#gareth fell

[starcrossedjedis]

Alyse Baratheon & Gareth Fell in "Hidden Flame" // Violent Delights Series [HotD]

"You might even be queen one day." - "I don't want to be queen. And I don't want to be Aemond Targaryen's wife."

She's finally here!🖤 See below the cut for a little 🌶🌶🌶-y bonus 😏

tagged: @acabecca @akabluekat @arrthurpendragon @asirensrage @astarionbae @auxiliarydetective @bibaybe @bisexualterror @bravelittleflower @cas-verse @chickensarentcheap @curious-kittens-ocs @darknightfrombeyond @darkwolf76 @daughter-of-melpomene @drbobbimorse @eddiemunscns @emilykaldwen @far-shores @foxesandmagic @fyeahgotocs @fyeahhotdocs @harleyquinnzelz @if-you-onlyknew @jamezvaldes @jewishbarbies @juliaswickcrs @katiekinswrites @kingsmakers @koiwrites @mabonetsamhain @mystic-scripture @ocappreciationtag @oneirataxia-girl @susiesamurai @stachedocs @thatmagickjuju

[morganbritton132]

Oh my god! How have I never thought about this? Your Steve is a teacher! He’s probably used to trying not to curse.

Now I’m imagining him at a metal concert, everyone decked out in black with a heavy bass pounding and he’s saying words like ‚fiddlesticks‘

Oh man, these guys have been touring for months like absolute heathens and then here comes Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington for the summer stretch of the tour with his ironing board and his clean polos. Steve, off the back of teaching second graders for an entire school year, steps onto the CC tour bus and his shoes stick to the ground because they never cleaned up the beer they spilled. He says without thought or irony, “Jiminy Crickets, guys.”

Steve and Eddie are not-to-subtly making out in his bunk when they hit a pothole the size of Manhattan and Steve cracks his head against the bunk above. He mutters, ‘Cheese and rice’ and every single member of the band that they thought was sleeping starts laughing.

The worst is when Steve slips into his teacher voice with fans because wrangling second graders into an orderly fashion isn’t that different from trying to get overzealous heavy metal fans to listen. Steve’s trying to tell the line waiting for the CC meet & greet that the band is running behind and they’re just so loud. He sticks his hand in the air until people quiet down and then is like, “Hand up, mouths shut. Let’s form a line and use our inside voices.”

[denimbex1986]

'David Tennant and Cush Jumbo walk into the Donmar Warehouse’s offices, above the theatre’s rehearsal rooms in Covent Garden, and sit down on a sofa, side by side. Tennant has that look his many fans will instantly be able to call to mind of being at once stressed – with a desperado gleam in his eye – yet mischievously engaged, which has to do with the intelligence he applies to everything, the niceness he directs at everyone. He is wearing a mustard-coloured jersey and could be mistaken for someone who has been swotting in a library (actually, he has been rehearsing a fight scene). If I am right in supposing him to be tense at this mid-rehearsals moment, I know – from having interviewed him before – that it is not his way to put himself first, that he will crack on and probably, while he’s at it, crack a joke or two to keep us all in good spirits. But some degree of tension is understandable for he and Jumbo are about to perform in a play that explores stress like no other – Macbeth – and must unriddle one of the most dramatic marriages in all of Shakespeare’s plays.

This is star billing of the starriest kind. Tennant, at 52, has more triumphs under his belt than you’d think possible in a single career (including Doctor Who, Broadchurch’s detective, the serial killer Dennis Nilsen in Des, and the father in There She Goes). Jumbo has been seen on US prime time in The Good Wife and The Good Fight and in ITV’s Vera. But what counts is that each is a Shakespeare virtuoso. Jumbo, who is now 38, won an Ian Charleson award in 2012 for her Rosalind in As You Like It and, in 2013, was nominated for an Olivier for her Mark Antony in Phyllida Lloyd’s all-female Julius Caesar. More recently, she starred as a yearningly embattled Hamlet at the Young Vic. A dynamo of an actor, she is described by the former New York Times theatre critic Ben Brantley as radiating “that unquantifiable force of hunger, drive, talent usually called star power”. Tennant, meanwhile, who has played Romeo, Lysander and Benedick for the RSC, went on to embody Hamlet and Richard II in performances that have become the stuff of legend.

Jumbo settles herself cross-legged on the sofa, relaxed in her own body, wearing a white T-shirt, dusky pink tracksuit bottoms, and modestly-sized gold hoop earrings. She looks as if she has come from an exercise class – and she has in one sense – no need to ask whether rehearsals, at this stage, are full-on. As we shake hello, she apologises for a hot hand and I for a cold one, having just come in from a sharp November morning. She is chirpy, friendly, waiting expectantly for questions – but what strikes me as I look at her is how her face in repose, at once dramatic and pensive, gives almost nothing away, like a page waiting to be written on.

Max Webster, the director, is setting the play in the modern day and Macbeth, a taut and ageless thriller, is especially friendly to this approach. I want to plunge straight in to cross-question the Macbeths. Supposing I were a marriage counsellor, what might they tell me – in confidence – about their alliance? Tennant is a step ahead: “There are two versions of the marriage, aren’t there? The one at the beginning and the fractured marriage later.” And he then makes me laugh by asking intently: “Are they sharing the murder with their therapist?”

He suggests Macbeth’s “reliance” on his wife is unusual and “not necessarily to be expected in medieval Scotland” (another excuse for the contemporary production): “I look to my wife for guidance: I don’t make a decision without her,” he explains. “We’ve been through some trauma which has induced an even stronger bond.” Jumbo agrees about the bond and spells out the trauma, reminding us the Macbeths have lost a child, but hesitates to play the game (I have suggested she talk about Lady Macbeth in the first person): “I want to get it right. I don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t know what to say… If I improv Lady Macbeth, it will feel disrespectful because you don’t know if what you’re saying on her behalf is true. And then you’re going to write what I say down and she [Lady Macbeth] is going to be: ‘Thanks, Cush, for f-ing talking about me that way.’” She emphasises that, as an actor, you must never judge your character, whatever crime they might have committed. And perhaps her resistance to straying from the text is partly as a writer herself (it was her play, Josephine and I, about the entertainer and activist Josephine Baker, that put her career into fast forward, opening off Broadway in 2015).

