#this is about Eddie in Night Terrace

[friend-through-teenage-nights]

I love men in independently made audio comedy where the other characters are just like "it wouldn't be awful if he suffered for a little bit".

[transmascsteveharrington]

Steve knows it's not polite to stare. He knows to quickly avert his gaze in the locker rooms and how to glance at pretty girls long enough for them to notice but not too long to make him seem like a creep. Still, despite telling himself not to stare over and over again it is impossible not to stare at Eddie Munson.

Steve had been unable to look away when Eddie had first moved to Hawkins, permanent frown on his face and his hair buzzed short. Steve had desperately longed to touch it. Wondered if it was soft or spiky, if Eddie had chosen the haircut himself, or if his parents had made the choice, just like Steve's made choices for him all the time.

The staring problem got worse with Eddie letting his hair grow out. And the whole getting up on tables in the cafeteria thing. At least nobody was thinking it was weird for Steve to be staring up at Eddie while Eddie was going on about forced conformity and sticking it to the man.

Tommy would mumble something about being a show-off and freak under his breath and Steve would laugh along, forcing himself to tear his eyes away. He knew better though. Knew it wasn't really Eddie, just the kind of performance he liked to give to keep up the act of the untouchable freak. Steve knew the feeling all too well of looking in the mirror not recognizing the person you were seeing. Steve would see a person with a heavy crown, Eddie one with a jester's hat. But it's not like anyone ever truly bothered to look, to actually see more than the parts both of them were playing.

There is a bottle pressed to Steve's throat but even if there wasn't he would be unable not to look at Eddie. He's known that Eddie has brown eyes, but he's never seen them this up close, has never gotten lost in the dark swirls of brown, has never allowed himself to think how truly beautiful they are. Eddie is glaring at Steve so much fear and apprehension in his eyes. It makes Steve want to say, I won't hurt you, I promise. I know you. I'm just like you.

He doubts Eddie would appreciate or believe the sentiment, a king and a jester have nothing in common and Steve is under no illusion that while he was watching Eddie, seeing Eddie, that Eddie was looking back at him and seeing past the blinding lights of the jewels the elite of Hawkings High had bestowed upon Steve. So instead Steve swears onto Dustin's mom and the bottle moves away from his neck and Eddie out of his sight.

The first time Steve can't bare to look at Eddie is in the hospital. He still sits in the tiny room, holding Eddie's hand in his as if he had the right, unable to look at the unconscious, unmoving, pale face. The doctors said Eddie was going to be alright, but Steve had looked enough at a half-dead Eddie when carrying his torn-apart body out of the upside down. It had been enough for a lifetime.

It's once Eddie has woken up that Steve truly can't keep his eyes away. Stares unapologetically, always finds Eddie's eyes in a crowded room, looks and looks as if taking Eddie in was more vital for Steve's survival than taking oxygen.

Eddie knows obviously, can always feel Steve's eyes prickling in his neck. He brings it up eventually. They've spend the evening smoking weed at Steve's pool the summer heat keeping the night mild. They trade the wet end of the joint between them as if it were kisses. And maybe Steve wishes they were when their knees knock together.

"You need to stop looking at me like that," Eddie says as he exhales smoke.

"Like what?"

"Like it means something, like you want me to get ideas," Eddie huffs a laugh, failing at covering up the slither of want that wraps around his words like vines. Steve takes the joint and stubs it out on the terrace floor.

"What if it does mean something?" He asks braver than he feels. "What if I want you to get ideas?"

Eddie's eyes widen in surprise for a moment before he searches Steve's face trying to find out if Steve is being serious. There is something thrilling about Eddie looking at him like that, a little in disbelief, a little in awe, and a little bit smitten.

Eddie keeps quiet for a moment longer and continues to look at Steve. Properly looks at Steve, lets go of all he's been told and focuses on all that he knows. Steve looks at Eddie as always, seeing Eddie. Eddie looks back at Steve and for the first time truly sees Steve. He lets out a little gasp as Steve keeps holding his gaze.

I know you, Steve wants to say. I've been watching you and looking at you and been seeing you and I know you and I love you.

"Then prove it," Eddie whispers as if he knows exactly what Steve is thinking.

Proof that you know and love me. It's all the encouragement Steve needs to lean in and close the distance between them. They kiss with their eyes closed. They both know there will be a lifetime of looking at each other and seeing each other.

[bettyfrommars]

Dr. Munson & The Monster

mad scientist!Eddie x The Monster x fem!Reader

Based on a sweet ask I got about how Reader's boyfriend cheats on us, and then we get revenge with his dad. I'm sure this was not what they had in mind 👀 my apologies. wc: 1.7k

18+Only, mature content, smut, cheating, mention of monster sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), creampie, breeding!kink, mention of being forced to live at the castle, mention of male impotence. Frankie and Reader are 25+, doctor!Eddie is 40+.

Things with you and your boyfriend Frankie were complicated.  When he first put you over his shoulder and carried you back to the castle, determined to be your mate, you wondered if it would work out.  But, you’d grown to love that zipper-neck lothario, and the enormous cock attached to him.  Munson’s Monster was famous by that time for being the first reanimated human, and he had so many women throwing their panties at him, it was intimidating for you at first.  

“Baby,  where are you going?” You called to him from the bed where you were in one of your sexiest nightgowns, draped perfectly to expose the curve of your hip that drove him bonkers.

“Out!” But he didn’t actually say it, he just grunted it, stomping off toward the balcony on stiff legs.  He liked to use the thick vines on the side of the building to climb down.

He flung the terrace doors wide open, and you watched him make his clumsy descent with a shake of your head.  “You’ll break your neck again one of these days, you know that baby? Just use the front door next time!”

He was too busy banking on his arm strength to hold his substantial weight to look up at you, but he did offer a growl and a grunt, and by the time he dropped to the ground in a crouch, there were tears glistening on your lash line.

The first few months together had been so rich with discovery and the promise of new  love. Frankie mated you from sunup to sundown, stretching you out and chasing his release with animalistic passion, the likes of which you’d never experienced before. After a few weeks, you were confessing your love; there was even talk of planning an October wedding.

But, the honeymoon phase was over, as they say, and word had made its way back to you that Frankie was getting in bed with every village woman within arms reach.  They all snickered and laughed behind your back when they saw you in town.

You watched him stumble into the night, and then you peeled yourself away from the balcony and wiped your eyes.  

You didn’t want to be alone again.  The only people who lived in the castle besides you and Frankie were Dr. Munson, his assistant Igor, and a housekeeper named Frau Blucher.  You put your silky robe on and brought a candelabra downstairs with you, following the golden glow of light coming from under the door of Dr. Munson’s library.

You knocked first, because he was a very private man, and you were paranoid that he hated you for whatever reason.  Maybe he didn’t think you were good enough for his creation?

“Enter,” a gruff voice bellowed from inside.

Edward Munson, brilliant surgeon and mad scientist, was hunched over his desk, fingers flying from inkwell to paper as he scribbled notes in his journal.  Long, dark curly hair wild around his shoulders, with a touch of gray at the sides, and fingertips stained black from the ink.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, never looking up from the paper.

He knew it was you.  He recognized the way your footsteps sounded on the floor above, the cadence of your knock, the way his heart jumped into his throat whenever you were near.

You shut the door behind you, pushing it until it clicked.  A cozy fire roared in the hearth, the air smelled of old books, pipe tobacco, and leather. You intertwined your fingers in front of you and went to take a seat by the fire.

Eddie finally glanced up, your silence making him curious.  That was when he saw your puffy face and the tears in your bloodshot eyes.  The horrible way his “son” treated you was no secret among the house, and sometimes his thoughts found their way to wondering how it would’ve worked out if he’d found you first, and not Frankie. 

With the pen still in his hand, he sat back in his seat.  “I’m sorry this keeps happening. You deserve much better than this.”

You snapped a look at him.  He was always so grumpy with you, this was the first time he’d ever offered you any semblance of comfort.

The nightgown under your robe was so tight to your skin that he could see the outline of your breasts and the way you weren’t wearing any undergarments.  He cast his eyes back down at his desk, ashamed for even allowing himself to dream.

Pausing in the middle of the room, on your way to the couch by the fire, you were struck with a sudden epiphany: Dr. Munson was attracted to you.  How had you never noticed it previously?   The way the light from the fire danced on his skin, making his dark eyes sparkle.

Driven by loneliness and a sudden, rabid burst of horny, you slinked over to the big oak desk, hitching your ample hip out to rest it at the edge.  The muscles in Eddie’s jaw flexed, eyes anchoring to yours, refusing to let them roam your body like they wanted to.

“What do you want from me?” His tone was tight, his cock twitching in his pants at how close you were.  “You should go back to your room.”

What you wanted was to get back at your neglectful, cheating boyfriend.  He got to have his fun several nights a week with whoever he wanted.  Why couldn’t you have the same?

You came around the desk to be closer, now your leg was touching his.  You let your hand graze up along your inner thigh over your nightgown, lips parted as you watched him from under hooded eyes.  “I want you to touch me, doctor.”

Dr. Munson hasn’t been with a woman intimately for years.  Mostly because he was a recluse who had no patience for the small talk required for getting to know someone, but also—he’d been harboring a secret crush on you since that first day Frankie brought you home.

His eyes flicked from the outline of your cunt to your face.  “Show me,” he told you, pushing the sleeves up on his shirt.

Eager to please him, you ran your hands up your thighs to shimmy the silky skirt up around your hips, giving him the perfect view of your kitten.  

Eddie’s mouth went dry at the sight, his brows knitting together.  He inched forward to brace one hand on your thigh while the other worked a finger along your slit, hissing at your wetness.  You yanked down the front of your nightgown to play with your nipples.

“Get on the desk,” he demanded, unbuttoning his shirt.

