The writers refusal to mention Kim again means that they have to de facto turn Eddie's parents into the bad guys to explain Eddie's hesitance to step in and be a dad. Because the real reason Eddie is following his parents' lead and doubting his ability to parent is because he cheated on his girlfriend, who had a good relationship with Chris given how often she was looking after him, with the doppleganger of his son's dead mother. The same mother Chris lost after only having her back in his life for a couple of months following a 2 year absence! That is an extraordinarily terrible series of decisions that traumatized his kid so bad that he called his grandparents in the middle of the night to take him to Texas. Of course Eddie is questioning if what he's doing the right thing! This man never went to therapy and also apparently neither has Chris! That is insane! But since the show has to pretend that Kim never existed we get this instead.

Look I don't expect subtle, nuanced writing from the show that a shark on the freeway, but I guess even a simple acknowledgement of past significant storylines is too much.

Oh thinking about the insanity of having Eddie sleeping on Buck's couch as Tommy and Buck try to figure out their shit. Give me immense grief and exhausted stress and Tommy having to deal with his jealousy while Eddie is SLEEPING ON THE COUCH TWENTY FEET AWAY.

Buck who didn't tell Eddie about the competition comment, and Tommy who has to watch them argue about the dirty socks in the corner of the bathroom, and Eddie who feels guilty for always just Being Around while Tommy is trying to chase Buck's ghosts AND build something, and Buck who is drowning and doesn't trust Tommy OR Eddie to stay.

wip wednesday

Tagged by the fantabulous @beanarie. I was going to go to bed since I have to be up at 5am, but I figured posting this was more important.

Here's a snippet of the PWP I've picked back up and am trying like hell to finish. Speaking of hell...

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On Tommy's first official call with Harbor, they were sent to help Shasta County deal with the infamous Carr incident, and it remains the worst scene he's ever been sent to. That first day, he went up at least 40 times, dumping tons and tons of water over Redding to little effect. 

By the end of his first shift, in his final flight before he traded off with his relief, he'd been at the end of his rope—twisted and locked up with exhaustion and pain, like an exposed muscle—and it translated into some of the worst flying of his career. To make matters worse, night had fallen and visibility was nil thanks to the massive smoke plume that made it feel like he was flying through chowder. Plus, the bird he was in wasn't even his own, which always feels like driving a car that won't allow you to adjust the seat and mirror settings, and it fought him for every inch of air he gained. 

When Tommy finally broke through the plume, his throat one giant scratching post despite the steady flow of oxygen through his face mask, he found himself in the middle of what looked like the Apocalypse. The entire world had been swallowed by smoke and flame and wind, and through leaking eyes he caught sight of a slowly-spinning monster so massive he couldn't find the edges of it. 

In the span of a breath, he thought of the summer he turned nine and went to stay with his grandmother for a week, spending most of it curled up next to her on her three-season porch while they watched horror movies on a tiny television with a built-in VCR. Halfway through The Exorcist, his grandmother, who'd been drinking Pilsner out of a wine glass because she thought it made her look fancy, said she never understood why Hollywood thought the Devil would bother possessing random people. You think he'd settle for something so small? Of course not! He'd be out causing mayhem, flipping over cars, setting entire towns on fire! He'd be doing everything he could do to get God's attention.

Facing down what looked like a version of the Bat signal shot straight out of Hell, Tommy had to admit his grandmother had a point. But considering the fire whirl was consuming both the earth and sky without any kind of divine intervention, he wished she were still alive so he could tell her it didn't matter. God wasn't paying the least bit of attention.

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No pressure tags: @screamlet, @dadvans, @geddyqueer, @leashybebes, @liminalmemories21, @cecilyv, @dharmaavocado, @alchemistc, @harmless-variety-of-garden-snake, @firehose118, @beefcakekinard, @setmeatopthepyre, @epiphainie, @newtkelly, and @iphyslitterator

pinch hit hero (4/4)

buck x tommy | porn star AU | rated e | est. 35k words

available on ao3 here

seeing you tonight

bucktommy | rated e | 4.9k

keep reading on ao3

tags under the cut

wip wednesday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard (last week) and @leashybebes (technically)

tagging @geddyqueer @rcmclachlan @typicalopposite @bybobbysbeard

what if buck and tommy don't get a chance to talk things out throughout the events of the coming weeks and then tommy finds buck bitter drunk in a dive bar

~

"Tommy boy," they hear from behind, and Evan instantly looks pained. It makes him think of a patient headed towards hypovolemic shock giving a flinch because the medic started an IV line.

Tommy turns. "Allen. What happened to Bon Jovi girl?"