She stresses that the great problem with Lady Macbeth is that she has become a known quantity: “She is deeply ingrained in our culture. Everyone thinks they know who she is. Most people studied the play at school. I did – I hated it. It was so boring but that’s because Shakespeare’s plays aren’t meant to be read, they’re meant to be acted. People think they know Lady Macbeth as a type – the strong, controlling woman who pushed him to do it. She does things women shouldn’t do. The greatest misconception is that we have stopped seeing Lady Macbeth as a human being.”

For Tennant, too, keeping an open mind is essential: “What I’m finding most difficult is the variety of options. I thought I knew this play very well and that it was, unlike any other Shakespeare I can remember rehearsing, straightforward. But each time I come to a scene, it goes in a direction I wasn’t expecting.” He suggests that momentum is the play’s great asset: “It has such muscle to it, it powers along. Plot-wise, it’s more front-footed than any Shakespeare play I’ve done.” And is it ever difficult for him as Macbeth to subdue his instinctive comic talent? “Well, yes, that’s right, there are no gags! But actually, there are a couple of funny bits though I’d never intentionally inflict comedy on something that can’t take it. I hope I’m creating a rounded human being with moments of lightness, even in the bleakest times.” Jumbo adds: “Bleakness is funny at times”, and Tennant, quick as a flash, tops this: “Look at our government!” (He is an outspoken Labour supporter.) Later, when I ask what makes them angriest, he says: “Well, she [Suella Braverman]’s just been sacked so… I’m now slightly less angry than I was.” Jumbo nods agreement, adding that what makes her angriest is “unkindness”.

It is Tennant who then produces, with a flourish, the key question about the Macbeths: “Why do they decide to commit a crime? What is the fatal flaw that allows them to think that’s OK? I don’t know that they, as characters, would even know. Has the loss of a child destabilised their morality?” In preparation, Tennant and Jumbo have been researching post-traumatic stress disorder. “PTSD is a modern way of understanding something that’s always been there,” suggests Tennant – and the Macbeths are traumatised three times over by battle, bereavement and murder. “We’ve looked at postpartum psychosis as well,” Jumbo adds. They have been amazed at how the findings of modern experts “track within the play”. Tennant marvels aloud: “What can Shakespeare’s own research process have been?” Jumbo reminds him that Shakespeare, like the Macbeths, lost a child. She relishes the play’s “contemporary vibe which means it’s something my 14-year-old niece will want to see. Even though you know the ending, you don’t want it to go there. It’s exciting to play that as well as to watch it.”

A further exciting challenge is the show’s use of binaural technology (Gareth Fry, who worked on Complicité’s The Encounter, is sound designer). Each audience member will be given a set of headphones and be able to eavesdrop on the Macbeths. “The technology will mess with your neurons in a did-somebody-just-breathe-on-me way,” Jumbo explains. “You’ll feel as if you’re in a conversation with us, like listening to a podcast you love where you feel you’re sat with them having coffee.” Tennant adds: “What’s thrilling is that it makes things more naturalistic – we’re able to speak conversationally.”

Fast forward to opening night: how do they manage their time just before going on stage? Tennant says: “I dearly wish I had a set of failsafe strategies. I don’t find it straightforward. I’ve never been able to banish anxiety. It can be very problematic and part of the job is dealing with it. I squirrel myself away and tend to get quite quiet.” But at the Donmar, this will be tricky as backstage space is shared. Jumbo encourages him: “When I’ve played here before, I found the group dynamic helpful,” she says, but explains that her pre-show routine has changed since her career took off and she became a mother: “These days, I no longer have the luxury of saying: I’m going to do five hours of yoga before I go on. When I leave home at four in the afternoon, I might be thinking about whether I’ll hit traffic or, whether my kid’s stuff is ready for the next day. You get better at this, the more you do it. The main thing – which doesn’t sound that sexy – is to make sure to eat at the right time, something light, like soup, because when I’m nervous I get loads of acid and that does not make me feel good on stage. I have a cut-off point for eating and that timing has become a superstition in its own way.”

In 2020, Tennant and Jumbo co-starred in the compulsively watchable and disturbing Scottish mini-series Deadwater Fell for C4. How helpful is it to have worked together before? Tennant says it is “hugely” valuable when tackling something “intense and difficult” to be with someone you are “comfortable taking chances with”. Although actors cannot depend on this luxury: “Sometimes, you have to turn up the first day and go: ‘Ah, hello, nice to meet you, we’re going to be playing psychopathic Mr and Mrs Macbeth.’” And Jumbo adds: “I’ve been asked to do this play before and said no. You have to do it with the right person. I knew this would be fun because David is a laugh as well as being very hard-working.” He responds brightly with a non sequitur: “Wait till you see my knees in a kilt…” Are you seriously going to wear a kilt, I ask. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he laughs.

It is perhaps the kilt that triggers his next observation: “We’re an entirely Scottish company, apart from Cush,” he volunteers, suggesting that Macbeth’s choice of a non-Scottish wife brings new energy to the drama. He grew up in Paisley, the son of a Presbyterian minister, and remembers how, in his childhood, “whenever an English person arrived, you’d go “Oooh… from another worrrrld!”, and he reflects: “Someone from somewhere else gives you different energy.” And while on the Scottish theme, it is worth adding that Macbeth is the part that seems patiently to have been waiting for Tennant: “People keep saying: you must have done this play before? I don’t know if Italian Shakespeareans keep being asked if they have played Romeo…”

I tell them I remember puzzling, as a schoolgirl, over Macbeth’s line about “vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself and falls on th’other” – the gymnastic detail beyond me. Tennant suggests that what Macbeth has, more even than ambition, is hubris. But on ambition, he and Jumbo reveal themselves to be two of a kind. Tennant says: “Ambition is not a word I’d have understood as a child but I had an ambition to become an actor from tiny – from pre-school. I did not veer off from it, I was very focused. When I look at it now, that was wildly ambitious because there were no precedents or reasons for me to believe I could.”

“For me, same,” says Jumbo, “I don’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.” She grew up in south London, second of six children. Her father is Nigerian and was a stay-at-home dad, her mother is British and worked as a psychiatric nurse. “At four, I was an avid reader and mimicker. I got into lots of trouble at school for mimicking. My ambition was similar to David’s although, as a girl, the word ‘ambition’ has always been a bit dirty…” Tennant: “It certainly is to a Scottish Presbyterian.” “Yes,” she laughs, “perhaps I should have said Celts and Blacks… Girls grow up thinking they should be modest, right? But I had so much ambition. I knew there was more for me to do and that I could be good at doing it.”

