"Worlds Collide"

chemmy!!! i love this. okay. parallel universes shenanigans here we goooooo.

Tommy is at his favourite coffee shop, wearing his post breakup misery uniform of ratty sweats and the single solitary shirt Evan left at his place (he wouldn't normally let himself be seen in public like this but he's out of coffee and he hasn't breathed outside air other than days he's on shift in longer than he cares to think about). He's planning to get coffee and a cake or three to go and return to his sad little loser life to feel like a sad little loser when a...thing crashes through the coffee shop window while he waits at the pickup counter.

'Thing' is the best description he can get. It has four...legs? Arms? Limbs, anyway. It has shaggy fur that's blacker than anything he's ever seen, like a void in the world rather than an animal. It's shaped like a wolf, or maybe an ape, and he can't see any eyes but he absolutely can see a mouth full of luminous bluegreen - holy fucking sharp - teeth when it opens its huge mouth and lets out a screeching rattling noise that says: hi, hello, you are dead. People are screaming and scrambling and then another figure follows the thing through the window and slices it in half with a big-ass sword. Blue-black blood sprays everywhere.

The sword-wielding lunatic looks around and - oh, fuck - his eyes settle on Tommy.

"You bastard," Evan says. "Just because we break up you think you can duck out of patrol? Hen could have died!"

To which Tommy says, "Uh...what?"

Meanwhile, across town, Evan is in the company of a sword-wielding, scarred and confused version of Tommy who is frustrated that Evan doesn't have his creature-tracking gear on him.

When Buck and Tommy get back together he unexpectedly becomes Theo’s safe person, when Theo’s having a behavioural meltdown or sensory overload he will seek out Tommy and non verbally ask to snuggle or pull on Tommy’s shirt in an attempt to hide underneath it. Buck comes home from shift one day to find Tommy lying on the couch, Theo draped over him with his head under Tommy’s shirt.

It’s not the first time he’s found thin like this, not by a long shot, even if Buck is home when Theo has these moments of overstimulation, he’ll still seek out Tommy in his efforts to regulate himself.

“We had a rough day today,” Tommy says softly, one hand still rubbing gently over the boy’s back, “too much noise.”

Buck drops his bag and kicks off his shoes, heading straight for his boys on the couch.

“Hey, Theo,” Buck calls, announcing his presence before he carefully lifts the hem of Tommy’s shirt and peaks underneath. Theo’s head is resting just off centre of Tommy’s chest, right over his heart, and his little hand is tucked under his chin, fingers tapping the rhythm of the man’s heartbeat.

Buck bullies himself onto the couch next to Tommy, half straddling him to ensure he doesn’t slide off, and he ducks his head under the shirt to join his son. The fabric stretches and gets snug as he settles his head on the opposite side of Tommy’s chest. Theo’s eyes track his movement but he doesn’t say anything yet, still emotionally overwhelmed.

“Tough day, huh?” Buck asks, feeling Tommy’s arm wrap around his back to hold him against his body.

Theo gives a small nod, fingers still tapping the rhythm of Tommy’s heartbeat against his chin.

“Yeah, me too. You mind if I share your safe space for a bit?” He lays his hand on Tommy’s sternum, matching the beat of Theo’s tapping with his index finger.

Theo shakes his head this time, drawing a deep breath into his little lungs and exhaling it loudly through his nose. His body seems to relax a little, as though Buck joining him in his hiding place was what he’d been waiting for to be able to finally let go of the day’s frustration.

With Tommy’s broad hand stroking calmly over the length of Buck’s back, making him feel warm, secure, loved, he can’t blame his son at all for choosing Tommy’s as his safe person.

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

the first thing that comes to mine is kintsugi and that got me thinking about scars being golden. I have a few very vague/shapeless ideas floating around, but for the sake of being succinct and not taking ages to answer these asks, I'm going to go with one and it's a sort of revisit to this idea I had before about soul marks.

I want to take it further and say that every scar a person has ever had, their soulmate sees stitched in gold. And Buck is particularly self-conscious about this because of all the scars he got as a kid as well in addition to the scars on his leg and the Lichtenberg scars.

Tommy figures it out much sooner. Maybe he catches a glimpse of gold reflecting under the bright lights of the hangar the night of the hurricane, but he can't be too sure and he doesn't have the time or capacity to wrap his head around it. He knows for sure the day of the basketball game because Buck's showing a lot more skin. And while Tommy's got a few big scars, none of them are visible with the way he's dressed, and any of the smaller ones--on his legs are arms--are too small to see when they're playing basketball.

angels hiii!!! 💕 I've missed you I hope you're doing well!!

For you I'll drop the wip I had planned for my 2024 12 fics leading up to the holidays way back when lol this is the only bucktommy wip I still have I think, I ended up scrapping this and posting a different fic altogether haha

This one would take place in post-canon after part 1 of season 8 I think?? just after the breakup. Buck decides to drop off the christmas gift he had for tommy at his house :) snippet below the cut!

tagged by @rcmclachlan :)

so it turns out there's nothing like procrastination to get the creative juices flowing! that bucktommy + theo thing that was coming to me in bits and pieces suddenly came to me in full sentences last week while i avoided packing for vacation, and it's now pushing 8k in ellipsus 🤷‍♀️

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“You’re a nightmare,” Evan accuses, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. Tommy glances over at him, still scrubbing at the burnt corner of the loaf pan, and is pleased to find a hint of a smile on his face. “What kind of nutcase teaches a kid his age to write manifestos?”

“Kept him busy, didn’t it?”

“For tonight,” Evan says. “But by tomorrow I’ll have seventeen pages to read about why tigers make good pets and how he’s going on a hunger strike until both parties come to an agreement about getting one.”

Tommy laughs, shaking his head. “He down for the night?”

“Yeah. In theory.” Evan pushes off the wall and hops onto the counter beside the sink with a groan. Closing his eyes, he slumps back against the upper cabinet and ignores the puddle of water seeping into his jeans at the back of his thigh. Tommy watches the denim turn dark navy against the thick muscle. “And I have about a thousand things to do”—Evan glances over at the soapy dishes—“nine hundred and ninety nine, thank you. But all I want to do is face-plant on the couch and not move for eight hours.”

Humming, Tommy rinses the pan out for a third time. The discoloration from the burnt spot still lingers.

“Let it soak,” Evan advises, nudging his leg with a gentle foot. “I’ll finish it later.”

“It was delicious, by the way,” Tommy says. “I don’t know if I said that.”

Evan nudges him again. “You made it.”

“With your recipe.”

“I found it in a thrift store cookbook,” Evan tells him after a moment, rubbing fingers along his shadowed jaw. Water fills the pan, echoing a metallic hum through the kitchen, until Tommy cuts the stream. “Figured I’d try something new. No baggage.”

Tommy shakes the excess water from his hands with a frown and turns to grab the towel.

“Honestly, I thought you’d’ve been flooded with meatloaves,” Tommy says, a gentle probe, the prod of a tongue in the empty socket of a pulled tooth. He drags the terrycloth against his palms and twists it between his fingers to give himself something to do instead of staring, searching for a hint of what he's missed. “Isn’t that the 118’s whole shtick? All for one, and meal trains for all?”

Evan doesn’t answer. He thumps his heels irregularly against the lower cabinets, rattling the hinges, and then he takes a deep breath. The exhaustion sitting heavily beneath his eyes seems to sink in deeper.

“I asked them to back off, actually,” he says.

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