#Tommy home...

[morganbritton132]

Continuing from this (starting here and here)

Hopper doesn’t want to think about Steve.

He doesn’t really want to even see the kid or his broken arm or his wide gap-tooth smile where he’s starting to lose baby teeth. Every interaction is a reminder that he’s not doing anything to stop this clear case of child neglect.

He’s failing Steve and if he’s failing a kid whose problems are so blatantly obvious, then he could fail Sarah when the problems are close to home.

So no, Hopper doesn’t say anything when he walks into Melvards and sees Steve at the check counter. He nods to Joyce and continues on.

He’s got a list from his wife and that’s all he’s here for.

Sure, he noticed that on the check out counter is a tube of toothpaste, a box of cereal, and a pint of milk. Sure, he clocked Steve with his chin resting on the counter, pushing coins across it to Joyce and asking, “How ‘bout now?”

That’s just good observation. He’s a cop. It’s his job.

“That brings you to $2.54,” Joyce tells him. “You need 1 dollar and 0.32 cents more.”

Hopper is not listening to Steve sigh. He’s not standing next to a shelf of sunscreen watching Steve push the toothpaste to the side like, “I don’t need to brush my teeth. Is it enough now?”

“How about this,” Joyce whispers, leaning on the counter like they’re going to share a secret. Hopper is sure she’s crinkling her nose when she pushes the money back over to him, “How about you take all your quarters and I let you take your cereal, and your milk, and your toothpaste.”

Whereas he can’t see Joyce’s face, he can see the instant suspicion on Steve’s face when he steps back from the counter, “That’s stealing.”

“Yeah, silly, if you steal it. You’re not doing that,” Joyce concedes. “I’m letting you have this stuff.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Miss Joyce. You’ll get in trouble.”

“Well, how about a trade?”

“Like a Quick Pro Skrull?”

“Sure,” Joyce says easily. “I will trade you $2.54, one box of cereal, one pint of milk, and a tube of bubblegum-flavored toothpaste….if you let me sign your cast.”

Steve’s voice is soft, considerate the way kids aren’t supposed to be when he says, “Miss Joyce, that’s not a fair trade.”

“It’s the only thing I want, baby.”

“Fine,” Steve agrees, laying his casted arm on the counter. “I get my allowance in two days and I’m going to buy you a flower.”

“That sounds lovely, sweetheart.”

Hopper leaves the sunscreen- it’s not even on his list - and goes to the canned goods in the next aisle. While there, he has a better view of Joyce writing her name on Steve’s cast.

“You know, Steve,” She tells him. “I’m going to put my phone number right here because I have little boy about your age. His name is Jonathan.”

“I know Jonathan from school.”

“That’s good! Maybe some time you two can play together.”

“Oh, no thanks, Miss Joyce,” Steve shakes his head sadly. “My dad says you’re poor an’ I’m not allowed to play with poor people ‘cause poor people are lazy and don’t work hard even though you have a job…”

Steve pauses like he’s contemplating that before continuing, “And Tyler - that’s Tommy’s big brother. Tommy is my best friend and I wish I lived at his house - he says that sometimes people are so poor that they can’t a’ford food and they eat babies. He says that happened in Ireland and he would know too ‘cause his great-great-great-ate grandpa is from there.”

“I’m not a baby,” He tells her seriously, “But my Nonna says I’m a sweet boy and one time I was playing with a kid from the trailer park and he bit me.”

He tells her, “I don’t wanna be eaten.”

Joyce blinks at him.

Hopper blinks too where he’s listening in.

Steve doesn’t blink at all but instead gathers up his stuff. He gives her a big smile and says, “Thanks, Miss Joyce. I love you. Bye.”

Then he’s gone.

The store is empty except for Hopper in the baby food aisle and Joyce at the counter. She asks aloud, “Did I just get accused of cannibalism?”

Hopper has never laughed harder.

[badlydrawnscienceteam]

[bucktommysource]

bucktommy hiatus event week one: home   ↳ buck + looking for home in season 8

[bedrockkbros]

ctommy is a pigeon. We took them out of the wild, and domesticated them. Trained them to be our messengers, used them to fight our wars. And when we didn't need them anymore, what did we do? We left them, abandoned them. Now we look at them with annoyance and anger, treat them as pests as an object of blame for our problems. They didn't want to change. They've only adapted because we made them.

[v88sy]

I want a fic where the 118 respond to a medical call at a residential address, and right off the bat, the homeowner is kinda a dick and possibly a little bit drunk. While Hen and (now paramedic) Eddie are working on the jerk patient, Buck's glancing around, noticing how there's hardly any family pictures, except for one or two on a nearby shelf. He's just about to turn his attention elsewhere when one of the framed pictures catches his eye, and he picks it up for a closer look.