You had your knees bent, feet on his shoulders, quivering as his fingers spread you, his tongue seeking out the special nub that Frankie could never find.  The scientist that he was, he had studied a woman’s anatomy extensively, and wanted to use his gathered knowledge to please you.

“Your mouth feels so good, doctor,” you whimpered.   

He pulled away, chin dripping with a mix of saliva and your arousal, and then he worked a finger down, slipping in one, two, and then three.  You were all the way back on the desk now, knocking things over as you writhed, spilling the inkwell.  

He got to his feet, pushing his pants down to expose a generous pink length. You propped on your elbows to lick your lips and watch as he rubbed the tip along your slit with a groan, frowning in concentration.  

“Is this what you want?” He mumbled, pulling open your lips to watch how well you took his tip.

You sat up to meet his mouth, fingers clawing into his crazy hair as you forced his lips open with your tongue.  “I want you to give me a baby,” you begged. You found each other's eyes then, hovering on the implication of what was being asked. “Because we know Frankie can’t.”

It was true.  As much of a medical miracle and scientific treasure Frankie was, Dr. Munson suspected his sperm was no longer viable. Sometimes he blamed his skill as a surgeon for how Frankie had turned out, but he had to be gentle with himself—that brain Igor found for him was not the organ of an intellectual.  

Locking eyes with you, he sank all the way in, filling you to the base at first thrust, making you both cry out.  He cursed, bracing his hands on the desk for leverage to piston his hips against you.  You held his face between your hands and matched his need with your tongue.

His deft fingers moved from working your nipple to your clit, watching you unravel before his eyes.  It wasn’t until he felt your walls flutter around his cock and heard you whimper his name that he allowed his release.

He grunted, fingers digging into your soft hips. He hadn’t tended to himself in days, and so the potential for seeds to be planted deep in your womb was strong. 

 It took a while for him to finish pumping it all in, and then you stretched back on the huge desk, planting your feet, knees wide.  Maintaining eye contact with him, you used your fingers to push his cum deeper inside of you, tilting your hips up, holding it there, and then rubbing the excess up through your folds, before bringing them to your mouth to suck. 

He kissed your stomach and your breasts, up your throat, sticking his own fingers inside to keep any from leaking out.  “Stay like this until I say you can go,” he mumbled against your mouth.  “And when it starts to drip down your leg, I want you to remember who put it there.”

“Yes, doctor,” you whined, listening to the plop of the tiny ink droplets as they fell from the desk and collected in a puddle on the floor. 

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

you're a cowboy like me.

you're a cowboy like me, perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear like it could be love, i could be the way forward, only if they pay for it.

Steve is good at reading people. He always has been. He can spot an easy mark a mile away. He knows what to look for, knows that it’s always the older, lonely women, the ones who wear their pearls and their diamonds to lunch on a Tuesday afternoon, draped in black velvet and satin, ancient fur coats hanging off their shoulders, that will eat up his words and his casual touches like peppermint candies. 

Steve’s been working his way through Westchester and the Hamptons for three summers now, which generally means he knows practically everyone there is to know. Everyone worth knowing. So when a stranger in black leather and pressed trousers crashes a Friday night at the country club, everyone takes notice.

Steve’s in the formal dining room, surrounded by Marie—his date—and her girlfriends and their husbands, when Bill Weatherstone stands from his spot next to his wife to greet the stranger who’d just been led to their table by the club’s hostess. Conversation at the table comes to a stop so abruptly Steve would find it funny, if he wasn’t so suspicious of this new stranger. The newcomer has long, curly dark hair pinned out of his face in a ponytail at the back of his neck and big, innocent-looking eyes. When he smiles and clasps Bill’s hand in both of his in greeting, Steve makes note of the dimples on his cheeks. 

The stranger isn’t wearing a sports coat, which means he’s technically not supposed to be allowed to sit at their table, but Bill is the president of the club’s board and Steve knows he can generally do whatever the hell he wants. Money will do that.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this is the new associate at the firm,” Bill’s booming voice rings out, so loud that the chatter from the surrounding tables dies out a little as other diners turn to look at them. Steve notices that several other club members eye the stranger suspiciously as well. “Just started up with us last week. Eddie Munson, here’s the gang.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the table. “Gang, Eddie Munson.” He claps Munson on the shoulder before returning to his seat.

Munson turns his blinding smile on the rest of the table while he pulls out the empty chair next to Bill and drops down into it. He’s not graceful about it, but there is a certain charm in the rough-around-the-edges, wrong-side-of-the-tracks vibe he’s got going on. If you like that sort of thing. Steve doesn’t, but he knows that there’s several women sitting in this room who would eat Eddie Munson up like creme brûlée. Steve can't help but scowl down at his plate. 

~*~

After that first night, Steve starts seeing Munson everywhere. He’s at all the club events, in the club’s dining room every Friday night, and he’s somehow gotten himself invited to all the best parties. He’s always close to Bill or sometimes Jasper Jenkins, the club’s treasury director. 

Steve is still suspicious of Munson, but he hasn’t caused any problems with Steve’s particular favorites this season, so Steve just continues to give the outsider a wide berth and mind his own business. He’s done this long enough to see others come and go. Sometimes he can feel Munson’s eyes trail after him as he leads one of his ladies to a darkened corner or out onto the terrace for a closer look at the stars and some privacy. 

About three week’s after Munson first enters the country club, Steve is invited to a poker game in the club’s basement. He doesn’t usually get invited to these kinds of things; he tends to stay close to the women, accompanying them on their days out shopping and listening to them complain about their husbands or how their children never call at their private teas and lunches. Cozying up to the married men isn’t really his idea of a good time and it’s certainly not what he’s here for, but occasionally, he has to put in an appearance or two.

Steve’s shit at poker. He loses three hands before he has to tap out of the game altogether. The room is full of club members and younger women, the air smokey from cigars. The club’s pianist plays in the corner, but no one pays him any mind beyond stuffing a few bills into the glass he’s got sitting on the piano when they pass him by. The women are half naked and giggling, skin smooth and pink as they sit in the laps of old men. The poker room has several doors leading off of it and Steve shudders to think what’s happening behind each one. Steve may sleep with married women, but at least those women have class; they’re hurting and neglected, cast aside by their greedy husbands. They’re looking for companionship, closeness, more than sex; all the things Steve’s more than happy to give them if their husbands won’t. These men are just pigs. 

Steve’s been down here only a few times before. He vaguely remembers the way to the restroom and he tries to follow the winding, wood-paneled hallways using muscle memory. He pushes open a dark wooden door down in a quiet corner, a little further from the poker room than he remembers. The room is dark when he enters, a single table lamp lighting up the space. Steve’s mouth drops open, shock paralyzing him in the doorway. In the corner, Munson is pushed up against the wall, head thrown back with Bill Weatherstone’s lips attached to his neck. Munson’s hand is gripping at Bill’s thinning hair and his eyes meet Steve’s. A slow smile spreads across Munson’s face as he meets Steve’s gaze and he shoots Steve a wink before making a shooing motion with his free hand. Steve backs out of the room quietly, pulling the door closed behind him, his face burning red. His hand pulls at the knot in his tie, mouth suddenly dry as he makes his way back to the card game. Steve doesn’t even need to make his excuses to anyone back at the game, just grabs his jacket and flees the club.

Later that night, after he’s taken Marie out to the opera and delivered her safely home to her Manhattan townhouse, Steve lays in his bed and remembers the look on Munson’s face, the way he’d smiled at Steve with heavy lids, vision cloudy through the dark. 

Steve was good at reading people. He always had been, until he’d met Eddie Munson.

~*~

shoutout to @richhietozier for leaving some beautiful tags on one of my rotten brain au posts.

[swiftgreatest]

August | Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

a/n: hii my peoplee!! how are you? this is the eddie roundtree one shot based on taylor song i talking about on one of my last notes, i hope u like. my requets are open!

inspired on taylor swift song August

words: 1.7k

tw: angst, heart breaking, eddie being stupid, it's not revised so grammatical mistakes

You and Eddie are a thing.

You and Eddie are a complicated thing.

Is complicated the right word? You're sure about this, in fact, in relation to Eddie, you never have sure about nothing. A relationship full of false hope and questions. But how do you get here?

Salt air and the rust on your door, I never needed anything more,

Whispers of: Are you sure?

Never have I ever before.

Eddie and you meet for the first time at an infamous party of Daisy on the Chateau Marmont, you know Daisy since her adventures in Strip and she never forgets you. You get a friendship with her, since that time you and her still partying together. After she joined The Six, the parties only increased and you were in all of them.

In one of these parties, Daisy shows you to one of her bandmates. Eddie Roundtree. You know his existence, but never noticed him since that night. What you didn't know is he had noticed you before, he got his eyes on you for a long time and he asked Daisy to introduce you.

On that night you talk the whole night, while the people round on the dance floor, you learn about each other, Eddie tells stories about his life, how he got his first guitar, stories of the band, past loves, his past life in Pittsburgh. And you tell your story too and confess your whole life to him.

Is a new thing for you, you never had opened up with a guy from "Strip" like you had with Eddie. You've a serious rule for "Sunset Strip" guys, you don't get them to come close to you, because you know most of them just want to get in your pants. But Eddie, oh he's different, he sounds different. He's like sapphires in the middle of false diamonds. .

But is he really so different from the others?

But I can see us lost in the memory,

August slipped away into a moment in time,

'Cause it was never mine,

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets,

August sipped away like a bottle of wine,

'Cause you were never mine.

Salt air, the weather was strange, but who cares about it? You and Eddie were together, so who cares? You were twisted in bedsheets, hidden from the world in your bedroom, just you and him. Everything makes sense now, it's all about that, share a bottle of wine, listen to Eddie play new songs to you.