And what were they like as teenagers – as, say, 14-year-olds? Tennant says: “Uncomfortable, plooky…” What’s plooky, Jumbo and I exclaim in unison. “A Scottish word for covered in spots.” “That’s great!” laughs Jumbo. “Unstylish,” Tennant concludes. Her turn: “At 14, I was sassy, a bit mouthy, trying to get into a lot of clubs and not succeeding because I looked way too young for my age. And desperate for a snog.”

And now, as grownups, Tennant and Jumbo are, above all, keenly aware of what it means to be a parent. Jumbo has a son, Maximilian (born 2018); Tennant five children between the ages of four and 21. Parenthood, they believe, helps shape the work they do. “Being a parent magnifies the job of being an actor,” says Jumbo, “because what we’re being asked to do [as actors] is to stay playful and in the present – be big children. As a parent, you get to relive your childhood and see the world through your child’s eyes as if for the first time and more intensely. We don’t do that much as adults.”

Tennant reckons being a parent has given him “empathy, patience – or the requirement for patience – and tiredness. It gives you a big open wound you carry around, a vulnerability that is not a bad thing for this job because it means you have an emotional accessibility that can be very trying but which we need.” But the work-life balance remains, for Tennant, an ongoing struggle: “Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something happens,” he says, “and you have to recalibrate it because your children need different things at different times.” Jumbo sometimes looks to other actors/parents for advice: “To try to see what they are doing – but you never quite get it right.”

And would they agree there is a work-life balance involved in acting itself? Is acting an escape from self or a way of going deeper into themselves? Tennant says: “I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive though they sound as though they should be – I think it is both.” Jumbo agrees: “On the surface, you’re consciously stepping away from yourself but, actually, subconsciously, you have to do things instinctually so you find out more about yourself without meaning to.”

And when they go deeper, what is it that they find? Fear is another of the motors in Macbeth – what is fear for them? “Something being wrong with one of my kids,” Tennant says and Jumbo concurs. And what about fear for our planet? Tennant says: “There is so much to feel fearful and pessimistic about it can be…” Jumbo finishes his sentence: “Overwhelming.” He picks it up again: “So overwhelming that you don’t do anything.” Jumbo worries about this, tries to remind herself that doing something is better than doing nothing: “If everybody did something small in their corner of the world, the knock-on effect would be bigger.” Tennant admits to feeling “anxiety” and distinguishes it from fear. Jumbo volunteers: “I recognise fear in myself but don’t see it as a helpful emotion. It’s underactive, a place to stand still.”

As actors who have hit the jackpot, what would they say, aside from talent, has been essential to their success? Tennant says: “Luck – to be in the right place at the right time, having one job that leads to another.” Jumbo remembers: “Early in my career, I had a slow start. You have to fill your soul with creative things, which is not always easy if you can’t afford to go out. You have to find things that are free, get together with people who are creative and give you good vibes and not people who are bitter and jealous or have lots of bad things to say about the world. This tends to bring more creative things to you.” Tennant observes: “As the creative arts go, acting is a difficult one to do on your own – if you’re a painter, you can paint – even if no one is buying your paintings.” Jumbo chips in: “Because of that, it can be quite lonely when it’s not happening.” “Tennant concludes: “It’s bloody unfair – there are far too many good actors, too many of us.”

And are they in any way like the Macbeths in being partly governed by magical thinking – or do they see themselves as rationalists? (I neglect to ask whether they call Macbeth “the Scottish play”, as many actors superstitiously do.) “I am a rationalist. I’m almost aggressively anti-nonsense,” Tennant says. Jumbo, unfazed by this manifestation of reason, speaks up brightly: “I’m a magical thinker, I’m half Nigerian and that’s all about magical realism and belief in energy. If something goes my way, I think: God, I felt that energy. And the thing that drew me to theatre as a kid was its magic.” And now Tennant, alerted by the word “magic”, starts to clamber on board to agree with her – and Jumbo laughs as they acknowledge the power of what she has just said.'

[oneinsevenbillionpeople]

At the end of the day - and most of the time during - there is no one I would rather see, no one whose voice I would rather hear, and no one whose mind I would rather explore.

| Gareth St Clair - It’s in His Kiss, Julia Quinn

[ofglories]

let's add to the bad-

Arthur: mortally injured by Mordred at Camlann, dies in battle against Lucius in some other timelines, and Percival, Gareth, and Yvain in others.

Emrys: killed by uther in one timeline, killed by vortigern in another, and in yet another he's killed in battle against Saxons

Claudas: killed by Lionel after a successful campaign against him by lionel, arthur, and bors.

Bors: died from overwork shortly before he turned 60, long after camelot and camlann.

Cynon: killed in battle against the Saxons after Camlann and the fall of Rheged, his body was never found.

Gareth: Killed by Lancelot alongside two of her brothers.

Lancelot: went mad and disappeared after Camlann, no one knows what happened to him.

Taliesin: disappeared after Yvain of the Lion's death, not a trace was found.

Marrok: killed by Mordred at Camlann.

Gawain: killed by Mordred at Camlann, though was badly injured beforehand by Lancelot.

Dinadan: murdered by Agravain and Mordred for the crime of calling them out for a previous murder.

Percival: dies during the Grail Quest at the Grail castle, though in some timelines he survives until his defeat at Camlann.

Uther: died of prolonged illness in bed.

[dontcxckitup]

[oneshoulderangel]

We know that Malory tells us what was Lynette's first impression of Gareth. What do you think was Gareth's first impression when he met Lynette?

I see two possible avenues:

1) Lynette may as well have been a sign saying “quest this way” for all he cared. She’s a damsel, she’s in distress and he just so happens to be a…A HERO!

Lynette: My sister and castle are being besieged and we need a champion!

Gareth: This is perfect!

Lynette: I can see you’re real choked up about it, huh, kitchen boy!

Option 2) Gareth sees that Lynette is trying to do the “I can’t reveal my name” thing he did and is having less luck, she’s obviously distress and uncomfortable with revealing too much. He just so happens to have at his disposal 2 wish from the king. And his whole reason for coming here just so happens to becoming a knight. Two birds, one stone.

