For the prompt challenge you reblog: "Do we have to leave?" :3 💜
Hiii Ire! Here's a little drabble for you with 'Do we have to leave?'. I hope you enjoy this -ish words of shameless fluff:
- (Set in a canon-divergent after 8x05 au)
In Tommy's humble (and very cynical, he admits that much) opinion, the whole honeymoon concept was a huge money scam. Just a way for some places to charge extra for hotel rooms and cheesy tours that can be sold as 'romantic'.
If he ever got married and decided to have a honeymoon, Tommy would be smart about it. He wouldn't go to one of those very honeymoon-y overpriced places just because they were sold as romantic or whatever.
Like many certainties Tommy had, this one crumbled once Evan Buckley entered his life.
So this is how Thomas Giuseppe Kinard, former hater of honeymoon destinations, finds himself in a honeymoon suite in Paris of all places, the so-called city of love, with a wedding band on his left hand and Evan sleeping soundly on his chest.
They both cashed in what felt like ten years of unused PTO, but it was worth it. It's the second day of their honeymoon and they still have about ten days left, in which they plan to visit some quieter corners of France.
Evan will undoubtedly rattle off fun facts about every little town they pass by on the road, and Tommy will ask follow-up questions about all of them. And then they'll find a lavender field and have champagne that's actually from Champagne.
Damn. Tommy is really turning into a cliché. And happy about it too.
Evan starts to stir in his arms, rubbing his stubble-covered cheek against Tommy's bare chest and slightly scratching it in the nicest way. Tommy smiles before he can stop himself, and presses a gentle kiss to Evan's forehead.
"Morning, Mr. Kinard", Tommy whispers gently.
His husband hums slightly, looking at him with eyes that are still adorably sleepy and a small smile on his face.
"And morning to you, Mr. Kinard", he answers, voice hoarse like it always is when he's still waking up. Tommy loves how it sounds. "Have you been up long?"
"Not really. Maybe a couple minutes. This mattress is doing wonders for my back."
"You're such an old man", Evan teases, and Tommy pokes him in the ribs in retaliation. He huffs and squirms away.
"That's not what you were saying when we were putting this mattress to good use last night", he says, raising an eyebrow, and Evan smirks before settling against Tommy's chest once more.
They stay like that for a while, a comfortable silence settling over them. Tommy supposes the weather is good — there's a reason why they chose May for their honeymoon trip — but he can't be bothered to open the blackout curtains to check it. In fact, he'd be happy to have the world reduced to this: him, and Evan, and this room.
Evan must be thinking along the same lines, because eventually he wraps his arms tighter around Tommy's waist, a dreamy sigh escaping his lips.
"Do we have to leave?", he asks sleepily, and Tommy chuckles.
"Eventually, if we wanna do all the things on your travel plan", he says, and Evan grimaces.
"Fuck the travel plan"
Tommy fake-gasps, running his hand down Evan's smooth back.
"You don't mean that. You have it on a clipboard and everything"
"Hmmm, okay, maybe I don't", Evan concedes, but makes no motion to get up either. "It's just… This is so nice."
"It is", Tommy agrees, not even a hint of sarcasm or teasing now. He means that with his whole heart.
"So… Maybe we stay like this a little longer and change the travel plan a bit"
"I love that plan", he says, and then gently nudges Evan's chin so their eyes meet "And I love you"
Evan smiles like the sun itself has come down to his face, and Tommy's heart feels ridiculously full.
"I love you too"
Yeah. Tommy doesn't mind being scammed if it means he gets to have this.
-
I hope you enjoy it Ire darling <3
(send me a prompt and I'll write a Bucktommy scene)
"I didn't meant to wake you. Go back to sleep." For bucktommy please 🧡
Not this turning into the prequel to my prompt from Beans lol
Thank you for the ask ❤️❤️
Buck's alarm goes off too early, he feels, buzzing and blaring at 3:45 AM. He takes a moment to breathe deeply and rub his palms across his eyes, things coming slowly to him in the dark.
There's a sliver of light coming from the crack in the door of the bathroom, the sound of Tommy showering drifting toward him. Tommy must drop something, because just as Buck was slumping into himself again and his eyes were closing, a thump and quiet curse rings out.
The side of Buck's mouth quirks up, and he shakes off his exhaustion to swing himself out of the bed. He stops at Tommy's dresser to grab the pair of sweats and hoodie Tommy had left on top before bed, slipping them over his t-shirt and boxers. Hearing Tommy continue to shower and hum to himself, Buck allows himself a moment to lean his head against the bathroom doorframe and smile softly.
He pads down to the kitchen, going straight for the coffee maker to turn it on before opening the refrigerator and grabbing eggs, peppers, and cheese out.
