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[bluflamingo]

if tim minear won’t let them bang in that man’s kitchen i’ll just have to do it myself.

kitchen confidential

Buck loves his boyfriend - so much so, he feels a little unhinged about it - he really does. But he has come to a fork in the road of this relationship where he can either a) stay silent and let the horrors plague him indefinitely, or b) politely tell Tommy that his kitchen is where Buck’s culinary dreams go to die.

word count: 4.7k

rating: e

this can also be considered a follow up to the muay thai fic I wrote last week, the art of eight limbs, that y’ all were so so sweet about 🫶🏻 i hope you enjoy!!

[bluflamingo]

The OTW is Recruiting for Policy & Abuse Volunteers

Would you like to assist AO3 users by resolving complaints? The Organization for Transformative Works is recruiting! Read more at: https://otw-news.org/yckukpjf

[bluflamingo]

This one is for @buckevantommy - I hope your day gets better! 💙

~

Tommy is looking for his comfortable boots when his phone rings. It's a good day for a hike; sunny, but not too hot to spend some time outside.

He throws a quick glance at his phone and pauses before he picks up. Evan is a serial texter, but he doesn't call a lot.

"Hey, Evan," he says, "I was just getting ready to leave."

"Yeah, about that..." Evan sounds hesitant. "I'm really sorry to do this, but can I get a raincheck on that hike?"

"Sure." Tommy does his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, just..." Evan pauses and sighs. "Nothing is wrong, I'm just having a shit morning. My leg hurts, I thought I would be okay after some painkillers, but I'm not, and now I'm just grumpy and wallowing in self-pity."

"That doesn't sound like nothing," Tommy replies. "Do you want to be left alone or should I come over with movies and snacks?"

Tommy knows from personal experience that company can be a welcome distraction on bad days, but sometimes it can also be really annoying.

"What?" Evan sounds confused, like it's a very strange question.

"Do you need a distraction and cuddling, or do you need to be alone with your thoughts?" Tommy clarifies.

There's a long silence on the other end of the line before Evan says: "I could use a hug. But I know you were looking forward to that hike and..."

"I was looking forward to spending the day with you," Tommy interrupts him. "I'm good with hanging out on your couch, Evan."

"Okay," Evan says, and Tommy thinks he can hear a smile in his voice.

"Let me grab some stuff and then I'm on my way. Any ice cream preferences?"

"Anything with peanut butter or salted caramel," Evan requests, this time more quickly, like it's sinking in that Tommy is actually coming over.

"Good, I'll see what I can find. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, see you later." Evan's voice is full of something Tommy can't quite identify. Astonishment? But he ends the call before Tommy can ask.

Something about this doesn't make sense. The 118 is so close, Tommy can't imagine they don't support each other on bad days.

Does Evan think he's not allowed to show when he's in pain? Does he believe nobody wants to be around him when he's not doing well? Tommy will probably figure it out sooner or later.

For now he packs a small bag: Three of his favorite movies, a pair of sweatpants for himself, and the heating gel that always helps with his own muscle pain.

Tommy will stop for ice cream and other snacks somewhere close to Evan's place. Cuddling his boyfriend sounds like a very good way to spend his day off.

[bluflamingo]

ANYONE WHO MISSED IT/COULDN’T WATCH LIVE i recorded the whole episode here! it might take a second to load :)

(also i am so sorry for any random noises, my laptop recorded my mic as well as the footage i tried SO hard not to speak or laugh 😭)

[bluflamingo]

Ohhhh 42 for buddie, please? 👀

“Is this okay?”

----

It’s all going great, right up until Buck realizes he’s crying.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his hand on the side of Buck’s face, thumb brushing through the wetness on his cheek. “Hey, hey, what is it?”

He’s stopped moving, and Buck hates that. Buck arches his back, wants to press his skin to Eddie’s, wants to get him closer and deeper, until he has no more thoughts in his own head. “Please,” he says. He digs his fingers into Eddie’s hips. “Please.”

“Is this okay?” Eddie asked a few minutes ago, one of his arms sliding under Buck’s shoulders, so close they were almost nose to nose, close enough Buck could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. They’ve never done it like this before. It’s always been hands and mouths, one memorable time where Eddie let Buck climb into his lap and roll his hips until they came shuddering and gasping together. They haven’t talked about it, except right before the first time, when Eddie asked, “What’s it like?” and Buck said, “I don’t know how to describe it,” and Eddie said, “You could show me.”

