#what is coda

[creativepromptsforwriting]

What is... Coda?

Coda, which can also be called an episode tag, is similar to a missing scene. It also refers to a scene being added onto the canon storyline. But while a missing scene can be found at any point in the story, coda specifically refers to a scene at the end of an episode. Therefore, it works as an epilogue that the author creates to end the original source material.

This is especially popular when an episode leaves something open at the end and it is not revisited when the next episode continues. So it can also be seen as a missing scene between episodes. Another popular use for it is as speculation for what is going to happen next.

This leads to another difference between missing scenes and coda: missing scenes usually fit right into canon to fill gaps and don't really change it, while coda comes at the end of an episode and can therefore stray from what is actually happening in the next episodes.

Some fanfic authors specialize in these episode tags and create them for every episode. They tend to stray further from canon with every episode, but they can be a fun companion piece to read after watching each episode and reading the story basically written by someone else.

[apollabarnes]

transfers are(n't) for kids

it was hard to stop a train once it got started. buck still wasn't sure he wanted to. 8x18 coda. canon compliant? pardon the terrible trix joke, it amused me.

"Han!" The bellow shook the station. "Get your scrawny ass down here right now."

Chimney put his coffee cup down slowly, dusting off his pants. "'Scuse me, everybody," he said calmly. "I heard my name."

Hen snorted into her drink. "Bakersfield heard your name," she said, abandoning the table and heading for the railing. "This should be good."

Buck hesitated for a beat longer than everyone else, only moving when Ravi knocked his hand against Buck's shoulder. He hovered a step behind Ravi, worried that if he got too close to the front the two of them would notice him and the argument would escalate.

"So," the enormous man on the apparatus floor said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to explain why, on the day my new transfer's supposed to be starting, I get a call from the Chief saying whoopsie?"

"I was short a guy, turns out. Buck agreed to cancel the transfer," Chim said easily, tipping his chin up and meeting the other man's stare.

Ravi turned to Buck, his eyebrows jumping up. "That's you," he mouthed, pointing at the showdown. Buck elbowed Ravi cautiously, grinning when he shoved back at him.

"Bullshit, Howie. We both know you're not good at keeping yourself on the sidelines. And I'm down two guys — or gals, Wilson — so you can get yourself to the back of the line."

"Today was supposed to be your last day?" Ravi whispered, not looking away from the floor.

Buck shrugged. When Chim had asked for, and gotten, the captaincy it just seemed easier to give him time to grow into the role without having to train someone new at the same time. Besides, if the station was just a number now, it wasn't like going somewhere else was going to mean he'd be somewhere more like Bobby's station. At least here he had Ravi to partner up with.

"Who's that?" Buck asked Ravi, leaning in close. He hadn't paid much attention, or asked too many questions, when he'd handed in his transfer paperwork. The Chief had told him he'd send the assignment along when it was figured out, but then Buck had pulled his name from consideration and… well, it hadn't mattered then.

"Deluca, 122. You really don't do the whole firehouse gossip thing, do you?" Ravi asked him, amused.

"I mean the fun stuff, sure. Rodriguez over at the 126 ended up going to a furry convention by 'accident'," Buck told Ravi, waggling his eyebrows.

"He used to work with Chimney and Hen back in the day," Ravi continued, making a face at him.

"Huh." Buck inched closer to the railing, peering over it. Deluca wasn't menacing Chim, exactly, but he did have enough height on him that there was some looming going on. He might even have a little height on Buck. "He looks… tall."

"Chim's compact," Hen said easily, knocking her arm against Buck's gently. "But he's scrappy. He's got this."

Deluca lowered his voice and kept going, gesticulating wildly at Chim's equally quiet response. Buck found himself wishing they were still bellowing. He couldn't help but feel a little invested in what appeared to be a fight over himself. He wasn't sure who he wanted to win.

"Do not make me arm wrestle—" Deluca's voice rose, amused, before dipping low again.

"Don't do it, Chim!" Hen hollered.

Sal and Chimney both glanced up at that, seemingly realizing that everyone on shift was paying rapt attention to what was going on. Buck was pretty sure the only thing that would break their concentration was the bell or a knock down drag out argument in the loft. He found himself glancing over at Eddie, sighing when he kept his eyes focused forwards.

"That doesn't seem very ride or die," Ravi said smugly, shuffling closer to Buck. He knocked their shoulders together and Buck grinned tiredly at him.

"Sal held the station record for almost a decade," Hen shot back. "It's very ride or die to make sure Chim doesn't embarrass himself."

Chimney stepped towards Sal, making him take a step back. Buck held his breath, looking between them as they kept talking, volleying back and forth. "Does this feel like a tennis game to anyone else?" Buck wondered quietly.

"Fine," Chim snapped his gum, irritated. "But only until your chicken pox epidemic clears up."

"Pleasure doing business," Sal drawled, draping an arm over Howie's shoulders. "Buckley, grab your gear. We're headed out." He looked up to the loft, finding Buck immediately. Buck blinked, taking half a step back before he stopped. Obviously he would have gotten Buck's file from the chief, it wasn't weird that he could pick Buck out of a crowd.