Hiding is the most thing you did together. Hidden in parties, after shows, in your house, every place is a new place to hide. Eddie had a list of places you could stand together and act like a couple. For some reason, he didn't want the people to think that you are a couple. Especially his bandmates. No one in the band knew about you two.

You never questioned him about that, you thinking this is happing because you're not dating, so it's a good reason. It's a good reason? You make questions to yourself everyday about it, but it's Eddie! He's different and you have connection, making memories daily, you knew him, you belong to him and he belongs to you.

Your back beneath the Sun,

Wishing I could write my name on it,

Will you call when you're back at school?,

I remember thinking I had you.

For the first time, Eddie took you for the band house, nobody was there, but it's a good first step, isn't? You're together in the terrace, the sun shines on you and reflect to world, is a good felling in side, be with the person you love and should love you too.

You and Eddie was in your world when listen a voice echoed in the house.

"Hey everybody? Is someone there?" You recognize that voice. Is Camilla Dunne, Eddie's childhood friend. You're enchanted with her, she's so kind, sweet and beautiful and takes care of everyone around her, you fall for her and who wouldn't fall in love with her.

"Go to my bedroom" The bassist said and left you before you could say anything. Since you and Eddie had this "thing", you become too good to hide. In the midway for his bedroom you start thinking better, why Eddie wants to hide you from his friends? They're his family. What's the problem with you?

You heard the talk between them and felt a strong urge to go downstairs and introduce yourself to Camilla. It could be a new step for you and Roundtree, you stood in front of the ladder and went down a few steps. But before you could do something, Eddie shows up on the front of the stairs.

"Go back upstairs, she can't see you"

"Why not?"

Eddie takes a deep sigh "We will talk late" Liar. You know it's a lie, always when you come close to starting a fight he says "late" and it ends.

"No! I want to know right now! Why can't I talk with your friends?"

"What? Hell no! Of course you can talk to my friends, but Camilla is different"

" Why she's different? What's she mean to you?"

"Eddie, you've someone with you?" Camilla said and you can hear her footsteps coming closer.

"You need to come up, we'll talk later" He walked off leaving you on the stairs. It wasn't something new, Eddie leaving you in a pit of hope and disappointment. Hope that you would become something, that you would make plans for the future together, that you would be enough for him.

That day you had your big fight.

Remember when I pulled up and said: Get in the car

And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?

Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all

Meet me behind the mall

"What asswhole! I'll kill that dickhead" Daisy said she's got furious after you tell your story with Roundtree for her.

"Please Daisy, don't make it worse than it is" You had your arms around your body trying to protect yourself from something you didn't know what it was.

Since what happened at The Six's house, you and Eddie have stopped talking to each other, no calls, no meetings, no hiding out at your house. After that fight you haven't spoken to each other. You tried several times, God knows you tried, going to their parties, calling his number. God damn it! You even asked Daisy to take you to one of the shows.

But nothing worked, you met him every time, but he didn't talk to you, in fact he didn't even look at you, it was as if you were nothing to him, as if you had never spoken those beautiful words to each other, exchanged secrets and kisses, it's like you're just a moment in time.

"You can't let him use you like this and just ignore you now, S/n!"

"He didn't use me Daisy! I was there because I wanted it, I wanted him. And I lost him"

"But he can't act like this with you, say nice words and gone, you need to talk with him. I'll fix it" Daisy walked away from you leaving you alone in the living room of her hotel room.

You're tired of fighting for something you aren't sure about anymore, making hopes for something that will never happen. Oh, how did you get here? Lies, dreams, delusions, insecurity coming from words that once made sense. You can't save something that doesn't belong to you.

Back when we were still changing for the better

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

Cancel plans just in case you'd call

And say: Meet me behind the mall,

So much for summer love and saying us

You had forgotten how good Daisy's parties could be since getting involved with the bass player from the Six's, it was something that changed your days for a moment and made you realize how fast life can change.

Falling in love and breaking up was something new for you. Dealing with disappointment and embarrassment was something you needed to learn.

"Why did you tell her? I thought we had fixed it out" Your thoughts were interrupted by Roundtree.

"Fixed what? I don't remember that we had a talk. We don't had nothing"

"That fight means a lot, don't you think so?"

"What I think? You care about what I think? Or is it just another lie?" You took all your courage and aren't coming back now. "Don't lie anymore, I know I didn't mean nothing to you"

"I always cared about you, it was a good time. I really enjoyed being with you."

"But not enough to make us something real, right? He stared at you in silence, you were quiet with your thoughts for a long time but now it would be different. "What are you running from, what are you so afraid of?"

"I know it is late to try to fix it, but I will be honest with you" For the first time in a long time he looks deep into your eyes and you've slips of past memories "There's another person…"

Oh of course it is, someone else, someone better, someone enough for him. It hurts you and for a few minutes you feel down, as if you were sinking in a drilled boat and water was in your lungs.

You get all the courage left inside you and ask "Who?" Eddie didn't answer. He never answered your question, in fact he didn't need to, his eyes following the black-haired woman dancing on the dance floor with her husband the Six's frontman said it all. She was the reason. And how could you never imagine this? The two of them grew up together and God! She was perfect, how could you look at her and not be on your knees for her in the same minute, it's impossible.

And in this moment you realize that you never could lose Eddie, because he never is yours to lose.

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

You weren't mine to lose, oh

———

heyyy everybodyyyy!! how are you today? i hope u ok!! if u like, reblog and like this means a lot to me, my requets is open ❤️

daisy jones & the six masterlist

[a-strange-inkling]

Does Eddie ever go to counseling with Chrissy to talk about his own trauma? He went through literal hell and has ptsd too.

Eventually, yeah he does. He’s hesitant at first, sees it kind of as a weakness, not for Chrissy, but for himself. He ends up going when Chrissy’s counselor wants to meet him. I have this little unedited snippet of him and Steve talking about it:

“So um Chrissy,” Steve clears his throat.

“Yeah, I know her.” Eddie smiles as he takes a sip of his beer, leaning on the railing of the terrace next to him.

Steve gives him his signature don’t be a smartass look. “Does she… is she still going to counseling?”

“Yeah, not as much as before, but like once or twice a month.” Eddie replies, sobering up, a little thrown off.

“That’s good,” he bobs his head up and down. Eddie waits for the next pending question. “How does she… does she like it?”

“Well, I mean… she likes it as much as one can like putting all their trauma and issues on a white board to be scrutinized… She really misses Clara back in Chicago, they were close and got through a lot together, but she’s slowly getting on with her new one here.”

“But, it must help, right?” Steve presses on. “Like she wouldn’t go if it didn’t… Even though she can’t tell her… you know, everything.”

“…Yeah, it helps.” Eddie eyes him, frowning a little in concern. “It still helps…Why you thinking about seeing someone?”

Steve shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. “I don’t know, maybe…”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah no, everything’s fine,” Steve assures quickly. “It’s just… You know I love Gwen, I never thought I’d love anyone as much as I love her again… but there’s this barrier whenever things flair up with me. I always thought that shared trauma thing was kind of bullshit, but it makes sense you know… you’ve got Chrissy… Jonathan and Nancy have each other… And I had Robin, sure, but after she moved to Chicago… I don’t always have someone I can talk to about it.”

“We’re all here Steve… it’s just a phone call.”

“Yeah, I know… but you know what I mean,” he tells him with a heavy roll of his eyes. “If you wake up in the middle of the night screaming or some shit, Chrissy’s right there and she knows why… Gwen doesn’t and I know I scare her when it happens and she… she doesn’t scare easy, man.”

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“No.” Steve answers firmly. “No, I don’t want her or the boys to ever… I won’t put them through that.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Eddie can’t imagine getting through any of his shit without Chrissy. He feels a little guilty for the sudden wave of gratitude that washes over him. “I’ve gone with Chrissy once in a while… to counseling.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Really?”

Eddie nods, trying not to be too aloof and defensive about it. There’s nothing wrong with it. He knows that, but it still always makes him feel pathetic to admit it. “Yeah, Clara was a little concerned for our marriage early on.”

Steve seems stunned by that. “You two? You and Chrissy were having marriage trouble?”

“More of the opposite of that, I guess,” Eddie replies with a shrug, looking out into the city. “She was worried about how close we were, how we had such a hard time being away from another… threw words like separation anxiety and codependency around.”

“But, that’s understandable.” Steve points out.

“Yeah… if she knew what we really went through, sure… but the whole kidnapping, accused murder thing was enough for her to get a grasp on it… turns out we’re both fucked up enough even without Creel that therapy still is beneficial.”

[lorifragolina]

Sweet pies - The trial

Here the fifth part, finally poor Steve Harrington knows what his destiny will be from now on! For @mungrovebingos last summer.

Rating: E Relationship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Words: 1790

Snipped behind the cut!

Steve met Eddie in Paris and Billy in Malibu, and both times they rejected him at the last moment; he stole a kiss from both, but then he met them again at a business lunch, they came hand in hand and he was scared one of them would break his face. The lunch was unusually tense, the other guests didn’t understand why, and at the end Steve considered the idea to literally run away for his life. But Eddie and Billy remained seated even when the others went away, and he felt oddly chained to that seat in front of them, feeling like he was under trial. He thought that possibly they didn’t tell each other about him, but he couldn’t move after all. “I knew your face was familiar” said Billy after a long silence, taking his book off his bag. Steve blushed. “Such a coincidence, isn't it?” added Eddie. “I don’t know what to say,” confessed Steve. “Remember what I said to you last night?” continued Eddie taking his boyfriend’s hand. Billy looked at him intensely and Steve felt frankly aroused. “Very well” he smiled, and then looked at Steve, who felt completely defenseless. Billy slipped a hand to Steve’s and grabbed it. “Maybe we can go somewhere more private?” and Steve blushed furiously.