That was weeks ago, and Buck has been—fine, mostly. As long as he doesn’t think about it. As long as he doesn’t acknowledge that he’s being Buck 1.0 again, seven years of character growth down the drain. Whenever it starts to ache too badly, he gets his hands on Eddie and pretends. Because they’re friends and partners and—Buck doesn’t have words for the rest, but they can fuck, too, why not? Buck can suck on his tongue and suck on his cock and suck bruises into his thighs that will still be there once Buck is back home in his own bed, curled up, hugging a pillow, unable to sleep.

But then Eddie had the nerve to ask, “Is this okay?” and now Buck is crying.

“Buck,” Eddie says, but Buck squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“No, no, I’m fine.” He pulls on Eddie’s waist like he can make him move that way, like Eddie isn’t rigid as steel when he wants to be. “Keep going.”

“You’re crying.”

Eddie withdraws from him completely, and that’s—Buck sobs, can’t help it, the sound high and shuddering. He tries to twitch away from Eddie’s fingers on his face, but Eddie persists, pulling and petting until Buck flutters his eyes open and looks at him again.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, but it’s clear he knows he didn’t. He’s a firefighter and a medic; he knows when someone’s physically injured. And he knows Buck better than anyone. Just like Buck knows him.

“No,” Buck says. He runs his hand up Eddie’s arm, soft skin and the flexed curve of his bicep, and wonders how he’ll be able to live not touching him like this anymore. “I told you I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Eddie uses his palm this time, swiping away moisture that’s leaked down toward his jaw. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Because Eddie is perfect, of course he is, and here Buck is ruining his first time, his chance to experiment. Ruining his confidence for the next guy who’ll be in this bed, after Buck. After— “You’re perfect, Eddie, I swear.” He pushes this time, pushes at Eddie’s shoulder, but it’s just as ineffective as before. “Let’s—can we—”

“Buck,” Eddie says. He props his elbows alongside Buck’s shoulders, takes his face in his hands. The expression on his face is devastating, concern bleeding into anguish. “Did you not want…?”

“No,” Buck says. “No, it’s not that. I want too much. I want…” He doesn’t even know how to say it, so he just says, “Eddie,” low and pleading.

He expects Eddie to roll away, the warm weight pinning Buck to the bed disappearing, cold rushing in. He expects to hear that this was a mistake, that Buck wrecked this because he couldn’t be content with what he had.

But Eddie doesn’t move. Instead, his fingers slip up into Buck’s hair, and the corner of his mouth lifts, his gaze going soft and molten. “We’re idiots, I think,” he says, then brushes his lips across Buck’s jaw where he surely tastes like salt. “You could never want too much.” He kisses Buck’s mouth, speaks the next words right against his lips. “Want to give you everything.”

Buck’s breath hitches on another sob. “Eddie,” he says desperately, and this time when he pulls at Eddie’s hips, it works. Eddie reaches between them, lines himself up, and slides back inside, back where he belongs. Buck wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, his legs hooked around his waist to keep him close, get him deeper, keep him there. That he could actually get to have this seems impossible. Impossible that Eddie could want what he wants.

“I love you,” Eddie says. He rocks his hips, just slightly, making Buck cry out. “God, I love you.”

It’s almost too much to take. Buck tries to get Eddie closer, wants to touch him everywhere, opens his mouth for Eddie’s tongue and digs his fingers into Eddie’s shoulder and breathes deep, feels his and Eddie’s chests expand together. Eddie can barely move, but it��s good, perfect, just holding him inside like this. Buck never wants it to end.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and this time he’s the one pleading, but Buck murmurs, “Wait,” and, “Like this,” and, “Is this okay?”

Eddie drops his head to Buck’s shoulder and groans, but he pushes in deep and goes still, just like Buck asked. “Anything,” he says. “Anything you want.”

“I love you,” Buck sighs, and he holds on tight.

