ganxiously

[ganxiously]

Woke up thinking about how Buck only saw Tommy, the person and not the gay man but the one time he did, he tried so hard that Tommy thought Buck had only ever seen the gay man and not the person.

[ganxiously]

maybe I'm just making excuses for bad writing at this point but I have been seeing a few people talking about how Buck should have been able to say he has a boyfriend to the girls at the restaurant and while they are justified in thinking that (even more so because the writers are not thinking this deep), I would also like to point out that coming out is not a linear 'once you do it, you do it easy every time' narrative. each time you come out to people, it is a gamble whether it be when you are a newly realised queer or 10 years down the line. also it is easy to come out to people who you know are going to be supportive than to strangers whose reactions you have no reference to predict. to talk about the guy you like to your sister or your family who you know will support you and are either queer or queer-friendly is easy. but saying you are on a date with your boyfriend to unknown women who are flirting with you in front of unknown people who could easily be homophobic is fucking terrifying.

case in point, Buck just drops it in the middle of the conversation with Maddie because she is perhaps his most known quantity. he subconsciously knows that whatever happens, he won't lose her love. on the other hand, Eddie isn't. yeah he knows Eddie but I sincerely doubt they ever sat down and talked about their feelings on queerness and whether they would support each other if one of them ever realised they were queer. so he panics and doesn't dare to come out to him until they are alone, in private, in a setting which he can control and away from anyone who might bear witness to any negative reaction Eddie might have. even with Bobby, he looks scared until Bobby gives him his approval. and this motif we see repeated over and over where Buck only voices his queerness when he is absolutely sure he is safe or has the power to protect himself. he has no problem showing he is in a relationship with a man but we never see him put it in words. and whether this was accidental or someone in the writer's room actually knew what they were doing, it is such a quintessential part of the queer experience because it always easier to just show the world who you are than to put it in words because there is something very permanent and very real about giving words to your identity. actions can be written off but words are forever.

[ganxiously]

several sentence sunmonday

I was tagged by the wonderful @iphyslitterator and since I was spontaneously possessed by an idea last night I actually have a tiny bit to share

It's 8:39 PM when Tommy walks out the door, leaving Buck behind in a daze, and he swears he can feel his heart sink to his stomach.

It's 8:39 PM when Tommy walks out the door, leaving Buck behind in a daze, and he swears he can feel his heartbeat in his lips.

It's 8:39 PM when the tail rotor fails.

It's 8:39 PM when lightning strikes and stops his heart and he keels over the edge of the ladder, falling, falling, falling, until he hits an abrupt stop at the end of his line.

It's 8:39 PM when a silver truck swerves and spins off a dark and quiet road.

It's 8:39 PM when they call time of death and a family breaks in ways that will never be repaired.

It's 8:39 PM when the first call comes in to the 9-1-1 dispatch center.

It's 8:39 PM when lips press against his and for the first time it doesn't feel like lying.

It's 8:39 PM when he doesn't reach up to take his hand and becomes his first loss. His first loss he remembers. All he had to do was take his hand.

It's 8:39 PM when a father and son are reunited and he realizes he didn't lose him, he didn't lose him.

It's 8:39 PM.

Somehow it's always been 8:39 PM.

no pressure tagging @sugarpenchant @cliophilyra @autisticbucktommy

[ganxiously]

I think I've caught a very bad case of 'author falls in love with a character while writing him from the pov of his lover'.

Buck grins. “Better than fake mouth static?” Tommy’s face breaks into a smile, dimples popping, teeth sparkling — a brief flash of happiness before the curtains close. His lips settle back into that neutral straight line again like he’s trying to contain a breach. Like he’s trying to not give himself away too much. But the joy lingers in that stubborn little crescent at the corner of his mouth and the laugh lines that cling and cling like they know how important it is to provide evidence of the crime committed. And Buck realises this is another little thing he never caught on to before, this little gem of knowledge that was right here in plain sight waiting for his acknowledgement. You were made to laugh, sweetheart, he thinks and then rejoices because this is the first time he is not saying it to the spectre of his ex-boyfriend. Well, he’s not saying it to his hopefully-soon-boyfriend either but that’s alright. He will hold these words safe in his heart until Tommy’s ready to hear them from him.