Hen squeezed Buck's hand, her mouth pursed in a frown. "Hang in there, Buck. He's not as cranky as he sounds. Promise."

"The rest of you, what are you, new? No one taught you how to eavesdrop stealthily? Come on, that's embarrassing."

The bell went off.

Sal gestured to Buck, loping up the loft stairs after everyone had cleared out. The silence hung between them, muffling the sound of the disappearing sirens. Sal caved first, taking a deep breath. Buck smirked, just a little.

"Who really cancelled the transfer?" Sal asked, eyeing him up and down.

Buck shrugged. It wasn't as if it mattered. He was here at the 118 with everyone else.

"Your brother-in-law got captain and asked you to stay, so you did. Noble, but," Sal headed into the kitchen, picking through one of the boxes of doughnuts that Ravi had brought in, grabbing one for himself. "Howie can handle himself. I, however, need someone to hold my hand," Sal continued, taking an enormous bite out of it. Buck stared at the smear of powdered sugar on his cheek.

"Uh, you have a little something just… yeah." Buck nodded, watching Sal grab a napkin. "This the kind of hand holding you're looking for?"

"Okay, not into metaphors. I didn't mean literally, but I had a guy leave and then three of my squad go down with the pox in rapid succession. So. Arm Wrestle Mania 25 commenced."

"You didn't arm wrestle Chim," Buck said, feeling off-kilter. He wasn't sure what Captain Sal Deluca, 122, wanted from him, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to make it happen.

"Hell no, I'd probably break his wrist and he's got a baby to hold. Nah, Wrestle Mania was with the other stations that needed staffing."

"Multiple stations arm wrestled. Over avoiding having to take me," Buck said flatly. "I'm honoured."

"Oh, you misunderstand. Everyone wanted you." Sal finished off his doughnut, looking back in the box. "What the hell." He took another. "You got a car here?"

Buck shook his head. "Yearly service. I got a ride."

"Perfect. Grab your shit, let's blow this pop stand."

Buck trailed him back down the stairs, emptying his locker out on autopilot. "Wait — multiple stations wanted me?"

"Yeah, but I'm bigger and scarier so I won." Sal looked over his shoulder, frowning at the expression on Buck's face. "You're surprised."

"The, uh, the lawsuit, I thought…" Buck shrugged. "Kind of a liability."

"Once in nine years? Hell, Buckley, if you were gonna be a pest about it, there'd be more than one. Personally, I would have sued a few times — the hell was that heist accusation about? Or the lightning? Or hey, leaving your captain to rot at the bottom of the ocean because there wasn't enough proof they were out there." That last one came with air quotes and startled a laugh out of Buck.

"It wasn't a nuisance lawsuit, and honestly, a bunch of us tore a strip off the union for not taking care of it before it got that far," Sal continued, opening the trunk of the captain's truck. "In here. You've got one of the best records from both trips through the academy, you've pulled off some crazy ass rescues, and you're basically fearless. Seeing your name on the transfer list had me racing Mehta to the Chief's office."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks, I guess?" Buck said, trailing behind him. He dumped his bags, sliding into the passenger seat when Sal went for the driver's.

"Yeah, no problem. Like I said, not a hardship." Sal waited until Buck was settled before flipping his phone into Buck's lap. "Can you type a reply to that? We public servants should be safe drivers, and all," he added, winking at Buck.

"Sure, uh — the contact name is a donkey emoji?" Buck squinted at the phone. "Are you sure you want to give me your lock code five minutes after we met?"

"There isn't one; I do this a lot. Just open and start typing what I say. The donkey is because he's being a jackass. He can get his contact information back when he gets his head screwed on straight — I do want you typing that, Buckley."

"Oh, right, got it." Buck quirked an eyebrow, typing quickly.

"Had to steal my new transfer back, on the road, Gina says you need to come for dinner soon, uh," Sal tapped his fingers against the wheel, coming to a stop at the red light. "What was his question, again?"

"If you wanted to go to the game tomorrow? What game?"

Sal looked sideways at him. "Angels. Jackass and I split a couple seats with a group, but since we organized it we get to dibs the good games. Not that there are many, because they're the fucking Angels. But it's that or the National League and fuck that," He paused. "What do you prefer, by the way? Buckley? Buck? It's Evan, yeah?"

Buck shrugged. Maybe it was time to try out a new one. New house, new name, new… attitude? Maybe. Bobby had thought his attitude was good, it was just everyone else that seemed to have a problem with it these days. "Really not picky. I'll answer to anything."

"Okay, we'll let Ferb at ya when we get there. Not his actual name, he just likes the cartoon. —Can't make the game, covering for B shift, fucking pox, Stella is in her sports phase again — that's my kid, jackass is her godfather, or would be if either of us were into that kind of crap — if he wants to take her for some quality bonding time."

"He's asking who the transfer is."

Sal snorted. "You can probably answer that one without my help."

Buck cracked a grin at that, typing out his name and station. The response came back immediately and Buck frowned down at the phone. "He says sure and he's gotta go."