Now, personally, I think a combination of these is best. If Gareth was acting out of pure concern and care for Lynette, he probably could asked a more seasoned knight to accompany them, if nothing else for her piece of mind. But I don’t think he was totally unsympathetic which is why he’s generally so patient with her outbursts. Thats my thoughts anyway, in terms of Malory.

[plutoniumdecay]

i was playing with a brush, blacked out and got this

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Eddie makes a bet with the rest of Hellfire to flirt with a cheerleader, it started with some stupid off hand comment from Gareth that "there's no way a member of the dark side, a cheerleader would give Eddie the freak Munson, the time of day"

Jeff said Eddie should focus on Chrissy to piss off Jason but then Eddie had met you and he could tell by the way that Jason looked at you that he wanted you.

It was fun at first, pissing off Jason by flirting with you in an over exaggerated manner, calling you princess and Milady and watching Jason's stupid face go ten shades of red.

You seemed to enjoy the flirting and gave back as good as you got, almost made Eddie blush a few times but he would outright deny it when someone pointed it out.

Turns out you were sweet and feisty, had a witty comeback for his banter every time. Made him laugh out loud at your comments.

Against all odds and surprisingly Eddie liked you. Didn't expect a small comment from his friends could lead to his life being filled by joy, by you. It turned his cynical heart into something that filled with hope.

He had come into this preparing to hate you or expecting you to dislike you or find out you were like the rest of the dark side who gave him dirty looks and muttered freak under their breaths at him.

But you were nothing like that and casual flirting turned into moments between the two of you, stolen kisses and nights like this where you are perched on his knee and pointing to stars, naming them after D&D characters that you liked the name of.

It was just you and him tucked up on the seat outside of his trailer, a blanket wrapped around you both to protect you against the biting chill in the air.

He almost fell off the seat when you rattled off Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit characters to name the stars, said them without even batting an eyelid, just turned to him with a sweet smile and cuddled into him, head resting against his chest.

There's warmth in his stomach and it's everywhere, the racing of his heart increasing tenfold when your hand entwines with his and he instinctively presses his lips against your forehead.

"Is that what you think about huh? Surprising me with knowledge about the greatest fantasy stories of all time" (well in his opinion) he grins and you peer up at him smiling shyly.

"You're all I think about Eddie" well fuck. There it was, the feeling in his chest expanding and the realisation that settles deep in his bones.

The feeling that he's sure he knows what it is. This is what love feels like.

❤️

[eddieandbird]

Home to you—

Eddie comes home drunk to you.

A/N: missed you guys so much! sorry for dipping in and out so often, but i’ve been really into bridgerton lately and i’ve been only wanting to talk about that. howerver i did conjure up this h*rny little story for eddie, so i hope yall enjoy! -Bird

tags/warnings: 2.7k words | f!reader | boyfriend!eddie | drunk sex | consent checks | f*ngering | pinv | praise kink + nicknames

—

You heard keys jingle at your front door just a few feet outside the bedroom. Your boyfriend was finally home

“Guess who’s back,” Eddie teasingly whispered, trying not to wake you if you were already asleep.

“Is it Eddie?” You deeply inhaled and stretched your arms, your voice was low and sleepy.

Eddie fell into bed with you, his whole weight causing to shake it. You gave a delirious laugh, still waking up.

“You guessed right, sweetheart,” He said before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in from behind.

“You’re such a smart girl,” Eddie cooed in your ear before running his hands on your stomach and along the waistband of your panties.

“Someone sounds like they had a good time at Gareth’s birthday party,”

Eddie smiled, burying his face in your hair and laughing a bit at the comment.

“I did,” Eddie pulled you closer and nuzzled into your neck, softly kissing as he spoke. “But I’m glad to have my girl back in bed with me.”

You hummed before you pulled up his hand to kiss his palm.

“Mm. Happy you’re home too baby. I don’t know if I’m totally thrilled that you’re hammered, but-“

“Relax, I got a ride home,” Eddie mumbled. His small kisses along your neck was driving you wild.

“Okay, good. At least you made some responsible choices,” You joked.

“I am responsible,” Eddie grinned, his breath warm against your skin.

As you two spoke, Eddie's hand began to trail lower and lower down your stomach. He stopped once he reached your thighs before he gently gripped the soft flesh.

"I can't believe you weren't out with me,” Eddie muttered against your neck.

“I couldn’t help but think about you all night” He whispered.

The tone of his voice sounded sweet in your ear despite his alcohol-fueled state.

“Is that right?” You giggled. “What were you thinking about?” Your voice was quiet but lustful.

Eddie’s fingers slowly teased the lace on your skin, lightly tracing the outline of your thong. His touch was already turning you into mush. Your heat radiated through the thong you wore, the more his fingers trailed around it, Eddie smirked, enjoying the way it made you shiver.

“I was thinking about-” he began as he pulled your body closer to him until you could feel the heat of his breath along your ear.

“The way you sound when I’m on top of you. The way your skin tastes when I kiss every part of you,” He growled.

You let out a soft moan as he repeatedly kissed along your jaw, catching a couple kisses on your lips in the process of turning back to him.

“You sure you’re up for this, baby? It sounded like you stumbled into the room. You might be too drunk,” You said with slight concern, but you also knew what he wanted and you were not in the mood to turn him down.

Eddie laughed a bit. “I’m not too drunk, baby. I've missed you,” he slurred.

He could feel himself getting worked up just being next to you. You could feel him pressing up against your backside.

“You feel that,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust.

Your breathing hitched as you felt his length through the denim of his jeans. He pressed it right against the curve of your ass.

“Of course I feel it,” you scoffed, jokingly.

“That’s all for you,” Eddie started to grind himself against you, his hips slowly rolling into you. “Want you so bad,” He started to breathe heavily against you.

The way he slurred his words would typically annoy you, but they were so endearing when he was whispering dirty nothings into your ear.

“You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna give me what I want?” He huffed as he worked at you.

“Mhm. Whatever you want, baby,” You said with desire.

Eddie gently rolled you onto your back so he could hover over you.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he whispered, taking a quick second to admire your body. “So gorgeous,” he added as he started to run his hands up and down your thighs.

“You going to be a good girl then? Give me.. a show,” he teased.

“What else do you wanna see?” Your eyes twinkled at him as you pushed one strap off your shoulder.