Eddie grabbed his waist during the walk to Billy’s house. In the elevator, they remained side to side looking at him, and he wasn’t sure yet if they would beat kill him, or fuck him. In the house, Billy poured three whiskeys and they sat on the terrace, again like he was on trial. “I’m in trouble?” asked Steve, shaking a little. His ice clinked in his glass. “It depends,” teased Eddie, and Billy laughed.

[luckyqueenreign]

Suresh Route Summary Ep 31

Ok Suresh Girlies here's the Summary for Ep 31...Spoilers under the cut

Ep 31

Gabi calls MC and Suresh out to Terrace for a chat. he tells MC he didnt tell her about gabi because it was just a brief fling I DIDNT MENTION IT BECAUSE IT WAS ONLY A BRIEF FLING!!!!! gabi says it was five months 🫣 Suresh says hes laser focused on Lulu which you have the opportunity to tell him about what Eddie told you in the gem scene!! Lulu barges in when she hears her name and comes to collect Suresh...I seriously hate all these damn interruptions this season. LET ME FINISH ONE CONVERSATION.

As MC gets back in bed Nicolas wants to hear about all the gossip

Lulu says things got steamy between her and Suresh last night 😩😩😩😩

the islanders get a text that the least compatible couple is going home tonight

ALFIE GEM SCENE - he pulls MC to chat about casa amor and explain why he chose to switch to Meera. he also said that Nicolas gave him bad vibes that he was just here for the drama, which makes sense because the boy has asked me about the goss like 87 times already.. I asked him for goss on the other boys in casa and he told me that Suresh was very flirty with Lulu 😩😩😩😩

Nicolas has a "game plan" to ensure that him and MC make it to the final....for the Nicolas girlies its not looking good.

[dailylooneys]

Happy 112th Birthday Norm McCabe

Another one of the least known cartoon directors at Warner Bros’ Termite Terrace.

Starting at WB, he was hired as an in-between during the Harman and Ising days in 1932. McCabe even went with both Bob Clampett and Chuck Jones to assist Ub Iwerks to complete two of Iwerks WB shorts, which was Porky and Gabby and Porky’s Super Service. 

McCabe later became an animator for Frank Tashlin, then Bob Clampett, animating some of the most famous shorts of all-time, such as Clampett’s beloved, overtly surreal Porky in Wackyland. 

He would later take over Clampett’s old unit. 

His first directors credit: The Timid Toreador (1940) co-director Bob Clampett

His solo directional debut: Robinson Crusoe, Jr. (1941)

In a similar manner of Robert McKimson and Arthur Davis, McCabe gets the short end of the rope. He directed nothing but black-and-white Looney Tunes shorts, never the later color Looney Tunes or Merrie Melodies. Much like Clampett and Tex Avery, McCabe would have a habit for the use dated topical humor relating to the world of the early 1940s like WWII, and his notoriously politically incorrect shorts, such as “Tokio Jokio” (his final short) and even the best ones like “The Ducktators” and “The Daffy Duckaroo”, was probably what set him back in his status.

Regardless, McCabe still did some great shorts. His directional style, I would say, was a mix between Freleng and Tashlin, razor-sharp timing, topical satire and insane wacky gags. He had quite easily THE shortest-lived directing job at WB, with only Tashlin and Arthur Davis out beating McCabe who directed only 12 short films.

The reason for McCabe’s short-lived directional career at WB was due to being drafted. When he returned, he would try to get his job back as a director, but Eddie Selzer wasn’t so easy on let him back in.

McCabe was the longest-living WB cartoon directors up until his death in 2006. He worked in commercial illustration for Bozo the Clown such as children’s book and educational films. He later continued his animation career, animated on Disney’s Bambi, revisited WB once again in the 1960s, went to Filmation, then DePatie-Freleng Enterprise, was an animator on Ralph Baskih’s Fritz the Cat, and did his second revisiting to WB again in the 1980s and 90s, as an animator on The Night of the Living, The Duxorist among other things, was a sheet timer and timing director on Tom Rugger’s Tiny Toon Adventures, Animaniacs, Freakazoid! and Taz-Mania, and The Sylvester & Tweety Mysteries, and even was an animator on the infamous 1993 Pink Panther TV series at MGM, a director on Bobby’s World for Fox Kids, a sequence director on 1987 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles show. Surprisingly, McCabe admitted to hating his work at Termite Terrace once he met up with animator Mark Kausler, screening his shorts. According to Kausler himself, McCabe was “incredibly modest about his Looney Tunes, he hated them all!”, once had a screening in North Hollywood, pleading to everyone “oh turn those off, I can’t stand looking at them”. Well, whatever the case was, your cartoons were the best Norm!

[clubwnderland]

Irene turns surprised as the wolf's hands slide around her waist, not having expected him to show up that night and least of all dressed the way he is. Chris can see the glint of amusement and curiosity in her eyes, excitement, the woman scanning the boy up and down slowly as he chuckles–After all, it's not always she gets to see him all dressed up in a suit; blazer making his shoulders look somewhat wider and buttoned down shirt stealing all of her attention as her fingers grace the exposed skin.

"I know it's not quite your birthday yet, but it's never too soon to start celebrating, right? " Kissing her shortly, Chris sends the woman off to get changed, letting her know he's got her booked for the night and they won't be staying at the club much longer.

Chris doesn't say much, even when Irene gives him puppy eyes, even when she calls for his name in the sweetest way possible, the wolf doesn't break as he insists there's a reason why surprises are secret. And also, he's nervous as hell. It's not the first time Chris has tried this, and it'd be a lie to say he's got higher expectations this time around, but he promised himself to make this special and he'll do whatever it takes. Or well, he'll try.

Chan had once again helped the wolf book a restaurant, this time also taking the time to get him a properly fitted suit for the occasion. The older made sure to pick a smaller, more exclusive place to allow them some extra privacy and also help Chris's nerves. It's silly, really, just how anxious he gets about dining in an expensive place as if for being who he is he got less of a right to be there. But he's working on it, not only for himself but also because he wants to be able to do this.

Chris wants to take Irene to fancy restaurants. He wants to give her luxurious hotel nights. The wolf would give it all to show the woman just how much she means to him, to give her the treatment a Queen deserves.

The drive to the place is calm, streets still empty as the night finishes settling. Irene figures it out quite quickly, the road her boyfriend takes, the specific turns, and the way his leg bounces, fingers drumming against the wheel. She doesn't say anything as Chris finally pulls over, car coming to a stop as the restaurant waits just some steps ahead of them.

"Wait," The wolf places a hand on the woman's leg, stopping her from moving or saying something as he reaches onto the back seat, soon enough placing something else on her lap. "I–Ah. Chan told me I should give it to you after dinner when 12 hit, but I'm afraid the flowers aren't liking my car much." Chris bites his lip, slightly embarrassed at how silly he sounds. "Uh... I'd say happy birthday but that's bad luck, isn't it? Fuck... Ah, let's just go inside."

" “Eccolo!” he exclaimed.

At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.

“Courage!” cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. “Courage and love.”

She did not answer. From her feet the ground sloped sharply into view, and violets ran down in rivulets and streams and cataracts, irrigating the hillside with blue, eddying round the tree stems collecting into pools in the hollows, covering the grass with spots of azure foam. But never again were they in such profusion; this terrace was the well-head, the primal source whence beauty gushed out to water the earth.

Standing at its brink, like a swimmer who prepares, was the good man. But he was not the good man that she had expected, and he was alone.

George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her. "

[Fragment from "A Room With A View" - E. M. Forster.]

She had tried to match him, a beautiful black dress that hugged her figure with a mid thigh slit, her hair in an up-do and light make up that fit such an occasion; Irene had thought that it might make him feel less like he stood out if they matched but his leg bouncing shows how nervous he is. Her hand reaches over, giving him a gentle squeeze and letting him know it's okay, even if they don't make it inside, even if they eat hotdogs in the park - his effort to try is what matters the most.

She knows how much Chris wishes he could give her all of this, how much he wished he was able to give her fancy things and take her to fancy places but Irene loves the life they share. She can pay for it all, give him the life he never thought he could live while he keeps her feet on the ground.

Irene chuckles, not really able to get a word out amongst his nervous babble, just letting him talk as he places the book and flowers on her lap, the book neatly wrapped as it always is and she wonders what he wrote her this time. She hasn't told him that each book he's given Irene, now her special collection, has been noted in her diary with the excerpts Chris has written taped underneath - memories detailing the occasion and date so that she could forever keep them safe with her.

The restaurant is beautiful, much different to their usual diner that they visit when taking trips out of town or that burger place they always order from. Irene places the flowers down on the chair next to her, giving the beautiful white roses a final smell before she does and smiling at their soft fragrance. "How long have you been planning this?" Her voice is soft, barely heard over the ambient music playing as Irene places her hand on the table and takes Chris' hand. Her thumb brushes over his knuckles as she meets his dark eyes. "This place is beautiful but I heard you needed to book at least a month in advance to get a table." It shouldn't be a surprise if he had been planning this for that long but it still surprises her because... nobody has ever put that effort in before.

Except Chris. He's certainly set a standard and made her more certain about her choice than ever.

The smile she wears throughout the night shows how happy she is, a smile that should be hurting her cheeks because it doesn't fade one bit the entire time they were at the restaurant. Even while Irene is eating, it's there and obvious. "You are amazing, baby," they clink their glasses and take a sip of the champagne given to them for her birthday. "Thank you for this, it's a real treat. My handsome wolf all dressed up for me and a delicious dinner, it's a lovely surprise for my birthday." Her heart swells with love as she speaks, causing her to stand up and move around the table to sit on Chris' lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands wrap around her instinctively and their lips met for a brief moment before they rest their foreheads together.

