with a small wave. “I thought you were off today.”

“The flu’s been taking everyone out. I’m covering.” He slipped behind the desk. “What are we looking up today? You were on that bee kick last week.”

Evan turned a beseeching look on June, but he would have better luck with some actual bees; she happily abandoned him for her beloved microfiche archive.

“Uh, queer history?” Evan fiddled with the cuffs of his baby pink cardigan. “My coworker, uh, friend Hen, she’s married to a woman and I thought I should look into it more. I mean, I know there’s Stonewall and the AIDs crisis and then gay marriage.”

“Those are the highlights,” he said dryly and instantly regretted it when Evan winced. He made an effort to soften his tone. “There’s a lot more to it than that.”

“There is!” Evan snapped his fingers. “And I figured maybe I should learn more since Pride is coming up.”

“In four months,” he said absently, trying to figure out what to even suggest. Evan liked histories, but did Tommy start him with Stonewall? Did he give Evan a history about queerness during the Harlem Renaissance? There were more contemporary sources, things Evan had been alive for—the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and Obergefell—but that was an US centric approach, and so many countries had their own queer cultures.

“I didn’t think this would stump you,” Evan said with a brave little smile.

“You know I like to make sure I get it right,” Tommy said, and printed out the list. “Start with these photography collections. It’s just queer people living their lives. If you like that, we can move on to specifics.”

“Thank you,” Evan said quietly, and made it two steps before turning back. “Hey, you also have a copy of The Joy of Gay Sex, right? I just want to be thorough.”

Tommy laughed so hard he could barely point Evan in the direction of the stacks.

8. Between his shifts and Evan’s shifts and a baby version of the flu felling him, it was three weeks before he saw Evan again. They’d been short staffed and apparently every high school student in the city waited until the last minute to write their report on Of Mice and Men, and all he wanted was to go home and watch something devoid of any kind of educational value.

Evan, dressed in a nice button up shirt and nervously bouncing on his heels, was waiting outside.

His eyebrows bounced up. “Evan, what are you doing here?”

Evan shoved his hands into his pockets only to immediately take them out again. “I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner. With me, if that wasn’t clear.” His hair was so carefully styled. “Also I watched this program on sky burials the other day and that’s genuinely what I want now.”

Tommy cracked up and reached for Evan’s hand. “Tell me about it at dinner.”

Evan laced this fingers together.

9. Tommy brought Evan home for Mr. Artie’s retirement party.

“Oh, honey, you did good,” Mr. Artie said, immediately pulling Evan into a hug. “Be honest with me, did the sky burials work?”

“That and the history of salt,” Evan said, any nervous shyness vanishing. “I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you.”

“You are the first boy Tommy has ever brought home.” And Mr. Artie hugged Evan so hard he must have felt in his ribs. “Welcome to the family, Evan. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Tommy said softly, and Evan smiled bright and joyous and free.

[mugsywrites]

Chapters: 1/7 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley Characters: Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard, Theo (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, maddie han critical, Kid Fic, Getting Back Together, canon atypical good friend Eddie Diaz, Cancer, insane4insane, Fire Fam Critical, Evan Buckley is allowed to be mad, POV Multiple Summary:

Parental leave brings many expected and unexpected changes for Evan Buckley.

[mugsywrites]

Something Sunday. Have some more Buck PoV from the #secret relationship AU.

“He won’t want to leave,” Buck said, grinning down at Tommy’s sketch. The play house and garden had been rendered in clean lines—Tommy was a fairly skilled artist. Not enough to quit his day job, but enough that Buck could clearly visualize how everything would fit into the space.

Tommy’s silence held weight. He took in a deep breath, and said, “What if he didn’t have to?”

Buck looked up. Tommy staring at the spot on the stucco fence where, according to the sketch, he wanted to put up the water wall slash mud kitchen. The back of his neck was flushed red and sweat was starting to gather at his temples. "What do you mean?”

“Don’t feel pressured,” Tommy said, in that dry, trying to be casual way of his. I’m saying…what are you doing Saturday? “But what if we…revised the Five Year Plan?”

Buck caught himself smiling automatically about being able to hear the capital letters. Then Tommy's words sunk in and his throat went dry. “Revise it how?”

