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lyriumlullaby-ao3 · 7 months

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hello i’m back from the dead (sleeping) and it’s time to talk about

why Cullen won’t let anyone fix the hole in his ceiling 💖

someone has probably said this before but it wasn’t me, so here we go!

so remember that Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath grew up with three siblings, who he describes as being “very loud.” i see him as always being a very disciplined child, kind and warm and willing to let Mia take charge (because fighting her for it would have been useless), but a steadfast follower with a keen sense of justice and fairness, willing to voice his objections when he had any, and very fastidious about not breaking rules when Mia or Branson tried to stir up trouble. you know, that whole second child archetype. he was prone to a bit of escapism, running off to that pier on some lake which is definitely not in Crestwood, which tells us he likes having somewhere to escape to, somewhere to run if he gets overwhelmed.

skipping forward a bit, when he lived in Kirkwall, he had quite a bit of freedom to come and go physically, but to me at least it seems like he felt trapped by his duties under Meredith. he explicitly describes her keeping things from him, things she thought he’d disagree with as her second in command. he felt lied to, deceived, manipulated by her (bc he was), i think, even before the events at the end of DA2 that expose her for what she is. can you imagine that feeling? like he actually wants to do good, to treat the mages fairly and help keep them and everyone else safe (that’s why he signed up, after all), but he’s got this nasty, evil commanding officer who’s whispering in his ear, twisting all that good intention to do her malicious bidding. it must have felt like beating his head against a brick wall, like no matter what he did, his sincere desire to believe that other people are fundamentally good disappointed him. i always say that Meredith gave Cullen just enough rope to hang himself with.

jumping forward again, let’s talk about the Winter Palace. Cullen is very obviously uncomfortable there, and it makes sense why: he can’t leave, not without being extraordinarily rude, can’t get away from the people bothering and sexually harassing him, can’t get out of that jacket that is too damn tight. if you bring Cole with you, at one point in his ‘Investigate’ tree he comments that, “Cullen is afraid. They’re hurting him, following fear. He shouldn’t be here.”

all of this is just to illustrate: man’s got a Thing about feeling trapped, stuck, unable to fight back or defend himself or just flat out leave. and why does he have such a hard time with this?

because of that one time that Uldred blew up the Circle at Kinloch Hold in Ferelden. for reasons we don’t fully grasp, rather than being claimed by the demons or simply killed in the fighting, Cullen held out. he resisted demonic possession completely, somehow, and was instead trapped within that magical prison with no possibility of escape, probably for weeks. no escape from his hunger, thirst, or lyrium withdrawal, and no escape from the (probably Desire) demon(s) that tortured him with freedom if he’d only give in to those things he won’t quite allow himself to want.

so the fact that there’s a hole in his ceiling, even months into the repairs at Skyhold, when almost everything else has been fixed but a few, hard-to-access bits of masonry, is not lost on me. and sure, you could always blame it on lighting for the romance scene that takes place up there. but i like to think that it’s there because Cullen refuses to let them fix it. here’s why:

Cullen doesn’t like to stray far from his post. he likes that there’s a loft with a bed where he can pretend to sleep that’s not far from his desk, where he commands the lives of thousands of people. (i think at one point in Absolution, it’s revealed that at its height, the Inquisition was composed of ~10,000 troops, plus all the necessary support personnel.) the fate of the world is quite literally depending on his ability to do his job, and when the lyrium withdrawals make him feel like he must be losing his mind, he likes that he’s got an easy choice between resting (like he knows he probably should) or working (like he knows he really needs to), separated only by a little wooden ladder and a few planks that make up the floor.

he needs that little hole in the ceiling. if ever something happened at Skyhold, and it wasn’t safe or possible to leave through the three fucking doors on the lower level, he needs a back up plan, a way to get out from the top of that tower, or he’s every bit as trapped as he was at the Winter Palace, or by Meredith, or by Uldred and his demons, and he can’t be, not here, not with so many lives in his hands. not after Haven.

he needs it when he wakes up shouting, drenched in sweat, from another nightmare where he’s back there, trapped with demons who’ve murdered or enslaved your brothers and sisters and are trying to break you next, or pinned under Meredith’s thumb, doing things that he knows are wrong, he knows, but she’s his commanding officer and he trusts her, so how wrong can they really be? he needs it, first thing when he opens his eyes, to know he’s got an escape route, a backup plan. he’s safe.

and when he finally gives in to temptation, that thing he wants more than anything that he really shouldn’t let himself want, when the Inquisitor confesses that she wants to be with him when this is all over and he very dramatically sweeps aside everything on his desk, his whole life, shattering it all over the floor, he needs that little patch of sky to remind him it’s real. he’s free to leave whenever he needs to.

and that’s what allows him to stay.

