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it's so funny when buck and tommy are in a scene together and they look normal sized. look at my lil guys. and then someone else appears next to them and i go oh my god they're giants

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cant even enjoy my somno kink. because of woke

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the problem with water is like. it's the cleaning fluid right. that's the obvious part. you stop drinking and you stop peeing and your kidneys are like ough. ough. ough. ough. but you don't die. unless you're not drinking anything At All and not eating watery food either. so all it is is you pee less but you're okay. kind of.

BUT THEN when it gets too hot it starts being the coolant! and suddenly there are so many ways it can get out! you have so many sweat glands and so much skin and they all need to be cooled down before you DIE.

but then. you realize the least obvious one. it's the transmission fluid. it's the fucking transmission fluid. you can't transmit SHIT without your fliud. which is still fucking water somehow.

so now you're LEAKING your transmission fluid out of every goddamn pore and your kidneys are like hey. gimme that cleaning fluid cmon dude. while your pores are like ITS COOLANT. NEED COOLANT. FOR THE FIRE. NEED MORE COOLANT. SO MUCH FIRE. KILL IT. KILL IT MORE. MORE COOLANT. and then. the rest of you. that uses all that fluid to transmit things. it's like hey. hey. hey what the fuck.. i need that. hello? can anyone hear me? hello? it's so dark in here..

and then you drink more water or you die.

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I desperately need clingy Buck and possessive Tommy

Optional sentence prompt I came up with for this: "You can keep this up or I can carry you out of here. Your choice."

Also, I'm blowing you hundreds of kisses, Ed

(THERE'S DADDY KINK. Also Buck's been drinking, but he's able to give enthusiastic consent, and a minor addition was made to the prompt.)

It's late when Tommy gets the messages from Hen and Ravi. They're at a bar as a "team-building exercise," and he's been getting steadily less intelligible messages from his boyfriend all night. They've devolved into emojis and pouty or smiling selfies.

Ravi sends a photo of Evan balancing a glass on his forehead while he laughs about something. It's blurry and the lighting sucks, but he's still beautiful.

The ones from Hen are a series of selfies with her and Evan until it's Evan with his head on his arms at the bar and a sleepy smile on his face.

Come get your man!!

Tommy grabs his keys, having prepared for this eventuality, and heads out to his truck. He has to disconnect his phone from the truck because he's getting texts every few minutes from different 118 members and in two different group chats, one called "Firefighters ONLY 🔥🚒🧯" and one called "Buckley-Han-Kinard GC 👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻👨🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻."

When he gets to the bar, Karen is already there to grab Ravi and Hen, Eddie and Chimney are holding each other up and scream-singing a Bon Jovi song into invisible microphones while they presumably wait for Maddie or an Uber, and then there's Evan.

Evan is still at the bar, twirling a cocktail umbrella between his fingertips, and he's laughing at the bartender. The bartender who's hot and tall and lean and smiling at his boyfriend like he realizes how special this guy could be.

"--wild. I mean, crazy. LA is a weird place sometimes," Evan's saying.

"Hey," Tommy says, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. "I hear you might need a ride."

Evan turns the barstool toward him and grins before flicking his eyes over Tommy and licking his lips. "You could say that."

"You know this guy?" the bartender asks, which is technically fair. Evan's a visibly drunk man, Tommy is totally sober, but it doesn't feel completely sincere.

"This...is Tommy," Evan says with a happy sigh, curling a hand in the pocket of Tommy's hoodie and tugging him between his legs. "Hey, Daddy. You came allll the way here for me?"

Tommy smiles, curling a hand around the back of Evan's neck and watching the way his pupils dilate. "Not the furthest I've gone for you, baby. C'mon, let's go home."

"Bathroom, then home," he says, hopping to his feet. He holds Tommy's bicep for a second before staggering off toward the bathrooms.

"Sorry, I assumed Tommy was some guy he worked with," the bartender says as Tommy pulls out his wallet. "He never said anything about you being his boyfriend."