“What if we got married now?” Tommy asked, still studying the fence, “I mean, not now now. Deirdra needs to do the home study. And I’ll need to complete the medical assessment. But if we start now you and the TheoSaurus could move in before you have to go back to work.”

Buck opened his mouth and closed it. Tommy finally darted a cautious look at him, before quickly going back to his study of his fence. Tommy continued, words coming out faster, “There are a lot of advantages. You can stop blowing thousands of dollars every month just to stay at the Cursed House and start saving up for Lockwood--”

“So you believe in curses now?” Buck somehow managed to be heard over the pounding of his heart. 

“I’m less skeptical than I was,” Tommy said, “You can be convincing.”

“Liar,” Buck huffed out. 

Tommy snorted, “Yeah, that was just to butter you up.”

“So,” Buck said, voice shaking, “You’re saying it uh, just makes financial sense.”

Tommy’s face twisted, and he tilted his face up and blinked. Buck was more familiar with that tic of his than he ever wanted to be. “It does, but that’s not why I’m asking.” He turned to face Buck finally. “I love you. Both of you. I don’t want to wait, you know as well as I do that time isn’t promised to any of us..”

[mugsywrites]

Fuck it Friday. Have some of Buck's PoV from the secret relationship AU. @iamfaithmanages and @sgprfan

“Okay,” Buck said, fighting a smile, “First item: Working smoke detectors on every level of the home.”

Buck could have written a thousand sonnets to the bitchiness of Tommy’s eyebrows, and another thousand to the bitchiness of his tone, “What is this, amateur hour?” He rolled his eyes at Buck’s expression, and carefully showed where he had both his smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. Unsurprisingly, each one gave a healthy chirp when Tommy pressed the test button.

“Very good,” Buck said. He firmly scratched a check mark, “Next item: Fire extinguisher with a minimum rating—”

“I have four fire extinguishers,” Tommy interrupted, “2-A:10-B:C in the kitchen, another near the bedrooms, and two 3-A:40-B:C rated in the garage.”

“I, uh, I thought you only had the one 2-A in the kitchen,” Buck said.

The tips of Tommy’s ears turned pink, “I got a second one after you let me meet Theo.”

“Oh,” Buck said. His own ears were probably pinker than Tommy’s, along with his cheeks, neck, and probably 95% of the rest of his skin. He swiped his tongue quickly over his lower lip and scratched another checkmark. Tommy’s eyes were soft and so fond when Buck looked up from the clipboard. Buck really wanted to kiss him. 

Instead he cleared his throat and moved on to “accessible first-aid supplies”, which Tommy obviously had in abundance. All household chemicals stored correctly plus affixed with brand new “Mr Yuk” stickers. An earthquake kit with flashlights and spare batteries.

“Weapons and ammunition stored—”

“I got rid of my service revolver,” Tommy said, face going carefully blank, “I’ve been on too many calls where—” he cut himself off, swallowing heavily, “Anyway. Just getting rid of it seemed safest long term.”

“Yeah,” Buck said quickly. He had his own memories of specific calls to repress. 

Buck was able to check "yes" on the rest of the list. Tommy didn’t have a written escape plan for fires or any other emergencies, but Buck still checked “yes” after a brief debate with himself. Tommy said he wanted to collaborate with Buck and Theo both on it.

“The garage is what worries me most,” Tommy said once they finished touring the house, “There’s a lot of dangerous shit in there.”

“Well, you have all the required locks—”

“Really?” Tommy said. The amount of sarcasm one man could put into two syllables needed to be studied.

Buck laughed, “Yeah, I know.” 

“I mean, those might keep him out now, but I give him until age six, tops, before he manages—mmmph!”

Tommy froze at the first touch of Buck’s mouth against his own. His lips curled into a smile before he was kissing Buck back just enthusiastically. 

[mugsywrites]

Thing Thursday. More #secret relationship AU. Tagging @iamfaithmanages and @sgprfan.

Maddie is still debating on whether or not to call Chimney or wait for him to get home in the morning when her phone explodes. It’s the 118 Family thread, that includes spouses and older children.

In the time it takes to set Nash in his crib and scramble for her phone there are over a dozen new messages, and her phone keeps chiming. 

The text that is ground zero for this explosion is one from Buck.

