#mlem writes

Enjoy ❤️

🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

He waits in the truck for the rest of A shift to leave. It doesn't take long, and if anyone sees him fall behind he gets no call or message about it. C shift buzzes around the station, pulling out the engine for a quick scrub down in the hour they're offline between the shift change.

The sight of a familiar truck pulling in across the lot thaws the biting chill that had settled in his chest during his shift. Not for the first time, Buck almost chokes on the ball of emotion that comes with the implications that chill carries, how quickly this home had become just another house. Maybe he could ask Carerrah if she'd let him join C shift; he'd meshed well with the crew the few times he's subbed in, maybe he could get them to throw in a good word.

The truck eases into the open space next to his quietly — an impressive feat given Buck knows the amount of work and time that had gone into supercharging the engine — before the motor cuts off with little more than a purr.

Tommy plopping down next to Harry as he's taking a breather, handing over a water bottle as Evan's busy with his clipboard or something. They sit in momentary silence, only broken by the crinkle of thin plastic. They both wince as Evan brings the whistle up to his mouth again, at the shrill note that slices through the air.

"I'll distract him, go for the whistle," Tommy mutters into the mouth of his bottle. Harry has to double take because that not only sounds like a horrible idea, but he has to be sure he heard Tommy right.

"What? Dude, no--"

"If you're quick you can grab the board too," Tommy hedges, standing up and brushing his wet palms against his jeans.

"That's..." A bad idea, right? It certainly seems like a bad idea, but Harry's losing the battle on why. Maybe he'd get points for teamwork or something for working with Tommy. "Just... I don't really need to see everything, you know?"

🪻🪻Amrálime🪻🪻

The silver metal dances warm against his cheek, and not for the first time, Buck has to stop himself from reaching up to fidget with the thick band of it. He still hasn't gotten over the newness of it, how it catches the light just so when he turns, the glance of it against his skin in the blowing winds. He loses the battle, thick fingers tracing down the surprisingly delicate braid to the small mithril bead at the end, nail catching on the fine etchings laid around it. He doesn't need to see them to read what they say; doesn't even really need to know the language — though Tommy had been trying for years to help him learn some phrases in the dwarvish tongue — to know what it means. He doesn't think he'll ever get over the way his heart swells at the mere notion of it, and he hopes he never forgets the near-sacred ceremony of receiving it — though, he highly doubts that will ever be a possibility.

Buck is drawn from his reverie by the scent of caramelizing sugar and cinnamon calling for his attention from the hearth. Another echoing chime of metal against metal floats in through the opened window, and it's a conscious decision to check on the baking pies instead of following the hypnotic pull the rhythm carries.

Later, he reminds himself with a smirk, pulling each of the six pies from the heat to rest and cool on the thick dining table. He steps back to admire the batch, nodding with satisfaction at each of their golden brown tops and sticky drippings.

It's here!! The first lovely chapter of The Big One, aka working titled 3 Hours Ahead and Still Trying to Keep Up, aka the 3hrs verse, aka my pride and joy is finally posted!!! After months and months of planning and drafting, I'm finally putting the pieces together and out there!!!

Anyway, here's a preview for this fic featuring Fae!Tommy! (It's posted now! You can go read it in its entirety!)

✨✨✨✨✨

One of the other trainees gives him the location, conspiratorially slapping it into his hand with a handshake like they're friends. They aren't, not really, Evan doesn't even think he knows the guy's name. Maybe something with a B— it didn't matter. What mattered, was that Evan was guaranteed to get through the academy — relatively unscathed, if the guy was to be believed — with one little visit to the location detailed on the tiny slip of paper burning a hole in his pocket. There's no address, but then again Evan hadn't thought there would be — who'd ever heard of a Fae living in suburbia? — so when the directions tell him to pull off of the main road onto a smaller, dead-end, side street, that's exactly what he does. The forest bears down on the small houses in front of it, hedging into back and side yards, grown old and miraculously untouched. They blot out the moon as he idles down the street, throwing streaks of pale light through the windows of the Jeep. Even in the swelling nerves, Evan can feel the itch of magic calling him forward into the dark. He parks where the note says to park, makes sure to leave his phone in the center console and that his headlights shut off before venturing into the thicket at the end of the block. The tiny flashlight they'd given them as part of their training kits throws just enough light to show him where he's going, guiding him through patches of moonlight or misdirected streetlight. There is no path, no foot traffic to knock back the weeds and ferns making up the undergrowth here; he'd been warned of that going in, ever-so-glad his hiking boots had made the trip with him from Peru.

📳📳📳📳📳

Eddie snaps at him, and somehow Eddie's the one that breaks.

Buck keeps silent, lets himself be told how he's spiraling, how he's spinning out and nobody knows how to deal with him like he's some kind of disappointment child—

All while Eddie breaks.

He doesn't know what's worse, the five points of aching pressure throbbing against his shoulder, or having to watch Eddie's anger shift into fear and remorse from mere inches away. His finger never leaves Buck's space, kept there until Eddie himself breaks away and has to turn entirely.

Buck listens, turning himself so that his belly and chest stay guarded against another possible attack. He stares at imaginary patterns in tiles as Eddie speaks, affirming his friend's grief. His hip aches from where he'd flinched against the counter top. He listens, apologizes in the right spaces, keeps silent because this isn't about him—

"— could I have made a difference?" Buck straightens against the counter, the world slamming into complete and totally clarity for one horrible moment.

"You, uh…" The gnarled mess of a knot that he's been ignoring in his chest tightens — threatens to choke him entirely. He swallows hard, shifting so that Eddie's force to meet his eyes when he asks, "you don't think I did everything I could to save him?"

Eddie pauses, pained expression morphing into a mask of irritation and annoyance.

Right, he was… he was making it about him again, wasn't he? Buck bit at the inside of his lip, the fragile skin there irritated and raw already.

Eddie doesn't need to say anything — he does anyway. "I don't know Buck," His skin crawls with the venom dripping form his own name. Not for the first time, he finds himself missing his real name, the way Maddie would use it when she was happy or proud of him, the way Tom— "I wasn't there."

second part of the fae!Tommy universe you can read on AO3 here (it's posted now! You can go read it!)

✨✨✨✨✨

📳📳📳📳📳

Buck doesn't flee when Chris goes to bed — he waits for Pepa to text that she's home safely before walking out the back door to 'get some air.' He tells himself it's not relief that washes over him fifteen minutes later, driving down familiar highway lanes- that the idea of being trapped in close quarters with his 'best friend' doesn't cause an uncomfortable surge of anxiety.

He's on autopilot, turning down familiar roads and passing familiar gas stations on his way to a very familiar driveway. It isn't until he parks that his brain finally reboots, staring at the overhanging leaves of Mrs. Hardy's meyer lemon tree. Somehow, he's not surprised to have ended up here; it probably should- ending up at an ex's house didn't usually end well- but Tommy's house had always seemed so inviting.

However, now it sits dark. The only light illuminating the place comes from the motion light on the garage, casting the truck and driveway in that strange yellow haze that always gave things an odd sense of nostalgia.

Buck winces at the familiar and loud thud that bounces off of the truck's hood as soon as he cuts the engine.