"Because he assumes everyone knows," Tommy says. "Does he have a tab?"

"Definitely," he says. "There's a card--"

"Swap it for this one, if you can," Tommy says, holding out his card with a smile that he hopes is more sincere than it feels. "Thanks."

As he signs for the ridiculous bar tab, his phone keeps buzzing in his pocket. When he pulls it out, he's got ten messages from his boyfriend. They're all peach and eggplant and tongue emojis and question marks. The last one is just a sad-eyed emoji. He slides the receipt back over and turns to go to the bathroom.

"Finally," Evan says, grabbing his hoodie and pulling him into the accessible stall. "I was texting you for so long"

"We're not that far from the house," Tommy points out just before he's pulled into a kiss.

"Mm, want you now, though," he murmurs, tipping his chin down and looking at him through his lashes, and Tommy crumbles like sand. "I missed you."

He grinds against Evan and watches the way his already pink cheeks flush darker and how his teeth bite into his bottom lip to muffle any noises and feels a sharp stab of satisfaction. "Seemed like you had someone to keep you company, though."

Evan huffs out a laugh, hitching a leg up around Tommy's hip and rolling his hips against Tommy's like he's riding his cock. Tommy can almost feel the phantom squeeze of Evan's hole around him and drops his face into his neck with a low groan.

"You jealous, Daddy?" Evan asks softly, nipping at his ear. "You think that guy or anyone could get me away from you?"

Tommy shakes against him, pressing him harder against the tiled wall. "I--"

He drags his lips down Tommy's ear and kisses his earlobe so sweetly, like he's not trying to make Tommy cum in his pants. "Wanna know what I was thinking about all night?"

"Yeah," Tommy breathes, digging his fingers into Evan's hip and waist, wanting bruises to bloom under his touch. Evan's pressing into his back like he's trying to do the same thing, and Tommy wishes he wasn't wearing this hoodie so he could have bruises and scratches all over his back to show the whole world that his boy wants to leave his mark.

"I--"

Evan's cut off by the door opening, and Tommy stills against him while they wait for whoever to use the urinal or the next stall. Instead, they knock on the stall door, and Evan freezes completely.

"Yeah, you guys gotta get out of there," the bartender says.

"Sorry," Evan says, not sounding the least bit sorry, and Tommy has to press his lips between his teeth so he won't burst out laughing. "Be, uh, be out in a sec."

They adjust themselves, and Tommy tugs his hoodie down. When they unlock the stall, the bartender is already leaving without a backwards glance. Evan flips him off, and Tommy scrambles to grab his hand just in case the guy turns around to make sure they're not going back into the stall.

"He cockblocked me, so--mmph." Tommy presses his other hand to Evan's mouth and hates that the way his eyes sparkle and narrow from the grin Tommy can feel against his palm makes him want to lock the door and risk getting a cop on their ass instead.

"Evan," he says softly, and Evan hums before licking his palm, "sweetheart. Love of my life. We need to leave."

Evan kisses his palm before lifting it away, threading their fingers together. "Okay."

Tommy leans over just as they exit the bathroom. "Good boy," he murmurs, and Evan's hand squeezes his tight.

Maddie is sitting at the curb and seemingly trying to get Chimney to get in the car.

"Nope, my wife's gonna be mad at me," Chimney says loudly and to the sky.

"I am your wife, get in," she says, opening the driver's side door. "A little help here?"

Tommy grabs Chimney by the shoulders and steers him toward the car. "Hey, I found Maddie for you."

"Aw, thanks, man," he says, patting Tommy's hand heavily. "Whoa, dude, your hands are huge."

"I know," Evan sighs happily, opening the passenger door. Except Eddie's sitting there.

"I called shotgun," Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, my god," Tommy says, yanking the back door open and pushing Chimney in. "Buckle your seatbelt, Howard."