Hey everyone! FYI, Tommy and I got married on September 22. Theo and I are in the process of moving to his place. We’ll be there officially just in time for Halloween! Don’t worry about helping, we’ve already got everything covered. Here’s our new address in case you don’t have it:

Buck’s next message is the address that Maddie just left.

September 22. Maddie stares at that. The hairs on her scalp tingle. She switches to her text thread with Buck and scrolls back until she gets to September 15.

Hey! Do you and Chim mind switching cousin night to the 22 next week? Something came up I need to take care of and that’s the only day I can do it.

Shouldn’t be a problem! Is this something you need help with?

No, thanks! You’re a life saver :)

She closes out of her text messages and pulls up Safari. Google’s annoying AI summary informs her that getting married in California requires an appointment at the courthouse for the license followed by a quick ceremony. Further scrolling of actual information tells her that a busy courthouse can take weeks, so plan accordingly.

Her vision blurs. The tears that fall are just as hot as her cheeks.

Her phone has been vibrating constantly with new message alerts. She scrolls down through the growing thread, everyone’s messages nearly identical variations of: What? Is this a joke? What?

The exception is Athena. Oh my goodness, that was fast! Congratulations! Her words are followed by a string of champagne and heart emojis. Maddie just stares at it in disbelief, thoughts swirling. Before she can put them in any order her phone rings. 

Maddie knuckles the tears from her eyes and clears her throat before she answers, “Hey,”

“Hey sweetie,” Howie’s voice is gentle and tender, the audio equivalent of stroking her hair. She almost starts crying again. 

“You’re on speakerphone,” Howie says quickly, “Everyone say ‘hi’.”

[mugsywrites]

Something Sunday. More #secret relationship AU to tide y'all over. (I'm going through some RL stuff so I will either vanish for a while or just write out eighty billion words to cope, idk which yet)

“You have something to say to me, Maddie?” Athena asks.

Her tone is enough to make everyone at the Intervention Strategy Meeting go quiet and or sit up straight. Harry in particular looks like he’s only just realized his mother is here.

Maddie knows she should just apologize and move on, but she can’t help herself. She pulls up Buck’s message thread and reads Athena’s response, “‘Oh my goodness, that was fast! Congratulations! Champagne emoji, heart emoji, heart emoji,’” her voice cracks and her eyes go hot, “Congratulations for what, Athena? Making the worst mistake of his life?” It hits her all of the sudden. That was fast. “Did you…did you know?”

Athena’s expression goes icy, “That they were seeing each other again and talking about marriage? Yes.”

Maddie stares at her in utter betrayal, “And you didn’t say anything, to any of us? You didn’t try to talk him out of it?” He would have listened to you, you're the closest thing to Bobby’s advice he’ll ever get—

“Maddie—” Chimney says, placating and warning, but she can’t hear him.

“Your brother is a grown man,” Athena says, completely unapologetic, “I know it’s fast, but he’s thought everything through—”

“Seriously?” she almost shouts, “When has Buck ever thought everything through? Especially when it comes to this man?”

“Oh, you best watch your tone with me, Maddie Han,” Athena says, her own tone sharp enough to cut Maddie’s anger at the knees, “Especially when ’this man’ is one of the reasons you and I aren’t wearing matching widow’s weeds.”

[mugsywrites]

Some Sentences Saturday. More of the secret relationship AU.

Buck is in the backyard playing with Theo. When Maddie makes to follow Tommy outside he pointedly tells her to wait.

“I need to warn him first,” Tommy says bluntly. 

Part of her wants to ask who the hell Tommy thinks he is. Instead she gives him a tight smile, because the answer to that is “Buck’s husband” apparently.

Jesus.

She takes in Tommy’s living room while she waits. The decor is masculine--hardwood floors, earth tones, and art prints of vintage firefighting equipment. Which just makes the kitchen play set in one corner contrast all the more sharply. Maddie drifts over to inspect it closer—it looks like the fancy six hundred dollar one Buck has been drooling over, complete with an array of toy food. Maddie picks up watermelon slice at random—it’s two pieces held together with velcro, so it can be “chopped” in half with one of the little toy knives.

Maddie is concentrating so hard that she jumps when Buck says her name. She straightens and turns to face him. 

He’s wearing work clothes, an old tee shirt with a dark v-shape of sweat at the neckline, and his face is as shuttered as Tommy’s was.