[ganxiously]

Tim Minear quickly joining the ranks of JKR and the Russo brothers in people who need to be kept away from things they've created.

[ganxiously]

My most beloved personal headcanon about Tommy is that he's the kind who needs to be doing something all the time. Not in the neurodivergent way like Buck but more of the kind you see in dads - like, he will putter around the house fixing this and that even when those things don't really need fixing. No milk? Why wait for the next grocery run? I'll go now. The flight's delayed? Let me check the board a couple more times because what if they changed it while we weren't looking? Car not working? I'll take a look at it right now. Need to drive to another state? I'll take you. Coffee anyone? No, sit the fuck down, I'll go. I'll do breakfast and then also help with lunch because do you expect me to just sit and watch?

[ganxiously]

I sat down to write after a week of exams and I'm sorry to tell you this but either this fic is making out of here or I am because why the fuck am I simulating a fictional character's breakup this hard? Like I am this 🤏 close to trying to bake my feelings away.

The three little paragraphs that are making me want to order flour and butter, for your reference —

From the moment he steps into the station, it is clear that Eddie has warned everyone off because there is a too deliberate sense of normalcy around. As he climbs into the loft, Chimney doesn’t even look up from where he’s riffling through the fridge. Hen’s voice as she wishes him good morning is calm and casual and Bobby just smiles at him and asks him to lay the table. On any other day, there would be questions as to why he is late especially since he has been early for nearly six months now, Tommy dropping him off on the way to Harbour more often than not. He lets it be, a little thankful that they at least seem to be leaving him alone for the time being and when the first alarm rings, he lets himself be pulled in by the familiar adrenaline rush. He rappels down a cliffside, fights back an angry dog that considers them a threat to its unconscious owner and gets to use the jaws to cut off a car door. It’s a good shift, all things considered, but shifts only last for so long. He gets home, doesn’t even think about much, exhausted as he is, switches on the light and gets absolutely blindsided by the deluge of memories that threaten to drag him under. It’s like a warzone, except not. Except the destruction is only in his head and his heart. His kitchen and dining area look pristine and untouched — warm under the yellow lights and you wouldn’t believe what went down here the other night, how spectacularly Buck’s life fucking imploded on itself if it weren’t for the skewed barstools at the kitchen islands. They stand there, pulled out to accommodate their bodies and angled towards each other, damning evidence of a conversation cut short. He can almost see him and Tommy there and he has to wonder if that’s all he’s ever going to see when he looks, morbid little nuclear shadows imprinted into his home by the strength of his grief. He can’t stand his kitchen right now but he also doesn’t want to move away into the living room. It’s where everything ended yes, but a foot from it is where it all began, two fingers under his chin, chapped lips on his and Buck was never the same again. He got rewritten line by line in the confines of this space, a morning here and an evening there — laughing together at the dining table or Tommy perched on a stool while Buck cooked, fiddling with and misplacing his spices and vegetables until he handed him an unused ladle with an exasperated huff. Maybe it’s fate then that Tommy broke his heart here as well, a full circle just a little off.

[ganxiously]

(Gif I believe from @mmso-notlikethat )

I love how everyone took the cone scene to be “oh look, Tommy’s the top cause he’s in Buck” and NOT THE OBVIOUS ONE WHICH IS “Buck’s on top”

[ganxiously]

Hi! Love your work so much! I have a very vague prompt and it’s just Tommy being emotionally vulnerable with Buck. Idc what about I just need this man in tears please and thanks.

well this got longer than intended! i've skimmed over it but basically banged it out in fifteen minutes bc turns out i also need this man in tears

When the bubble pops six weeks after Tommy walked out of the loft, it's not at all what Buck was expecting. He'd hoped for an 'I'm sorry', an 'I was wrong', an 'I want you back'. In bitter moments, he'd even hoped for Tommy to say something really dickish so Buck could just hate him and get on with his life. Hell, even a random string of letters that Buck could interpret as an accident or an attempt to open the lines of communication depending on his mood.