Buck loses himself in the east motions of omelet making--mixing, chopping, pouring, flipping. He detours back to the fridge to grab creamer when the coffee finishes, and is sliding his own omelet onto a plate when Tommy's strong arms wrap around his waist.
"Hey," Tommy's quiet but steady voice says, "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
Buck grins, his eyes slipping closed as he leans his weight back on Tommy and lays his own hands across Tommy's.
"Mmm, and let you eat my omelet? In your dreams, Kinard."
Tommy huffs a laugh, squeezing Buck once before letting him go to shuffle over to the cabinet and grab a coffee mug for himself.
"You caught me. I just can't resist your omelets," Tommy says, wry smile in place, "no coffee for you though. I may be in for a long day but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go back to sleep after I'm gone. You just came off a rough shift, sweetheart."
Buck puts his hands up in surrender, accepting it when Tommy hands him a glass to fill from the tap.
When Buck turns around from the sink, Tommy's gotten silverware out and brought their food to the table, and normally Buck would be fine sitting across from him, but the long stretch of three weeks apart yawns ahead of them and buck grabs his normal chair to swing it around to sit practically on top of Tommy instead.
Tommy, unfazed, simply half stands to grab Buck's plate and silverware, dragging them across the table to his right.
Buck settles in, smiling to himself as he and Tommy dig into their food. The silence of the house is heavy like a warm blanket, broken only by the odd sound from outside--birds twittering, a car rumbling past.
Time passes syrupy slow, for which Buck is thankful as he prepares himself for the sparse phone calls and texts to come for almost a month; a half empty bed when he's gotten so used to a full one in the last 17 months.
Perhaps when they were first together, the prospect of being apart for so long would have been simply disappointing to Buck--his shiny and new relationship being put on hold. Now though he feels only pride for the work his boyfriend does, mixed with the discordant twang of wanting to be near him and know that he's safe.
This is the second deployment to CalFire Tommy was a part of since they got back together, and Buck knows with bone deep certainty that Tommy will return to him; that they're stronger than a bit of distance.
(Buck also knows, with maybe less certainty, when Tommy gets back that he'll say yes to the ring Buck is picking up soon)
"Hey, do we still have some of that Strawberry Rhubarb jelly from Bonnie?" Tommy says, squinting at his phone. Buck smirks softly, thinking also about the eye appointment Buck snuck onto Tommy's calendar that's coming up next month.
"Yeah, should be. If not, there's the raspberry preserves she slipped into our bag."
Tommy chuckles and sets his phone face down, scooping up the last few bits of his omelet.
"God I love that we have a fruit spread dealer at the Farmers Market."
Buck snorts hard, chewing his own last bite as Tommy lays an easy arm across his shoulders. He looks up at Tommy who is grinning at him, and Buck gets lost for a moment just looking at his handsome man.
"Did you want toast and jam then?" Buck asks softly, reaching up to trace his fingertips across Tommy's cheekbone and down his Jaw. Tommy turns to bite gently at his fingers and Buck smiles.
"No, Lucy and Lopez do. Lucy says it's payment for driving us to the airfield."
"Mmmm. I guess I can sacrifice the last loaf of the sourdough I made this weekend for that. There's not much of the jam left anyway, do you just want to take both?"
Tommy pretends to think about it, nodding seriously and laughing himself when Buck rolls his eyes.
"Take my amazing boyfriend's homemade sourdough with me to remind every at CalFire how much better I am than them? Yes."
A laugh bursts from Buck as he gets up from the table, Tommy playing it up as he slumps down when his arm falls from Buck's shoulders.
"Yeah yeah, okay. Let me get that packed with your other stuff while you get your go bag and everything down here."
Tommy stands himself and darts over to Buck for a smacking kiss on the cheek before heading out of the kitchen to do just that.
Buck gets to work hauling Tommy's ancient Igloo cooler out from the lower cabinets, taking care to fill the bottom with a soft ice pack, the jar of jam, a bag of beef jerky, and a few compostable knives left over from the last time they threw a party and didn't want to spend the next day washing dishes. On top of those he layers the loaf of sourdough, electrolyte drink packets, some of the fruit leather he and Jee made a few days before, and three bars of dark chocolate Buck bought as a surprise for the trip.
He gets it all into the cooler and remembers to grab the big water bottle Tommy keeps on hand for the these trips, filled the night before and chilling in the refrigerator.
Buck grabs it all and takes it into the living room, ready to say goodbye.
Tommy meets him by the front door, go bag in hand and boots on his feet.
"Got everything?" Buck asks, handing over the cooler and water.
"Got everything." Tommy confirms, setting everything down at his feet. He reaches his arms out toward Buck, and Buck lets himself fall into them.