[bluflamingo]

Bucktommy Fic Recs 9/13

•One Shots

••General Audiences

For worse or for better (I want you forever and ever) by unhingedangstaddict @unhingedangstaddict

•••Teen and up

Some cheese with your wine? By torturedslothdepartment @kinardsevan

His person by pirl

•••••Explicit

Fever’s high with the lights down low by kirkaut @kirkaut

Baby baby baby (put a baby in me) by queermccoy @queermccoy

•Finished Multichapter Fics

••••Mature

Every time I Try to Fly (I Fall) by typicalopposite @typicalopposite

•••••Explicit

100 Days by Citrus_orchid @cosyvelvetorchid

•Tumblr one shots

This post This post This post This post This post @firewasabeast

Worship @tenisperfection

This post This post This post This post these three that start with this one @peppermintquartz

This post @station18908

Operation seduction @elliethefroggy

This post This post @redvelvetcupcakes21

Last weeks recs here

[bluflamingo]

9-1-1 | it's the final countdown

[bluflamingo]

How to recover fic deleted from AO3 that’s NOT on the Wayback machine

Sharing this because I just found out about this and it blew my mind.

The short version of it is: The Wayback Machine is not the only backup/archive of AO3 content out there. It’s just the most user-friendly and immediately browsable.

THIS database on Archive.org contains most AO3 fics as text files, including plenty that are not Waybacked: https://archive.org/details/AO3_final_location

What you’ll need: A browser for .sqlite3 files such as DB Browser for SQLite, an archive manager (e.g. WinRar or 7zip), good internet download speeds, and potentially a LOT of free GBs in storage space.

Not needed but heavily recommended: A download manager such as HTTP Downloader (so you don’t lose the entire download the second your internet stutters).

1. Click here to get to the archive’s files. It’s going to look something like this:

ao3_current.sqlite3 and ao3_old_files.sqlite3 are metadata files. The .zip files contain fic, most of them in simple .txt format. The metadata files tell you which fic is in which zip.

The “current” metadata file is recent backups. The “old” metadata file seems to be fics archived until 2020ish.

2. First, download either ao3_current.sqlite3 or ao3_old_files.sqlite3. Now launch DB Browser for SQlite, then File > Open Database Read-Only > open the sqlite3 file. Now click on the Browse Data tab.

3. It’s going to look like this.

4. The “Filter in any column” field can be used for keyword searches in, well, any column of this table. Be warned, it takes a while to update, give it time, it’s indexing.

5. Here I searched for all fic which gets a hit for the “Avengers” keyword (usually fandom). You can also search for a specific title, author, description, etc.

Let’s try to locate the first fic on the list. Click on the field on the left - row 1, column 1.

On the right you’ll see the full content of that cell. The most important thing here is the start - ao3_01. This means that the fic is located in ao3_old_files_part01.zip.

6. Download ao3_old_files_part01.zip and open it with your archive manager. It’s 5.5 GB. This will take some time.

7. There are multiple ways to find the fic within the zip file. Probably the easiest way is to use your archive manager’s search/find function to locate the fic by keyword - author is a good bet here, or title if it’s unique enough - and extract that. This way you don’t have to extract the entire archive. Be sure to add a wildcard operator (*) on either side of the keyword.

8. Extract the file and you’re done. Note: It will probably be in .txt format, and might be in one giant block of text. Just select-all and paste it to a proper word processor to restore the paragraph formatting.

+ I suppose if you’ve got like a free TB of space you could just skip the metadata step and download all the zip files and unzip them and use a command line search tool for keywords, too. This will work with keywords like title, author and fandom that are part of the file title. The metadata file just contains additional info, like character fields, description, etc.

This isn’t a perfect remedy, there are still fics that got deleted before they could get archived here. But it seems more complete than the stuff on the Wayback Machine on average.

[bluflamingo]

"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.

Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).

"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.

Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.

"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.

When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle

"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Apparently?"

"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."

Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.

"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.

"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."

Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.

"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.

"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.

"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.

"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."

Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.

Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -

"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?

"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -

"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."

It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.

"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."

"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."

"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.

"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."

"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."

Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.

Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.

Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.

His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.

[bluflamingo]

hello!! happy tuesday!! requesting 💛 💗💜 for buddie :)

thank you!! 💛 - reunion kiss/relief

The Indiana Jones Thing [On AO3] 2.3K words | buddie | near death experience | first kiss

-

The horizon dips and sways in Buck's field of vision, salt stinging his eyes and lips. His whole world is shades of blue: the ocean around him and the cloudless sky overhead, the white sun beating down. His skin from the shoulders up feels hot and stiff with sunburn, but everything else is cold. Even in the middle of the day, the ocean is so fucking cold.