What he gets is:

I've been going to therapy

Finally, right?

I hate it

And then radio silence for the better part of an hour. Buck is about to tear his hair out. He drafts and doesn't send half a dozen responses. The loft smells of chocolate cake by the time the next message comes through.

Sorry, call.

Tell me to get lost, it's fine. But I was wondering if we could talk. I owe you an explanation.

Buck reads it twice, takes the cake out of the oven to cool. Scrolls back up to read the messages from the start. Later, once the cake is filled with sharp redcurrant jelly and covered in a perhaps overly generous layer of toffee buttercream, he picks up his phone again.

I owe you an explanation is glaring at him.

Yeah you do, he sends back. Come over when your shift is done.

The reply is almost instant:

Thank you. 2 hrs.

Two hours suddenly feels like both not enough time to prepare, and far too much time to tie himself up in knots. He deep cleans the kitchen, makes a shopping list, checks in with Maddie. He doesn't mention that he's going to see Tommy.

Somehow, two hours pass in the blink of an eye and Buck realizes - he has no idea what he's going to say. He's spent the last month and a half trying with everything in him not to call Tommy, and he's just now realizing he has no idea what he would have said if he'd given into the urge. Maybe he just wanted to hear the guy's voice, and now he's about to, and he has no idea what to do with himself.

The knock at the door makes him jolt, and that's it, there's no more time to think. His first thought when he opens the door is that it's not fair that Tommy looks so good. He has no business looking so good. His hair is freshly trimmed, those greys at his temple that admittedly send Buck a little feral sparkling in the low light of the hall, his favorite blue Henley soft and stretched across the bulk of his chest, his eyes - Buck's whole train of thought derails because he looks again and Tommy looks - scared. Sad. Like he's holding back from flinching by the skin of his teeth.

"Hey, Tommy."

"Hi, Evan."

Evan, he notes. Steps back. Waves Tommy inside. Tries not to notice the way Tommy's face crumples a little as he steps over the threshold.

"Never thought I'd be here again," he says.

"Me either," Buck admits. "Well, after the first couple weeks when I - " When I sat around and waited for you to come back and tell me you made a mistake. He bites his tongue. Much as he wants to be real bitchy about this, Tommy looks like he is on the edge, and nothing in Buck wants to make that worse.

"You want a coffee?"

"Uh. Sure," Tommy says, and it gives Buck the opportunity to turn his back, to breathe. He's achingly aware of Tommy behind him, of the gravity of his presence, the sound of his breathing (a little shaky), the slight creak as he takes a seat. Buck still has the stupid almond milk and the stupid syrup Tommy likes in his stupid candy flavored coffee, has been buying the former on reflex and can't bring himself to use the latter and taste Tommy's kisses without the man himself. He makes the coffee, even cuts Tommy a slice of cake, and dumps them both in front of him.

Tommy blinks down at the cake, up at Buck. "You made that?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "Been getting real into baking since - well, since."

"Oh." Tommy chews on his lip, looks away again.

"Every time I wanna call you, I bake," Buck admits, the words falling into the silence between them with more weight than they deserve given how ridiculous they are, really.

Tommy glances up at him. "Yeah?"

Buck swivels, pulls open the door to his fridge which is still groaning under the weight of saran wrapped loaves and cakes and tupperwares full of cookies.

"That's - that's a lot."

Buck shrugs. "Yeah, well."

The silence is painful. Awkward in a way they've never really been with each other. Buck throws himself down onto the stool opposite Tommy, tries not to think about how this is exactly where they were sitting when - when. From the look on his face, the way Tommy can't meet his eyes, he's thinking the exact same thing. This is - it's the worst, Buck thinks miserably.

"So, therapy, huh?" he blurts out.

Tommy nods, takes a deep breath. "After I left that night, I - I drove to the movie theater."

Buck blinks. That is…not what he was expecting. "Uh…"

"Bought a ticket and everything. Realized on my way in that that's - that's not normal. Nothing I did that night was normal. You - you made me so happy, and I blew that up the second it sounded like maybe you wanted something long-term. That - that's not normal. The way I think about - about relationships, about love, about myself. It's not normal."