#anyway this got long lmfao #but yeah. the reason why cullen still has a hole in his ceiling :)#cullen rutherford #dragon age #meta #dragon age meta #i’d like to personally rip meredith standard’s throat out with my TEETH but. that’s a different post #ask me about it sometime it’s a good ted talk #antares speaks #there’s like a little bit of #cullenmance #in here so i’ll tag that too :)#antares' meta

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spinnysocks · 2 months

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my favourite thing about the madagascar movies is that no one's a sane fucking person

#or animal i guess #EXCEPT FOR the north wind #which is why they “flopped” as characters #PERSONALLY i love them BUT i can see why they're so underrated lol #but YEAH. EVERYONE'S CLINICALLY INSANE IN THAT FRANCHISE #and they can't be helped #no one is sane. not even gloria or maurice or gia or vitaly or ANYONE #this also stretches to the pom series but i haven't watched enough of it 🙏#can guarantee no one there is sane either #...i kinda retract my former tags about the nw #they're. kinda sane. they're just a stubborn kind of silly #the sanest you could get in the mada world lmfao #madagascar #madagascar movie #madagascar 2 #madagascar 3 #penguins of madagascar #the penguins of madagascar #madagascar escape 2 africa #madagascar europe's most wanted #the north wind #north wind #this is coming from someone who hyperfixated on it for like 2 years #but you only need to vaguely pay attention to know that they're all insane #S tier franchise

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phantom-of-the-keurig · 10 days

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I passed my classes and made it to next semester!! Dr. Keurig is now officially 50% loaded 🫡

#heck yeah #rantings of a future dogtor #personal #april 2024 #I’m so exhausted lmfao

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 8 months

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Wait holdup what’s this about Howdy’s shop burning down and nearly taking him with it?? (talking about human au)

oh yeah lmfao it caught fire

it wasn't like... foul play or anything. in my mind it was some sort of electrical failure or bizarre accident. like a lightning strike! actually wait i like that lightning strike idea bc then it could be Raining for this very dramatic scene and i do love me some rain juxtaposing fire <3

and Howdy would've been fine! he got all of his employees and customers out of the building, including himself. he handed them off to Barnaby & Wally, who had been swinging by for dinner with fantastic timing (the fire department was just then arriving). then, like an idiot, Howdy went right back inside the Very On Fire building!

bc, ok, he lives in his store. specifically, above it. the ground floor is the store, then there's a staircase going up to an apartment. and naturally, Howdy was not gonna abandon all of his / the store's legal documents (also his coupon stash) to burn.

so in his mind he was like "yeah ill just pop in, grab these very important files, and then get out. easy!". babe, you're giving Barnaby & Wally a heart attack. that's what you're doing. dumbass (affectionate)

but yeah he's in there, in the burning building, smoke everywhere. meanwhile outside firefighters (and Wally) have to physically hold Barnaby back from going in after Howdy, even though a few more firefighters already went in to find him. its all very dramatic! blah blah blah the front door becomes unusable, blah blah blah the apartment windows explode due to thermal stress & also bc i want them to, etc etc

long story short the firefighters get Howdy out through the back, and mostly unscathed at that! ofc smoke inhalation is a thing, he's got some minor cuts and burns, but it's really not that bad! lucky bastard! he gets taken to the hospital to get treated & make sure he's fine, and he is.

naturally he stays with Barnaby & Wally for a while. he doesn't have a say in the matter lol he was planning on getting a motel room or somethin, but Barnaby picked him up from the hospital, took him home, and went "alright the guest room is ready for you we can go shopping tomorrow for anything you need, you live here now". good thing Howdy rescued his coupons!

the fire damage to the building is, thankfully, mostly cosmetic. it takes a while to clean & fix it, but Howdy has great friends and a wonderful community to help out! everyone chips in, some fundraisers happen, Wally sells some Darling™️ Exclusives™️, etc. long story short they get the store back up & running, and with some new bells and whistles to go with it!

#the scene is Very Vivid in my head #i had to sneak some action drama in there somewhere!!!!#what better than a building fire!! what can i say! im a sucker for the #'character watches person they love run straight into danger & is unable to follow them'#'and so is forced to watch in terror unsure if the loved one will make it out alive'#trope!!! its damn good!!! ill never tire of it!!!#the rain glittering in the firelight! the red-blue of emergency lights! glass raining down! wet pavement & black smoke!#its about The Visuals!!#i think my favorite part of the Brain Scene is when they get howdy out & he's like. half collapsed on the curb w/ an oxygen mask #and barnaby is Hovering! very freaked out but also immensely relieved! as soon as he learns theyre taking howdy to the hospital #he sprints to his car to go follow the ambulance!!#(in my mind julie eddie and sally had shown up & wally stayed with them to answer questions / keep an eye on things)#but yeah! drama Babey!!!#rambles from the bog #wh modern human au #i feel so bad for howdy lmfao #like... that store is his Everything and it got crispied. so did his home. and pretty much all his possessions #i also feel very bad for barnaby! he has a bad year bc of Two Incidents!#barnaby 'if one more person i love winds up injured in the hospital im going to Lose It' b. beagle #barnaby: well that whole fire thing was a disaster but we're all okay <3 with any luck there'll be no more hospital visits <3 #wally: im about to end this mans whole career-#ough and the arc of howdy living with them for a bit.... ougggghhhh #bc he & barns are in that 'our mutual feelings are unspoken but we both Know' inbetween state #its like a trial run for their future lmfao #except. a depressed trial run. bc howdy is very fucking upset about losing his Home & Possessions #a piece of the world he'd carved out for himself that was His and no one else's #he has a period of pushing through with an 'everything is fine i can work w this' pained grin and emotional avoidance #until obviously he hits a wall and Crashes. depressy spaghetti time!#he'll be fine but he doesn't feel like it for a while <3 good thing he's got awesome friends to keep him afloat <3