Buck allows himself to be held, suspended in a moment of warmth and quiet, just breathing in Tommy. The smallest part of him doesn't want to let go, doesn't want to send Tommy off somewhere he won't be, but they both feel Tommy's phone vibrate and know that their time is almost up.
"Okay." Tommy says, bending down to grab everything, chuckling softly when Buck slaps his hands away from the cooler in order to grab it himself.
"I'll walk you out, handsome." Buck says, opening the door and immediately seeing Lucy's car idling against the curb. Lopez grins at them and waves from the backseat.
Buck and Tommy walk down the drive way, weak light from the sun just starting to paint the bottom of the sky. When the reach the car Lucy pops the trunk from inside, and Tommy heads to the back to stow away his go-bag.
Lucy rolls down the passenger window when Buck approaches, and when he leans into it she's grinning with far too much energy for 4 AM.
"Buckley tell me that's some sourdough and jam." She calls, and Buck grins.
"Only the best for the best contingent on the front line." He says, and she smacks the steering wheel in triumph.
"Now that's what I'm talking about! Just for that I'll make sure Kinard doesn't fight any of the CalFire dickbags."
"This is why you're my favorite, Lucy." Buck tells her, and Tommy hip checks him away from the door.
"What am I?" He says with a pout, and Buck can see Lucy rolling her eyes through the window.
"Get in the car, loverboy. We're wheels up in an hour." She calls, and Buck can hear Lopez snort in the back.
"Hey," Buck says, just as Tommy's hand is reaching for the handle. Tommy looks up at him and waits. "Come back to me, okay?"
Tommy's face softens, and he reaches out for another hug.
"Always. Love you, Ev." Tommy answers, and Buck squeezes him hard and whispers his own I love you back. When they let go, Tommy comes in for a slow kiss, and Buck relishes it.
Tommy gets in the car without another word, and Buck hands him the cooler through the window.
"Kick ass out there, 217." He says to all three, and they offer nods and grins and affirmative noises.
"Good luck here, 122." Tommy says back, the change still fresh and exciting in his eyes.
Buck watches them drive away until he starts to feel how tired he is again and goes back into the house.
He decides to leave the dishes for later and falls right back into bed after slipping the hoodie and sweats off. He's about to drift off to sleep when his phone buzzes twice in quick succession: a text and an image.
It's Tommy, Lopez, Lucy, and the person who must be another pilot, stood outside of the two helicopters they're taking up, all with a thick piece of sourdough topped witch rich red jam.
remember when tommy said there's no rule that says you can't get certified and still stay at the 118. it's just ridiculous. like how did this episode, this storyline, come from a team of heteros with hetero in chief the clown himself. and why did we think they were doing it on purpose.
this one was the first request i received since i posted abt pookies being available, and now i got another request on x, to make their version of this, so here it is!! @deargoodbye, @iamsyerah on x, i hope you like it🥰
Also, since it's #bucktommysummer, im not gonna shut up abt them🥰🥰 --dont mind it's freezing winter over here hahah--
My attempt at not being way too obsessed with something not looking perfectly like the reference.
Is it perfect? No. But I like how it turned out because it still looks like Lou. I don't really like his shirt but, I like the colours I used on it. His hair is very tall but whatever.
I also found out that I can see how long I spent on something on Krita...
you have permission to pick that 2 year old "abandoned" project back up. it's not mad at you for setting it aside. and maybe time and distance have helped ease or erase the things that made you put it down in the first place.
Buck and Tommy reincarnated soulmates—basically since the dawn of time—who were cursed to never remember their past lives or recognize each other’s souls (and so, the being who cast the curse believed, cursed to eternal lives of loneliness and misery)
Only, against all odds of distance and timing, over and over, each lifetime they meet.
Sometimes, it’s so so easy—like they’ve done this before, but it’s not like de ja vu or like they already know one another. In fact, it’s almost like they’re two pieces from two different puzzles that shouldn’t fit together but inexplicably…they do.
Other times, it’s harder. They give up, they walk away, they resign themselves to being apart. It may be weeks or months or years (decades, even, once or twice) before one or both of them comes to their senses and decides they don’t want easy, they just want each other.
They’re unaware of past lives and soul connections and curses and invisible strings.
In most lifetimes, they hardly pause to think how unlikely it was for them to meet, to wonder at how they might never had known each other at all if only they hadn’t been in the right place at the right time (and it was quite extraordinary, as it wasn’t until the last few lifetimes that they’re lives had seemed intricately intertwined from the start)
They may have been cursed to never remember their past lives or each other, but the universe—somehow—always managed to laugh in the face of the curse anyway.
Buck doesn’t know that in a past life, him and Tommy met while employed on the same carpentry job and that they eventually built their own house they lived in together for the rest of their days.