Buck feels like he's holding his breath.

"So I went home. Drank a couple of beers. Psyched myself up. Booked an appointment for the next day."

"That's…" Buck doesn't know what to say. "That's quick."

"Yeah. I don't - " Tommy looks away. Buck can't see it, but he can tell that he's bouncing his leg anxiously. "I wanna stop being a fucking - a wrecking ball. I wanna stop hurting people, stop hurting myself, but it feels like it's all I do."

Buck can't bite his tongue quick enough. "You make choices, Tommy."

Tommy nods and shrinks in on himself. "I know that. I do. It doesn't feel like it, but I do. I get scared and I make the worse choice every time because it's easier than being brave, and I tell myself it's the only choice but - it's not. I know that. I do know that. I'm - I'm so fucked up, Evan."

His eyes are swimming with tears and Buck knows he's no better. Everything in him is screaming at him to reach out, but he clenches his hands together under the table to stop himself. This is - this is maybe the most real Tommy's ever been with him, maybe the most real he's seen Tommy be with himself, and Buck doesn't want to interrupt it, even as every part of him wants to gather Tommy up to him and soothe him and promise him everything's okay. Everything's so far from okay. He watches Tommy take a few deep breaths, recognises the pattern and the count from his own therapy sessions.

"My - my dad - you know, he's an asshole. But he wasn't always. He and my mom - they were so in love. I mean, stars in their eyes, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, they adored each other. Even before she died, I didn't - there wasn't space for me in there. And after - I guess I remind him of what he lost. They loved each other, and it hurt me. Abby loved me, and I hurt her. I loved N - Nick, and he h - hurt me. I - "

Tommy clears his throat wetly and looks away while Buck thinks who the fuck is Nick and how do I break his kneecaps?

"You what, Tommy?" he asks instead, and it comes out gently.

"I love you," Tommy says, and Buck pretends he isn't paying attention to the tense, pretends his heart isn't rabbiting inside his chest. "I love you, and I hurt us both and I'm - I'm poison, Evan, I'm nothing but sharp edges but I swear I'm trying not to be and I know it's too late but I'm so - I'm so sorry, I'm so - "

He's fully crying now, trying to hide his face in his hands and Buck can't hold back anymore, closes the space between them and gets his arms around the bulk of Tommy's shoulders where they're shaking.

"Don't," Tommy begs, his whole body tightening, so tense Buck's worried something is going to snap. "Don't - d - don't - I don't deserve - "

"Shh," Buck says, pressing his face into Tommy's hair and stopping himself from making it a kiss at the last second. "I don't care what you think you deserve, just let me hold you, okay? Just let me."

Tommy cries harder, soaking Buck's shirt, and Buck doesn't know how long it goes on for but suddenly Tommy's holding him too, clinging in a way he never has before, in a way that feels desperate and fierce and heartbroken.

"It's okay," Buck promises in spite of himself. He strokes his fingers over the short cropped hairs on the nape of Tommy's neck. "I've got you, it's okay. Just try to breathe, baby, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Baby slips out without any intention on his part, but Tommy doesn't seem to notice, just heaves in a hitching, gulping breath, then another, and another. He shifts in Buck's arms, pulling away and Buck lets him. He doesn't retreat to his own seat though, doesn't feel right to put any distance between them while Tommy presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can force the tears back inside.

"I'm sorry," he says, when he's a little calmer. "I've got no right - "

"Stop, okay. Just - stop being so horrible to yourself."

Tommy nods. "Yeah. Working on that. I know - I know it's too late, and I swear I didn't come here with the intention of - of crying all over you and making you feel bad for me. I just - I wanted you to know that I'm sorry, and I know that I fucked up real bad. I know - like I said, I know it's too little, too late, but I want you to know I'm working on - on being better."

Buck chews on the inside of his lip clearly for a second too long because Tommy gives a sharp little nod.

"That's all I wanted to say," he says, pushing back from the table and starting to stand. "I'll get out of your - "

"Sit your ass down," Buck says, a little rougher than he intended. Tommy does as he's told, blinking rapidly and Buck pushes away from the table, paces across the kitchen and back again.