Your perspective lit flames on your skin. You saw nothing but his big, dark eyes surrounded in his black curls falling down towards you. Eddie watched hungrily as you bared more of your skin for him to look at. His eyes were hazy as he stared back at yours.

Your soft, but quickened breaths filled the air as took the hem of your tank top and lifted it over your head, putting your chest on display for him.

“My pretty, pretty girl,” Eddie groaned, starting to run one of his hands up your legs. He started to run one of his hands up your leg. He could feel the heat of your skin through the silk of your panties as he placed his thumb over it

“Eddie,” You gasped as you felt him tracing around your clit.

“Such a sweet girl,” His finger continued to rub over you, feeling the way your skin got hotter as he applied more pressure. “Missed me that badly?” He whispered before pressing his thumb harder against the spot of wetness. He could feel himself growing harder just listening to the sounds you made. His eyes flicked from your face, to your chest and your shaking legs as he slowly pressed his thumb harder. He could feel how worked up you were, but he still wanted you to hold on and wait for it.

“You’re so needy,” he muttered in your ear with a smirk while rubbing his thumb in small circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves. His dark eyes continued to drink in the sight of you.

“Isn’t that what you wanted when you came in?” You smiled wide, your eyelids heavy as you bucked your hips up into his touch. The fabric now heavily soaked now as he rolled over your aching center. Eddie groaned in response to watching you writhe under him, his eyes still taking in the sight of you while holding you firmly in place with one of his broad hands.

“Maybe a little,” Eddie admitted with a lustful grin. “You want more don’t you?” He teased before leaning down to place open mouthed kisses on your neck, his hot tongue running along your skin.

You shuddered against him, trying your hardest to let him lead you. His pace was torturous but it’s just how you liked it.

“Mhm… I need it,” You nodded and smiled wickedly, your voice stuttering.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Eddie groaned.

He let his thumb go, the absence of the touch making you feel even more strung out.

His hands gripped your underwear and started to pull them down painfully slowly as his dark eyes watched you.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he exhaled shakily.

You felt his warm breath surround your legs and your aching center as he dragged the silk underwear down your legs. Your eyes were wide with anticipation as he pawed at your legs.

You couldn’t help but squirm under his touch, desperately wanting more friction between you two. He sat up and spread your legs apart, giving him a full view of you in the moonlight.

“So eager for me,” he teased, the corner of his lip tugging up in a smirk as he ran his hand up your thigh and towards your heat. “Tell me that’s all for me,” He muttered.

“It’s all for you, babe. I’m all yours,” You whispered back, your hips involuntarily lifting as you felt his fingers dragging upwards toward your core. Your hands were placed down at your sides, clawing at your bedsheets.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned as he teased with a smirk before finally running his thumb down between your slit.

He felt the heat and the wetness against his skin, your reaction making him groan louder than he intended to.

“So wet for me,” Eddie muttered before leaning down and placing gentle kisses on your inner thighs. His eyes flicking between watching your face twisted in pleasure

“All yours, Eddie,” You mused.

Your breaths would rise and fall with his touches. The further his touch was from your sensitive button, the softer the moans, only growing with intensity as he got closer. You can feel yourself growing impatient, but you knew to claim the prize, you had to play his game.

You curiously put a hand on his, seeing if he’d let you control the pace of things.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh as your hand covered his, and let you push his fingers towards where you wanted them with a lazy grin.

“So impatient, baby,” he teased, watching the hand under his, move with it as he reached the spot you desperately wanted him to touch.

You looked up at him, trying to keep your eyes open as you led his hand to rub in just the way you liked. You could tell he wanted to stare back at you, but all he was looking at was how inviting your pussy was, now spilling out love onto the sheets. Watching you make yourself feel good by guiding his touch had him mesmerized.

“My pretty girl. So desperate to be touched,” he breathed, his smirk turning into a mischievous grin as his fingers started to move a bit quicker, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in tight circles.

“You’re so hot like this,” he let out a deep growl as he watched you and continued to work on undoing you while his other hand grabbed at your hip to keep you still.

“Look at you, making such a mess,” Eddie groaned in your ear, his pace increasing slightly, desperate to see you fall apart.

“You see how much I need you?” Your words were ladened with desire between small gasps.

You knew you were getting close to a peak. You gripped around his wrist, making him hold his pace as you were reaching climax.

“I see it, baby,” Eddie mimicked your tone, his gaze never leaving you as he watched you get closer and closer to the edge.

He could see how close you were, the way your body was tensing and you were desperately biting down on your lip.

His pace stayed steady as he watched you, his heart racing from the thought of pleasing you.

“Let go for me, pretty girl,” he muttered, groaning just thinking about it.

“Shit!” You hissed.

With one great thrust of your hips you climaxed against his rough fingers. The once quiet room now echoed back your moan as you came, riding out on his fingers as you went back down.

You laid there in front of him, slightly limp and completely helpless. You giggled briefly before catching your breath.

“Thank you, baby,” You took his hand in yours and kissed his knuckles, looking up at him in adoration.

“Of course, baby,” he cooed, his dark eyes looking down at you.

He moved on top of you, his hands going down to the denim on his hips as he started to unbutton them. “You ready for more?”

“Do you even need to ask?” You laughed some more, your eyes following him as he took off his clothes.

Your breath hitched to see just how hard he was, practically springing out as he shoved off his boxers.

“Oh god, I need you,” You whispered almost inaudibly.

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he heard you.

“Say that again,” Eddie muttered, his voice quiet as he hovered above you, his body pressed into yours.

His eyes searched yours as he settled in between your thighs, placing one hand by your head as the other started to trace down your body. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“I need you inside me,” You shivered, feeling his hands run over your curves.

The heat between both of your legs couldn’t be ignored. You could feel him twitch against your soft entrance, just waiting for him to slip it in. Eddie groaned and closed his eyes as he listened to you, already breathless from the anticipation. His hips buckled against you a bit and he shuddered as he felt the heat between your legs against the tip of him.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he groaned before kissing you again.

You moaned back into his mouth, your nails digging into his back as you felt him enter you. He went at an achingly slow pace, but the sensations were too good to complain. His strokes would go all the way out before pumping fast and deep inside you. It drove you mad.

“It-You… You feel good,” You struggled to even comment.

Your eyes were rolling back into your head with each thrust. Eddie grinned at the small compliments, his eyes staying locked on yours as he continued to thrust into you. He watched as your eyes grew heavy and you almost lost your words.