The Pacific Ocean is one of the warmest oceans in the world, second only to the Indian Ocean. He read that somewhere, but he can't remember where, or what got him on the topic in the first place. It might have been Chris, or it might have been one of his insomnia-induced late-night Wikipedia binges in those shaken weeks after the tsunami.

It doesn't feel warm. Not right now. His clothes cling damply to him—t-shirt, uniform pants, his boots long-since kicked off and lost to the depths. He doesn't know how long he's been out here, or how much daylight he has left. How much daylight they have left to search for him, if anyone is even looking.

They're looking for him. He believes that. He does.

It's just—he's been treading water for a long time.

Perspective is strange from the water. The waves move him, breaking against his face, blurring his vision, but all he can really see from this angle is the vast blue ceiling of the sky. Birds, sometimes, high and fast-moving. Contrails, even higher than that, sunlight glinting on metal, streaks of vapor spreading out behind. He has a crazy, futile urge to wave his arms and scream every time one passes overhead, like someone's going to spot him from a jet forty thousand feet in the air.

All he can do is keep swimming. The water slips around his arms as he moves, a steady repetitive motion that's as slow as he can make it without actually sinking. Frog kicking to conserve his energy. He's a strong swimmer, always has been. He can do this. They're out here looking for him—he knows it. That means it's his job to stay alive long enough for them to find him.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming," he mumbles, a cracked, rasping singsong, and the sound of his own voice startles him so badly that he loses the rhythm of his strokes for a moment and goes under. When he finally surfaces again, sputtering, there's a low, rising rumble, the waves around him getting choppier.

Tsunami, he thinks vaguely. But it wouldn't feel like this. Out on the open ocean, tsunamis are fast-moving but barely perceptible on the surface. It's only when they move into the shallow waters closer to shore that the devastation starts. Flooded streets. Toppled cars. A small, precious body clutched in Buck's arms, or falling away into the water with devastating finality.

The rumbling is getting closer. Buck spins clumsily and blinks for a few moments, wondering if it's just a mirage that's about to blur and vanish into the punishing brilliance of the sun on the water. But it stays, and it gets closer: the sleek white shape of a patrol boat cutting through the water toward him, U. S. COAST GUARD printed across his hull.

Buck starts laughing, ragged and breathless. Maybe he's crying, too, or maybe that's just the saltwater stinging his eyes. The sound of the engine vibrates in his chest, in his ears, as someone in a wetsuit drops into the water and starts swimming toward him with long, smooth strokes, RFD towing behind him. For a wild instant, Buck thinks it might be Eddie, but of course when the man gets close enough to make out any detail, he's a stranger. Older, weather-beaten face, no-nonsense expression.

"Alright, Firefighter Buckley," he says as soon as he's close enough, and it's the best thing, the best thing, Buck has heard in hours. "I'm gonna push this floatation device to you, and I want you to grab it and hold on. Got it? Can you do that for me?"

"Y-y-yeah." Buck's teeth are chattering now. He doesn't know if it's cold or adrenaline or both; a wave of weakness washes through him. "I kn-n-now the d-drill."

The RFD bobs through the water toward him. He grabs at it, clutching it to his chest with such force that he goes under again for a second.

God, it's a relief to let his legs go loose, to feel the buoy hold him up, to have his survival dependent on something else besides his own body and stubbornness.

The guardsman waits until his grip is secure to start towing him back toward the boat. After that, it's all a confused blur of harnesses and hands and the sudden chill of the air as his body leaves the water, sopping wet clothes clinging.

He nearly collapses when his feet hit the deck, the abused muscles in his legs cramping and twanging. His arms feel like two chunks of concrete dangling from his shoulders. Two guardsmen catch him before he can collapse—the man from the water, and a woman who's enough shorter that Buck has to tilt at an awkward angle to lean on her shoulder. Someone wraps a thermal blanket around his shoulders, and he's guided stumbling and clumsy to a padded bench. He blinks, squinting in the sunlight—it's past the arch of the sky, heading toward the western horizon now. It was early morning when the boat broke up and he went into the water.