“Where’s your wedding ring?” Maddie asks. She had no idea she was going to say it until the words were out.

Buck wordlessly tugs on a chain around his neck until he pulls out a simple gold band that matches the one she saw on Tommy’s finger.

(She’s noticed that chain around his neck before today, but she can’t remember when he started wearing it.)

“What are you doing here?” Buck asks.

“I forgot you changed your sessions to Thursdays,” Maddie says, “I showed up to get Theo, and…”

“And they told you Tommy picked him up,” Buck says, looking away from her. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Buck,” Maddie says, searching for words, “What the hell is going on?”

That muscle in Buck’s jaw twitches again, and when he turns back to Maddie he looks defiant, “I got married.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago,” Buck says, shoulders raising defensively.

“To Tommy? Why?”

“Lockwood Academy,” Buck says, then at her confused expression explains, “It’s a private elementary school that’s one of the best in the country for students with ADHD and other learning disabilities. A lot of emphasis on STEM, on learning by doing instead of just sitting and listening to a teacher. Anyway, the yearly tuition is about what I’m paying in rent, and Tommy owns this place free and clear.”

“I’m sorry,” Maddie says, blinking, “Are you telling me you married someone for his house?”

“No,” Buck snaps, “I married him because I love him and he’s the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with. But you wouldn’t believe that if I said it, so I went with the practical benefits.”

Maddie realizes then that Buck isn’t defiant or defensive, he is utterly and completely furious. At her.

(She’s hit with a memory from years ago, sitting across from her parents for the first time in years. Buck seems fine, Margaret said, and Maddie responded with, He’s good at that. Seeming fine.)

Maddie opens her mouth and closes it again. She searches for a rejoinder, because he’s right. She doesn’t think he really loves Tommy. Maybe he thinks he does, maybe he thinks he should, but he doesn’t really know Tommy, not well enough to get married, to legally bind himself and his son to him. 

“Exactly,” Buck says, grinning with all his teeth, like he read her mind.

@iamfaithmanages

[mugsywrites]

Fuck it Friday. Have something I've been rotating in my brain that I don't know if I'll finish. DISCLAIMER: I hated the whole sperm baby storyline, and would rather ignore it and go full AU, but sometimes canon fuckery is like a challenge to me.

Maddie Han is a busy woman. She works full time at a demanding job. Has two children of her own, one of which is about to start her first year of kindergarten. A husband who she still likes to see occasionally and has a job that is even more demanding than her own. A new nephew that she adores (even if watching him seems almost like a second full time job sometimes). Somehow she manages to stay on top of things ninety-nine times out of a hundred. And that one time she slips up is always low stakes. 

Like when she’s apologizing for being late to Miss J, who is in charge of parent pickup at Theo’s preschool. “I hope he didn’t get into any trouble while he was waiting.” (She adores her nephew. But he has her baby brother’s youthful rambunctiousness turned up to eleven, and she has the energy of someone in middle age instead of middle school this go around)

Miss J just laughs, “Maddie! It’s Tuesday.”

Maddie blinks at her, not understanding at first. “I know it’s Tuesday, I…”

Then it catches up to her. It’s Tuesday. She’s supposed to pick Theo up on Thursdays now.

To be fair to her, she’s been picking Theo up every Tuesday for almost five months. But Buck switched his parent training sessions to Thursdays a few weeks ago, said it fit his schedule better. (“What schedule?” Chimney griped, “He’s taking an extra month of parental leave.”)

“Buck’s husband picked Theo a few minutes ago, you must have just missed him,” Miss J says. 

“Right, I’m sure—” Miss J’s words catch up to her, “I’m sorry, what? Buck isn’t…he doesn’t have a husband.” She wonders for a brief moment if Miss J means Eddie, which would be an easy mistake to make. But no; she knows Eddie is on duty because Howie is on duty.

Miss J’s warm smile fades, and it’s her turn to look confused, “Yes he does?”

“I think I’d know if my brother got married,” Maddie says, her heart pounding. She’s digging in her purse for her phone, debating on whether to call Buck or Athena first. Someone took Theo from daycare, she thought. Someone who isn’t Buck, someone who lied about being his husband, how the fuck did that happen, I had to practically give a vial of blood to get put on the authorized pick up list—

Miss J pulls up something on her tablet and passes it to Maddie, “Here, look.”