"Evan…"

"Shut up. If you keep making decisions for me, I'm gonna - I'm gonna start throwing loaves at your head."

Tommy makes a noise that's half laugh, half sob, and Buck fights back the tiny grin that's tugging at his mouth.

"You - you really think you're this irredeemable asshole that doesn't deserve to be happy, don't you?"

Tommy shrugs, looks away. "If the shoe fits…"

Buck whirls around, yanks open the fridge, grabs the first loaf he sees. "This is coffee and walnut. It's dense. Last warning, jackass."

Tommy's laugh is more distinct this time. "Evan. Okay. Yes, I think that. But I'm - I'm working on not."

"Okay. Okay. So - so work on it." He puts the loaf down. "Work on it, and take me on a date."

Tommy looks like he's being rebooted without warning. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I - "

"Tell me why I can't be serious."

"Because! Because I'm - I'm a mess. I hurt you. I left."

"You came back," Buck counters. "Even if it was only to apologize."

"You deserve better."

"I want you."

"I don't - I don't know when I'll be - better than I am."

"You're better today than the day you left. You're here."

"Evan…"

"Yes or no, Tommy. Take me on a date."

"I - "

"Yes or no."

"Yes. Please, yes."

Buck exhales for what feels like the first time in weeks. "Okay. Okay. That's a start."

He puts the loaf back in the fridge, takes Tommy's coffee away to reheat it, and the whole time he can feel Tommy's eyes on him, watching him like he's something precious.

[ganxiously]

This is the part of the helicopter crash fic I started writing today. I don't know if I'm going to post it to ao3 but I did want to share it here. Now, this first update is angst so read at your own risk, but it will be a happy ending, I promise. This is Tommy's pov and I'll be back with Buck's side of things and the aftermath as soon as I have finished writing them —

The silence is stark in the aftermath and Tommy’s ears ring like they are still expecting the screech of the altitude alarms or the roar of metal crashing into rocks and trees. He’s not sure what happened, one moment he was flying his helo back to Harbour and the next, the altitude alarms started going off one by one. He had tried to fix it, tried to pull the bird up even as it became amply clear that nothing was working. They had dropped fast, swinging this side and that with the wind and then his tail had hit the cliffside, sending him and his medic rolling down the mountain in a 30-tonne metal can. He doesn’t know what happened to her, Amy, a new recruit with a penchant for keeping to herself. That’s why they worked together so well, a good thing until it led them here.

“Amy?”, he manages to ask, his voice coming out hoarse. “Medic Garcia?”

There is nothing. Not even the sound of feeble breaths. Tommy swallows the burgeoning feeling of grief and panic and tries to think of a way out. It’s dead of the night, the scenery outside the broken glass of his wind-screen pitch black, the flickering lights of the city not even visible from where he’s landed. He tries to move himself and then immediately freezes as the pain threatens to take away his consciousness. 

This is bad, he thinks. I don’t know how to get out of this one.

He is still strapped into his harness and beneath that, his flight suit is soaked with blood. It feels tacky and slippery against his skin, enough of it that he knows wherever it’s coming from, it’s not good news. It’s not survivable. His legs are pinned and he’s pretty sure the wet feeling around his eyes is blood. His ribs hurt and when he tries to move his hands, his shoulders refuse to bear the weight.

Oh, I am definitely not getting out of this one.

The realisation hits like G during a rapid climb and for the first time in long while, Tommy’s scared. He is terrified, as terrified as he hasn’t been since he was a wet-behind-his-ears boy seeing war for the first time. He thinks his hands would shake if he could move them that fast, his breath would stutter if it already wasn’t, wheezing past the damage, past the blood and tickling at his lips.  He doesn’t want to die like this, the thought occurs to him. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to turn back time and return to those scant months when he had been, for once, truly happy. He wants . . . he wants Evan. Beside him, holding his hand, his fingers tracing the lines on Tommy’s palm as he talks about anything and everything that comes to his mind.