"H-how l-l-long was I—was I out there?" he manages through chattering teeth.

"It's sixteen forty-five now," the woman says. "Took us a while to pinpoint your location. You're a strong swimmer, Firefighter Buckley. Good thing, too."

More than nine hours. Closer to ten. He's not sure it felt that long. Time sort of stopped having any real meaning out in the water, but he feels every minute of that time now. "Ju-just Buck. Is f-fine."

"Buck." She actually smiles. "Your team is going to be glad to hear that you're alright. Now I have a few questions, just to see how you're feeling. Are you up for that? Someone's getting some dry clothes for you right now."

He nods. His neck feels heavy, and his muscles are throbbing, and the shivering is worse now, even with the blanket. He stumbles through the assessment, and must reassure her that at the very least he's not about to drop dead on her watch, because after that he's released to change into a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are several inches too short for him but blissfully dry. After that, he huddles back into the thermal blanket and watches the horizon skid by as the boat makes a wide, looping turn. It looks different from this angle. Bigger. He can see more of the world from above the water than he could when he was trying not to drown, and there's a metaphor in that, maybe.

That's the last thought he remembers having before sleep catches him and drags him under.

-

He wakes to footsteps, the sound of voices. All of the sounds feel louder and closer now, and when he finally drags his eyes open, they're docking. It's nearly sunset, the waves reflecting shifting shades of red and gold. It's pretty, he thinks sleepily. Even if it did just try to kill him. Again.

Shouts. Footsteps on the deck. Then hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, and Buck blinks up at Bobby.

"Hey, Cap," he mumbles.

"Hey, kid." Those might actually be tears in Bobby's eyes, but he's smiling all the same. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Glad those Navy SEAL tryouts actually paid off," says Chim from behind him, and he's beaming too, unabashedly teary-eyed. "You just saved me from having to make one of the worst phone calls of my life, my friend."

"They wouldn't make you notify Maddie," Buck mumbles. "Against regulation."

"Yeah, and I bet you can name the line and letter," Chim says, as Bobby sinks down and wraps an arm around Buck's shoulders, squeezing tight. Buck leans against him. His skin feels itchy and sore from dried salt and sunburn, but at least he's not shivering anymore. Bobby's here, and Chim. He squints past them, but no other familiar faces appear.

"Hen and Eddie are in the other boat," Bobby says, before he can even ask. "They should be here any minute."

"And you are about to be read the riot act, make no mistake about it."

"Wasn't on purpose."

"Yeah, I know." Chim reaches across Bobby to scruff Buck's salt-sticky hair. "Just the worst luck known to mankind. You've got to be down at least three of those nine lives at this point."

The guardsman who examined him reappears over Chim's shoulder as they bump to a halt next to the dock. "Just a few more minutes, gentlemen. We already called it in; the ambulance will meet us there."

"I'm fine," Buck says, more for form's sake than because he thinks it'll get him off the hook here. "Just tired."

Chim scoffs loudly, and Bobby says, "You're going to the hospital, don't fight me on it."

"Okay," Buck yawns.

He closes his eyes again, not quite sleeping so much as drifting, vaguely aware of the warmth and weight of Bobby's arm, the bustle around him. Then he's being coaxed to his feet, muscles screaming all the way. He tilts heavily into Bobby as Chim steadies him from the other side and they shuffle their way off the boat. Bobby delivers him into the hands of the paramedics, and Buck is sitting on the edge of the ambulance bay while his lungs and pulse are examined for a second time, when he hears a ragged voice shouting his name.

"Oh," Buck says, squinting in the dimming sunset. The lights are on around the dock, making it plenty bright enough for him to make out the tall, dark-haired figure sprinting across the lot toward them.

"Buck," Eddie shouts again, and then again, softer, as he stumbles to a halt in front of him. "Buck."

"Hey, Eddie," Buck mumbles. He blinks a couple of times, but his eyes are having some trouble focusing. Eddie's face blurs before him, then settles. Wind-burnt cheeks, wide, wet, beautiful eyes. Chest heaving like he's been sprinting a lot farther than across the parking lot. "Sorry."

Eddie swears under his breath and steps closer as the paramedic lifts her stethoscope away with a deep sigh.