Maddie stares blankly at the tablet for an unknown length of time. Theo’s preschool uses an app for pickup lists, with both names and thumbnail photos of authorized adults. Theodorus Vincent Riley has a very long list, with all the usual suspects: Buckley, Evan (father). Riley, Petra (grandmother). Han, Maddie (aunt). Han, Howard (uncle) Diaz, Edmundo (family friend). Grant-Nash, Athena (family friend). Wilson, Henrietta (family friend). Wilson, Karen (family friend). Panikkar, Ravi (family friend). 

The last, and therefore most recent, is the one Maddie can’t stop staring at:

Kinard, Thomas (stepfather).

There’s a thumbnail photo of a familiar handsome face with an awkward smile next to it. 

What. The actual fuck.

Maddie Han is a busy woman, with a lot on her plate, but not so much she’d forget her brother getting married. To his ex. To his ex that vanished almost immediately after Bobby’s funeral, right when Buck needed him, froze him out and hasn’t been seen since. 

She passes the tablet back with shaking hands. Miss J is looking concerned and a little embarrassed, “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Maddie lies. There are so many problems. 

[starpains]

on “the blond,” “the older man,” and other crimes against third-person limited

You know that thing where a story is written in tight third person limited — we’re meant to be inside someone’s head, seeing the world through their thoughts — and then suddenly the narration says “the blond frowned” or “the shorter woman sighed” about a person the POV character knows really well?

That’s called antonomasia — using a descriptive label instead of a name. And it’s fine when we’re talking about strangers: “the cashier handed her the receipt,” “the tall guy blocked the door.” The POV character doesn’t know their names, and we just need a quick way to tell people apart.

But the moment it’s used for someone the POV character already knows, it breaks immersion. Because that’s not how our minds work. We don’t think “the older man smiled at me.” We think “Mark smiled.” Or maybe “my boss” if that relationship matters in the moment.

Third person limited means the narration sits inside someone’s perception. Their inner monologue is the story’s voice. So when you switch from “Mark smiled” to “the blond smiled,” you’ve pulled the camera away from their mind and turned it into an outside shot.

If you want to create distance or irritation, you can do it on purpose —

“The idiot from accounting emailed again.”

That’s character voice. That’s judgment. That works.

But otherwise?

As soon as your POV character knows someone’s name, use it. While we do tend to worry about repetitions, names rarely register as such to the readers.

If you need variety for rhythm, use relational or emotional identifiers that make sense in their head: her friend, his partner, their teacher, the person they loved.

Because inside someone’s thoughts, there are no “blonds” or “brunettes.”

There are only people they know.

[wisteria-lodge]

Really good explanation of the fundamental problem with this type of writing.

(and why it's one of my huge pet peeves)

[jimkirksfatass]

do you ever feel like you love a character more than their own writers do

[mugsywrites]

Tidbit Tuesday. I've been tagged by a couple people over the past few weeks for writing exercises, but I haven't really written anything news since the spoilers about the donor baby came out. Even fanfic was not sparking joy after that whole mess. Anyways, have a bit from an earlier draft of Buck and Chim's argument in the #freeBuck/unfind that family universe I originally deleted for being "too mean".

“Hen and Karen broke up. Karen was going to leave until you called and lied about Hen being dead," Buck says, "Then she moved out when Hen cheated on her.”

“That was different,” Chimney says, wincing, because he knows how Buck will take it, “Hen is my best friend, and she’s the one who fucked up. I had to be on her side. She did the same thing when Maddie and I got back together.” He winces again, knowing it’s too much to hope Buck won’t pounce on that.

Buck snorts, “‘When you and Maddie got back together.’ Say, Chim, how many false starts did you and my sister have before you entered marital bliss? Oh hey, while we’re on that subject: How would you have felt if I started making jokes about Tatiana right before your wedding? Remember her? The woman you lied constantly to, then dumped you while you were in a coma? Remind me, how did that accident happen, anyway? Something about you storming off like your one year old having a tantrum--”

“Fuck you,” comes out of Chimney’s mouth without input from his brain, utterly full of venom.