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singingcicadas · 3 months

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Want to do a post-LL25 pseudo megarod/megop relationship where Optimus doesn’t die in the battle with Unicron but somehow gets spat out of the black hole with a reinstated body and matrix. Rodimus tries to save Megatron during the victory lap by persuading him into a sparkbond, b/c of that really common fanon trope of sparkbonds tying lives together so the death of one partner would mean automatic death for the other (it’s a myth but he’s grasping at straws here). Megatron refuses at first, saying that it’s Not A Good Idea and Rodimus would regret it. Eventually Rodimus wears him down but Megatron has no idea what he’s planning and thought it was just going to be a regular sparksharing for goodbye.

So Rodimus seizes his chance as soon as Megatron’s spark's open, plunging the bond really really deep (way deeper than is safe). It doesn’t work, obviously, he almost drowns in Megatron’s memories of anger and hate and loss, if not for Megatron breaking them out before it got too far. But not before he got to experience some real fucked up shit of Megatron being a sadistic genocidal psyco from a first person front seat pov. And seeing the way Optimus stands out as a constant among all those years of rage-clouded carnage, first as an anchoring point for hatred, then as a source of close companionship and comfort in the Functionalist universe. Megatron is quiet and gentle when he says see, I told you you’d regret it. Now you know why I deserve my fate.

And Rodimus can’t even reply b/c he’s so shaken by the slapping reminder of the true extent of Megatron’s guilt and crimes and the inconsequentiality of his own feelings in comparison.

Megatron leaves with Prowl but Rodimus can’t let go of him in his head. He keeps thinking obsessively over the sparksharing incident. Then he sees Optimus and has an immediate flashback to Megatron’s Functionalist universe memories. That’s when he realizes oh it’s not entirely the moral issues about Megatron’s past that’s got him all hung up. It’s jealousy.

Here’s where the megop part is pseudo b/c it’s all in Rodimus’ head lol. They don’t actually have romantic feelings about each other, at all, in any universe. Functionalist Orion was important to Megatron but they were never A Thing. But Rodimus doesn’t know that and he’s torn between jealousy and his own loyalty towards Optimus, his anger at Optimus for not doing anything to save Megatron who clearly loves him, his logically knowing the unfairness of that anger, his recognition of the well-deservedness of whatever Megatron’s fate and his own bias and just the absurdity of his own feelings in general. He tries to visit Megatron in prison to sort things out but megatron won't see him. He wants to leave Cybertron on Thunderclash’s ship but can’t bring himself to go without knowing what’s going to happen to Megatron.

Meanwhile Optimus is just disappointed that he survived yet again and is too tired to care about anything other than his job. Everyone else is super joyous and in awe at both his survival and the restoration of the matrix, he’s the only one who’s Not Happy with the way things turned out. But he can’t say anything, not when the miracle has everyone so hopeful and united. Bumblebee is the only one who notices that something’s wrong when he starts showing physical symptoms, but there’s no way Optimus is able to tell him the truth; by that point his accumulated mental barriers of guilt and denial and subconscious self-preservation are so thick that it’s next to impossible for him to ever open up to another.

Optimus busies himself with governance stuff. he doesn’t visit Megatron. He appoints new council members and new Senators, most of whom knew Megatron as the AVL leader. Rodimus is automatically granted a seat at the council but he never shows up. Nobody’s seen him in office since the Lost Light landed, except for an endless flow of charges for illegal engex consumption, drunken misconducts and truancies. Optimus tries to contact him, tries to get Ratchet and Magnus to keep an eye on him and set him up with therapists and the like, but Rodimus ignores every attempt at contact.

Deep down Optimus knows that those aren’t actual helpful solutions, Ratchet and Magnus haven’t been able to get Rodimus to listen forever and there isn’t a therapist left alive who can even begin to understand the stuff they’d been through, but most days he can barely bring himself to summon enough energy to do his duty as is. He can’t deal with Rodimus’ problems on top of his own. Bumblebee and Roller do the best they can but there are times when their care becomes a burden in and of itself. So he pays the fines and files away the charges, and with that also files Rodimus away to the back of his mind (as well as Megatron, he knows it has something to do with Megatron, Megatron’s always at the bottom of his grief one way or another, but that’s another thing he can’t deal with, not right now)

Eventually the Galactic Council demands for Megatron to be handed over as part of reparations. Everyone knows what’s going to happen to him if they do. Unlike the last time Optimus doesn’t have the will to make that arbitrary decision himself. He tosses it up to a senate vote.