They stay like that, in their own little world, even as the waiter comes to deliver dessert.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Name: "Edward Charles Allan Brock. Most people call me Eddie. Most people don't even know I got two middle names. An' only one person in the whole universe calls me Ekkie. Takin' bets right now on who that could be."

Age: "I'm, uhm... somewhere north'uh thirty. Maybe pushin' forty. Maybe just the slightest shade over it. That's not too old, right...?"

Do you like to cuddle?: "When it's someone I care about, hell yes. We oughta be promotin' physical contact more, y'know? Keeps us connected."

Can we make-out?: "I'm pretty much always down for that. But it happens only when you're ready. Not a single second before, an' not an instant longer than you wanna."

A night in or dinner out?: "If I'm honest? I like a nice night in. It can be small, intimate, a 'just us' kinda deal, where we can make googly eyes at each other an' say whatever comes to mind, not gotta worry about what anyone else sees or hears. Also, 'dinner out' has sort of a specific connotation for... Us. Means gettin' dressed up, one way or another. ... Hang on, why're you grinnin' like that? What'd I say?"

Whip cream or chocolate syrup?: "Hey, don't get me wrong, whipped cream tastes good an' all, but--" "This is not even a question. It is a matter of life and death. You do not wish Me to starve, do you?" "Okay, chill out."

Chocolates and roses?: "Think we've already established it, but when there's a Klyntar around, it's a 'hell yeah' on the chocolate. An' as for roses, I mean... I'm not really so much for flowers most'uh the time, but I gotta say, I'm lookin' right at the rose for me."

What makes you a good Valentine?: "Guess we could consider the source. Taken my share'uh beatdowns. Got my whole life stomped into the ground, really, for actin' out how people in charge never wanted me to. Maybe some'uh the stuff I've done was wrong, but I really try to do the right thing, an' I'm never gonna stop tryin' to do right by the person that saved me."

Would you cook for me?: "Point me in the general direction'uh your kitchen an' you'll see what I can whip together."

Would you let me cook for you?: "Let's be real, here, babe, you wouldn't let you cook for me. S'okay. Nobody's perfect at everything."

Where would you take me on a date?: "Clarion Alley, over in the Mission district. Artwork's incredible. Not enough words in the dictionary to describe the feelings you get when you see it. An' then, some Smitten Ice Cream. Get you a scoop'uh cherry, with sprinkles on it."

Who’s paying?: "Well... technically, it'd be you, wouldn't it? You did kinda pick up a bum on a bench."

What did you get me for Valentine’s Day?: "Yeah... so... you probably got like a dozen'uh these stashed somewhere, but, y'know, you find this in black an' you think, 'Maybe she'll think'uh Us when she looks in the jewelry cabinet an' sees it...' " An extended hand opens, revealing a hematite pendant in a very familiar shape, strung upon a simple black cord.

"T'be honest, if I had all the money in the world, still feels like there's nothin' I could buy equal to the task'uh lettin' you know just how much you mean to me. I'm the happiest man in the world just to get to see you smile. I'm glad I made the cut."

Better Together || -

The quiz had been tagged to her on her Adventures of A Nurse Shark blog. She'd mulled it over for a few days. No one could blame her for ignoring it outright; Valentine's Day has always been antithetical to every belief she's ever had about love and joy and trying to show the people she cares about just how much she does. But Eddie sees it the day before and over her shoulder he reads the questions. A kiss to her temple precedes him pouring her a cup of coffee. He returns to the kitchen and is gone for a few minutes before returning to the breakfast nook. The day is too wet and chilly to enjoy breakfast on the terrace and will be for another month or two. He slings himself into the booth next to her and she watches as he assumes what she sometimes thinks of as Interview Face. And with almost perfect recall he launches into answering each of questions. She will always be impressed with his way with words, maybe even to the point of envy. She also really likes his full name. It rings with something traditional, something that speaks to a nostalgic romance novel, in which he could very much be a rake of the Ton. Only Elikapeka Ailine Alohaekaunei Kahanuola'Ilikea'wahine Riley doesn't exactly fit in with that daydream, so she'll stick with what they have here. Hearing himself say Ekkie makes her blush. "Is fine. Gonna be t'irty-five come June, so we're of an age. An' I happen f' like a slightly older man." She winks, hopes he takes that playfully. She nods when he talks about cuddling, he knows her well enough now that she doesn't feel the need to explain touch. The making out part though? A slight feeling of discomfort that she can't put her finger on. "Dat's very noble, an' I mean…believin' li'dat certainly got you a long way wi' me…but you know it's two way avenue, right? I…nevah mind, go on." Eddie is a master, too, of subject change without making it feel like something awful to guilt herself over. "I happen to enjoy you in a suit…an' when Beloved makes himself manifest. Bo'd are dey own kind of sexy. And I would nevah starve you, Beloved. But point taken. Whip cream and chocolate syrup." Her smile carries through on the chocolate follow-through, and Beth would be a liar if she said she didn't like the Ghirardelli toasted coconut dark chocolate bar, and the dark chocolate raspberry squares. Of all the places Beloved could have found Himself with Eddie? San Francisco is a good choice. The mood turns a little more sombre when he turns his gaze inward. She hates that all of that is true as far as she knows. Comparatively, Eddie's ups and downs are worse and wide-spread than her own, and she doesn't have a leg to stand on when it comes to complaints. She could argue with him until she's blue in the face that he is a good man, and his missteps aren't really indicative of his personal character. "Dis isn't…I don' evah wan you t' feel like…you owe me anyt'ing. Dat wha' we have is base on what you do for me…I dunno how t' explain. But if I evah make you feel like you owe me anyt'ing, jus' tell me." There's a momentary pause and she fills it internally of an inventory to see if she ever took him for granted, or made him feel like their relationship was conditional. The fear of doing so tightens her belly. Outwardly she fiddles with the rim of her coffee cup before taking a sip of it. Eddie cooks for her because he seems to enjoy it and she's adequately explained that she doesn't because she doesn't need to burn down the house, or poison Them. What she's never had to do was explain the why, though with her prescriptions in the medicine cabinet she doesn't think she would have to lay it all out. Something he confirms a breath later and she chuckles about it. The date though? "Sounds wonderful, an' really very t'oughtful. I'd love t' go out wi' you." {{part the second}}

[capseycartwright]

i watched it begin again

Eddie deserved to be happy too. He didn’t believe that, every day, but he told himself that every day in the hopes that one day, believing it would come more easily. He wanted to believe he would be deserving of Buck's love, too, one day, but he wasn't quite there yet either. One day, he knew, he would be - but that day wasn't today.

- or, Buck and Eddie share a dance at a wedding, and begin to address the elephant in the room that is their feelings for each other.

ao3 link

aka, i saw the wedding bouquet, my brain ran with it, this happened. 

The music was soft, gentle as it played over the speaker system installed on the terrace. The sun was just setting, low in the sky and bathing everything around them in a soft, orange glow - it was picture perfect, Eddie decided, a quiet moment of peace in the midst of their hectic lives. The peace was appreciated, Eddie knew. It had been a tough few months, for all of them, in different ways, and so to have an evening like this where they were doing nothing but celebrating love - well, it felt well deserved.

The song changed from the gentle pop song that had been playing, turning to something slow and romantic, and Eddie couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Hen and Karen, Bobby and Athena, Maddie and Chimney, all take their places on the dancefloor, swaying to the music. A few months ago, Eddie would have been jealous of them - jealous of their peace, of the way they looked so happy together. For a long time, he’d convinced himself that he would never be deserving of that kind of love again, and it was only recently that he’d begun to unlearn all the ways he’d so determinedly tried to hurt, and punish himself.

Now, Eddie could only be happy for them - for Toni and Clive, who had finally gotten married, making up for years spent apart, and for Hen and Karen, who had tearfully renewed their vows on the same day, a reaffirmation of the deep love Eddie knew his friends shared. For Maddie and Chimney, too, who had spent so many months apart that year, and were together again, Jee-Yun on Maddie’s hip, their family back together.

Eddie could be happy for them, because how could he not be? His friends - his family, the family he chose, day after day - were an incredibly special bunch of people, all of them dedicating their lives to the service of others, in different ways, and they deserved to be happy.

Eddie deserved to be happy too. He didn’t believe that, every day, but he told himself that every day in the hopes that one day, believing it would come more easily.

“Can I have this dance?”

Eddie snapped out of his reverie as Buck spoke, his best friend standing in front of Eddie, holding out a hand. He was wearing a new suit - bought especially for the occasion, Eddie knew - but he’d long since discarded his jacket, leaving him in a pair of checkered trousers and a neat blue shirt, the top buttons open, exposing just a glimpse of the sinewy muscle of his neck, and chest. Buck was beautiful - he was always beautiful - but even more so now, bathed in golden light, looking free, and happy, for the first time in months.

And so - Eddie hated how he hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

“No expectations,” Buck reassured, his voice soft, because of course he could read Eddie like a book.

Eddie Diaz had denied himself a lot, in his life, but he wasn’t about to deny himself this - a dance with his best friend, as the sun set over Los Angeles on a night that felt as though it signalled a new beginning, the end of a chapter of Eddie’s live he was glad to be leaving behind.

“You can,” Eddie smiled, taking the hand Buck offered him, letting his friend lead him onto the dancefloor. A few months ago, even the thought of doing this would have sent Eddie spiralling. Going back to therapy had opened quite the can of trauma worms for him, and as they’d worked through the PTSD, the survivors guilt, and gone deeper, to Shannon, to before Shannon, to his childhood, Eddie had discovered a wealth of things he’d packed so deeply away, never to be addressed.

His sexuality, for one.