"Yeah, he hates when I dictate to someone else." Sal shrugged. "Dickhead. It's not like I'm sharing private information out loud."

"Well, so far I know that he's a jackass and he's your daughter's uncle, so. How private does he think that information is?"

"Sometimes I think he hates it when folks know his last name," Sal cackled. He pulled into the station parking lit, popping the trunk. "We can get you set up at Jonesy's locker for now — he's the one that left." He paused. "They're gonna be loud."

Sal hopped out of the truck and hoisted both of Buck's bags over his shoulder before Buck could get out of his seat. He waved Buck off when he tried to take one. "I got this, relax kid. Buckle up."

They walked into whoops and cheers from the loft, the entire shift hanging over the railing. One of the younger firefighters climbed onto the bottom rung of the railing and leaned forward, warbling "All hail the conquering hero!" as they passed the back of the engine. He got yanked back before he could fall by a guy Buck's age, laughing.

"All right, all right, shut up," Sal called, pointing up at the loft. "This is Buckley, nickname to be determined. I had to arm wrestle my way to the front of the line for him, unlike you jokers, so if anyone scares him off…" Sal trailed off threateningly.

"You like hash brown casserole?"

"I've got a fifty-point nickname survey!"

"Ferb, Sal just said don't scare him away!"

"Nerds," Sal said to Buck, his voice fond. "Give him a minute to get settled! Then you can all start asking him about himself. We've got a month, so pace yourselves."

[screamlet]

new fic: 8x15/16 interstitial

about 800 words of seriously nothing. i'm fascinated by those two weeks between 8x15 and 8x16, so there might be a few short things set here and there.

---

It's been two days since Bobby died. It's early afternoon and no one has needed Buck yet, so he's cleaning the kitchen and trying not to flip out about Tommy being gone.

Not that he's gone. He's outside talking to someone on the phone, and Buck is doing his best to make this old linoleum sparkle so he doesn't creep up to the door and try to eavesdrop. Still, it's Buck so he can't help but quietly catastrophize.

Tommy has spent every hour since the lab disaster with Buck, and he has his first shift back in the morning. He's probably talking to his captain, or that colonel, or someone about whether he actually can go to work, or whether he's only on ground duty, or whether he's suspended. Maybe he's one of the volunteers from around the LAFD who are taking shifts at the 118 until everyone is back on duty, and he's going to be grabbing his stuff from Harbor and using Buck's locker, and—and maybe he'll be out there, in danger, and Buck will be here waiting for the next thing, waiting for something.

Before Buck can come up with a new set of anxieties that make him feel like his lunch is coming back up, the front door opens and shuts. Tommy's steady footsteps are coming to find him, nothing different about them, the same footsteps he's been hearing around the house for days. Sometimes they're all Buck hears when he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling or the wall or out the bedroom window as a silent horror movie marathon plays in his head.

"Hey," Tommy says as he comes up behind him. He stands next to Buck at the sink and rests a hand on his back. "I was just on the phone with my captain and the chief."

"Oh wow, the chief, huh?" Buck looks down at his hands, thinking that was a little bitchy.

"He's very invested in my reckless insanity that keeps saving people's lives," Tommy replies. "Another spring, another—"

"Yeah," Buck interrupts. If he has to think about where they were a year ago, where all of them were a year ago, he might not make it through the conversation. "So what'd you guys talk about?" Buck clears his throat. "Your shift tomorrow?"

Tommy's hand rests heavier on Buck's back; force of habit, or need, or something, Buck leans into it.

"They said I was cleared to go back, regular duty, nothing on my record. No medal this time since they don't want the whole supervirus thing to get out," Tommy says. "But I told them I'm taking some bereavement leave. At least a week. More, if I need it."

Buck's head whips around, his eyes boring into Tommy's. "What?"

"Yeah, see, they knew I was at the 118. Hence the whole ride-or-die, if they need me I'll come running thing, but I'm taking the leave to support my partner." Tommy's eyes meet Buck's for a moment, then drop. "So I'll be here however long you need me. If you need me."

"Need you?" Buck asks. "Or want you?"

Tommy meets his eyes again. It's that same timid look from their beyond-stupid morning after; they've had other ones since then, better in some ways and (much) worse in others. "I'm okay being a workhorse, Evan. You don't—"

"I want you," Buck says. "In every way, Tommy. Every way."

Tommy nods, even brings himself to smile. Buck does, too; he can't help it. It's been two days of automated tasks and emptiness and pain and helplessness, but he's smiled, too. There have been flashes of happiness, like tiny sparks in this darkness because Tommy's here. Because Buck's not alone. Because Buck's here with Tommy.

Another tiny spark, like a flare shot into the night, as their eyes meet and Buck leans in for a kiss. It's so gentle, barely a press of their lips against each other, but it hurts, too. God, it physically hurts to kiss Tommy and feel—light. Feel relief, hope, even joy. It hurts to feel them, even as it's hurt to be without them.

Tommy opens his eyes, immediately searching Buck's face for something. "So that was okay?"

A smile fights its way onto his face. "As always," Buck says, "It's better than fake mouth static."