“Can’t even talk anymore, baby?” Eddie’s eyes clenched shut for a moment as your legs surrounded his waist. He groaned at the words that came out of your mouth but he had no intentions on stopping.

He leaned down to kiss you again, the kiss was sloppy and wet as his pace began to quicken. His hand grabbed your thigh, keeping it against him as he picked up the pace.

“You’re such a good girl, taking it all for me,” Eddie said frantically between grunts. His quickened pace only meant one thing. He was going to finish soon.

“Where do you want me to come?” He asked in a trembling breath.

“Where do you want to come? I want you to have what you want,” You said before kissing his forehead, a small moment of affection during the rough, heightened experience. It was as if he could feel himself growing closer with each word and breath that came out of your mouth.

“Inside you,” He declared in a grunt. “I wanna fill you,” The words left his lips before he could even think it through, but the sight of you beneath him, breathless and all

“Go ahead, baby. You can do it,” You said with lustful encouragement.

Your legs wrapped around him tighter as he was rutting against you. Your hand brought his head down to you and brushed away his messy curls. Once you saw his neck you started to suck at the sensitive area right below his jaw. He shuddered at the touch of your lips on his sensitive skin, breathing in deeply as you sucked.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his head tilting back as his breathing became heavier. His body was tensing up, desperate to come undone, but he waited just a moment longer. “You going to come too?” He said, breathless.

“Uh huh,” You mimicked his volume, as you tugged lightly at his hair. He pinned you down pretty well, but there was still space for you to roll your hips up into him and so you did it, knowing it’d be the end of him. Eddie couldn’t keep himself together any longer as he felt your hips roll up into him.

His breath hitched and caught in the back of his throat as his pace slowed, his body tensing up just a little bit more.

Then, after one more roll of your hips, he finally caved. He buried his head against you as you both came, groaning loudly as his hips gave a few sharp thrusts, riding his way through it.

He tried to catch his breath as he laid on top of you, taking a few moments before he pulled away to look at you while panting slightly.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked, affectionately running his hand along your jaw.

“Oh everything is perfect,” You exhaled happily.

Eddie let a goofy smile take over his face, and laid down next to you, pulling you into his side as he settled in next to you. Soon you were off back to sleep.

[emchant3d]

They say Captain Munson has a gift. That he’s blessed by a god’s touch.

His ship has survived every battle. His crew flourishes with bounty, with health and good fortune. He steers them unerringly through every storm, sailing directly into the gargantuan waves, into the lightning and rain, and comes out the other side pristine while other vessels would have been sunk, snapped and splintered on the ocean floor, crew turned to ghosts to haunt the waters.

They say he made a deal, sold his soul, sold his crew’s souls, will find his reckoning one day at the end of a sword or drowned in the sea he loves so much. They say he’s a devil of his own, that his eyes glow red and black and his teeth are sharp and fanged, nails clawed, that he slaughters innocents and bathes in their blood.

But the truth is much simpler. Captain Munson is no devil, he did not sell any souls, and he certainly isn’t blessed by any god.

Captain Munson fell in love.

He didn’t mean to. When the fishing nets are reeled in that fateful day he expects nothing more than a few meals, a couple pounds to send to the kitchens for Benny to work his magic with. He isn’t even on deck when the catch is brought in.

It’s Gareth’s frantic voice that draws him upwards, his shouting and knocking on his cabin door that has him strapping a sword to his hip before taking the stairs two at a time to see the threat.

He’s expecting a King’s ship. Maybe another pirate. 

He isn’t expecting a mer.

Pale, unconscious, bleeding, sprawled on the deck, plush and soft and gorgeous, tan torso tapering down into a huge, shimmering tail. He’s breathing but it’s shallow, weak, a shell on a necklace moving faintly with each hitch of his chest.

And the crown. A simple circlet, golden and shining, tangled in his chestnut hair, gems glinting from the locks.

Mers are mythical, believed to be stories by some and history by others, but Eddie grew up hearing the tales of them every night from his mother, and the evidence is right in front of them - how can they do anything but believe?

It takes three of them to move him below deck. Eddie grips him under his arms, Gareth supports his hips, and Jeff wrangles his tail. They take him to Eddie’s quarters, the only bed big enough to fit him.

He wakes in stages, delirious from pain, snapping teeth and swinging claws when he has the strength for it and slurring rambling words when he doesn’t, head lolling on the pillow, eyes rolling back. 

His injuries are strange - a band of dark bruising around his pretty throat, his back shredded, bites taken out of the dips of his sides and the meat of his tail. There’s sickness in him, but Joyce is patient. She patches him up, soothes the mer’s fever and stitches the wounds she can, bandages what she can’t, keeps it all clean, keeps it wet because apparently that’s what he needs - salt water, which makes Eddie cringe in sympathy, but only seems to ease the mer’s pain, not make it worse.

It’s a week before those pretty eyes blink open with genuine awareness in them, sharp and wary. Eddie’s taken to sitting at the mer’s side, feels a strange responsibility to him that he doesn’t want to look too closely at, and he glances up from his journal to find the other’s gaze locked on him.

“Where am I?” he croaks out, and Eddie smiles, snapping the journal shut.

“You’re aboard the Hellfire, sweetheart. Captain Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows in his seat, and it goes over about as well as he thought it would.

There’s a lot of threats and snarling and cursing, but Eddie simply leans back, out of the mer’s reach as he crowds himself into the corner of the mattress, back pressed to the wall and sheets tangled around his tail.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tries to soothe, and the mer scoffs. Eddie can’t blame him for his caution, but he tells him the honest truth - where he was found, the state of him, how they’ve nursed him back to health.

The mer’s hand hovers over one of the nastier wounds at his side, covered in gauze, dampened with saltwater. When he cuts his eyes back to Eddie there’s a little less animosity in his gaze, and Eddie will take what he can get.

Eventually he pulls a name from that snarling mouth. Stephan. “Prince Stephan,” he begrudgingly admits once Eddie points out the crown that he’d gently worked free of his hair. 

And he’s a mer, but different.

“Siren, is what I believe your kind calls mine,” Stephan says, “half and half. Mer and human.” 

“Human,” Eddie muses, and Stephan confesses, warily, haltingly - he’s the King’s bastard son. Born to King Richard of the land and the Mer Queen of the sea.

