Fuck It Friday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard so here's a little thing that popped in my head, connected to this ficlet.

Buck keeps his head down, trying not to be too obvious as he glances at the clock, pretending to focus on the muddy boot prints tracking all over the engine bay. The MVA call everyone else just arrived back from must have been messy, he really doesn't want to believe anyone aplashed through the mud intentionally just to undo all the cleaning he'd been left behind to do since Bobby finally allowed him back. Hen had convinced them all to leave their dirty boots downstairs, at least, so the stairs and loft should remain in decent enough order that Buck won't have to scrub them down again before their shift ends.

He ignores the dull ache in his leg and dunks the mop back into the bucket, risking a look up at the closed door of Bobby's office. A union steward had followed the captain in there upon the team's return, carrying a very official looking envelope that Buck already knows the contents of. He hopes that Bobby will just sign the papers quietly – it's not like anyone in the station actually cares. The office door opens and steward scurries out. Their eyes meet for moment and Buck sees the recognition there, knows what everyone in the LAFD sees when they look at him. Evan Buckley, the guy who got his leg crushed in the truck explosion, then sued his captain and the department. No one sees the guy on blood thinners who saved countless people after the tsunami, the guy who worked his ass off and broke records for his recertification, the guy who turned down millions to be relegated to scrubbing floors. All they see when they look at him now is a traitor that sold out his team to some slime bag ambulance chaser. Buck ducks his head and continues working, knuckles white where he grips the mop handle. Just forty-five minutes left, then he can walk out of the 118 and maybe try to rebuild some semblance of a life and career.

He finishes with the floor and tucks the mop back where it goes inside the supply closet as quickly as he can. He doesn't like to come back here anymore, doesn't want to think about strong arms holding him against the shelves hard enough that he had to come up a lie for the bruise across his back or the countless times he had been knees for something that had nothing to do with scrubbing floors. Buck had been a fool to think any of those times had meant anything more than exactly what they were. Tommy hasn't even looked at him since he was allowed back on shift.

His leg throbs as he walks up the stairs to the loft. It needed to be iced hours ago, but there had been too much to do. He would pay for it tomorrow, but it's not like he has much reason to get out of bed anyway. He bypasses the kitchen and living area to go straight to the locker room and gathers his things, clearing his locker out completely. When he walks back put to mezzanine, Bobby is standing there with his arms crossed and everyone else is staring at him. Everyone except Tommy, who's still seated at the long dining table with Buck's transfer papers in his hands, reading.

"Do you want to tell us what this is all about?" Bobby asks. He doesn't sound angry or really even surprised, just tired. Disappointed. It's a tone Buck is all too familiar with.

"Not really, sir," Buck answers quietly. He sees Bobby's fingers tighten and his eyebrows go up.

"'Not really?' After all that? After everything you put this team through? Instead of coming to me, you went to the union and put in a transfer request, and you don't think there should be any explanation?"

"There isn't anything to explain," Buck says, tugging his duffle strap anxiously. He feels like a teenager, feeling totally invisible until suddenly he's getting yelled at in the kitchen. At least this time he has a way to escape. The muscle in Bobby's jaw twitches.

"I told you before you came back that it would be under my terms. Did you really think everything was going to be the same as it was before? You destroyed the trust of everyone on this team! It takes time to build that back."

Buck wants to point out that no one is giving him the chance to try, but he knows it won't matter. This is just another place where he's overstayed his welcome. He takes a breath.

"If I can't be trusted, I shouldn't be here," He says, surprised at how even his voice sounds when he feels like he's falling apart. "Let the department bring in someone new and start over. We all know everyone will be happier with me gone."

"Buck–" Hen starts, her eyes sad and pitying. Buck doesn't look at her. For all her talk of marching to her own drum, her steps sure happened to fall in line with everyone elses.

"I spent my whole life in a house where I wasn't wanted," Buck says, looking past all the people he once considered the closest thing he had ever had to a family. In his periphery, he sees Tommy finally look up. "I can't do it again."

With that, Buck walks around his now former captain, ignoring the shocked looks and calls for him to come back.

There's nothing left for him here.

For fun tagging: @letsdosciencetoit @chemistry66 @beanarie @emakataken @corporatebanana @capitalnineteen @firehose118 @harmless-variety-of-garden-snake @leashybebes @nosecrinklewrites @nine-one-wanton @peppermintquartz @wee-fuckin-woo @rcmclachlan @yeah-uh-the-pilot @fenrirscarsback

Listen I'm sorry but there is no way that Ilya Rozanov was in some underground underage queer club scene as a teenager in Moscow. He is a policeman's son and he is a top hockey prospect. He was doing nothing but whatever it took to launch a hockey career. I understand the urge to imprint on characters but you have to understand what being drafted 1oa to the NHL means about Ilya and his background. Do you understand how much discipline that took? He was not giving himself fucking stick and poke tattoos in the backrooms of gay clubs. He was not putting his future livelihood in jeopardy by entering underground gay clubs AT ALL. Yes he was partying but crucially in venues where those things were normal and expected of him as an up and coming sporting phenom--and honestly, he was probably not partying nearly as much as his reputation would imply. Yes he was occassionally having sex with men but those men were probably EQUALLY as closeted as he was and had equally as much to lose. The whole reason he and Sasha come into contact with each other is because of Sasha's proximity to hockey. I am genuinely sorry but the idea that Ilya had some queer found family that he left behind in Moscow to play for the NHL is looneytoons projection.

Everything else about Ms. Rachel aside, for someone who openly admits she was inspired by Mr. Rogers, it's interesting how she takes the completely opposite approach to pacing. She's fast-paced, trying to capture toddlers' short attention spans. But shows like that existed in Mr. Rogers' time, too. What made him different was that his show was all about creating a quiet environment that let kids process and regulate their feelings, so they weren't just chasing the next visual trying to grab their attention.

And in the age of short-form media content, you'd think someone who looked up to Mr. Rogers would understand it's more important now than ever to teach children patience.

it’s so crazy how nixon had to resign after watergate and now every single month 1 million watergates happen and no one cares

A bond that would not be broken. Above men, above God, above fate. Together forever.

GINGER SNAPS (2000)
dir. John Fawcett

What? Really?

Apparently, this is a thing, if you actually want to do this to your car. This one looks wrapped. Look, even the windshield wiper is covered.

not to be a pervert or anything but media should have more sex in it

Okay, if you are tired then you won't be able to read. There I say it. No one else want to say it. It is strange. If you are tired, if you cannot finish a book that's a given. That's why you need to read...at work. You need to steal your reading time from your employers.

Some of the edgiest queers in the world who constantly talk about romanticizing cannibalism and gore is punk or whatever will turn into the literal pope when confronted with anything realistic having to do with sex like im sorry but people fuck in the park at night sometimes always have and always will and you’re going to have to go about your life without advocating for them to be skinned alive in Alcatraz

notes of the last reblog are fulllllll of people going "uuuuh but fucking in the park is wrong it's literally a crime" like okay first of all of your definition of morality is based on what is legally permitted you are not a serious person

not to toot my own ass too hard but I just baked the TASTIEST banana bread

not to sound like the friend that's too woke but why does this police station toyset for a 5yr old need a weapons safe full of tiny toy-sized automatic rifles. just asking.

people whining about kinktober actually being kinky, dark and taboo is so funny to me. like what do you think KINKtober is about? do you not know cnc kink and other taboo kinks are the most common and popular kinks? if it were vanilla it wouldn’t be called a kinktober babe.

anyway I hope writers have a fun and sexy time participating in this year’s kinktober! be wild my beloved soldiers