That’s when Rodimus bursts into the room screaming

Stuff Happens and they get Megatron out on parole, Somewhere along the middle of that Rodimus’ megop misconception gets cleared. But Megatron’s time’s still ticking down cuz idk the Galactic Council really really hates his guts. Rodimus insists that it doesn’t matter, he’s determined to make the most of whatever time he can get. Megatron thinks this is just going to make it more painful for Rodimus for both of them when the time comes but after ten thousand words of angst finally decides to go along to make him happy.

Optimus would sometimes unconsciously pause to watch them with each other, the playing, the banter, the easy affection. The sometimes-exasperation and good-natured tolerence. He'd feel happy for them but also envious, not because he wants to break their ship to do megop or rodiop (is that even a ship name) but because he's wistful for the affection between them knowing it's something he'd never have for himself. Worse, he knows that he could have it in an instant if he wants to, with someone who cares for him deeply and he cares back, it's just one step away from his fingertips—but it's a step that he knows in his heart that he's too weary to take, at least in this lifetime

He swears to himself that he would find a way to ensure that their happiness lasts.

weirdest fake love triangle i have come up with ever

#this got so long i didnt even include the punch line #so basically Rodimus stans megop for the first half and Optimus stans megarod for the second half lmfao #Rodimus finds out halfway that megop doesn't exist it's all self invented #oh god all that extra angst for nothing #but he's willing to fight for megatron's life even when he believes that the person Megatron loves isn't him #and he got super mad when all he saw in Optimus was indifference #Optimus is just: can't handle being in a relationship rn thanks #no it's more like can't handle anything rn thanks #poor guy #maybe I should make it my chinese new year's resolution to actually write this #yeah right that's only gonna happen in my dreams #megarod #rodimus #optimus prime #megatron

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bummie4dummies · 11 days

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as long as there is an ocean ✧ read on ao3

the abyssal plains of tommy's subconscious are littered with the carcasses of his father's favorite adages.

no matter how valiant his attempts have been to pry them free — and despite the meticulous, delicate nature of his methods — it seems that many of the sea-skeletons have been left sitting beyond salvation, now inextricable from waterlogged sediment. they're too far-sunk to extract safely; if lucky enough not to crumple like a sheet of discarded tissue paper on the journey down, he'd explode his lungs to red mist on the way back up to the surface. it's almost easier if he imagines them this way, as broken fragments of corpses too fragile to exhume:

the fleshy tissue of a half-eaten squid — actions speak louder than words. the crushed shell of an unfortunate lobster — beggars can't be choosers. the rotting remains of a clever eel — boys who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. the ribcage and spine of a starved shark — do as i say, not as i do.

one saying in particular has been mummifying for longer than the others, a giant humpback frozen in a state of watery decay, embalmed in the sandy gunk of his darkest trenches — keep your shoulders straight and your head on straighter. oft punctuated with a caustic, kid.

it's pretty ironic, considering the fact that tommy kinard has nary a straight bone in his body. maybe that's why the line burrowed itself so thoroughly into the deepest, slimiest crooks of the substrate of his mind, slow-growing algae coating the slippery crevices of his hippocampus to rankle him perpetually. tommy hasn't spoken directly with his old man in years; these days he couldn't if he wanted to, or at least not without a ouija board and an uncharacteristic flair for masochism, neither of which he cares to equip himself with.

nevertheless, the phantom whale fall of his father's most-reliable phrase continues to nourish the last hungry, lonely fish left scouring the ocean floor of tommy's mind. nearly every move he makes is centered around practicality, every decision sewn together by threads of vigilance and observation.

with nearly four decades of practice and application under his belt, he's gotten good at keeping his shoulders straight, and gay as he may be, he thinks his head's on just fine, although such would be a contradictory and controversial statement upon the ears of one thomas kinard, senior. thankfully he'll never have to hear it.

tommy can live with his own amendment to the man's words because tommy knows himself and therefore knows the truth. his posture is excellent and he's a considerably level-headed guy. he can't be straight; he doesn't want to be. what he can be is pragmatic. he can be logical, he can be useful, he can be rational. he can be quite capable and, as it turns out, even likable. he can be funny, and charming, and vulnerable with the right people. he can be queer, he can be gay, he can be loved, he can love. he can become without becoming unmoored.

for thirty-some good years, tommy kinard does a bang-up job at keeps his shoulders straight and his head on just fine. he's pushing forty when he meets evan buckley and eddie diaz.