The old man huffs, his voice full of gravel. "That's Junior. Not sure why I even kept that photo. Maybe because that's the last time he was actually good for anything."

And Buck's jaw tenses as he fights back the retort brewing in his throat. Instead, he just sets the picture back down without a word, and slowly walks outside to let the paramedics do their job.

I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure where I want this one to go, maybe Buck starts thinking about family; the one he has and the one he lost.

Maybe it prompts him to reach out to Tommy for the first time in awhile, knowing that sometimes, blood is not what matters.

[momotonescreaming]

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 What are your thoughts on takeout tonight instead? x

Evan ❤️ Not that I'm opposed, but what bought this on?

Buck sat down on the station couch and frowned down at his phone, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear.

He and Tommy were trying again, taking it slow and working through everything properly this time. Tonight was supposed to be a part of that — a semi-casual date night at a local Malaysian restaurant Buck had wanted to try — where they could carve out time for the both of them to enjoy the others company and talk over good food. If the reviews were anything to be believed, that is.

But evidentially, plans have changed. Buck's not mad about it, no way, they can always go eat another time. Buck's just glad Tommy still wants to spend the evening with him.

He'd been really looking forward to it — his date night with Tommy. It had been the driving force carrying him through his shift. Knowing that at the end, he'd be able to go see Tommy.

Knowing that he'd be able to see his man dressed up nice, with a button up shirt that hugged his chest just right. That Tommy would look at him fondly while he spent entirely too long going over everything in the menu. That they could hold hands over the table while they waited for their order, and could press their ankles together under the table while they ate so they still had a point of contact. That Tommy would insist they get dessert, and Buck would agree because he loves Tommy's sweet tooth.

But above all else, he just wanted to go see Tommy. Buck always felt lighter when he was around. He hopes it's the same with Tommy.

His phone vibrates.

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 Didn't realise something was pissing me off as much as it did until I got home

Buck's fingers hover over his phone's keyboard as the typing bubbles quickly appear, before stopping, and the appearing only to disappear again. His fingers itch, and he quickly types out a message before Tommy can start his message over

Evan ❤️ And you need an evening at home?

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 Yeah. If we could?

That was something Buck had been learning about Tommy this time around, now that they were talking about more things that were scary, and more things that were real — he wasn't a fan of being angry. He grew up with an angry father, he said, was more scared of becoming him than he liked to admit. Letting the cycle repeat. He didn't want to risk it. He was a big guy, intimidating by sheer stature, and he didn't like to be angry on top of it.

The fact that he was worried, meant he'd never become his father. He'd never be like him in any way. Buck knew this, and Tommy was trying to let himself believe it.

But he needed to process through it.

Tommy would take the time before dinner to work through his anger as best he could, they both knew this, but Tommy felt more comfortable recovering at home after something really riled him up. He'd go to the gym, go for a run around the block, exhaust himself before retreating home to shower and rest.

Evan ❤️ We can reschedule, if you need?

As much as he was looking forward to seeing Tommy, he'd reschedule in a heartbeat if Tommy needed it. Tommy loves to look after him, to care for him, to love him — and Buck wants to do the same. As much as Tommy will let him.

The reply comes through instantly.

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 No need. Come over. Please? x

And how, or why would Buck say no to that? He said he admired Tommy for being brave, and that hasn't changed at all now that he admires him for being brave and letting him in. He knows that Tommy admires him for taking more time for himself, for letting himself be a little more selfish.

They're good for each other. They always were, just even more so now.

Evan ❤️ Absolutely ❤️ I'll bring burgers from that place you like?

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 I could kiss you x

Evan ❤️ I accept payment in kisses, yes

Later, in the quiet of his Jeep when there's no one else around to listen in, Buck will call and cancel their reservation. He'll make a pick up order from that burger place Tommy loves, driving it over so they can eat it fresh and hot. Tommy will open the door in a worn LAFD shirt and sweatpants; looking clean, and soft, and relaxed.

Buck will listen as his boyfriend bitches and rants through their dinner, in a way Tommy wouldn't let himself in the confines of the restaurant. He'll hum that he's listening and make all the right comments because he gets it. They get each other in a way they're finally, really starting to understand.

He'll steal a spare pair of sweatpants from Tommy and clean up the wrappers while Tommy looks through his shelves for a romcom for them to watch. They'll curl up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket that has no business being that comfortable, Tommy tucked under Buck's arm, and he won't regret cancelling their reservation for a second.