Tommy laughs, and Buck feels like he'd been holding his breath until this moment. Tommy should never go that long without laughing, ever again. "I really did myself a favor, setting a bar that low."

"Who said it was low?" Buck asks. "You don't see anyone else up here with us, do you?"

Tommy's eyes drop to Buck's lips and he kisses him again, gentle and light. "No. No, I guess not."

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,” he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[whiskeyswifty]

the way clara bow is written both with the optimism she once had and the hindsight she has now, layering both often at the same time. you'd be picked like a rose both in how in the moment she felt beautiful, chosen as the most beautiful one adored by all, but she knows now that cutting her stem froze her as she was, never allowed to grow further, only slowly fading until she's a dried, dull husk of what she once was, pressed between the pages of someone else's book. also the crown is stained but you're the real queen both in how she felt holier than thou once crowned, and the mistakes of the fallen monarchs were markers of their own unworthiness but she is the real queen; she is different because she is pure and true and deserves it. but writing it now, she knows that the crown was stained not just from previous owners, but with blood shed by her own hands, and how it will never be scrubbed clean because of horrors she had to endure to get it that she will never entirely suppress and what she will have have to continue to do to keep it. however my favorite is I'm not trying to exaggerate but I think I might die if it happened to me... Die if I made it.... both in how as a young dreamer she felt so small and it felt so impossible, the shock of knowing she would achieve fame and fortune would nearly kill her. but she knows now the grim truth in what was once hyperbolic, how when it did happen, the breaks didn't come gently and the beast that is beauty tore her to shreds. parts of her at least, and perhaps the most significantly that little dreamer who scribbled that unintended prophecy in her diary decades ago. she made it and slowly and brutally and quietly without fanfare, she died. it harkens back to the lucky one, when she was just embarking on her rocket to fame and fortune, and she pondered another name goes up in lights. You wonder if you'll make it out alive. clara bow seems to answer that question with no, you won't, but nobody before you made it out alive either, not fully, not whole. the machine grinds ever on and on and there was never any other way.

[hotshotsxyz]

beer & apologies

(buddie) (722 words) (7x04 coda)

It’s late, later than any reasonable person would show up on a friend’s doorstep, but Buck’s got this bright, warm feeling in his chest and all he wants to do is apologize so he can share it. For a split second he thinks about knocking, but that feels a little too much like going backwards. Instead, he lets himself in and hangs his key on the hook.

“Eddie,” he calls quietly into the still house.

“Kitchen.” The reply is soft, easy, like Eddie was expecting him.

Buck steps into the room and holds up the beer he brought.

Eddie looks up at him and grins, soft and warm in the glow of the lamplight. “What’s that for?”

“This is ‘sorry for acting like a teenager and spraining your ankle’ beer,” Buck says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Seriously, I’m sorry.”

Eddie sighs and pushes an empty chair back from the table with his foot, gesturing for Buck to sit. “I’m sorry too,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t—" Buck starts.

“Yeah, I do,” Eddie interrupts with a wry grin. “You should definitely be sorry-er, though, so I’ll take the beer.”

Buck snorts and sits, setting the six pack on the table between them.

“We didn’t—well, I didn’t…”

“I know,” Buck says. “I was just—”

“I know,” Eddie says softly.

A few, quiet moments pass, and it’s comfortable, exactly what Buck was missing the last couple of days.

“Hey,” Eddie says suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “at least now I know why you always said no to basketball.” He smiles, loose and just a tiny bit mischievous.

Buck splutters. “What? No! I wasn’t that bad,” he protests.

Eddie lifts his injured ankle and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well maybe, but—”

“Uh-uh,” Eddie says, “no buts. You haven many talents, Buck, but basketball isn’t one of them.”

Buck ducks his head and grins. “Maybe I’ll get Tommy to teach me, then I can beat you without playing dirty.” Saying Tommy’s name out loud gives birth to a few giddy butterflies in his stomach.

“You two make up?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “He uh—texted me.” The butterflies turn to little rocks.

“Good,” Eddie says, “that’s good.” He grabs a beer and twists the top off. “I really think you guys will get along, if you give him a chance.”

“We, um. Yeah. We probably will.” Buck grabs a beer of his own and stares at the label.

He doesn’t—he didn’t mean to lie. It just kind of… came out. Which, it’s Eddie. Buck knows he could tell him exactly what happened, right now, and it’d be fine. It’d be completely fine because it’s Eddie and he knows Eddie would be cool about it, probably even happy for him! But when he goes to open his mouth it just. Doesn’t.

“How’s—uh. How’s Marisol?” he asks instead, tripping over his words.

Eddie shrugs. “She’s fine, same as always. Apparently Christopher got her to play Fortnite, which, according to him, was a disaster.”

Buck laughs, shaking his head. “That kid,” he says softly.

“That kid,” Eddie agrees. He takes another swig of beer and sits back.

“Hey, wait,” Buck says suddenly. He lurches forward and snags the bottle out of Eddie’s hand. “You can’t have this, you’re on pain killers.”

“It’s my apology beer!” Eddie protests.