"I'll give you two a moment," she says.

"I'm sorry," Buck says again, and Eddie says, "Fuck, Jesus Christ, don't be sorry," and heaves him into a hug. It's tight enough to be uncomfortable, as sore as he is, but Eddie is warm and breathing quick against his hair as his hands pat over Buck's back like he's checking for injuries and then just clutch at him, and Buck thinks he could probably happily stay here forever.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbles.

A slightly crazed-sounding laugh escapes Eddie. His cheek scrapes against Buck's, warm, uncomfortably scratchy against his sunburn, and then he turns his head just enough to press his lips to Buck's cheekbone, bruising, barely even a kiss. It does something funny to Buck's insides all the same. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead." It's shaky this time. He's pretty sure Eddie is crying. He thinks he might be, too. Exhaustion and relief and the way Eddie is holding onto him like he can't stand to let go.

The kiss, too. That kiss, just now, that was barely a kiss.

"Eddie, hey." Clumsily, he reaches up. His shoulders ache, his arms feel like lead, but he manages to catch Eddie by the arms. "I'm okay."

Eddie nods against him. Then he kisses Buck's cheek again. This time it's softer, almost delicate; this time, it feels deliberate.

"Are we gonna do the Indiana Jones thing here?" Buck murmurs. "Because I'd be cool with that. For the record. If we are."

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, which is what he was going for, and finally releases him. He keeps a hand on Buck's shoulder, thumb just brushing the side of his neck, the same way he's always held onto Buck. Over his shoulder, Buck can see Hen approaching, but she hangs back.

"Since when have you seen Indiana Jones?" he asks.

"Blame Chim."

"Okay."

"So," Buck stutters, and it's not the cold now, or exhaustion. This is just nerves. "So—so if you—do you want—?"

Eddie breathes out a quiet laugh. His thumb moves carefully against Buck's skin. And they're doing this, apparently, after everything: right here, on the tailgate of an ambulance with half of their family and a couple of mildly impatient first responders looking on. Buck will be embarrassed about that later, probably.

Right now, though, Eddie says, "Yeah, Buck, of course I do," in that fond quiet voice that Buck loves so much. Right now, Eddie leans down again to kiss Buck a third time, carefully, right on the lips.

It lingers sweetly for a moment. A few yards away, Chim wolf-whistles and Hen starts laughing, but Eddie doesn't pull back until Buck is light-headed and breathless and smiling like a dope.

Eddie looks pretty dopey himself: soft-eyed, a little stunned, even though he's the one who started this. Buck leans up for another kiss, and doesn't break it even when his shoulders and neck cramp into painful knots at the movement. He must make a noise, because Eddie pulls back a moment later. He doesn't go far, though. His hand is still warm on Buck's nape.

"Buck," he says.

"Yeah," Buck sighs, trying not to pout. "You're riding with me in the ambulance, though, right?"

"Obviously. And you're coming home with me after."

"Obviously," Buck repeats. He tilts his chin up for another kiss, even though it hurts, and Eddie lets him.

[bluflamingo]

It's a thing that makes baby pigeons outside my window while I'm in meetings, and once had to be evicted from my spare room.

Because folks liked my latest pigeon comic so much, here's another pigeon piece!

I made this a couple years ago for a sadly now defunct publication called Pipe Wrench. I hope this piece helps spread more pigeon love.

[bluflamingo]

To-cat-ata in B by sympawnies

[bluflamingo]

Dedicated Ally

Buck pants as Tommy rolls off of him, flopping down next to him with his own, equally heavy breaths.

“Fuck,” Buck grunts, grinning as he reaches over to Tommy, smoothing his hand over a muscular chest.

“Mmhm.” Tommy turns onto his side towards him, nose scrunching as a smile stretches across his face. Buck loves that smile, noticed it the day they met, thinks that smile might be the reason he went fucking insane trying to get this man’s attention.

Unable to resist, Buck leans in for a kiss. It’s chaste, considering the mind blowing sex they’ve just had. But sometimes those are his favourite, Buck thinks; a simple, easy meeting of lips, a kiss just to kiss, no expectations for more, just a way to stay close even after being as close as two people can possibly be.