“Did I hit a nerve, Howard?” Buck says, his mean, jagged smile back, “Does it make you feel small, to be reminded of your greatest hits?” 

Chimney forces himself to breathe through his nose, in and out, “Point. Taken.”

“Is it?” Buck asks, smile twisting, “I’m not a bad person because I slept around in my twenties. I never lied to women or led them on to get them in bed. Consent was always enthusiastic and informed on their end.”

“I said the point is taken,” Chimney grits out.  

“I was just joking,” Buck says, “Don’t get so mad I was just joking. Plus I’m family, so it’s not a big deal."

[argentsunshine]

a bad show? that's nothing? a good show? sure. but a bad show that, for a brief moment, becomes very good, and then never is again? that'll drive a person to madness

[dogpuppy]

[mugsywrites]

Tease Tuesday or whatever. Can't stop thinking of my The Martian AU. I might end up writing it. I took a lot of ideas about Space!Bees from this article.

They were on day twelve of their journey to Mars when Evan explained the concept of Telling the Bees.

“You have to tell them all important events,” Evan said to Tommy as they floated in front of the hive, “Births, marriages, things like that. But deaths most importantly.”

The bee enclosure took up a large portion of the zero G lab, an oddly beautiful partitioned box of transparent acrylic panes latticed with honeycombs. It hummed with life, the steady drone of a hive of fifteen thousand strong getting along with their business. After one hundred and thirty days, all of them except for the queen had been born in space.

Evan had been so excited by that. NASA had taken a small population of bees into space forty years before the Ares III mission(“small” according to Evan meant about three and a half thousand). It was only for eight days, and the queen laid eggs but they never hatched for reasons no one could figure out. 

“They didn’t bring enough bees,” Evan said, speaking in that excited way of his that Tommy had been completely charmed by from the beginning (Not just Tommy, Evan’s videos for social media were reportedly the most popular, with twice as many views as anyone else’s) “Less than four thousand bees? That’s nothing. Ten thousand is nothing! That’s like, a beginner’s colony. They need more, all of them work together and have an important job. Like the ship,” he gestured around him, “So many people contributed! It’s a chain, and every link is important. We couldn’t go to Mars at all if it weren’t for the workers at the factory creating the solar panels.” 

Tommy would never admit how much of his free time he spent floating in the lab, watching the busy colony.

Watching Evan watch the colony. My ladies, Evan called them. 

Tommy’s chest tightened. Evan had taken a second, smaller enclosure down to the Martian surface with a new queen and ten thousand bees. During the single week on the Martian surface they had started building a comb.

“They were born in space, Tommy,” Evan said, bouncing on his feet, “This is the first time they’ve felt gravity.”

There had been no time to euthanize the colony when they made their evacuation, a fact that Tommy knew upset Evan. They were just bees, the workers lived less than two months, but they were helpless and Evan had made the decision to bring them to a strange world hundreds of thousands of kilometers from Earth.

“You have to knock on the hive,” Evan told Tommy on day twelve, “And say ‘Your master—or mistress--is dead, but don’t you go. Your mistress—or master--will be a good mistress to you.’”

Tommy pressed his face against the hive, feeling the thrumming vibration as well as hearing it. He rapped his knuckles gently against the acrylic.

“Evan is dead,” Tommy told them. His voice was shaking. Tears don’t fall in zero gravity, they simply coalesce into a blob of water until they’re wiped away or evaporate. “There was, uh, a storm. We had to do an emergency evacuation.”

Tommy hadn’t seen it happen, he’d been in the MAV, prepping for the launch. The others were making their way, Evan at the rear, when the satellite dish of their communications array was torn loose and hit Evan dead on. He went flying, and Hen said she saw the antenna had gone through Evan’s chest like a spear. 

Their EVA suits were linked together, so Tommy saw the alert when Evan’s suit depressurized, and then the one that said his life signs had stopped. 

“Howie didn’t want to leave him,” Tommy told the bees, “He went into the storm to look for him. But. Uh. With the wind force, the MAV had started to tip. If it went over all of us would have died. He ordered me to launch,” Tommy swallowed, “It was the right call.” His voice was a whisper.

It was the right call, but Tommy will still never forgive Howie, anymore than he’ll ever forgive himself for following the order to launch the MAV into the atmosphere.

Tommy doesn’t share that with the bees.