“Nope, two sips is plenty. I can’t hurt your ankle and your liver on the same day.”

“It’s after midnight, it’s tomorrow,” Eddie pouts. “Give it.” He makes a halfhearted attempt to grab it back, but Buck holds the beer aloft.

“Nuh-uh, absolutely not,” Buck says. “You can drink your apology beer this weekend.”

“My apology beer is going to be flat and stale,” Eddie replies, unimpressed.

Buck rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy you a new apology beer, alright?”

“Promises, promises.”

“I will!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You better. Want to bring it over on Saturday? We can watch the game.”

Buck’s grin falters a little bit, even as that warm feeling bubbles up in his chest all over again. “I uh- can’t, sorry.”

“What, you got a hot date or something?” Eddie asks with a laugh.

Buck takes a long swallow from the beer he stole from Eddie. “Yeah, something,” he says with a hollow laugh.

He feels like a liar.

[allisonrw96]

Saw the episode. Ascended to a higher plane. Wrote a small Coda that is as messy as my brain is right now. Bone Apple Tea.

"Heyyyyyy Buck!" Eddie answers the phone with a drawn out salutation that proves Tommy was not lying about him being sent away from the hospital with the good drugs. Or, not lying about the prescription, but about Eddie actually taking them. It wasn't so long ago that Eddie would take enough medicine to avoid being in agony, but never quite enough to actually feel relief. He wouldn't do that for Tommy, however close they are. It's something that Eddie's doing for himself. Buck's stomach was a swarm of butterflies three seconds ago, but that and the floaty happy way Eddie still says his name, has him smiling again in his kitchen.

"Hey Eddie. I, um, I'm sorry to call so late. I just wanted to see how- how you were doing."

"Eh, I'll miss a shift or two. But Doc says I'll be ready to go for playoffs," Eddie answers.

Guilt twists through him, harsh and acidic and Buck says, "Well I'm glad to hear that. They say the team doesn't have a chance without you and your, um, sky dunk." Eddie laughs, giggles really, in reply and Buck says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. I don't know why I did that. I mean- I- I know why. I was jealous of you and- and Tommy-" Buck's heart flips as he says his name and he's afraid the kiss is going to come flying out of his mouth and down the phone line- "But I never wanted you to get hurt like that."

"You wanted me to get hurt different?" Eddie asks, still laughing, but Buck feels stricken.

"No! I- maybe. I don't know what I wanted. I lost my mind for a little bit."

"You were jealous," Eddie repeats.

"Yeah, I was."

A long sigh and Eddie says, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. I was the asshole. I could have- I knocked you out of your shoe."

"Do you have my shoe?" Eddie asks, more focused than he has been the rest of the conversation. Buck can hear him sitting up on the couch.

"Uh, no. No, I gave it to Chim. He's gonna give it to you when he sees you. And probably make about 50 Cinderella jokes."

"Right. He texted me. I remember."

"I'm sure he'll bring it by sooner if you need it. Or he could give it to Tommy." The flush is there again, hot down the back of his neck. Buck doesn't know how he's supposed to do this. Where is he supposed to keep all of this heat and possibility while he waits for Saturday.

"You don't like him."

"Who? Chim? He's growing on me."

"Tommy," Eddie answers in a tone that says duh. "You can't even say his name normal."

Of course Eddie can hear that. Of course he assumes that's the problem after the way Buck has acted since the moment they met the man. He thanks god that he decided to call instead of driving across town and checking on Eddie in person. His cheeks and his ears are burning like fire.

"He can tell, you know. We both can. He said he's going to come talk to you. Gave him your address. Wants to apologize." Eddie must have settled back down on the couch. He sounds sleepier, his sentences getting shorter and more breathy.

"He did. He um. He came by. We talked it out. I told him you guys didn't have anything to apologize for. I was the one who made it weird."

"So weird," Eddie agrees and Buck laughs. "You guys should be friends. He's awesome and you're awesome and we can all hang out together and it would be..."

"Awesome," Buck finishes. He thinks it might be.

"I forgot you don't know that."

"Know what?" Buck asks, when Eddie's mumble doesn't come with any additional clarification. "Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Never mind. Hey, you should get up and go to your bed. Sleeping on that couch is not going to help your ankle heal any faster."

"Tommy said that."

"Tommy's right. Come on."

Eddie groans as he sits up, cursing at Buck in what he thinks is under his breath, and asks, "You talked to Tommy?"

"Yeah, he just left."

"And we're okay? You like him now?"

Buck's blood roars through his ears and he wants to throw up and start laughing all at the same time. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Good."

He breathes through the sudden headrush as Eddie grumbles and hops his way off the couch and down the hall. Buck knows where he's finding his handholds by the echo off the walls and he winces when Eddie takes a misstep and swears again. He thinks for a second that he should be there, that he should help Eddie to bed, but Eddie would never let him. Buck wonders if Tommy would let him. He's wondering about so much now and he never did before.

"Hey, Eds?" The question is out before Buck realizes he's asking it, small and vulnerable, and he wants to claw it back and swallow it down before Eddie notices, but he doesn't have a chance.