Buck whines in protest when Tommy pulls away, hearing a huff of amusement in response before he’s being tugged into the other man’s arms. He’s pulled and arranged until his head is resting on Tommy’s strong chest and okay, Buck thinks, if they’re not kissing then this is the next best thing.

It’s not long before he’s drifting, not asleep but also not-not asleep. Just hovering in that quiet, pleasant space in-between. He’s warm, happy, satisfied, and Buck has the vague, faraway thought that he could lay here forever.

At least until Tommy’s chest starts shaking with barely suppressed laughter, which—

What the fuck?

Lifting his head, Buck gives Tommy a quizzical look, not sure what exactly is so funny.

“Sor-sorry,” Tommy coughs, waving a hand as laughter bubbles up to the surface now.

Buck runs through the last couple hours or so in his head, trying to figure out what’s so funny.

They’d had dinner, nothing new there. Buck had put on that new nature documentary that he’d been wanting to watch except that Tommy had been way too distracting and they’d ended up making out like teenagers instead.

That had been followed up with some truly spectacular foreplay — and Buck really needs to find out how Tommy does that thing with his tongue like yesterday, it was inspired, truly, before Tommy fucked Buck into the mattress like his goddamn life depended on it.

So, all in all, a really solid night. Nothing that should have Tommy bursting into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

“What is it?” He asks finally, giving up trying to figure it out on his own.

It’s a moment before Tommy answers, has to visibly force himself to stop laughing. Seeing the look on Buck’s face must help because he sobers pretty quickly before pulling Buck in for a light kiss and settled them both on their sides, facing each other.

“It’s nothing bad,” he starts, rubbing up and down Buck’s arms. “I was just thinking… remembering, really.”

He’s smirking now, a mischievous look in his eye. Buck’s about to ask what it is he was remembering but just as he opens his mouth, Tommy continues.

“You know, Evan, I never did thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yeah, for being such a good, dedicated, passionate ally.”

Buck groans as he suddenly remembers their first date, a little over six months ago now. He goes to lean back as he covers his face but Tommy pulls him back, chest shaking with mirth.

“Really, ten out of ten, no complaints. A must have for every gay man out there.”

“Fuck off,” Buck grumps, but doesn’t resist when Tommy suckers him in for another kiss. They’re both smiling too wide — Tommy, from laughter, Buck from embarrassment, so it’s not much more than a light press of lips.

“Would’ve bagged me an ally sooner if I’d known how dedicated they’d be in their… allyship,” Tommy murmurs, pressing another kiss to his brow, right over his birthmark.

Pressing Tommy back into the mattress, Buck hides his face in the crook of the other man’s neck, face warm as he shakes his head.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Tommy says, stroking his hair. “As terrible as that date was, you were adorable even in your obliviousness.”

Buck smiles, warmth blossoming in his chest. He’s not sure why, but every time Tommy tells him he’s adorable it’s like his heart feels too big for his chest, like it doesn’t know how to handle all of this love and affection it’s being fed and is set to burst.

“You know, it wasn’t easy walking away that night,” Tommy says, pressing his soft lips to the top of his head. “But you didn’t seem ready. And maybe a bit selfishly, I knew that if I was going to have you that I wanted all of you, not just bits and pieces doled out in the dark where no one could see.”

They haven’t actually talked about that first date like this before, not really. They’ve acknowledged it, certainly, but they’ve never deconstructed it in any depth like they are now.

“I’m glad you walked away that night,” Buck says honestly. “I was an ass— no, I was, and you walking away helped me realize what I wanted in a way that I hadn’t really been willing to before.”

Tommy hums, fingers trailing along the back of his neck, tracing random patterns.

“You certainly came to terms with it a lot quicker than I expected. A lot quicker than I did,” Tommy comments, referring to what Chim often refers to as his sexuality crisis speedrun after hearing the full story of how they got together.

“I had a really great incentive,” Buck says, grinning up at Tommy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[bluflamingo]

now this one i never posted before

[bluflamingo]

Histocompatibility 8,331 words Buck/Tommy Alternate first meeting, s4e5 "Buck Begins"-divergent

On the day Buck learns he was someone else's homegrown defense system, a handsome stranger keeps him company, keeps him distracted, keeps him laughing, and then keeps him safe.