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evan buckley and eddie diaz exist as a singular entity within the confines of tommy's skull. two sides of the same coin, grumbles the detached jaw of an imaginary anglerfish.

it takes some effort to extract one from the other, but tommy finds ways. over mutual interests in muay thai, basketball, and helicopters, he and eddie become fast friends. over mutual interests in each other's inquisitive minds, curious hands, and wanting mouths, he and evan become even faster lovers.

he makes out with one of them, roughhouses with the other; it all feels the same, gets identical synapses firing. he knocks eddie to the mat, steals spit-flecked exhales off of the inches of air near his wild-grinning lips and brings them home for buck to drink down, licking them into his ravenous mouth, delivering him secrets to unwittingly swallow. he smelts himself down to the base and seeps in between them, liquid copper in the nickel sandwich of their clad coin.

it isn't until tommy's got both of them sprawled out on his couch one night, months into his increasingly complex relationships with each of them, that he truly starts to grasp how evan and eddie might exist as a singular entity outside of his skull, too.

top gun's ending credits march, sans serif ants, to the glowing edge of tommy's television screen. fuzzy, synthetic white-blue haze pours into the room and across the skin of buck and eddie's limbs and faces in a manner that makes tommy think of marble hewn painstakingly into handsome statue, of rock tumbled smooth by a patient, perpetual stream, ever-flowing towards the sea.

tommy thinks, i could be a sculptor. i could be a river.

copper in the nickel.

the two men are draped across his sectional like lions in the sun, impenitent and unabashed in the way they take up space, in the way they take up each other. buck's legs are long, stretched out along multiple cushions, his head heavy on tommy's lap. eddie, on the opposite end of the couch from tommy, started out the evening upright, but the drone of the movie — combined with tommy's easy laughter and the literal and figurative warmth pouring off of buck — had helped to coax a more relaxed posture out of him. now he slouches deep into the pillows, legs spread wide to knock up against buck's bare feet where his sweatshorts ride up his quads. tommy almost expects the point of contact between the pair of them to spark, start a blaze that would surely incinerate the three of them in spite of their r��sumés.

his heart's been a tinderbox for long enough that he can usually recognize flint even when it's disguised as water; the thirst that parches him convinces him it's worth attempting a sip without regard of probable risk.

he lets out a long exhale and drops a hand to card through evan's hair, half-listens to eddie babble on about how the shots of the F14 fighter jets are still so cool all these years later. he's beaming like a kid the whole time, sunshine-ray of a smile gleaming straight at buck.

tommy watches as buck can't help but smile right back, and god, if the energy radiating off of them could be harnessed for physical usage, tommy would never have a utility bill again in his life. he watches, enraptured, as buck flexes and curls his toes against the soft dark hairs of eddie's thigh, pressing dents into his skin. watches as eddie presses back.

eddie falters in his warplane musings when buck's foot skids over and catches in the edge of his shorts.

buck says, "sorry," not convincingly.

eddie clears his throat and drags his gaze from the arch of buck's foot resting against his leg up buck's calf, to his knee, to where the exposed pale of his thigh disappears behind them hem of his shorts. he takes his time wandering up the rest of buck's body, lingering especially at the relaxed curve of his dick under loose cotton fabric, the relaxed curve of his gently parted lips. finally he meets buck's answering stare and blinks, languid, like he's searing something into his memory, buck-shaped sunspots in his retinas. he says, "no big deal," not convincingly.

before tommy's eyes, water transmutes into flint and back into water and over again, metamorphosing in a churning lazy whirl. it dizzies him, blurring his vision until there is no difference between the two; there's just a murky charcoal pool, molten obsidian shimmering like glass, rippling like the surface of an ocean less haunted than the one sloshing in his cerebrum.

an ocean glinting with the reflection of two incandescent stars careening towards each other at a devastating rate, a spectacle to behold.

relaxing his shoulders, tommy orders them to, "kiss," more certain than ever. when they hesitate, he adds, "each other," bracing himself for the likelihood of a stellar collision.

when eddie clambers on top of buck and leans down to crush their lips together, pushing his head down against tommy's thighs, pushing tommy out of his own, it feels more like the calm soar and twinkling glitter of a shooting star against the navy velvet sky, the soft crash of a wave against the edge of a silky coast.

there's no threat of unkind flame, no exploding celestial dust.

it feels like water.

tommy kneels at the sacred place where the luminous sea laps at the heavenly shoreline and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

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drinks become shots become wandering hands in the generous backseat of a stranger's car, an obvious cocktail to use as a scapegoat for the hammering beneath tommy's breastbone. the depths of his mind bubble up with, trust your gut, not your heart.

he has mixed feelings about that one, but at present he's not sure he can trust any singular part of his corporeal form, so at least it half-applies.

hearts and guts aside, tommy is starkly aware that things between buck and eddie may be escalating a bit beyond his feasible reach. he'd come into the evening equipped with the knowledge that he's successfully constructed his own internal witch's cottage of cake shingles and sugared windowpanes in this questionable "date" night between the three of them, however mutually agreed upon the night may be. he's self-aware enough to understand that he's destined to walk himself straight back into it, naïve as hansel and gretel without the excuse of not knowing better.

he just hadn't realized how famished he's become, and how tempting his own makings would look.

with buck seated comfortably between himself and eddie, tommy has no real access to eddie outside of the smush of knuckles-on-upper-arm from the hand he's got slung around buck's shoulder. as per usual the concept of space does not seem to exist between the other men, and tommy's fingertips get wedged so tightly between their limbs that it feels like with just a little more effort, maybe they could do some damage. the sick, private, bourbon-drenched gutters of his mind surmise that maybe he'd let them.

he watches as they exchange a heated look and a hotter liplock, uncertain as to whether he'll ever get used to witnessing them like this. in the weeks following the fated night of their little home movie screening, tommy's been lucky enough to encourage and initiate several more exchanges of both kisses and conversation among the three of them.