“And how did the Prince of the Mer find his way into my net, hm?” Eddie asks, smiling, and Stephan rolls his eyes at him. 

He’s a runaway. King Richard had come looking for his son and with his mother’s blessing Stephan abandoned his title, his home, because the King would find him eventually if he stayed, and whatever dangers he might face in the open sea would be nothing compared to what the King might use his gifts for.

“Gifts?” Eddie asks, and Stephan smiles, his pointed teeth glinting.

It’s a clear day, not a cloud to be seen, no sign of rain or bad weather. And yet as Steve begins to hum softly, a shadow crosses overhead. 

It happens slowly. Stephan’s voice builds, a wordless little melody, something melancholy and soft, and the sky beyond the windows of the cabin darkens. Thunder rolls and in the distance, Eddie can see a crack of lightning.

The ship rocks as waves begin to form, the once-smooth water taking a turn. Eddie can hear the crew above deck begin to shout to one another, confusion building, growing more insistent as Stephan’s song grows, and Eddie’s stomach drops.

The siren’s voice is haunting, terrifying. Eddie’s frozen in place, meeting his eyes even as tears well in his own. He’s transfixed, can’t move, can’t speak, paralyzed with some ancient, instinctual knowing of danger, of death.

Eddie does not scare easy. But this is terror personified. This is the true threat that lives in the sea. Not the waves, not man, this. This creature who smiles at him with sharp teeth and a haunting voice, reaching towards Eddie with a clawed hand, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear in a touch that makes Eddie’s skin crawl and his heart skip and dread sink into his very bones.

He’s staring death in the face, and death is smiling.

Then Stephan quiets, and it’s over as quickly as it had begun. The sky clears in moments. The waters calm. The vessel’s heaving calms, and Eddie’s spine unlocks.

He stares at the being before him, amazed, before a slow, brilliant smile breaks over his face.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you, Prince Stephan?” he asks, and gets a smile in return.

“Call me Steve,” he tells him, and fondness begins to worm its way into Eddie’s chest.

“Then call me Eddie.” He sees Steve’s eyes flutter, and he tilts his head. “You’re tired,” he tells him, and gets a huff in response. “You’re safe here, Steve,” he tells him, and he knows he doesn’t trust him, not fully, not yet, but that’s okay. “Rest. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Steve watches him warily, but clearly the little display has worn him out. His hand finds that same wound on his side, cradling it carefully, back shifting like it hurts to sit up straight and stretch all that marred skin.

“Lay a hand on me, and I’ll eat you,” Steve warns, and Eddie snorts a laugh. 

“Whatever you say, highness,” and he tugs the sheets back into place over that large tail, and lets the mer get the rest he still clearly needs.

part 2 💕

[starcrossedjedis]

what   was   your   muses   first   impressions   of   each   other   ? for alyse and gareth

My babies, my favourite adulterers, my loves ❤️

Their first meeting is... not ideal 😆

The Stormlands are facing inner turmoil following Borros Baratheon's decision to pledge for the greens and even more so after he goes and executes Lords and Ladies who refuse to break feilty with Rhaenyra.

Things come to a head when Alyse's envoy is attacked by a rogue group of black loyalists en route to King's Landing and she offers herself as hostage to protect her mother and infant brother.

Now it needs to be said that, even though his aunt was one of the executed nobles, Gareth was decidedly against this whole plan from the go, even going as far as trying to throw in his name in order to dissuade the others.

So when they return to camp with Alyse Baratheon - betrothed to the kinslayer Aemond Targaryen himself - in tow he is... less than thrilled.

He takes one look at her and is like "oh great, so that is what's going to get all of us killed."

And Alyse ofc doesn't know that he was firmly against this whole thing and so to her he is just another lawless brute.

But when his men decide that it probably wouldn't hurt much if they returned her to her betrothed "slightly used" he can't stand by and let it happen and so the two unlikely allies make a daring - and bloody - escape.

And between his act of chivalry and the braver with which she stood her ground in all of it, it takes no time at all for them to see each other in a whole different light and by the time they reach King's Landing they are well past the point of no return -

[whoopssteddiefeels]

If you think the CC boys aren't looking for Eddie, you're wrong

----

Steve opened his trunk and placed the groceries inside, Eddie’s special requests next to his usual staples and the excessive number of snacks he had grabbed for this week’s check in at Hopper’s cabin. Eddie was probably just being cute, requesting the same thing they had brought him in the boathouse, but Steve figured it would be just as cute to refill the request anyway. Anything to make Eddie smile and call him a sap in that overly sweet way he had.

He closed the trunk, pulling his keys out of his pocket. Already excited to get home to that amused smile and twinkling eyes.

“Where the fuck is Eddie?”

Steve jumped about a foot in the air, spinning on the spot, fumbling his keys in an embarrassing 3-part scramble that still ended with them clanking to the ground. He’s effectively trapped against his car, three boys glaring at him from a few feet away. How the hell did they sneak up on him in tandem like that?

They stood in a V-formation, arms crossed and eyes angry. The one in front, a black boy with braces and close-cropped hair who was doing his best to stare down at Steve despite their roughly even height, spoke again. “We don’t know what is going on, what happened, but you and Henderson are definitely involved.”

“I… I don’t…” Steve looked around quickly, hoping something would appear and save him from this conversation. Nothing did, the parking lot was empty except for them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, man!” the smallest of the three exclaimed, pointing angrily in Steve’s face. “Whatever the fuck happened involved your stupid basketball team and our freshman members and god KNOWS what else but there’s no way Eddie would ever-”

“He didn’t do anything to that girl,” the first boy interrupted, Jeff, Steve’s brain slowly supplied, based on stories he’d heard from both Dustin and Eddie. This must be the rest of Corroded Coffin. Jeff, Gareth, and… shit what was the third kids name? Doesn’t matter, he needed to come up with an exit strategy fast.

Steve raised his hands, painfully aware that his keys were still on the ground. “Look, guys, I don’t- I don’t know what you want from me. Yeah, I don’t believe Eddie did anything to Chrissy. Henderson is at home, I haven’t even seen him in days. I don’t know where Eddie would’ve gone after the earthquake, you’d know better than-”

“You’ve got his battle jacket in your back seat.” Unnamed member cut in, voice hard.

“You just bought honeycombs, yoo-hoos, and camel cigarettes.” Gareth, the little one, chimed in.