"Yeah?"

Tommy kissed me. I want him to do it again.

"No, nothing. Just. I'm sorry. I was out of line."

"You were," Eddie answers. "And I forgive you."

Something settles in Buck then. A piece that had still been sitting off kilter and jamming painfully under his ribs. He takes a deep breath, and joy washes fully over him, calming and centering. He doesn't ask the question again though. He thinks he wants to keep this tiny, glowing treasure to himself. At least for a little while.

"Bring me my shoe back and we'll call it even."

Buck laughs, letting the sound ring out through his apartment and he can hear Eddie smiling on the other end of the phone.

[apricustar]

just had a thought what if—in trying to feel close to bobby—buck is the one who goes to confession and meets with father brian?

what if buck walks into that church—not out of faith, not in search of god—but because he’s trying to find bobby?

buck has never been a church guy. has never been a religious one, either. but bobby was. everyone knows how important bobby’s faith was to him.

in the early days, confession was almost a compulsion for bobby—when he was still caught in that spiral of guilt and trying to claw his way out. but later? it became peace. quiet. a routine of sorts; time for him to just be.

and now we have buck who is full of all these feelings. we haven’t seen him express any of them beyond 8x15 when the disbelief cracked him open and the grief poured out, raw and animal and real. ever since then he’s been holding everything in, stretching himself incredibly thin to show up and be there for everyone else because that’s what he took bobby’s final words to him to mean.

and the firehouse—the place that used to be representative of home, safety, comfort—is just full of reminder of what’s gone. bobby’s seat at the head of the table. bobby’s office. bobby’s apron hung in the pantry. his absence is everywhere. it’s heavy. grief with a name but nowhere to go.

and buck—he can’t walk through a single room without feeling it. without seeing bobby’s shape outlined by what’s no longer there. it’s not just loss. it’s presence, inverted.

so that’s why he goes to church. it’s not about praying or finding god. i think, really, it’s about needing somewhere to put the ache inside him. a place to feel close to bobby in a way that doesn’t feel haunted the way the firehouse does. this is grief trying to make sense of itself. this is buck stepping into a space bobby once held sacred, hoping maybe he’ll feel something.

maybe part of him is hoping for forgiveness—not for something he did, but for what he couldn’t stop. for not being able to save him. for still being here when bobby isn’t. for feeling like he isn’t doing enough for the team. but more than anything, he just wants to feel close to bobby. in any way possible, even if he doesn’t feel like he deserves to.

and maybe, without even planning to, he ends up in the confessional.

sits with his colt legs awkwardly folded underneath him. it smells like dust and old incense and something faintly like cedar. not unpleasant—just old, lived in. he has no idea what to say. no idea how to start. but he blurts something out like i’m not religious! or is there a correct way to confess?

and father brian simply says you don’t need to be or you don’t have to be religious to seek comfort here or there is no right way to start. just start.

and buck says the only thing he’s been holding in since bobby died: i miss him

at the end of the day, it’s not about belief; it’s about missing someone so much that you’ll sit anywhere they once felt whole, just to feel a little less empty.

it’s about finding the one place that still feels like theirs, and hoping—just hoping—that’s enough to feel close again.

[drowningparty]

I just think the polite, well-behaved young man who secretly enjoys murdering people with his bare hands and gouging their eyes out and the blood-splattered god who delights in carnage and gleefully exploding people with his mind should, hand in unloveable hand, embrace their primal rage, become avatars of the slaughter together, and be deliriously happy for all of 2 seconds before one of them invariably kills the other. and it would be a real coin toss who dies first

[drfranklangdon]

Inspired by @captain-flint's post.

“It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” Having a crew like this behind you – even when things go wrong.” Tommy reflects, watching the 118’s relief over the text in the group chat. The group chat Tommy isn’t in. Understandably. He’s only been with Evan for five months. It was nice enough for Evan to invite him to come to the hospital and wait for Denny to get out of surgery with everyone.

“Especially when things go wrong.” Evan replies, letting his gaze linger like he really wants Tommy to take it in. It works, because Tommy feels his insides become just that much squishier and his grip on his coffee cup tightens enough to crush the styrofoam if he isn’t careful. “Oh my god, that’s it.”

“What?”

“I know how to break the curse.” Great. More curse talk. A part of Tommy was hoping with the more pressing matters of Denny being in the hospital, maybe Evan could go a few hours without mentioning Billy Boils. But as he looks at the clock on the wall, he sees it’s only been forty-five minutes since his last ‘not so fun’ fact about the outlaw.

Tommy shakes his head and takes a sip from his cup as Evan starts typing up a plan in his notes app. A plan that no doubt involves Tommy. Which he’s more than okay with. No matter what they’re doing, as long as Tommy is with his boyfriend, he’s satisfied. He’d be a little more satisfied if he could kiss Evan without risking getting an infection – but at least it hasn’t got in the way of other activities, like the blowjob he gave him this morning.