Buck skulked into the tavern, and took a seat at the end of the bar. It was busy but not crowded, full of good smells and laughter, neat but unpretentious. Buck felt instantly at home, surrounded by the sense that someone smart and thoughtful had put care into the place.

And there was the someone: Tommy Kinard turned around and placed mugs of ale in front of two patrons, chuckling in response to one of them. He wore a leather apron with a towel slung over his shoulder, and his sleeves were rolled up to show off his well-defined arms. Tommy caught Buck's eye, and Buck flushed, excited to see him but unaccountably nervous.

Tommy sidled down to Buck's end of the bar. "Evan," he said with a wry smile, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Don't call me that," Buck said reflexively, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "It's, uh, call me Buck, please. It's safer."

Tommy nodded. "Understood. Your hair looks marvelous today, Buck."

Buck sighed, and Tommy laughed; the red wig was a sensible and the concealer over his birthmark a necessary precaution in public, but he had no illusions that the hair was flattering.

Principally, however, Buck's mind snagged on the use of his name: no one but his family ever called him Evan without the "Prince" in front of it, and Tommy had said it so casually. As if "Evan" were a real person who could visit tavernkeepers on a whim. It was startling but… not unwelcome. He hadn't quite liked how "Buck" sounded in Tommy's mouth.

"You can, ah, call me the other name, though, if-if you like. In private."

Tommy cocked his head, and Buck had the strange feeling Tommy knew something he didn't. "Are we likely to be in private?"

"Oh, well, I mean… I-I really came to thank you again for your help rescuing Sir Robert and Lady Athena, but I thought we might talk if you aren't too busy? But, uh, you are busy, I shouldn't be taking… it's a magnificent tavern, really, uh, and you! You were quite impressive, I've never seen a mage so… oh, damn it all, I shouldn't have said that."

Tommy looked amused and a little fascinated. "It's not a secret."

"Oh, good," Buck said, nodding vigorously. "Anyway, I thought… you could give me a tour?"

"You're interested in my tavern?"

"Yes," Buck said decisively.

Tommy smiled wider than before, and his eyes crinkled up, wonderfully deep lines at the corners. "Well, in that case, Buck"—he held up a finger and bustled around a moment, returning to plop a tankard in front of Buck—"have some ale, have some stew. Once I get rid of these layabouts, I'm all yours."

The stew was fantastic. And in the moments Tommy could spare between customers, they talked, and that was fantastic too.

Buck learned that Tommy had been a cook when he was a soldier, and that he loved seeing people well-fed, especially when he had his own space and no one to answer to. Tommy didn't miss being a knight, although Buck couldn't quite wrap his head around that; but then again, his father's court wasn't the most comfortable place for mages. He listened to stories from when Tommy, Chimney, and Hen had served together, and he told some of his own in return. Tommy was clever, and confident, and interesting, and the time flew by until Tommy was closing the door behind the last patron and they were alone.

"Well, Evan," Tommy said, and Buck's heart pounded. "You wanted the tour?"

"Um, yes," Buck said breathlessly. "Y-yes, would you show me the kitchen?"

"I could," Tommy said, prowling toward Buck still perched on his stool. "But tell me truthfully, Evan." He put two fingers under Evan's chin. "Are you here to see the kitchen or the bedroom?"

Buck stared blankly at him until Tommy dropped his hand and took two steps back, face shuttered and spine stiff. "Forgive me," Tommy said. "I seem to have misread the situation."

"No, I… well, yes, I-I mean," Buck stammered. He felt very confused. "I won't tell… are you not worried about people knowing?"

"Not especially," Tommy said with a sharp little smile. "After all, I'm not a knight. I'm only a tavernkeeper."

"Oh," Buck said. "I don't think my parents would like me taking a male lover." Buck had a dim sense he should be raising a different objection, but he couldn't think what.

Sadness flitted across Tommy's face. "Of course," he said. "Evan,"—not Prince Evan, not sire, not Buck—"would you still like the tour?"

"Perhaps another time," Buck said faintly. I'm not attracted to men, that was what he'd been meant to say. He hopped off his stool and opened his mouth to say it, but his gaze caught on the terribly dashing cleft in Tommy's chin and he forgot again.

Tommy nodded, and they stared at each other silently.

"Good night, Evan," Tommy said at last.

"Good night, Tommy," Buck said. He crossed the room to the tavern door, opened it, and exited into the cold night.

…Then he turned around, let the door slam behind him, and strode across the room to pull Tommy into a deep, messy kiss.

"Do you use magic in your cooking?" Buck asked when they broke apart. "Truthfully I do want to see that."