"i... still want to be with you," evan had mumbled against his chest, as they laid in bed together the morning after their tag-team makeouts with eddie to the soundtrack of top gun's menu screen music on a muffled loop.

"i had hoped," was tommy's response. after a beat, "and eddie?"

buck had peered up at tommy, eyes so earnest and open and stupidly fucking blue. "yeah, yes, eddie," he'd said, almost apologetic. "i— i do want to be with eddie," like he had to.

"i know," tommy had told him, the organs in his abdomen heaving tumultuously. "it's okay, evan," he'd said, his heart a hummingbird fluttering frantic. like the idea wasn't sending his ribcage collapsing in on itself, he'd even managed, "i can leave whenever you're ready for me to go." he'd assumed all along that he was on borrowed time; couldn't be a beggar and a chooser.

buck, with love bursting forth from every single inch of his being, with more than enough to go around, had admitted to wanting tommy to stay, if tommy would be okay with it. he pitched the idea that they could talk to eddie, try this together, give it an honest shot.

tommy had flashed back to a childhood history lesson on the u.s. mint where he learned that certain coins aren't made in layers, but instead by melting all of the metals together to become a solitary slab. his copper edges fuse further into mirroring ponds of nickel.

three sides of the same coin, he'd thought to himself. imagine that.

"god, eddie," buck rasps now, voice low, clandestine enough to stay in the backseat. "want you so fuckin' bad."

eddie's answering, "jesus, buck, i— want you, too," honest and shameless, snaps tommy fully back into the present moment in perfect timing.

their rideshare driver whips into the driveway of tommy's house, personified stress wearing a thin windbreaker of customer service as he vocally ushers them out of the car — ahem, looks like we're here, have a pleasant rest of your evening, goodbye. as eddie and buck tumble out of the passenger's side rear door in a picture of resolute gracelessness, tommy, clutching stubbornly onto an ounce of awareness, pauses to give a rearview-mirror nod of thanks to the weary-eyed dude white-knuckling the steering wheel. he promises a significant gratuity for bearing with their shenanigans and lets himself out on the driver's side of the car.

while he steadies himself on his feet, gravel crackles under the wheels of the gratefully retreating sedan, headlight beams fading to shadow. tommy observes the silhouette of the inelegant, eight-limbed, two-headed harbinger-creature making its way to his home's front entrance in a clumsy tangle and waits for his innards to spike with fear, with reluctance. he meanders up the drive and overturns every stone lining the path to his warranted doom, expecting to find the tattered shreds of his decomposing clarity, or maybe a colony of vicious fire ants. all he finds is fertile, loamy earth, rife with potential.

he stumbles up his porch stairs and unlocks the door when he gets there, opening it for the lot of them to fall through together.

───────────────

together on tommy's mattress, buck and eddie writhe and moan and curse. they haven't been able to break apart since toppling out of the backseat. they kiss like it's the very thing keeping them alive.

from where he's snuggled up to buck's back, tommy's got a front row seat for the premiere screening of his most-likely demise. he can see the saliva bubblling on the edges of eddie's tongue as he smears it from buck's throat all the way to the cap of his shoulder, a glistening snail trail scattered through with blooming bruises he'd sucked into buck's skin minutes before. he can hear every wet catch of buck's breath in his throat, every soft grunt eddie lets out into against it, every exhale shared between them.

tommy's head spins, so god damn far from being on straight. he feels like a balloon released into the wind, miles above the cold and familiar waters of his deep-ocean, stranded somewhere in the high desert of his psyche. loose dry earth kicks up in a vortex around him, carried by the tempest of his culminating untended emotions. when the dust cloud settles enough for him to think, he recalls the term raison d'être.

it's french, that's why it sounds fancy, is what his father had said to teenage tommy, long before he'd cared to even attempt a grasp on the concept. he'd been moody, hormonal, and wildly, spitefully uninterested in all of the things the man he shared a name with held so dear. rolled his eyes at the gruff, translates to 'reason for being.'