Eddie wasn’t exactly proud of the way he’d began his own coming out journey - starting the process with an adamant refusal to believe he could possibly be queer, and no, Frank, he wasn’t homophobic, but he himself couldn’t possibly be gay - but he had begun it, at least, and he was doing his best to try and unlearn a lifetime of internalised homophobia and hurt.

Today, Eddie realised, as Buck tugged him in close, the two of them swaying slowly in time to the music, would be a win. He was dancing with the man he loved, in a room (was it a room, if it was an outdoor terrace?) full of people, and Eddie Diaz wasn’t ashamed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Buck asked, his voice a quiet murmur. It was funny, really, how even surrounded by all of these people, it felt like he and Buck were dancing in their own bubble, in their own pocket of peace amongst the celebrations happening around them.

“It’s been a hard year,” Eddie admitted, and he didn’t need to say it for Buck to understand - Buck, after all, had been the one to find Eddie sitting amongst the wreckage of his life, baseball bat in hand, as he’d finally broken open, the pieces Eddie had been so desperately trying to hold together with slivers of duct tape straining against their cage and shattering like glass. Buck had been the one who’d sat, as Eddie cried, the tears not stopping now they had finally begun, and he’d been the one to hold Eddie carefully, as though he was something precious, reassuring him that he wasn’t in it alone.

Buck had been the one to knock on Eddie’s door at five am, on the first anniversary of the shooting, grey in the face and shaking as he admitted he’d woken up from a nightmare and had needed to see Eddie to reassure himself that Eddie was really okay. They’d held each other close that morning, and then they’d held even tighter the rest of that day, only barely resisting the urge to keep Christopher out of school and hide under the covers, the three of them, the memory of that day too painful, too fresh, even a year later.

Buck understood what a hard year it had been without Eddie needing to say it.

“It has,” Buck hummed his agreement. “But we’re doing better now. Aren’t we?” he asked, clearly seeing some reassurance from Eddie that his assumption was the case.

“Yeah,” Eddie confirmed, surprised at how easily the positive affirmation came. “We’re doing better now.”

Better.

Better was an objective word, Eddie knew, and Frank had reassured him that better meant whatever Eddie wanted it to me. Better meant that panic attacks were a rarity, rather than a regularity. Better meant that Eddie could get out of bed, most mornings, and feel - if not excited, at least appreciative - of the life he got to lead. Better meant that Eddie wasn’t plagued with feelings of constant guilt, wondering why he had gotten to live while Shannon, his army squadron, and so many others, hadn’t.

Better meant that Eddie could dance with his best friend at a wedding and not feel overwhelmed by it all.

Buck smiled, again, that soft, crooked smile that was so genuine Eddie could feel the impact of it right down to his toes. It was a smile reserved for a few lucky people in Buck’s life - Jee-Yun and Maddie, of course, and Christopher.

And Eddie.

Eddie had realised, recently, how much of an inevitability falling in love with Buck was. How could he not fall in love with a man who radiated kindness, who was gentle and good and so full of love he was so happy to give - even to people who didn’t deserve it? Buck was - he was beyond anything Eddie could have ever dreamed of for himself. Even if Eddie had sat, and tried to design himself a partner in life, he would have never come close to creating someone as good, and as kind, and as wonderful, as Evan Buckley.

Evan Buckley -

The great love of his life.

“You know how I feel about you, don’t you?” Eddie found himself asking, because he thought - he hoped - it was obvious by now. He wasn’t good at letting people in, and letting them see, and know, all the broken parts that made up Eddie Diaz, but he had let Buck in. He had let Buck in, and let Buck know the best parts of him, and let Buck know the worst parts of him, and Buck loved him, all the same.

Eddie didn’t always believe he deserved it - but selfishly, he was happy to have it, happy to keep that love for himself.

“I know,” Buck reassured, and his smile didn’t falter, even as Eddie made his next admission.

“I’m not ready, Buck,” Eddie admitted, and he wished that wasn’t the case - he wished, more than anything, that he could lean in, in the middle of this dancefloor, Buck’s hand already on Eddie’s waist, the other wrapped tightly around Eddie’s fingers, and kiss his best friend. Eddie wished he was there - he wished he was ready, but the reality was, he wasn’t. It had only been two months since he had started therapy, and there was so much he still needed time to work through.

Buck deserved to have the best version of Eddie - and honestly, Eddie wasn’t sure he’d be ready for it, for them, before he was a better version of himself. Buck was - Buck was it, Buck was the rest of Eddie’s life, and Eddie was determined not to ruin it, was determined not to make a mess of the greatest love he had ever known because he had jumped too far, too fast, too soon, and the jagged edges of Eddie’s broken pieces had ended up tearing Buck, tearing them, apart.

“I know,” Buck reassured again, and he gave Eddie’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not ready yet either, Eddie.”

And -

Oh.

If that wasn’t a revelation in itself. Of course Buck wasn’t ready, Eddie realised - his relationship with Taylor had only imploded a few short weeks ago, and Buck had struggled, in the weeks that followed. Eddie hadn’t seen it - Buck determined to hide it from him - but Hen had explained how Buck had hit the self-destruct button and had kept hitting it, jumping into bed with Lucy, taking risks that worried even the most steadfast, calm members of the 118. Chimney had lost it, apparently, Hen had explained over coffee - he’d shouted at Buck in the middle of a scene, accusing him of being reckless and dangerous and acting as though he had something to prove, when he didn’t, because he had a family who loved him and who wouldn’t survive it, if he wasn’t there.

Eddie wouldn’t survive it, if Buck wasn’t there.

Bobby had signed Buck off work for three weeks and given him his orders to go back to therapy, and Buck had appeared on Eddie’s doorstep after that disastrous shift, exhausted, lip wobbling as he’d asked Eddie if he could stay for a few days.

(Eddie wished he’d had the confidence to ask Buck to stay forever, then - but they weren’t there yet.)

Of course Buck wasn’t ready - he had his own demons to battle before he could be.

“But we will be, right?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask for reassurance, fingers knotting in the crisp material of Buck’s shirt. They were close - close enough that Eddie could breath in the familiar, sweet and woody scent of Buck’s favoured cologne, close enough that Eddie could smell the fading aroma of his own laundry detergent, Buck long-since converted to the same brand (“So we can buy it in bulk, Eddie,” he said, as if it were obvious, as if the most sensible thing for two best friends to do was get a joint Costco membership to cut grocery costs), close enough that he could smell something so distinctly Buck, underneath it all.

The song had already changed, the slow, easy romance changing to something more upbeat, Jee-Yun’s giggles adding to the symphony of noise they were surrounded by. But Buck didn’t change their pace - and Eddie was happy to let the younger man lead, the two of them swaying slowly, out of time, happy in their own little world.

“Eddie,” Buck’s gaze was intense, but Eddie couldn’t look away - he didn’t want to look away, not when beneath the intensity Eddie could see nothing but love, and affection, and the rest of his life. “When we’re ready, this is going to be the greatest adventure of our lives - I promise.”

There was a lot, Eddie wished he could say - but he hadn’t untangled those feelings from the shame he still carried in the pit of his stomach, hadn’t detached them from the pain and the hurt that still made his every step ache, and Buck deserved the right words, not a half-thought out confession that came because Eddie couldn’t hold it in, anymore.

Eddie didn’t have the words, yet, but he could speak in actions, tucking his chin into the groove between Buck’s neck, and shoulder, hugging his best friend tightly. Their hugs were normally limited to those ridiculous, bro-like, back slapping hugs that tried to reassure the world around them that there was nothing too affectionate contained within the boundaries of their friendship - but this was more, this was the kind of hug you gave someone you loved, and loved deeply.

Buck pressed a kiss to the side of Eddie’s head, the embrace brief, but still something Eddie would feel the ghost of for days, the two of them still swaying out of time to the music as the celebrations continued around them.

I love you, I love you, I love you -

The words would come, one day, but for now, their family was happy, and Eddie was dancing with his best friend, and as the sun made its final descent beyond the horizon, the fairy lights strung up around the terrace flickering to life, bathing the terrace in smooth, golden-yellow light, the day at its end, Eddie made himself a promise.

Tomorrow, he decided, would be the first day of a new chapter of his life -

And it would be the chapter where he finally found the words to tell Evan Buckley that he loved him, that he loved him in crazy ways and calm ways and ways that he was only beginning to learn and understand.

But for now -

For now, Eddie conceded, safe in his best friend's arms as they danced - for now, they had this, and that was enough.

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞Tuesday night↠

▶ Eddie munson x reader

!! Does not contain spoilers!! It’s based on a phrase that Eddie tells Chrissie: he plays guitar every Tuesday night at a club called The Hideout. It’s a little thing written very quickly because I physically needed to write even two words about Eddie. Enjoy!

↠TW: mention the use of alcohol, kinda fluff, no use of "y/n" ↠Word count: 2.1k ↠Character/s: Genderneutral reader (no use of pronouns), Eddie Munson

↠If you have any requests, 𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕝 ↞

"Encore!"

Someone at the back of the club yells tipsy at the band that just finished performing. The guitarist turns his head panting, first to the drummer, then to the bassist getting a nod of consent, and with the pick gives a blow to the strings, letting that short period of silence shatter into pieces under the electric sound of his music.

You see with the corner of your eye the man who made the request cheering, raising a fist enthusiastically and grabbing the glass in front of him, draining it in a single sip in a gesture whose noise is totally hidden by the deafening notes that again fills the club.

The volume is so high that you can feel the bass make your stomach and guts vibrate, the smell of alcohol is stale to the point that you feel it in an undefined place behind your nose, as if it pinched under your skin, and the red artificial lights placed at their feet  are causing you a headache -but you kinda like the way they illuminate in a hypnotic way the guys, letting the sporadic drops of sweat that cross their faces look like rubies when they get on the ground.