***

Thirty or so minutes later, Karen gathers everyone so they can sign Denny’s cast. Tommy is the only one who doesn’t stand up. Evan grabs his hand and pulls him. “C’mon babe, you too.” He shoots his boyfriend a look that reads ‘are you sure?’ and Evan doubles down, pulling him up with both hands now.

Tommy agrees, but when they get to the room, he stays back in the doorway. He’s not part of the 118 extended family. There wasn’t one when he was at the station, and he hasn’t been back in their lives long enough to warrant an invitation to join just yet. Maybe when he and Evan get more serious. Maybe when he finally asks him to move in will he feel part of the posse he’s always craved.

Everyone lines up and starts signing Denny’s cast – drawing or writing inside jokes and messages Tommy knows nothing about. He’s never even met Denny formally. Maybe back in the day, Karen brought him to the station when she occasionally picked Hen up. But he would have been a child then. Fuck, he’s old – he’s reminded looking at the kid who’s taller than his moms now.

Denny’s cast, withstanding the signatures, looks the same as the one Tommy had the summer he moved to LA. He broke it falling down the stairs during his worse and final fight with his father. He discharged himself from the hospital, hopped on a bus to California, and crashed on his cousin’s couch until he was healed. Once he was cleared, he was immediately deployed, needing to get as far away from his father as possible. Not like the bastard was looking for him.

No one signed his cast that summer. Not even his cousin. Which he’s thankful for. The only thing more pathetic than a blank cast is a cast with one measly, pity signature on it.

Tommy understood loneliness. It had been suffused into his bones for as long as he could remember. He learned feeling alone the majority of the time was just part of life. He had friends, made himself useful so he could occasionally be invited over to help out with a task and maybe get offered a beer or to hang around after. It was a temporary band-aid on the perpetually alone feeling he’s accustomed to.

It worked fine for him. For forty (plus) years, Tommy had to find a way to be content with being the loneliness he was stuck with. He nursed his injuries by himself, learned to cook meals for one, found enjoyment in being the only one in the theater at an afternoon movie.

Then Evan Buckley came into his life. His wonderful, bright eyed, golden retriever of a boyfriend who’s happiest when he’s surrounded by loved ones. Over the past five months, Evan has shown Tommy how incredible it is to have someone constantly by your side. To have a ‘Morning babe!!’ text with a dozen emojis waiting for him when he woke up and another wishing him a good night before bed. Evan will stop at nothing to remind Tommy he’s welcome in his life – all of it.

Eddie too. It took two hang outs before he was inviting Tommy over to show Christopher flight sim. He’s never had a boyfriend like Evan or a best friend like Eddie. He feels almost spoiled about it. His heart doesn’t know what to do with all this affection. For so long, being on his own was he all he’s known. And now he can’t remember the last time his calendar wasn’t stacked with outings and hang outs. He hasn’t had a lonely night in, feeling miserable and self-loathing since the night he saved Bobby and Athena. Since the 118 returned to his life.

Tommy’s brought back from his thoughts when Eddie shoves him. Evan is staring at him – wait – everyone is staring at him. Then he sees Denny holding out the sharpie towards him. “Aren’t you gonna sign too …” He looks over to Hen and she mouths his name. “… Tommy, right. I knew that.” Everyone laughs, Tommy included.

Maybe he does belong.

[jynmelshian]

everything good about this season is amazing breathtakingly fantastically good but everything bad about it is the most disappointing dissatisfying baffling shit 😭 it doesn't make any sense because the bad stuff was so avoidable like I thought the andor writers were intelligent. and they prove themselves to be intelligent by writing 70% of the show intelligently and make the depth of it so gripping and believable. and then the other 30% is so underdeveloped and lackluster that it kind of blows my mind. Like what do you mean we never saw bix being a mechanic on yavin i don't understand. what do you mean cinta was killed by friendly fire and the only retribution we got from that was a tearful speech from her girlfriend who's had hardly any screen time herself. what do you MEAN brasso hasn't even been mentioned since episode 3 😭 and then it's hard to stay upset because every single other character has just had hit after hit after chart topping hit in their arcs. it's like the world's most tumultuous relationship i love this show but it makes me want to me tear my hair out when i think about it too much

[mamawasatesttube]

So I know you’ve mentioned it before but I just wanted to hear again your thoughts on Tim x Ives

ooohohohooo timives the gently doomed romance of it all ♥

in robin '93 and even briefly in rr09 ives is just always kind of there. he drifts out of tim's life sometimes, but he always drifts back in, later. and he's been tim's civilian best friend for so long, and tim knows so many of his secrets. they click. they don't judge each other. they make each other laugh. if tim's gonna fall for anyone he knows in his civilian life, of course it would be ives. who else has been there, been a constant, the way ives has? of course it's ives. but at the same time there's something so tasty about their contrast - the way tim runs headlong towards danger every time, while ives describes himself as a coward. the way tim feels like he has to protect him.