"buck, buck, c'mon," is what eddie says as he scrabbles for a good grip on buck's shirt, taking fistfuls of fabric and wrenching it over buck's head in a frenzy. says, "come here," like buck isn't already melded into him, bare torsos flush, thighs slotted close. says, "come here," again, and it registers that eddie is calling for tommy, too.

tommy eyes snap onto eddie's across the naked curve of buck's shoulder to find them scalding. "fuck," he breathes out, "okay," like it's permission enough for all of them.

for now, it will suffice.

the skin stretched over buck's bulky trap muscle is tacky with eddie's spit when tommy sets his mouth against it, bursting salty-bitter on his tastebuds. buck whimpers into eddie's mouth and grinds his ass back against tommy's crotch; eddie's hips follow after them in a sinuous roll. into the blushing hollow of his ear tommy asks buck if he'd like to feel eddie inside of him, makes sure it's just loud enough for eddie to hear, too. he feels eddie's ankle hook around his own, overlapped with buck's.

"please, yes," urges buck, fervent and wanton, lust and liquor fraying the last threads of his hesitancy. "i've been wanting that."

"you have?" eddie asks, as tommy says, "he has."

"god." context aside, eddie's tone is reverent. he says it again, as though the word is synonymous with buck's name. then, like it's still a secret to himself, admits, "i've been wanting you, too."

buck groans and shifts, or maybe it's eddie — as tommy's faculties render off in the burn of both the top-shelf whiskey in his bloodstream and buck and eddie's immediate intimacy, it becomes progressively more challenging for him to distinguish the fine details. it all feels the same, gets identical synapses firing.

he tracks eddie's movements as he smooths a hand down buck's side, sure and attentive, as natural as breathing. when he keeps moving south to bump his fingertips up against the waistband of buck's jeans and the boxers beneath, buck's breath hitches, hips jerking. tommy tilts against them in pursuit.

eddie asks, "can i?" and it's double the approval he's seeking.

"yeah, eddie, please," buck begs again while tommy nods, delirious with overwhelm.

in an uncoordinated jumble, eddie gets buck flat on his back and makes himself a home between his open-lolling legs. right away his palms return to the broad planes of buck's chest, the curves of his strong stomach, the slight slants of his hips. he makes constellations out of kisses on buck's collarbone, his nipples, in the divot of his sternum.

it looks as close to worship as anything tommy's seen.

tommy wonders if it's worth telling eddie how he'd taken his time working evan open that morning, fucking him deep and thorough so he'd be easier for eddie to push inside of now. if it's worth telling eddie how he'd come, sudden and hard and so fucking good, from thinking about buck taking him so readily.

when eddie's devout, trembling fingers struggle to unclasp the button of buck's jeans, tommy decides to backburner the dirty talk. instead, he rests a hand on top of eddie's, gentle yet authoritative, and says, "let me help."

buck's hips lift for tommy's hands without second thought, making it simple to shuck the pants off of him as eddie shimmies out of his own. before he can even process the sight of evan buckley and eddie diaz naked, together, on his own mattress, tommy's met with twinning expectant gazes and understands that he's meant to strip, too.

"i—" thought i would stay on the sidelines, he tries to say. but as seconds pass under the scrutiny of the other men, the reluctance dies in his larynx, and he jostles around a bit until the denim of his pants is bunched down low enough to free his dick.

he's too preoccupied by the fact that he's got both objects of his affection directly in front of him, touching and loving on each other and spilling all of it onto him, to truly comprehend the magnitude of the moment. his head is so far into the atmosphere that he almost misses eddie say, "tell me what to do, tommy."

re-tethered to the earth by the string of eddie's voice, tommy doesn't miss buck's impatient, "aw, c'mon, eddie, just get in me." his desperate, "need you," is clear as day, clear as his afternoon sky irises, brighter against the rosy blush ruddying his cheekbones. he's always so damn pretty when he pleads.

tommy glimpses down at buck's dick, finds it stiff and pink and already leaking a mess onto his belly; he flicks across to the heft of eddie's where it rests heavy in the lax grip of his own hand. it's a beautiful cock, flushed dark and filled out, not quite as thick as tommy's but a nice, proportionate size. tommy knows buck will unfurl for him at once, a blossom to the morning sun.

meeting the bonfire of eddie's anticipative stare, tommy decides to say, "it won't take much, i got him ready for you this morning. right, baby?"

if buck could nod any more vigorously, he might snap his vertebrae. he adjusts the angle of his hips a little to make more of his ass visible, scoots onto a pillow so that he can prop himself up enough to get a better hold on eddie's waist.

"jeeesus," drawls eddie — a rare slip of his honeyed-rye texas lilt — and then, like he can't help it, "christ." his eyes rake down buck's body, idling on his twitching dick before trailing further, like he'll be able to find evidence: tommy was here.

that makes tommy smirk. he wishes he could keep his instructions ambiguous, left up for eddie's interpretation, something like he can handle whatever you're willing to give him. instead, mindful of the fact that this is largely uncharted territory for eddie, he suggests, "start with your fingers, you won't hurt him."

tommy's trusty bottle of nightstand lube is within convenient reach, making it no trouble to squeeze and slather some across eddie's fingers with a lewd jerk. a bit of extra coats the side of tommy's hand and he uses it to rub along the cleft of buck's ass, prompting a shiver out of him.