Like every Tuesday from two weeks to this part.

You follow the frantic movements of the guitarist with your gaze while your index finger absently runs along the edge of your glass, taking finally a long sip from your drink when you see him get off the stage and go to put the guitar in its sheath -you had a chance to talk to him the week before, a very interesting and particular guy. Sarcasm as a coping mechanism, a magnetic way of moving, attractive in his oddity... not exactly the kind of guy you thought would attract you, yet here you are, in that club just to see him again.

The guitarist talks to the other members of the band and with the manager of the club, scratching the back of his neck shyly when the latter probably gives him a compliment; and then back to shove with the other guys laughing like kids. At least before he notices you, changing expression into a wide and narrow-lipped smile that pulls a chuckle out of you.

You raise a hand and wave your fingers to return the greeting, and he, theatrically, brings a hand to his forehead letting himself fall to the ground.

Yeah, that freak really caught your attention.

"You’re back, I wasn’t expecting it." 

"And miss the most metal concert in history? I could never." he giggles covering his mouth with a strand of hair -looks like a totally different person from the one who a few minutes before was playing on that stage as if his life depended on that performance: the guy in front of you chews his bottom lip dashing his dark, expressive eyes from you to your glass, to the ceiling until he finds something to rest his gaze on, dull and static enough to allow him to concentrate totally on the object and take rest.

"Do you want to go out on the terrace and get some air?" you ask amused when he leans tired his elbows and his back at the counter, and as if you had asked a question of the utmost importance he stops moving completely to reflect before beginning to nod, his gaze still fixed in nothingness, curled lips in an involuntary expression that you imagine is due to the flow of thoughts.

"Eddie?" you call him by placing a cheek in the palm of your hand, the tone has a note of fun due to the funny expression on his face. He slowly turns, dark eyes meet yours in a confused look that makes your heart sink into the rib cage: they are attractive. Sweet in a way that you can’t describe, so dark that you can’t distinguish the pupil from the iris making his gaze even more vague, just marked by a light shadows that suggest that the guy’s sleep schedule is not the best.

"Do you remember my name?"

"...what?"

"You called me by my name"

You frown, your face coming off your hand.

"We spoke last Tuesday, why should I forget?" Your question sounds genuinely confusing, and he takes a few moments before shrugging.

"I am not a person that people tend to remember". 

And you cannot tell with absolute certainty if it’s the alcohol or the late hour, but that sentence sounds extremely sad in your ears, and the non-chalance and calmness that comes out of his lips make it even more filled with a sense of loneliness that grips your stomach in a vice.

You suppress the urge to touch his arm in a silent nod of comfort just in time as he turns to the bartender, a man in his fifties, ordering drinks for both before leaning both forearms at the counter and nodding his head to indicate the terrace.

It feels incredibly good on the rattan sofa outside the suffocating walls of the club, the night breeze finally allows you to regain your sense of smell and slightly relieves headaches: you fill your lungs jealousy with a deep breath before you recompose enough to bring the look on the boy at your side: he rests with religiously closed eyes, intent on enjoying the purity and freshness of the air, his head thrown backwards leans on the upper edge of the padding. 

You take this opportunity to try to capture deeply the figure that is near you, to look for interesting details to remember or useful to be able to capture some more information, without actually finding anything: pins, patches of metal bands, chains attached to pants, ... normal metalhead clothing.

Until your eyes fall on the peculiar white shirt with black sleeves.

"I thought the band was called "Corroded Coffin"" he opens one eye to look at you, frowning in a mute request to process the sentence just said, and you limit yourself to indicate his shirt.

"the band is called "Corroded Coffin" in fact, this is my lucky t-shirt. It’s the one of my campaign of Dungeons & Dragons" he responds by lifting his arms to stretch, before tilting his head to look at you and crease his lips in a crooked smile that instinctively makes you lift the corners of your mouth a bit.

"Do you know what Dungeon & Dragons is?"

"More or less, it’s a roleplay game, am I right?" his smile continues to spread with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas night.

"Oh sweetheart is so much more. You know, I think you might like it, you should really try it."

You shift your weight to your side to get closer and look at him better as the waiter rests on the coffee table in front of you a beer and a colorful cocktail. You smile just before you nibble on your lower lip and get lost in those two dark pools.

"How can you say that? You don’t know me" it’s just a whisper, close enough you are almost sure he can feel your breath on the arm that is resting on the upper edge of the sofa.

"Yeah, um, but ya know..." he raises his eyes curling his lips before smiling again, this time with a bit of bastardy that makes you run a shiver along your back. "If you are here, on this couch, with me tonight it is because you are probably somehow a freak too."

Touche. You don’t answer, there is no need, just move your gaze from his left eye to the right one before returning to sit composed and lean forward to take the glass between your fingers and drink a sip. 

And then the silence of the night reigns supreme, the only noises in the background are the muffled sound of live music that comes out of the club and the wind that blows and slightly moves the leaves of the hedge that surrounds the terrace.

You don’t feel any discomfort, nor the need to speak to fill that sudden void, just take your time and remain a few minutes bent forward with the drink in hand to observe the drops of condensation that run along the glass, as hypnotized.

You’re feeling good.

You can’t explain it, but you’re really feeling good.

Place the glass again on the coffee table, half empty, before leaning your back, moving into a more comfortable position.

"Are their cocktails good?" 

"Mh?" you turn your head, the guy takes another sip of beer holding the glass from the edge before placing it next to yours.

"Do… you want to taste it?" you ask confused, and he curls his nose denying.

"I prefer the dear, classic, ol’ beer" he smirks.

"Then I don’t understand the question. I mean, yes, they are good but they are nothing special" you don’t take your eyes off the guy who doesn’t reciprocate, the look glued to his glass. "why?"

He leans his head back slightly, looking up, the tip of his tongue comes out of his lips in a spontaneous, thoughtful gesture. It takes several moments for him to respond, as if he was looking for the best way to formulate a delicate sentence.

"Why did you come back to the club?" It’s the first direct question he asks you, but the way you see him nibbling on the inside of his cheek makes you understand that’s probably the question he wanted to ask you right away.

He still doesn’t look you in the eye, but looks around not as if he wants to avoid you but as if he constantly has a mess in his mind, a flow of more thoughts that makes it difficult to focus well on what to say and on the moment.

"I liked your music. You said you play here every Tuesday, and I kept myself free to see you again." Normally you wouldn’t have responded so directly, you would have been vague, you would even have denied yourself a little, but now? You are alone on that terrace, the cheerful expressions always conceal a hint of melancholy that holds your heart hostage, and the way everything puts you so at ease does not make you feel the need to make too many turns of words.

"I wanted to see you again Eddie. Talk like last week, hear you play guitar, have a drink together. You sound interesting. Why are you so…" you can’t find the right words. Surprised? Sceptical? 

He stares at you like he’s looking for something in your face that can tell if you’re lying or not, and when he finally surrenders to the fact that you’re really there for him, he lets go of a tired smile, passing a hand on his face before bursting into a liberating laugh.

"When people come looking for me it’s never to give me good news. it’s usually for my..." hesitates an instant "work, yeah, that’s it. Are you really here for the music?" his tone is suddenly warmer, his lips rippled in a smile that slightly digs his cheeks. You shrug, laughing lightly in turn.

"Come on, you played the best "flight of icarus" I’ve ever heard." 

His face lights up, eyes this time clinging to yours, suddenly light.

"Do you listen to Iron Maiden?"

The rest of the night passes incredibly fast, between discussions about the music, the lyrics of the songs, how he is trying to learn a complicated guitar solo and has almost succeeded but is not quite perfect; about his group of dungeons and dragons, fantasy books and anything you can think of. 

You talk as if the sun should never come up and you’ve known each other your whole lives, pretty sure that time has stopped only for the two of you.

And it is only when the sky begins to change color, starting to dye in light and pink tones that you realize that eternity spent together was nothing more than a matter of a few hours. He stands up and holds out his hand, helping you to do the same.

"Hi!" he whispers when you find yourself a few inches from him.

"Hi!" you respond with a note of euphoria in the voice, the tone just chanted. 

Once again you find yourself dashing your gaze away from his eyes to his lips, but before you get caught up in that sense of invincibility that can make you make a rash gesture the waiter peeks out, retrieving the empty glasses.

"Are you playing next Tuesday?"

"every Tuesday."

And every Tuesday it is.

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

Basically 1k+ words of Az internally gushing about El. Enjoy x

She really was breathtakingly beautiful. The manner in which her full lips formed around words as she spoke animatedly, the way she did whenever she was talking about her plans for her gardens, really was so alluring. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled and crinkled in the corners when she described all her plans to expand the flower beds, add a fountain in the back terrace, edge the footpath leading to the front door with begonias in the spring.

Azriel had stopped pretending to read the reports Nuala had handed him that morning long ago, opting to instead watch Elain. Simply watch her work. They sat together in the library at the River House. She lay sprawled out on the ornate rug in front of the deep velvet couch he sat in. She looked so at ease, at home. She had plans and blueprints haphazardly scattered around her, clippings and notes scrawled on scraps of paper, full of her ideas for different gardens across their families’ residences in the Night Court. As if she needed to catalogue her chaotic plans all times of day or night and scribbled onto anything she could get her hands onto before the thought eddied from her mind.

The skirts of her periwinkle gown flowed around her legs which she had elegantly folded beneath her, and as she leant forward, resting on a palm, she made an adjustment to one of her sketches, crossing out a description and jotting down a new thought. Her golden-brown hair fell forward into her face as she did so and she pushed it back behind a pointed ear impatiently, all the while still prattling on about her plans as Azriel silently listened.