A high and sweet chuckle comes over the line. "I don't know if I can trust the word of someone who thinks the week starts on Sunday." The laugh comes busting out of Buck anyway, loud enough that he's able to ignore the written complaint his headache nails to the inside of his skull. "Riddle me this, TK: why does every calendar start with Sunday if the week starts with Monday?" "It's not my fault Saturday and Sunday look weird when they're next to each other," TK says cheerfully. "Doesn't mean it's wrong. And my name's not TK." "What does 'TK' stand for?" "Thomas Kinard. Call me Tommy—please. Thomas is my father." There's something about the way Tommy says 'father' that plucks a familiar chord inside of Buck, and the note it plays is an entire symphony that tells the tale of years of disappointment and resentment.  Buck curls into himself so he can shield the speaker with his shoulders from the open air of the bedroom. "I vaguely remember you saying something about dropping some of Lake Machado on my parents' house. Is your dad's house next on the list?" "Nah, if I drop anything on his house, it'll be wet cement." Snickering, Buck lays back on the bed and cradles the phone with a hand, grinning like an idiot at the ceiling. "That's not very nice, Tommy Kinard." "Maybe I'm not a very nice person, Evan Buckley." "I don't think that's true," Buck murmurs, throat full of gravel. He wants to blame it on the hangover but he doesn't think he can. And he doesn't want to. "I think you're a very nice person. You plugged my phone in." "Your battery was running at a whopping 9%, Evan. Of course I plugged it in."

Read on AO3

(Original Tumblr post)

[bluflamingo]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! I'm back again with another round of the fic I've been reading this week (when I wasn't busy reading Chuck Tingle's excellent satirical Hollywood horror novel Bury Your Gays). ALSO I've just got to 7x04 in my complete series rewatch, let's go, lfg!!! You can find previous rec lists here.

23 August 2024

the parts we play by @calinaannehart ok I know I recced this last week but it's finished now and it stuck the landing SO beautifully and seriously if you've not yet read this Buck is a Hollywood actor shadowing the 118 much to Eddie's initial frustration au fic then what are you doing? It's beautifully characterised, has such fun multimedia elements, and all the perfect romcom beats whilst also just being a glorious celebration of the firefam and Buck and Eddie. Read it!

piece by piece, rubble to rubble by @sharpbutsoft 'Christopher Diaz doesn’t believe in hell, but if he did, he thinks it might resemble back-to-school shopping at Westfield Mall with his Dad and Buck.' in which Chris is frustrated by his own descent into teenagerdom and the pitfalls of clothes shopping, Eddie is a very patient loving Dad, Buck helps, and things go very wrong. A satisfying 'trapped hurt/comfort leads to will reveal' scenario, with Buck and Chris bonding and being brave in the face of danger and uncertainty.

from the ashes by @exhuastedpigeon sees Eddie post-season 7 finding inspiration amongst a burned out art studio, and picks up a creative skill he put away as a teen. I really loved seeing him reconnect with a part of himself he'd hidden and the emotions it brought out, as well as the descriptions of how he captures all the colours and landscape of his family and heart through his art. This feels like a lovely unintentional companion piece to be read alongside when i see stars, that's all they are by @ithilien-writes which I recommended last week in which Eddie takes poetry lessons and I just love how we're all in agreement that Eddie is in need of some art therapy, community and creative expression to unrepress those feelings.

you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by @sibylsleaves roommates fic! In which Buck moves in with Eddie after he and Taylor split, Eddie has a revelation at Hen & Karen's vow renewal and comes out, domestic bliss ensues, and then Buck gets extremely in his head about it. A delicious mix of uhauling and slow burn, with angst, fluff and yearning galore. (I also really liked James in this, how do we manifest him, he was such a great oc.)

of waterfalls by @standback ballet dancer Eddie!!! In which Buck goes to physical therapy at the gym and is infuriated by how hot and good Eddie is, of course. But soon they become best friends and support each other along the way. With twists and turns from Eddie not being part of the 118, and some really lovely world building into Eddie's dancer world. I LOVE this concept, and particularly how Shannon was incorporated into the backstory that got them there in a way that was so seamless. When the dream belongs to someone else, how do you know where to draw the line? When do you let yourself find a new dream?

PS - quick one this week as it's been a busy one, but insert usual call out for more henren fic here. Feel free to self rec! And please share and reblog :)