"there you go," tommy rumbles, "nice and wet."

the synchronous broken moan that the two let out when eddie finally finds the courage to nudge his fingers into buck is one that will most likely play like a broken-record loop within the walls of tommy's skull forever from this moment forward, for better or for worse.

buck promises, "i can take more," with the bleeding edge of a prayer still present in his tone. "i want more, want you, eddie, come on. it's alright, you can fuck me, you're not gonna break me."

eddie asks, "are you sure?" dually directed.

"never been more sure," buck affirms, as tommy says, "trust him, he knows his own limits," all the while knowing he can't make the same claim about himself.

regardless, he casts himself into the riptide, plummets into the undertow and captures buck's lips in a greedy kiss. he licks behind buck's teeth and drinks up his whines as eddie rides his dick along the slick valley of buck's asscheeks. before he even pushes inside, buck's making these fucking tiny wounded noises that make tommy's heart swell and cock throb.

when eddie lines up and sinks, at last, into the place inside of buck that tommy has come to learn and know and adore, buck breaks away from tommy's kiss with something close to a genuine sob. one of his hands finds one of tommy's, the other still firm on eddie's waist, keeping both of them close. he's got a leg hitched up over one of eddie's hips for better leverage, and his toes curl when eddie starts to move, shallow and slow.

eddie's name has never sounded better to tommy's ears than it does falling out of buck's lips now.

"buck." eddie's tone is reverent. he says it again, as though buck's name is synonymous with god, the two a singular entity within the confines of his skull.

tommy nearly has to look away from them, they blaze so brightly. evan buckley and eddie diaz, starfire contained in terrestrial form, crashing and combining and dazzlingly white-hot.

───────────────

white-hot aftershocks zap through tommy's nervous system as he sits at the edge of the mattress, back turned to the two other men. his fingers are gooey with spatters of buck's come mixed with his own, his softening dick sensitive and sticky as his entire body pulses from the dopamine spike of his orgasm. being a spectator to eddie and buck's otherworldly connection — and a helping hand in their ridiculously hot, intimate sex — has him feeling triply unmoored.

he's supposed to be getting them something hydrating to drink; he'd been the one to offer after eventually peeling himself free from the gordian knot of their bodies. evan always gets thirsty after, in particular when he gets a little teary from the pleasure overload, so tommy figures he could use a glass of cold water. they all could.

he tries to will his legs to stand; he finds his knees locked. impulse turns him inward and sweeps him cliffside on the tallest peak of his high desert mountain range. there, he can stand with his shoulders in repose and head in the clouds, squinting far into the distance where he can decipher the unmistakable expanse of an ocean that glints with the reflection of two incandescent stars careening towards each other at a devastating rate. a ghostly whale breaches the surface for a flash, a mere speck on the horizon from here, vanished before its presence totally registers.

his heavy eyelids flutter shut and he mulls, achingly, over the term raison d'être.

he can hear buck and eddie behind him exchanging lazy, smacking kisses and sweet murmured praises.

"you made that so good for me, thank you."

"mm, you were pretty fuckin' good yourself. now come kiss me some more."

the sounds and sentiments soak into tommy's soul like they're meant for him. his lips tingle as though the press of another mouth is against them; his ears warm as eddie waxes on about how fucking glorious that all felt. his heart swoops at evan's quiet, bashful laugh.

upon opening his eyes the fog in his line of sight clears, and even through a blur of unwanted tears he can clearly recognize that he is no longer in the desert but in the sacred place where the luminous sea laps at the heavenly shoreline. the call of the waves isn't far off at all — the surf is actually rippling at his toes, splashing at his knees and calves. he's been here since the night that eddie diaz kissed evan buckley in his lap, feet sunken into silt, warm tides rising and falling around him.

translates to 'reason for being.'

"come back to us, tommy," summons eddie, as evan's hands reach out and welcome him back down to their mess of rumpled sheets and sweaty limbs.

tommy thinks, i could be a river, and lets himself melt into the embrace of their current, stream into ocean, copper into nickel.

#bucktommy #buddie #bummie #this is so fucking extra. lmao #i was in my emo poetry feelings while writing okay #healing something in my teenage soul #i don't actually imagine them being quite *this* dramatic and complicated in actuality but god. is it a joy to write lmao #but i think it still has a happy(?) ending?? lmfao #idk. i just love writing messy + melodramatic + emotionally claustrophobic things #threw a whole kitchen sink of comparisons at the walls of this one and for better or worse many of them stuck ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#also this does feature some of my more unkind headcanons about tommy's father and related issues lmao #the gc is the originator/authority of the fact that our beloved tommy is not the first in a line of tommy kinards #and i personally believe that tommy had/has a contentious and complicated relationship with his family - namely his dad #and that he may or may not have a relationship with him at all anymore (obviously not in this fic because i decided to be over-the-top af)#but yeah #anyway #mine #oh and just a heads up - ao3 has proper capitalization and tags

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