Maybe that is the thing about impending death. Its finality, its loneliness puts things into perspective really fast. When he had all the time in the world, he had faltered, he had a thousand and one excuses ready as to why it was a bad idea. Now that Tommy’s out of time, there is not one that seems to hold up to reason. He wants Evan, he loves Evan and he should have told him that when he still had the chance. He should have spent every second he had left loving him.

He somehow manages to take his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see that it’s still mostly intact, except for the one thin crack down the middle. He thumbs it open and there he is, brushed golden in the sun and laughing at something Tommy had said. It’s a damn shame he can’t remember anymore what that something had been. There’s no cell service on his phone, which is bad but it also relieves him. He doesn’t have to make a 911 call, only to tell them they are already too late and like this, he won’t give in to the urge to hear Evan’s voice one last time.

He opens their message thread like he has done so many times these past couple of weeks, typing and deleting messages that never seem to be able to convey his complicated thoughts. He clicks on the typing bar, watches the keyboard pop up and then just keeps on staring, looking at the bloody fingerprint on his screen as he tries to think of what to write. What last words do you text your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with? That I’m sorry and I think I’m an even bigger asshole than you probably think I am?

The pain in his body notches up, so spread out that he barely knows where it originates from and he grits his teeth with an effort to keep himself from screaming. Eventually, it passes and Tommy takes the opportunity to click on the voice message button to the right.

“Buck.”

He hates that name on his tongue. 

“Evan.”, he starts and then stops again because it still doesn’t feel enough. It doesn’t feel like it encapsulates everything Tommy associates with that name — the warmth, the safety, the incredulous how is he real? and the helpless adoration that he just can’t seem to keep at bay no matter how much he tries. So, he gives it one more shot, “Evan. My Evan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about a million things.”

A cough stops him, the movement jostling him enough that pain rips through him anew and he is left gasping and sobbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay away. I’m sorry I didn’t leave earlier and I’m sorry I left when I did . . . I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows the blood in his mouth or at least, he tries to but all of it comes out with the next cough.

“I should have stuck around. I should have stayed and I should have loved you as long as you let me. I should . . . I should have told you I love you. Even—even if you don’t and that’s okay. You should— you shouldn’t love someone like me but that was no reason to not tell you I did. I just . . . I should have loved you as hard as I could while I still had the chance, Evan. You, at least, deserved that.”

He’s getting colder by the second and the part of his brain that still works, tells him that he is going into shock. Tommy’s running out of time and he’s running out of time fast.

“I don’t want to die.”, he manages to say through the sobs racking through his throat. He thinks he should feel pain but there isn’t anything beyond numbness anymore, “I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go through death alone. I want you . . .”

No, but that’s not right, is it? He doesn’t want Evan in this mess. Evan doesn’t deserve to get hurt again just to accompany Tommy in his last moments. He should be far away, happy, healthy and at peace. Maybe it is better that they broke up. If this was always supposed to be the end, it is surely better that Evan no doubt hates Tommy a little bit now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Evan will leave a flower on his grave one day.

“I really wanted to be your last, you know?”, he finally says after a minute of silence, the words spilling out almost conversationally, long after he thought he’s run out of things to say. “But more than that, I wanted you to be my last and I’m happy that I got it, even if it’s not in the way I wanted it to be.”

And it's so fucking typical of him, isn’t it? He is being so selfish right now, ruining Evan’s life like this just so he can get some things off his chest. And he knows Evan, he knows what this message will do to him. Evan will go through life with the burden of Tommy’s regret on his shoulders and he hates how tempting that thought is, that if not in his heart, Tommy’s existence will at least have a place in the scars he carries for the rest of his life.

Here lies Tommy Kinard. He’s the bastard that broke my heart once upon a time.

But no, he can’t do that to Evan. He’s been selfish when he kissed Evan the first time, when they decided to give it a second try and when he hurt Evan to protect himself. He’s been selfish every moment that he managed to steal in between.

“Nevermind.”, he breathes out, smiling through the blood that’s threatening to choke him. “Nevermind, Evan. You— you don’t need to know all that. You should forget me. Forget there was ever a Tommy Kinard who loved you. Live a happy life and maybe . . . maybe in our next one, I’ll get to keep you. I’ll delete this now. I would have deleted myself out of your life too if I could’ve but this will have to do. I’m really outta time here, kid.”