Jeff took a step forward, making sure Steve was looking at him before he slowly reached forward and carefully pulled on the chain around Steve’s neck, drawing the guitar pick out from where it had rested under his shirt. The younger boy just raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the implication.

Steve sagged against his car, and Jeff let the necklace slip from his fingers as it was pulled back with his movement. It fell against the outside of his shirt, the red and black guitar pick stark and damning against the light blue of today’s polo.

Steve rubbed at his face, refusing to meet the trio of accusing glares. These were Eddie’s friends. His brothers according to the metalhead in question. There was no reason for Steve to be wearing that necklace other than what it was: a claim. They would know that, better than anyone. There was no getting out of this.

“Jesus H. Christ, okay. Okay. He’s… at my place. Just, follow me, I guess.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

always struggling

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'struggling'

rated t | 971 words | no cw | tags: steddie, post-break up, modern era, open ending but assume they get back together, pre-famous corroded coffin

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️

“How are we still short?” Jeff mumbled under his breath.

Eddie heard him, though, and his heart sank in his chest.

“We don’t have enough.” It wasn’t a question.

Jeff shook his head.

They both looked at Gareth and Frankie unloading the van. Usually, they all took care of their own equipment, but all of them had been too impatient to find out how much they made, so Jeff and Eddie rushed inside their house to count.

They needed $268 more to pay for their travel to the festival that could actually put them in front of the right people. That’s it. $268.

And they only made $197 from their show at the bar downtown.

“So we can’t go.”

Jeff shook his head. “Not unless you can come up with $71 by tomorrow morning.”

Eddie knows if he went to Wayne, he’d find a way. He’d break open a piggy bank or withdraw from his retirement savings. He’d ask for an advance on his paycheck. Whatever it took to help Eddie achieve his dreams.

But he’d done that enough.

Jeff’s parents already covered the cost of Jeff to go, and Frankie’s parents had refused to encourage his ‘rockstar behavior.’ Gareth’s mom didn’t have anything left over after paying for his twin sisters’ back to school supplies and clothes.

“You could call-“

“No.”

Jeff nodded solemnly. “Right.”

Eddie couldn’t call Steve. Steve had helped buy him a new guitar and fix his van before their inevitable crash and burn when Eddie decided to move to Chicago and Steve wasn’t ready. He hadn’t spoken to him in months. He couldn’t call him up and ask for money.

“Maybe I could take a shift at the diner tonight. If I take the big tables, it might be enough in tips,” Jeff offered. “We could busk?”

“You know we never make good money doing that. Nobody likes the noise.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to try again next year. We can keep playing the bars.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

Neither of them noticed Frankie or Gareth standing behind them, listening in to the dilemma.

“We didn’t make enough?” Gareth asked somberly.

“Sorry, kid. Just a bit short,” Jeff said over his shoulder.

“This is bullshit!” He yelled.

“Gare-“ Eddie started to say, standing to try to comfort him.

“No! I’m sick of struggling so much. We’re good. We deserve to be there.” Gareth continued. “We’re going.”

“Dude, we can’t just print more money.”

Gareth turned to Eddie, fire in his eyes, hands clenched into fists.

“Suck up your damn pride and call Steve. He told you if you needed anything to call him. Call him.” He stormed to his room and slammed the door.

Eddie would do anything for his band, his friends. He knew missing this festival could be one of his biggest regrets.

“Eddie, it’s fine. Gareth-“

“Is right. I should call him.”

Eddie didn’t wait for them to try to convince him otherwise. He walked to his room and closed the door, trying to figure out how to have this conversation with a man he was definitely still in love with.

No way to prepare, really.

He pulled up Steve’s name in his contact list and pressed call before he could stop himself.

It rang three times before Steve answered.

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

God, he’d missed his voice.

“Hey Steve. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything-“

“No! It’s just family movie night, but they’re all arguing about what movie to pick anyway. How’s everything?” The sound of a door closing and silence in the background followed his question.

“Um. Well.” Just spit it out. “We have a really great opportunity at Iron and Metal Fest? It’s in Seattle, and we’ve been trying to save up to go, but we uh, we fell a little short and the deadline to let them know we can play is tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. How short?”

“$71.”

“I’ll Venmo you. Will that be okay?” Steve sounded like he’d switched the phone to speaker, probably to open the app on his phone.

Eddie didn’t deserve him, never did. A man who was willing to give up happiness so Eddie could chase his dreams, offering to help make them happen despite Eddie breaking his heart.

“Steve, I-“

“It’s okay, Eds. It’ll be worth it when you’re on a sold out tour someday, right?”

Eddie ignored the vibration of a notification as his eyes welled up with tears.

“I hope so.”

There was silence for too long.

“You still wanna be a rockstar, right?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“I do!” He really did. “I just didn’t think we’d have to struggle this much in a city made for bands like us.”

“It’ll be a great interview for Rolling Stone.”

“How do you have so much faith in us?”

“I have faith in you, Eds. Always have, always will. You’re gonna make it.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Nah.” Someone knocked on the door and Steve whispered something to them before speaking to Eddie again. “Hey, I have to go. But I hope you wow everyone at that festival, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Stevie.”

When he checked his notifications, Steve had sent him $500.

He cried for 20 minutes before he went and told the guys.

****

The show was incredible and Eddie had never been more miserable.

The guys were on a high no drug could match, but Eddie was sinking further into a pit of despair.

“Never known you to look this sad after a show.”

Eddie’s head shot up to see Steve standing against a few extra speakers backstage.

“Steve? What’re you doing here?” Eddie walked closer, worried he was seeing things.

“Couldn’t miss your biggest show yet. Hope it’s okay.”

“Of course it is. I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie smiled, feeling some of the heavy weight lift from his shoulders. “Yeah.”

[oneinsevenbillionpeople]

I love you. I cannot imagine myself living without you.

I want to see your face in the morning, and then at night, and a hundred times in between. I want to grow old with you. I want to laugh with you. And I want to sigh to my friends about how managing you are…

all the while knowing I am the luckiest man in town.

Gareth St. Clair - It’s In His Kiss, Julia Quinn

[ofglories]

"I got a strange look from Sir Gareth when she saw me using my bow. Is it truly so odd for a Saber to use archery as well as swordsmanship? There was someone using a punching bag in the hall earlier who was also a Saber..."