to me, ives is tim's first m/m relationship. it happens in a manner so cliché they both laugh at it: after taking a gap year or two, to wrangle his depression and his ptsd and his Everything, tim decides to get his ged and maybe try college (lucius tells him he'd make a great engineer at waynetech r&d, but he needs a degree for it, and he figures, okay, what the hell, he's already good at tinkering, how hard can getting a bachelor's degree in engineering be?). and then he remembers the difficult thing about being a vigilante and having a full courseload at the same time and goes AUGH. and ives, a year or two ahead of him in university classes (and majoring in something else, but still there) laughs at him. and offers to tutor him. and tim goes yeah fuck okay fine sure yeah. what the Fuck is a free body diagram. and ives laughs at him some more but also really does help him out. (when he gets really stuck and confused, especially on his second semester of chemistry, he phones up zoanne, but that's neither here nor there.)

so tim and ives have this cute little romance over study dates at cozy cafes, over accidentally running into each other at a queer student association meeting and going "oh!" about it, over movie nights at ives's apartment where they squabble over a bowl of popcorn and tim pretends he didn't sleep through the last half of the two towers, disc 2. and it feels nice, and easy, and simple...

...until it doesn't. because tim shows up to a study date with a black eye that even his best attempts at makeup can't fully hide. tim has to miss dinner, and then their rain check dinner, and only comes to the third attempt half an hour late and limping. tim is tired all the time. and he's always been sleepy all the time, but now ives is wondering. and they're making out one day and ives's hand curls over the back of tim's neck and then he recoils, because tim, what is all this scarring, what happened, holy shit is this why you grew out your hair and keep wearing turtlenecks?!

and tim goes. ah. fuck.

and it's only a matter of time. it has only ever been a matter of time. because ives knows him. but he's been lying to ives the entire time they've known each other. the other shoe has always been going to drop. it was only ever a question of when. never if.

so ives finds him out. and he's shocked, and hurt, and betrayed, but then he's even more distraught to realize that he's not that shocked. it makes sense - why tim's always tired, why tim has always been kind of flaky, why tim has always had weird injuries now and then, why tim is so unbothered in the face of things that terrify ives. but what gets him is that these are things he's thought were always just... tim. because tim has been lying to him the entire time they've known each other.

so they break up, but it's softer than it could've been. because ives gets it, he swears. he gets why tim lied. but this is... a lot, and he needs some time to process all of it, and how he feels about it, and about tim. because it's hard to reconcile his goofy gearhead (ex-)boyfriend with a caped crusader who patrols the city by night, fighting crime and solving mysteries. hard to realize just how much tim has boxed up his own life and taken care to only ever let ives see part of it. he gets it - he's not angry, after the initial outburst - but it's hard, and he needs some time. he needs some space.

and so tim's secrets eat away at one more person he cherishes. it was inevitable. they were doomed from the start. but they made each other happy anyways, for a time.

(the coda, to me: tim and ives reconnect and start working on their friendship again a few months later, and tim promises to try not to lie to him anymore, and in an effort to actually show ives the other half of his life, he introduces him to kon. so we have tim sitting there struggling with feelings and complications of feelings and what it means to be honest and to be seen. meanwhile kon says something about his opinions on star wars and ives goes "BRO i am going to KISS YOU on the MOUTH" and tim goes wait. WHAT?)

[nenoname]

wondering if we're gonna have stan learning the lesson ford learnt in tbob since it's made clear that stan is still hiding so much...

[gleeokenspiel]

obsessed with his sploots

[wikiangela]

It didn't take much time, forever's more than crossed my mind

bucktommy rating: G words: 6.3k 7x06 tommy's pov coda

[read on Ao3]

___

He sounds and looks so surprised, so astonished, as if someone simply showing up for him was uncommon. Tommy really wants to show him that he’s in, and if they’re really doing this, and it seems like they are, he’ll always put Evan first. He doesn’t half-ass anything, if he’s in, he’s in, one thousand percent. It’s scary that he’s so sure of this so early on, and he really needs to tread carefully. He doesn’t want to rush it, rush Evan. “I’d understand if you just went home, really, I get it. You must be exhausted. It just- it means a lot that you made it anyway.” he shrugs, averting his gaze. Tommy grabs his chin and makes him look him in the eyes again. “Baby,” he starts, the pet name just slipping up, but judging by the sharp inhale, widened eyes, a growing smile, and cheeks getting even redder than they already were, Evan likes it. “There was no way I’d bail on you, ever. Couldn’t leave you dateless at your sister’s wedding. And couldn’t miss my friend’s wedding, of course. Even if I’m really, really late.” he smiles apologetically. “Well, not like you didn’t have a good reason. And you’re here.” Evan shrugs, an adorable smile on his face. Tommy kisses it off, just because he can.

[read on ao3]

[n0tsemi]

Resting nights and Coda out for blood-

Coda belongs to: @wakkodoodle and Angle and Whimsy belongs to: @urbanqhoul !! Pls go and support them🫶💗

|| Extra: AHAHAHANMDKDIDMDNSKSOIXSK- Yes I made this at 11 at night :) I just wanted to draw the gay people- AND NOW THERE ARE MORE CHARACTERS SO INTO THE AU THEY GO-😋✌️ But I FR wanna draw more Coda- idk maybe I’ll make it angsy and stuff- we shall see :3 ||