"Ooh, he used his Daddy voice," Evan taunts.

Maddie hugs Tommy and shoves her brother toward him so she can close the doors. "Thank you, I'm going home and throwing these two on the sofa and ignoring what I just heard my brother say."

"Appreciate it," Tommy says dryly.

They get to the truck, where Tommy has to warn Evan to behave lest they get into an accident, and Evan hums along with the music until they get to the house. When Tommy parks and gets out, he realizes Evan hasn't followed him and opens his door.

Evan, it seems, had counted on this happening. He turns toward him, hauls Tommy in by his hoodie, and kisses him, wrapping a leg around his waist.

"Wanna cum, Daddy, please," he begs softly. "I was good on the ride home."

Tommy groans, his hands going under Evan's shirt to grip his side and back again. "I know you were, baby, I know. You can keep this up or I can carry you inside and fuck you the way you want. Your choice."

Evan wraps all of his limbs around Tommy with a grin and a happy little wiggle. "Not really much of a choice."

"Well, I figured it wouldn't hurt to check," Tommy teases, lifting him after handing Evan the house keys.

Getting inside is harder than it should be, but Evan is definitely still pretty buzzed. He keeps giggling while he tries to reach around Tommy for the door lock, and when he finally gets the door open, he nearly unbalances them trying to grab Tommy's ass.

"But I want it," Evan says, rocking against him with a bratty little smile. "Just sit on my face for a bit before you fuck me. Please? Please, Daddy?"

Tommy dumps him on the sofa and starts taking off his clothes. "Whatever my boy wants."

Evan takes off his shirt and makes grabby hands as soon as Tommy's naked, slumping down on their sofa with a happy sigh.

"That can't possibly be comfortable," Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. It looks like Evan's entire body from the waist down is off the couch, and he seems to be doing a constant hip thrust.

"Says you," Evan shoots back, threading his fingers behind his head and grinning. He flexes his pecs, which are flushed as pink as his face, and Tommy's eyes bounce between them, Evan's pits, and his face. "C'mon, Daddy. Give your boy what he wants."

Tommy sits astride Evan's face, facing his feet so he can squeeze Evan's pecs and pinch his nipples. When he leans forward to unzip his jeans, he pulls Evan's cock through the fly of his underwear and watches it twitch and leak while he plays with his perfect, perky, soft tits. All the while, Evan's eating his ass like a man possessed, wrapping his arms around Tommy's thighs to pull him all the way down.

"F-fuck, gotta stop," Tommy whines, grinding back on his tongue and squeezing Evan's pecs so he won't touch his own cock. "Gotta stop or I'll cum."

Evan lets him up, wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, and grins. "Here's the thing about that guy. Even if I was single and even if I went home with him," he says, shoving his jeans down before shuffling back onto the sofa, "he's not gonna give me the full Daddy experience. Who else is gonna sit on my face and then fuck me until I can't walk? No one. That's--that's why I love you. It's not the only reason, but it's on the list. The secret list. I don't tell people that list, 'cause I can't really talk about the thing your face does when I edge you all day in my wedding vows."

Tommy, whose legs feel like Jell-O and had just been contemplating grabbing a toy so he could have something in his ass while he fucks Evan, feels like he might be the one who's drunk.

Wedding vows.

Wedding vows.

"What?" Evan asks, smiling and wrapping his hand around his cock. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"I love you, you ridiculous, beautiful brat," Tommy says, bending over to kiss him. "Don't move, I need to get some stuff. And then I'm going to come back in here and fuck you until you cum all over yourself. And then I'm going to tuck you into bed."

"Full. Daddy. Experience," Evan says, punctuating each word with a jab between Tommy's pecs and a quick kiss to his lips. "Love you."

Tommy keeps looking over his shoulder on his way to their room, reluctant to let Evan out of his sight. He doesn't think anything's going to happen to him, he just wants to see him every second of every day for the rest of their lives.