He’ll never remember that life, but years before LA—on a ranch in Montana—Evan pulls up a creaky floorboard he keeps tripping over. In a small cavity underneath, is a dusty, old journal. On the inside cover is the name John Woodley. At night he reads the dated entries (from the 1800s!!) detailing long work days, some hardships that Evan will never know but even more that seem to be universally human. Amongst it all, though, is evidence of a life and love shared with somebody named Jamie. Evan knows, without John ever explicitly saying so, that Jamie is a man. Every so often, there's notes written in another hand—not as if John and Jamie had written the entry together, but scribbled in the margins. Some of it's written as if a reader was annotating a book of their favorite author's. Some of the notes are utter nonsense to Evan, not having the context for them, but are the words of man who is so obviously besotted…Evan has to close the journal and stare at the wall until his heart stops aching and he stops wondering what it would be like to be loved like that. More often than not, the commentary consists of dry and witty retorts, some sarcastic rebuttal or suggestion that the narrator (John) is being unreliable in their account (usually in relation to a disagreement); they make Evan laugh out loud, fondness blooming in his chest for somebody he would never meet, but thinks he would have liked to know.
After some digging, he finds that the ranch owners have no relation to John or Jamie and know nothing of the journal, so he feels no guilt in taking it with him when he goes.
One lonely, sleepless night—months after Tommy broke up with him—Buck rediscovers the journal. It's been many years since he's read it, but some of the words are familiar to him still. But what gives him pause is how similar John and Jamie's relationship feels to his and Tommy's. And if they could make it, with all that they went through, then why not him and Tommy?
Tommy is taken aback but takes it in stride when Buck shows up at his doorstep at 8 am with coffee and pastries wanting to talk. "Actually," Buck says, slapping the old journal against Tommy's chest, "read first, then we can talk." Buck knows Tommy is well within his right to tell him to get lost, but he just raises his eyebrows, gives an exaggerated oookay, and curls up into his armchair, and reads.
Buck feels so fond it hurts and he has to turn away and stare at the wall about it.
Tommy doesn't know that his favorite epistolary historical romance novel was inspired by the tragic, star-crossed love affair that transpired between him and Evan two lifetimes ago. The novel he has every existing edition of, his favorite one yellowed with age and worn with love, all manner of sticky notes marking the pages and annotations overwhelming the margins.
He doesn't know, when he reads it for the first time or even the tenth, that he can have that love without the tragedy.
One night, they're lying in bed and Evan asks Tommy to read him some of his favorite passages. So he does.
It's almost laughable, Tommy thinks, how he can recite pages from memory, but hadn't realized he'd practically fallen in love with the same man twice; the fictional Lord Holland and the very real, even if at oftentimes unbelievable, Evan Buckley.
They never do remember or figure it out or break the curse that really isn't much of a curse. After all, they still find each other, somehow, in every lifetime. And they find these ties, unbeknownst to them, to their past lives—through journals and novels and photographs and portraits—these strangers they feel kinship with, often depicted through other people's eyes.
Over and over, they find each other and love each other and, perhaps most importantly, choose each other.
Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.
And maybe that was recognizing their own souls in each other all along.
You lot have obviously been too busy sitting around, licking your own fuckin' dickholes to see what's been happening here, so you need to tootle-fuck and let us run the case. Capisce? Or comprende?
Madeleine Sami as Eddie Redcliffe in DEADLOCH (Season 2)
honestly with all the discourse on your blog lately I just feel the need to remind people that they can write whatever the fuck they want forever because fiction is FICTION. You don't have to be an SA victim to write about rape, you don't have to be in recovery to write about addiction, you have to be a survivor to write about abuse, you don't need to be a gay man to write about two dudes kissing or a lesbian to write about two women kissing etc cetera. You can write anything you want because who tf is it gonna hurt besides the feelings of the snowflakes, but I don't think the antis are ready for that conversation yet.
Once again: Agatha Christie was not a murderer and Maurice LeBlanc didn't moonlight as a gentleman thief. Michael Crichton didn't raise any dinosaur and Mary Shelley didn't assemble a monster in her basement.
I'm not even saying you have to talk to every single person you meet. and you're certainly not going to LIKE all of them. but every person does have a rich interior life and complex feelings and unique worldview. sorry.
this is truly one of the most tumblr posts i've ever seen. i know chronically online people exist in all corners of the internet but i feel like this is the only place where someone could say something as uncontroversial as "you will find out that people have personalities when you talk to them" and get responses like "oh so you're making the ABLEIST assertion that i should FORCE MYSELF to push past my SOCIAL ANXIETY to talk to BIGOTS????" amazing work, guys