And it wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in what she had to say. He cared about everything she said. He never forgot a thing she shared with him. It was simply that so few got to see Elain in this manner; sprawled on the floor, barefoot, hair unbound, speaking almost non-stop about something she enjoyed so passionately. He adored this side of her. It never ceased to amaze him that she had grown comfortable enough in his presence to show him this side of her. And so, whenever this version of the sweet, reserved sister came out, he made a point to just listen, and observe. Track every movement, every mannerism, every word she spoke. He documented it all. He found her voice so melodic and soothing. Even his shadows purred in pleasure around her, settling contentedly and being lulled into a security he seldom felt around anyone else.

She turned in place and pulled a thick, heavy tome from a stack behind her on Horticulture that she lay on her lap, flipping open to a page about water irrigation systems. She continued her monologue, wondering aloud if Rhys had ever considered installing such systems in his Courts’ gardens and parks. She was sure many of the plants in the City’s arboretum would benefit from such a feature and it may even provide further opportunity in the Hewn City to be able to grow more variations of plants in the underground acropolis. Did they grow many plants in the Hewn City? Could she cultivate more varieties with such little sunshine? She would have to take note next time she visited.

He silently marvelled at her. Completely in awe at how she could even perceive beauty and worthy potential in a place as horrid as the Hewn City. That she would even think to insert loveliness in a place so dark, so full of shadows and monsters. He couldn’t help but think that those who thought Elain Archeron did not belong in the Night Court were so sorely mistaken. What utter nonsense that she could possibly belong anywhere else. Where others thought of the Night Court containing only nightmares and terrors, she understood that good lived amongst it, in fact required it, to be what it is. That even though you may not be ready for the night, it cannot always be day. That shadows and darkness cannot exist without sunshine and light. She was the Night Courts’ perfect oxymoron, the opposite side of the same coin. She soothed those dark corners and dim thoughts and balanced them with her own special breed of light and optimism. Not a foe, but someone who saw all the darkness had to offer and simply said, I see you.

And indeed, she saw it all. Not just through the Sight the Cauldron had gifted her. But through the innate goodness that was her. For had it been by an alternate twist of fate that Elain had not been gifted with such resplendent powers, her abilities of empathy would not be diminished in this sense. That this young female saw so much goodness in the entirety of the Night Court gave him hope that someday she may see the good in him too. That she would look upon his shadows and darkness and see a male who was worthy of her attention. I wish I could call you mine! he so desperately wanted to confess. Not that he thought himself worthy of her loveliness, her admiration, her consideration. He pushed the self-deprecating thoughts back down.

He continued watching her, so passionately describing to him how her plans over the next season would hopefully bring to fruition the successful cultivation of moonflowers and wisteria, bred to bloom at night and provide a lovely backdrop for their Starfall festivities in a few months’ time. She explained to him how they flowered seasonally, and their perfume would be strongest at night. Gods. How he longed to reach out and brush her hair from her face and utter that if she were to be present at Starfall, no one would notice the moonflowers and wisteria. They would simply be too enamoured, be irrevocably enchanted, by her. He ached to trace his fingers along the dip of her collar bones, up her creamy neck… To express to her how he valued her and her input in brightening up their lives, in her own unique way. How invaluable she was in this Court and in this family.

But for now, he just settled more comfortably into the soft cushions of the sofa to watch her talk about her plans. And he listened, with rapt attention. Never even considering missing a single word she uttered. Documenting every minute detail and enveloping them in his shadows, for him only. Keeping them safe.

[redjaybathood]

Teen Titans 2003 issue 37

Eddie is killing me here; he, after he had his chest literally ripped open; barely saved by Doom Patrol; gets find out by Robin that he faked his former mentor's (? if Blue Devil could be considered that; idol, maybe?) continuous interest in his well-being (he just wanted it to be true so damn much); gets Chief's attempt to manipulate him into joining the Doom Patrol (which he does by preying on insecurities); and finally, he gets a call from Blue Devil who then promises to visit him that day. And Eddie goes out to the terrace and waits; and waits; and waits.

And you can literally see how the day changes to night; how Eddie's posture first becomes slumped then he just sits down, making himself smaller.

And don't even get me started on Rose. For her, being on Titans is literally a matter of life and death. Being a Titan is giving her protection; leaving means Deathstroke catches her again. So she isn't just insecure, she's almost desperate when Cassie resurfaces again. I mean, Rose doesn't help her case by being so confrontational with Cassie, but I wonder what happened between them before now. Because Rose isn't stupid; it would be better for her to be friendly with Cassie than make an enemy out of her.

Besides, coming back to the "naked Rose waits for Tim Drake in his bed" thing – which, honestly, for me is on par with "Jason jokes about sleeping with Kory" list of bad writing decisions – I think it could be explained exactly as Rose being desperate to ensure she stays. Which is still an awful decision on the Johns' part. But maybe better than "Tim is so awesome girls throw themselves at him". (or, you know, maybe not; this whole "a teenage girl tries to sleep her way on a hero team" angle leaves me really uncomfortable)

But the point is, for them, being on Titans is important, and their reasons and motivation are as valid as any of the OG members or Tim himself. I mean. Eddie is literally the same as Tim with wanting to be a hero so much he's past asking anyone for permission – only Tim had a benefit of a good mentor (comparatively, okay) and Eddie didn't.

I hope things turn out to be better in the future for them.

Tim did stand up for Eddie against Chief. I hope this tendency continues.

[roy-kents]

like we're made of starlight (buddie fluff) | 961 words

so i added some tags on one of @swiftiediaz 's posts yesterday (check it out here it's honestly amazing she's so talented) about how starlight would be the perfect song to describe buddie's first date and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. now that we have taylor's version here's some word vomit for you all, enjoy!

closing the door to his loft, buck let out a slow breath, a large grin spreading across his face involuntarily. he brought his hands up to his cheeks and he could feel the flames roaring beneath his fingertips as he blushed, and suddenly he was very glad eddie wasn't there to see this; buck leaning against his door, grinning and giggling like a school girl but he couldn't help it, he'd had the best night.

when eddie asked him on a date, buck was on cloud nine. this thing between them that had gone unspoken for so long was finally going to be addressed, and he'd get to really dig into it - see if something was truly there or not. eddie telling him where they were planning on going sent buck into a bit of a spiral because of course eddie had picked the nicest restaurant on the beachfront, and the thought that he meant that much to eddie made his heart sing.

so buck got dressed up in his nicest clothes - a fitted black shirt, dark blue jeans, hell he even broke out the loafers he only wore for official meetings. and yet when he opened the door and saw eddie standing there, shy smile on his face and a bunch of flowers in his hands, he froze. he figured he must've been dreaming, there's no way this man was here for him, none at all. and yet, it was eddie that broke him from his daydream with a quiet "ev?"

eddie called them an uber, and they held hands across the back seat and made small talk with the driver and buck felt like he could live in this moment forever - like he wanted to exist in this permanent state of happiness that he'd found himself in. he thought the night couldn't get any better, thought he was already living in some kind of fever dream from a cheesy hallmark romance movie, and then they pulled up to the restaurant and for the second time that evening, buck froze.

the terrace was spotted with fairy lights and low hanging plants, and buck felt like he could swoon, especially when eddie laced their fingers together, glancing over at him with that fond, fond smile that buck had come to know as one he reserved for him only, and pulled him up to the restaurant.

dinner was fantastic. they shared a bottle of wine and talked about their days, eddie recounting stories about chris' new science project ("who knew those paper mache volcanoes could cause such a mess?") and buck showing eddie pictures of his niece ("she's gonna grow up to be a charmer, just like her uncle buck."). there was none of that first date awkwardness, none of the getting to know each-other awfulness because, well, they knew each-other already. probably better than they knew themselves. and the cheque came and they split it evenly without even needing to have the discussion, but neither of them were quite ready for the night to end yet.

it was buck who tabled the idea of a walk along the pier, and eddie agreed enthusiastically. they wandered along, hand in hand, pointing at the little touristy shops dotted along the shorefront, laughing a little between them as they made conversation. they'd been walking for around five minutes when eddie stopped suddenly, dropping buck's hand and jogging away. a question formed on buck's lips as he saw eddie speaking to what seemed to be a busker holding his guitar. whatever he said was received enthusiastically, because the busker nodded and pulled the guitar strap over his head, starting to play a slow, sweet melody.

eddie sauntered back over to buck, wearing that ridiculously soft grin once again as he held out his hand. "may i have this dance, mister buckley?" he murmured softly, like buck would ever, ever say no to eddie. he placed his hand into eddie's outstretched hand, stepping forward to place a hand on his waist, eddie's hand landing on his shoulder as they began to sway softly under the twinkling fairy lights of the pier.

buck would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't imagined this moment a hundred different times and a million different ways. he just never thought it'd actually happen. he was pulled out of his daydreaming by eddie murmuring quietly, "penny for your thoughts?"

buck just smiled, shaking his head and grinning softly down at eddie, finding himself not for the first time getting lost in his eyes. "i'm just- i'm really happy, that's all." buck bit his lip softly, finding himself blushing as he caught eddie tracking the movement. "do you trust me?" he asked quietly.

"with my life." eddie replied instantly and oh, that made buck's heart sing. knowing that eddie trusted him (you can have my back any day echoing in his head) made him want to jump up and down and scream from the mountaintops in jubilation. he had other plans in that moment though. bracing himself, he twisted eddie, dipping him backwards and bearing his weight. a choked gasp left eddie's lips as he gazed up at buck and buck couldn't help but just stare. eddie began to laugh, his eyes crinkling as the fairy lights on the pier glimmered in them and oh, buck's been stargazing quite a few times, but he's never seen constellations quite like these.

buck could see his entire future mapped out in eddie at that moment - could see the million different roads they could take, the different things they could do together. it was all written in the stars for them and he knew as long as he followed the light in eddie's eyes, he'd never be lost again.