Tommy 🔥🚁💙 I'm holding you to that. See you tonight xo Thank you xo

[ohithankyou]

the way the theme of home and tommy being buck’s home has been following them since season seven with “come home and be with your man”…..his loft becoming more lived-in when he was with tommy….the closest he came to finding a sense of “home” after moving out of the loft was after a night spent with tommy….how they have yet to find their way back to each other and buck still has yet to find home…..

[kylominis]

philo's most wanted [🐦‍⬛]

[xofemeraldstars]

@bucktommyanniversary day 2: (sing a little) song lyrics

[sophsun1]

how it started vs. how it's going

7.04 | 8.06 | 8.11

[weewoowings]

Here is the second piece of art I commissioned from the incredibly talented @vanitasmorgue

Commissions are currently closed, but keep her in mind if you think about commissioning something.

LOOK AT THEM. 😍 THE SUITS?! THE CHAMPAGNE FLUTE.... THE BLUSH. THE COLOURS?! I'm so in love with it.

Everybody who recognizes what the inspo was to this one gets a virtual cookie. 🍪

[morganbritton132]

Tommy has three brothers.

You may think that this would have taught him how to share, but it didn’t. It taught him that if he wanted something to grab it quick and hold it tight.

Which is to say that he does not like Carol.

He is not thrilled when Steve asks their teacher if Carol can sit with them during snack time because Steve is his best friend. He found him first and he’s not letting go of him.

Especially not to some dumb girl that plays with dolls.

“Mr. Whiskers isn’t a doll. He’s a cat.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a dumb toy,” Tommy grouses, pulling on Steve’s backpack strap so he follows him. Steve says he likes toys and Tommy concedes because he likes toys too just - “Not dumb toys. I have cool toys. I can show you.”

And Tommy does. He drags Steve onto the bus with him. None of his brothers mention it when Steve gets off at their stop.

In fact, no one mentions it at all. Especially not to their mother so it’s something of a surprise when she turns around to find a boy in her kitchen. Not one of her boys but - “Hello?”

The little boy looks away from the pot boiling on the stove and asks, “How come you don’t have a microwave?”

“Mama says that I can’t use the stove ‘cause I’m not big enough,” He continues while Maria stares dumbfounded at him. “Tommy’s not big either and you don’t got a microwave. Does he just eat cereal?”

The boy blinks at her, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” She says slowly, connecting the name to Tommy’s friend from school. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I know I’m here.”

“Anyone else?”

“Tommy knows,” He says. “He’s in his room. We’re playing nascar.”

“That sounds fun,” She says, slipping into mom mode. She crouches down so they’re eye-level and smiles, “Why don’t I call your mom and let her know that you’re having fun?”

She can see the clogs turning in his head before Sleve slumps his shoulders. His bottom lip juts out and his eyes get shiny. She’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Tommy slides into the room on his socks and Steve tells him in a sad little voice, “Your mama wants me to go home now.”

Tommy promptly bursts into tears.

He doesn’t want Steve to leave. He’ll miss him and he hasn’t even showed him his GI Joe yet.

It takes a lot of soothing words, many reassurances that she’s not kicking Steve out, and the recruitment of her husband before the situation was calmed down. It’s only then that Steve - dry-eyed now - suggests, “I can call my mama.”

This is what Maria was trying to accomplish in the first place.

She takes Steve into the living room where their landline was. He dials his phone number carefully as her, her husband David, and Tommy watch. He gives her a reassuring smile, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Mama! It’s Steve,” He says into the receiver. “I’m at Tommy’s. He’s my best friend and his mama said I can stay the night. Love you. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up the phone before Maria could ask for it and informs her, “Mama is a super busy lady. She’s goin’ to the - to the store. She says she loves you.”

The boys run off to continue playing while Maria processes what the hell just happened. She’s still processing when David picks up the phone and presses the same buttons Steve had.

He holds the phone to his ear and gets the answering machine for, “The fucking Harringtons?”

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

now on ao3!

------------

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[captain-flint]

can't stop thinking about the "hen wants us to hang around and sign [denny's] cast" because all i see is tommy standing in the back of the hospital room, just happy to be there, while everyone signs denny's cast, but he doesn't make a move to do the same bc he's a stranger to denny and it doesn't really feel right (yet). it's a bittersweet moment for him and he gets a little lost in his head about it until the sudden quiet in the room snaps him out of it. everyone's eyes are on him, and denny, with a smile on his face, is waving a sharpie in his direction, asking for his signature too. tommy looks confused at first, then surprised and a little bit scared that someone might react as he looks quickly from one member of the 118 to another.. and then his eyes land on hen, she smiles and nods her head towards denny's cast like 'go on then'

[saintaviator]

something something gman tommy something something gordon in stasis. you know how it is.

[chimneyz]

we all know buck's new home isn't going to feel like home until buck gets fucked senseless by tommy and fucks tommy senseless in it