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I really love your fics! I'm in a bad flare up rn and want someone else to suffer, so my bucktommy prompt is: hurt/comfort and chronic (chronic pain, chronic illness, etc)

The thing about having a repaired left leg is that, no matter how good it holds up, it still carries the memories of the damage. Some days Buck is able to ignore any mild twinges of discomfort and focus on his work. Other days, like today, he is giving serious thought to chewing off the limb with his own teeth.

No one notices him white knuckling through the last call of the shift, which is good, because the last thing Buck wants is to be unable to hold up his own end. But the pain is a constant throbbing soreness that occasionally deviates into a stabbing agony, and he has to take slow, deep breaths to keep walking. He almost wishes it was a fire they had been responding to, because then adrenaline will help suppress the aches and pains.

In the shower, tears of frustration and agony are pouring from his eyes, disguised by the tepid spray. He manages to hold it together until he gets to his locker, when his left leg decides that it is done for the day and buckles abruptly, sending him to the floor.

"Buck?" Eddie hurries over and helps him to the bench. "What the hell? Did you strain yourself?"

"I'm fine," Buck says, perspiration beading over his brow. "I just need a couple minutes."

Eddie stares at him. "As if. I'll drive you home."

"No, don't," Buck grits out.

"You're in no shape to drive."

"No, I meant, drive me to Tommy's." Buck hates the way his voice wobbles. "No stairs to the guest bedroom."

With a sympathetic pat on his shoulder, Eddie sits with Buck until the latter is able to stand, and they walk/hobble to Eddie's truck. Bending his leg to get in the truck brings tears to Buck's eyes.

Before he starts the engine, Eddie asks, "You want to text Tommy? Or do you want me to give him a call?"

"I have a key, I can let us in."

Eddie snorts. "Not about that. I meant, to help get a hot bath ready, prep your painkillers, sort of thing?"

Buck almost says no. Almost. Because if he had asked this of Taylor or Natalia or Ali or even Abby, it'd have felt like an imposition.

But this is Tommy. Tommy likes making sure he's comfortable, likes keeping him warm and fed and happy.

"Yeah, you can call him," Buck says quietly.

He rolls the hem of his tee shirt in his fingers as Tommy's voice comes over speakerphone. Eddie updates him rapidly, and Buck tries not to tear up when Tommy immediately says, "I'll get everything ready. Drive safe, Eddie, and Evan, sweetheart? Don't worry, I'll take care of you once you're home. See you in a bit."

Eddie hangs up. "He's a good one."

Buck bites his knuckle when another spasm of pain ripples through his left leg. Yet it feels almost bearable now that he has Tommy's care to look forward to. "Yeah, he really is."

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— beartown, fredrik backman

for @littlespooneven ♡

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happy pride month to the biggest ally around

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chim’s got some new bling

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i don’t know how to explain to you people that no matter what a country’s government is like i do not and will not support the US indiscriminately bombing that country’s civilians and i don’t know why that’s a controversial take tbh

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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

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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.

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he was so happy to see him

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THERE IS. a website. that takes 3D models with seams and pulls it apart to make a plushie pattern and informs you where things need to be edited or darts added for the best effect. and then it lets you scale it and print off your pattern. and I want to lose my MIND because I've lost steam halfway through so many plushie patterns in the mind numbing in betweens of unwrapping, copying all of the meshes down as pieces, transferring those, testing them, then finding obvious tweaks... like... this would eradicate 99% of my trial and error workflow for 3D models to plushies & MAYBE ILL FINALLY FINISH SCREAMTAIL...

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A boy can dream, can't he?

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Posted by estudios_official on Instagram April 26, 2021 || Photography by Erik Anthony Johnson

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Sometimes I think about those high res Jupiter pics and then think about Van Gogh and get emotional because it’s like this one, lonely man that didn’t experience an ounce of fame or recognition in his life time had the image of the universe in his head and he didn’t know it.