He tries to blink away the blind spots around the edges of his vision but he’s fading fast. He fights against the unmoored feeling that is taking over, tries to swipe his screen in hopes of deleting the message but his hands are too slick and too weak to do anything anymore. The phone slips from his grasp and falls with a thunk somewhere near his feet, not that it matters. Not when he can barely remember what he was doing with the phone in the first place. Something to do with Evan. Maybe.

He huffs at his uselessness.

“Evan.”, his lips shape the word with care even though his voice doesn’t quite manage to colour it fully but it’s enough. It’s enough to have that be the last thing he speaks, to be the last thing he thinks about. The name washes away the cold like dawning sunrise on a crisp winter morning and Tommy is at peace, he is content.

“Tommy?”

That’s Evan’s voice. He has to go. He has to answer. He has to—

[ganxiously]

( help us to cover our daily basic necessities)

Hi, I hope you are doing great.

Me and my family are desperately trying to adapt to the current situation of Gaza, but the prices are extremely high due to the goods scarcity in general.

Honestly we can’t afford insuring the daily basic needs anymore and we need your help.

My family consists of two children (2, 3 years old) and 6 adults and my daughter is pregnant.

Would you please make me a favor by taking a moment to go through the story of this fundraiser (link below) , share the link with your connections and loved ones and to support if possible!

We would really appreciate that !

https://chuffed.org/project/116779-support

Also the link is available in the bio.

hey, guys? it'd be great if you could help out.

[ganxiously]

you sure have a lot to say about Tim Minear's intentions and mistakes. you can analyze what he ga think and what tropes he misused as much as you want but the writing's always been on the wall that tommy was never supposed to last. he made it clear that he's the first, not the last. the actors have said they are done, the showrunner has said they are done so its about damn time you and your people learn to move on.

Oh I'm so sorry! You see 'me and my people' are new here so of course, we thought we should take our cues from our more experienced seniors. And they have been so helpfully conducting media literacy 101 for free for a while now and if there is one thing I have learnt so far, it's that everything is a 'Chekhov's gun'. Character says he's straight? obviously, there to be proven otherwise. Following similar logic, character says he's not the last? obviously there to also be proven otherwise. Another important lesson? Never trust what the actors or showrunners are saying about the characters. They are clearly lying. The only things you can trust are the theories you concoct and the ones that you think are true.

And as for moving on? Have you not seen our esteemed seniors? They have clung on for 7 years now! What kind of juniors would we be if we gave up in the same financial year???

[ganxiously]

my main problem with the 'relapsed' thing is that it's telling me Buck has still not thought things through. Bobby is the one who compared it to addiction and Buck just took that and ran with it like come on, man. Why all the plagiarism? What the fuck do you feel about this relationship? I don't want other people's words and other people's advice from your mouth. I want you to say what you think and what you feel for once. because like every fucking thing else, his actions give away the truth that he seems to be simply incapable of perceiving.

[ganxiously]

so it's bucktommy scones instead of bucktommy bones, huh?

[ganxiously]

today i got the news that i managed to crack a very big exam so Mr. Minear if you fucking piss on my parade i will voodoo your ass to hell and back

[ganxiously]

guys, i fear we accidentally flew too close to the sun again. the universe saw our crash the helicopters and crash the jeeps and said you know what, let's have Brad Buecker direct this episode

[ganxiously]

#burnthathouse2025✌️🔥

BuckTommy Tin Foil Hat Time:

What if Tommy was written off because they either didn’t have the time or budget to build/find a set for his house?

In The Rookie, they would mostly film Chenford’s relationship at Lucy’s apartment because it was a built set, and Tim’s house was an actual house that was expensive to rent for filming.

Think about it: Tommy has a car lift and Muay Thai setup in his house. Very expensive things to have on a set for a recurring character.

So either they wrote him off because they weren’t able to find/build a set in time for his episodes or they’re buying time until they can acquire one.

This doesn’t really help determine if they plan on bringing him back or not, but it’s something to think about.

Thoughts?