"Yes," Tommy murmured, dazed. "Then. Kitchen first?" Buck beamed at him.

"Kissing first," he corrected, and Tommy was only too happy to oblige.

Ship Game

Thank you for the tags @annoyingcloudearthquake @neversleepuntilfive @pimento-playing-hopscotch ❤️💕

Rules: without naming them, post a GIF of your ten favorite ships (any media) and then tag ten people to do the same!

No pressure tagging: @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @paperstorm @goodways @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @heartstringsduet @tellmegoodbye @nznaturalkiwi @nisbanisba @sarnagati @lightningboltreader @my-beloved-lakes @lemonlyman-dotcom @liminalmemories21 @reyesstrand @strandnreyes and anyone who wants to participate!

Officer Stevenson strokes his handlebar mustache. He looks older these days, thinner but sharper for it.  “You owe me one, Reyes.” Turning his attention to Jonah, he puts his thumbs in his belt, draws himself up taller. “And you, young man? I don’t want to see your or your friends out vandalizing this town, you hear me? Your dad can’t always bail you out.”

There used to be this reflex, this bracing each time someone mentioned Carlos being Jonah’s dad like they would surely be corrected. Carlos? God no, he’s not my dad! 

It never happened. Not even when Jonah was little and he could hold his tongue even less than he can now.

Carlos stopped bracing for it. Maybe he should have, because Stevenson turns to his car, only to turn one more time to say, “Don’t let him off too easy. You know, your pops would have never let you off with just a warning. You’d be in the back of my cop car, stewing there longer than most kids, just to teach you a lesson.”

The worst thing about this is that Carlos immediately believes Stevensn’s words. There’s no proof for it, no trouble big enough that Carlos or his sisters ever got into. For all he knows, his dad would have called in a favor too. Years passing by and he still feels confused about his childhood, about his relationship to his father.

But it pales in comparison to the old wound of what he was robbed of. He wishes he could call him up now, ask him what he would do. What he had said to Luisa when she came home drunk, because Carlos had to leave the room back then. What he would say about Carlos being a father-figure and if he thought he did a good job.

He feels Jonah move under the hand Carlos kept on his shoulder. “He’s-- he’s a real asshole.” For a moment Carlos is angry before he understands Jonah means Stevenson, not his father. “Don’t listen to h'm.”

“Don’t insult law enforcers,” Carlos chides, because he has to. He also has to kiss his kid’s head to thank him for the bit of solidarity that comes so naturally to Gwyn’s sons. “Now come on. We’ll talk in the car.”

OPEN TAG &

My family never did. I don't think we even own an apron?

this is the single worst way i've ever read to describe an erection, frank herbert

@coltonclay don't think you're getting away with this one

thanks @heartstringsduet @nisbanisba @ladyknight1512 @whatsintheboxmh @carlossreaders !

“TK?”

TK inhales sharply and looks over his shoulder at Carlos. His hair is still damp from the shower they shared when they got here. Now, TK is in a pair of his own shorts that he left here last time he slept over and one of Carlos’ hoodies as they prepare a batch of soup. “Sorry, what?”

Carlos studies him for a moment, likely able to tell that his head isn’t totally here. “I said you can add that to the pot when you’re done.”

TK looks down at his half-chopped onion. Apparently he stopped cutting when he zoned out, which is probably for the best. “Oh. Okay.”

TK turns his body around, squared up to his cutting board again, but he feels Carlos step up behind him. Then, a hand lands on his hip. “Something bothering you?”

“No,” TK mumbles as he starts chopping again.

He doesn’t want to get into it right now. They’re having a nice time. Carlos put on some music and there’s the scent of Italian sausage browning in the pan and TK doesn’t want to spend all of their time together thinking and talking about work. He starts dicing again, trying to make up for lost time so the onion can still get added when it’s supposed to.

“You’re a little spacey,” Carlos teases lightly, and TK frowns. He’s not meaning to be. He just can’t help it.

He looks over to Carlos, those big brown eyes filled with such concern. “Sorry, I—”

A sharp sting erupts on his thumb and TK hisses, the knife clattering to the cutting board. He looks down just in time to see deep red blood bubble to the surface and then Carlos is there with a towel, covering it and putting on pressure.

“Come on,” he urges. “Bathroom.”

tagging @paperstorm @orchidscript @ironheartwriter @tellmegoodbye @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @rmd-writes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @emsprovisions @eclectic-sassycoweyes @welcometololaland @alrightbuckaroo @freneticfloetry @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @basilsunrise @bonheur-cafe @butchreyes @chicgeekgirl89 @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @henrygrass + open tag!!